15173	----	PICTURES OF JEWISH HOME-LIFE FIFTY YEARS AGO By HANNAH TRAGER Author of _Stories of Child-Life in Palestine_ _Festival Stories of Child-Life in Palestine_ _Pioneers in Palestine_ WITH A PREFATORY LETTER BY LEO JUNG WITH FOUR PLATES AND A GLOSSARY NEW YORK BLOCH PUBLISHING CO., Inc. PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE STANHOPE PRESS, LTD. ROCHESTER To MY BELOVED PARENTS in reverence and gratitude for their beautiful and holy example FOREWORD My dear Mrs. Trager, It gives me great pleasure to write a preface to your new book. I consider it a real privilege, since it represents the fulfilment of a hope expressed some five years ago. When you sent me the first article for "The Sinaist" I told you that your pen would win the love and the esteem not only of the child, but essentially also of the adult readers. The simple joyousness of your style, the beauty and freshness of the atmosphere, which you very well succeed in bringing to the pages of your books, the strength of your faith, and the vividness of your description, the love of Jew above the love of Palestine, all these combine to render your volumes valuable additions to the small stock of good Jewish literature in English. It is not only that you teach, while talking so pleasantly; that you instruct while you interest and amuse; that you have your own personality in the stories; that you convey the charm of Eretz Israel, and the beauty of holiday spirit; but because your stories help us to feel the depth of faith and the height of ideal as the self-evident, normal factors of Jewish life. For the children of our age, both young and old, should know that that God-consciousness of the Jew, that wondrous sense of eternity in his mission, is not a laboriously acquired conviction, not the result of some spasmodic effort of grasping the innermost meaning of our history, but the natural pervading spirit of Jewish life, the air which the Jew breathes, when he lives with Torah as his guide and Mitzvah as his ladder towards heaven. They who read your stories conceive a deep love of Judaism, they find a desire growing in them to live the life which produces such happiness and goodness, they will want to study the Law and lore, of which that life is an outward expression. I have given your tales to children in various countries and all of them were enchanted with them, regretting that "there were only two books by Mrs. Trager." I am glad indeed to find that another one is coming out. And it is in the interest of our youth that I hope you will give us every year some of these nourishing and very palatable fruits of your pen. You will thereby be doing an additional bit for our God and our people whom you are serving so loyally. You reinterpret to the Jewish youth of to-day the treasures they are so carelessly abandoning, you will shed light and reawaken love and hope in the heart of many a Jew, who seemed to feel that our glorious faith had no message for the child of to-day, unless it were shorn by our 'religious' barbers, robbed of its native beauty and reduced to some platform-commonplace. As a lamented London Maggid told me, "There still live some real soldiers of God." Such are those who use persuasion from the pulpit, such as shine through the example of their own humane Jewishness and such as capture our hearts by artless beautiful tales of Jewish life and lore. I wish you every success in the world, Yours very sincerely, LEO JUNG CONTENTS THE ARRIVAL IN JERUSALEM THE WELCOME THE CELEBRATION OF PURIM THE BAKING OF MATZOS LAG B'OMER THE SABBATH IN PALESTINE THE SUCCAH HOW CHARITY IS GIVEN FATHER FROST IN JERUSALEM ENGAGEMENT AND WEDDING CEREMONIES JUBILEE OF ZORACH BARNETT GLOSSARY LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS THE FATHER TEACHING THE CHILD THE MEANING OF THE TSITSITH CHADAR (SCHOOL) YENSHVA (TALMUDICAL SCHOOL) THE OLD LADY THE ARRIVAL IN JERUSALEM On a Friday afternoon everyone was very busy in Benjamin's home washing and dressing to go to Shule. The mother was getting the living-room clean and tidy for the Sabbath. THE OFFENCE The family lived in a few rooms off Commercial Road, in one of the many back streets. The underground kitchen had to be used as the dining-and sitting-room, for they had not been many years in England and it was a hard struggle for Benjamin's parents to make ends meet and provide for a large family. The father and the elder boys were dressing as best they could in this room. Just then the mother came in, very excited, and said to her husband: "What will you say to this? I gave Benjamin his Sabbath clothes and a clean tsitsith, and what do you think he did?" "What?" asked the father, and stopped brushing his clothes. "Why, he took the tsitsith and threw it on the floor, and said he would never wear it again. I punished him, and told him to put it on again. So you had better go to him and give him what he deserves." "You are rather hasty, my dear wife," said the father; "for, before punishing him, you should have asked him why he did such a thing." "What!" exclaimed the mother, "do you think I have nothing else to do but to stand and argue with him just before Sabbath, when I have so much work? You are far too easy-going, Jacob--you should really be firmer with the children." "No, no!" said Jacob, who was a kindly man and understood human nature better than his hasty, but well-meaning and loving, wife. The struggle and constant hard work in keeping the home of a large family was telling upon her, and any disobedience in the children irritated her very much. "We must not be hasty with the children," continued Jacob, "especially now-a-days, for they live under different circumstances from those we knew when we were young. Instead of hastily scolding and punishing them, let us rather quietly reason with them, when possible, and show them where they are wrong." "Perhaps you may be right," said Benjamin's mother; "so let us leave the matter till you return from Shule and have had our Sabbath meal--then you can quietly ask Benjamin why he acted as he did." THE BOY BENJAMIN An elder brother was sent to call Benjamin to go to Shule with his father and brothers. Benjamin expected a scolding from his father similar to that which he had had from his mother, so he came into the room looking very sulky. As nothing was said to him on the subject when he came into the room, he took his prayer-book, and followed his father to Shule. Benjamin was like many other boys of 13, not very clever, but blessed with a good deal of common sense. His great ambition was to become a teacher, and so he worked steadily at his lessons. His reason for wishing to be a teacher was that he wanted to rule and to punish boys as his master did. Whenever he had a caning from his headmaster he always consoled himself with the thought that _his_ turn would come some day--when he was a teacher--to do the same to other boys. When they returned from Shule and nothing was said, even at the evening meal, about the way Benjamin had annoyed his mother, he was rather surprised. His mother, during the time they were at Shule, had made the living-room, which was really the kitchen, look so clean and bright with the five lighted candles placed on the snow-white table-cloth, and the old stove so well polished, that it almost looked as bright as a looking glass. What interested the young ones most was the saucepan which stood on one side of the stove waiting for its contents to be put on the table, and, oh, how they enjoyed the sweet savour which came from it! FRIDAY EVE They all gathered round the table to welcome the Princess Sabbath. The father made kiddush, and the wine cup was handed round to all. Then they washed their hands and said a prayer before sitting down to the evening meal, which passed off very pleasantly, and zmires (or songs or psalms of praise) were sung at intervals during the meal. When the meal was ended, and the grace said by the father, they all separated: one or two went out for a walk, while the other members of the family took a newspaper or a book and quietly read. When the table was cleared, the mother sat down to rest. Grateful, indeed, was she for this Sabbath rest after her week's hard work. She often said that, for such as herself, no blessing was as great as the command: "Thou shalt not do any work on the Sabbath." WORD OF LOVE When all were quietly settled down, Benjamin's father took him between his knees, and said: "My son, I wish to ask you something, and I want you to answer my question frankly and truly. What made you throw the tsitsith down on the floor this afternoon and say to your mother that you would not wear it?" The boy Benjamin dropped his head and was silent for a minute or two, for to hear his father speak in a kindly way made Benjamin far more ashamed of himself and his deed than if his father had scolded him and given him a whipping--in fact, he felt so wretched that he longed to run out of the room and hide himself from everybody. His father's knowledge of human nature made him understand what was passing through Benjamin's mind, and he said: "Do not fear to tell me, my son, why you acted in such an unusual way, for there must be some reason for a Jewish boy to act so." With his head still down, Benjamin said: "When I go swimming in the baths, my school-fellows see my tsitsith when I undress, and they make fun of it and pull it about, and say all sorts of nasty things to me for wearing it, and it makes me feel I cannot stand it any longer. I will gladly put on my tsitsith at home in the morning when I say my prayers, but, Father, do let me go to school without wearing it?" "I expected something like this," said his father, looking at his wife. "Listen to me, my child--instead of being ashamed, you should feel it a privilege to wear tsitsith." "But I can't see why," said Benjamin. "Well," said his father, "I will tell you the idea of the tsitsith. When you say the Shema twice a day, as every good Jew is expected to do, you read in it that God commanded us, through Moses, to wear a fringe on our garment--the tsitsith, a visible sign to remind us of His Commandments, just in the same way as a table, spread ready for a meal, reminds us of our meals. Our religion is not a thing to be kept only for the Sabbath and the Holy Days, and left out of our minds on all other days. Our religion must be a living influence, always with us, so the tsitsith is a very simple kind of symbol to be ever worn to remind a Jew of his God, his duty to Him and to his neighbour. It is not only we Jews who have religious symbols; every other religion has them. Now imagine if you were to go up to a Christian boy and mock him and say nasty words to him for wearing a cross, or crucifix, he would turn round and fight you, and he would be right in doing so, for no one has a right to insult another for wearing or doing what he believes to be holy. Instead of being ashamed when you were mocked and laughed at by Christian boys for wearing your tsitsith, you should have asked them to hear you explain the reason for wearing it. I am sure they would not have laughed at you any more. They would respect you for trying to be true and to live up to your convictions. "We Jews have, in the past, made a great mistake in not letting the outside world know more of the deeper spiritual meaning of each of our symbols. Had we not done this, we should have been better understood by non-Jews, and our children would not have suffered as you and many others also have done, through the ignorant mocking of your Christian schoolmates. "I know that in Palestine the Jews, whether old or young, greatly love to wear their tsitsith, and take a pride in letting them be seen, so that the Arabs and the Turks look upon the tsitsith as a sacred garment." [Illustration: THE FATHER TEACHING THE CHILD THE MEANING OF THE TSITSITH (SACRED GARMENT)] UNCLE'S LETTER "How do you know this, Father?" said Benjamin. By this time all in the room had dropped their papers and books, and were listening to their father. "Well, this is how I know: nearly thirty years ago my uncle and his family went to live in Jerusalem, and for many years one of my cousins used to write to me about once a month. His letters were most interesting. When his letters came I could almost imagine, when reading them, that I was living in Bible times. "Have you any of his letters still, Father?" they all exclaimed. "Yes," said the father, "I have many of them." "Oh, do read some of them to us!" they pleaded. "All right, I will; and I will first try to find the one about the tsitsith." The father went up to his bedroom, and soon came down with a bundle of letters wrapped in a newspaper. He started looking through them while all the family stood around him, watching as eagerly as if he were searching for an heirloom. "I will choose a very short one," said the father, "for it is on the subject I have spoken to Benjamin about; but if you like I will make it a rule every Friday evening, after our Sabbath meal, to read some of the letters to you." THE HOLY CITY When all were quietly and comfortably seated, their father started reading: "My dear Cousin,--After a great many adventures and suffering (which I will write to you about another time) we arrived safely in Jerusalem. To me, it seemed rather dull after London, but both father and mother shed tears of joy when they at last arrived in the Holy City. Some people met us a little way out, for father had written telling them we were coming. We were almost royally received and heartily welcomed, for very few Jews come here with their young families. "We must have looked a sight--you in London could not imagine anything like our cavalcade! First went Father riding on a mule, with Mother following on another mule. Mother's saddle was made with pillows, for it is impossible for a woman to ride for sixteen or eighteen hours without a soft, comfortable seat. "You go up high hills, and then down again, imagining every time you go down that you will topple over and fall over the precipice and be killed. In fact, your heart is in your mouth every five minutes, so that by the time you arrive in Jerusalem (which is surrounded by hills) you are almost too weak to rejoice at the beauty that greets your sight, for nowhere in the world can, I think, anything be seen more beautiful than a sunrise over the mountains around Jerusalem. "Oh, I forgot to tell you that we youngsters were put into baskets on a camel's back, and how we were shaken! I felt as if I were praying and shaking all the time, for it seemed as if we could never get to Jerusalem alive in this way." THE PROUD BOYS OF JERUSALEM "At last we entered the Holy City, and arrived at Father's friend's house, where we were made very welcome and treated most kindly. I soon made friends with the boys, for, you know, I can speak yiddish quite well. "They are funny little chaps. They look like old men, with long kaftans (coats) and side ear-locks of hair, carrying their prayer book or Bible to Shule. The first thing I noticed was the tsitsith. They wear really long ones, with long fringes hanging down about a quarter of a yard or more. They wear them as we do a waistcoat, so that they can be seen by everyone, not as we wear them in England, tucked away out of sight. Here young and old, even little boys who can only just walk and lisp their prayers, wear them, and, what is more, take a real pleasure in wearing them. I asked some of them why they wore them so openly, and they answered: 'Because when we look at them we always remember that our chief duty in life is to try to obey God's commands, and if we had them tucked away out of sight we should forget to be obedient.' 'Besides,' they said, 'we are commanded in the Torah to do so openly.' Then I told them if we wore them so openly in Europe we should perhaps be laughed at by some people and made fun of. They said: 'Why should doing so make us be laughed at by other nations? Do we laugh at the symbols and charms that many of them wear? Every nation,' they said, 'has its tokens and symbols, and we Jews have ours, and we should rejoice in wearing ours when they are to help us to feel that God is near us when we think and act rightly.' All this made me think very seriously, and in a way I had never thought before. I began to realize that they were more in the right than we Jews are in England. "So now I have decided to wear my tsitsith, too, on the outside, as the Jerusalem boys do. The boys never play except on the quiet, just now and then, for their parents think that their only duty in life is to study and do as many Mitzvoth as they can. Really, the boys are as full of fun and pranks as we English boys, and they just love a bit of play and larking when they can get it. "I must now end this letter, but I have a lot more to tell you, and I will keep my promise and write you by degrees of all I see. Meanwhile, I send you the greeting of Zion and Sabbath. Rachael wanted to put a letter into my envelope to your sister, but she says she has not finished it yet, although she has already written ten pages. So I will wait no longer, in case I miss the post, as it goes only once a week from here, and sometimes only once a month." Thus ended the first letter, and Benjamin's brothers and sisters were so pleased with it that they were delighted that one of the bundle of letters should be read aloud after the Sabbath meal on every Friday evening. Benjamin was quite happy now, for, although he had done a thing which was not right, now that he had repented good would come out of it, for there was a chance of their now having pleasanter and more instructive Sabbath evenings than they had ever had before. Besides, he now made up his mind always to wear his tsitsith. THE WELCOME On the following Friday, after the Sabbath evening meal, the boys asked their father to read them another letter from his cousin in Jerusalem. He was pleased at their eagerness, and, while Upstairs getting the letter, some of the boys' friends came in and settled comfortably down, for all were eager to hear the letter read. Mr Jacob said: "This time I will read a letter from your Cousin Dora to my sister which will certainly interest you, my dear," turning to his daughter, "but at the same time, I think it will interest you all." "My dear Milly,--Isaac must have written to Jacob all about our arrival, so I will begin by giving you some idea of our life here and my impressions. The people, who so kindly asked us to stay with them till Father finds a dwelling, have a few rooms in a house, which has a marble paved courtyard. Six other families also have two or three rooms each. All the work is done in the courtyard, even the cooking; for each family uses tiny stoves, made of mud, into which they put a little lighted charcoal and cook just outside or near their own doors; for there are no kitchens or fireplaces in any of the rooms, and thus we see what each family cooks. The Sephardim (Jews who have lived here for years) eat their meals in the courtyard. They lay a mat on the marble tiles, on which they place a small low table, and they sit on the mat and eat. Two Sephardim families have rooms in the house and they speak Arabic and Spanish, and their ways of living are more like those of the Turks, just as the Jews in England live more like the English. "Everyone seems most interested in us. Many people have come to visit us, to see the new arrivals! "The evening of the day on which we arrived was Friday; there was a clear moonlight such as you would not often see in England, and it was very warm, too; so we and our visitors sat in the courtyard. All eagerly asked us many questions, till quite late; and thus the evening passed very quickly and pleasantly. "After prayers on Sabbath some people sent a bottle of wine and a most delicious pudding, which is made nowhere but in Jerusalem. It tastes like milk and honey, with other tasty things mixed up in it. Others sent a lovely sponge cake, coated with different-coloured sugar-icing: many other good things were also given to us; and they lasted us for nearly a month. "Later in the day the people who sent the eatables paid us visits, and ate some of the good things. It is rather a nice custom, I think, for new arrivals to have no bother to prepare food for their visitors, as it gives them time to enjoy their company. What a lot of talking there was! The men discussed several things with Father, while the women wanted to know many things about England which Mother could tell them. The boys and girls could not take their eyes off our clothes, so much did they admire them! It was quite amusing, the funny questions they asked us about them. They all promised to help us look for a dwelling; and they kept their promise. I can tell you it was a great help and comfort to us that they did, for I don't know what would have become of us out here, away from our old friends, where the ways of living are so different from what we have been used to. Whether it will always be so or not, of course I can't say--time alone will show. "Very soon afterwards they found us a vacant dwelling, which Father was very thankful to get, and in my next letter I will tell you something of our life after we had moved in; but I must tell you more of what happened when we were staying with our kind host. The first afternoon, one of our visitors insisted on our I going to her home; so, when I and our youngsters arrived, we were taken to a room, and in it was a table covered with lovely apricots, and delicious-looking pastries and jams; also wine which only cost 3d. a bottle, so it is very nearly as cheap as buying water. When they handed us some of the good things we naturally took them and ate them. "Suddenly I saw our host's children move away from us saying: 'She is a Shiksa,' and 'He is a Shakitz,' and they kept on whispering and pointing to us. I could not think what we had done to make them act in such a way, and so asked their mother. She answered: 'They are surprised to see you eating without making a Brocha (a blessing), for our children unless they first make a Brocha never taste anything.' "You know, dear Milly, that, though we too were taught to do as they here, yet the hurry and scurry of going to school and the busy life in London have made us forget to practise these religious laws. We, however, felt very uncomfortable and ashamed of ourselves, and made up our minds to get into the habit of doing it--that is to remember to thank our Creator for every blessing we receive, including food--so that it should become a matter-of-course. "Now I must tell you about our water-supply, for the scarcity of water struck us, very much, coming from London; for here every drop is precious and is used for several things, as every drop has to be bought, and money amongst our Jerusalem brethren is very scarce. In fact, it often costs more than the wine of the country. "A water-carrier brings us up every morning a skin bag of water (it is made of skins sewn together, with a small outlet at the top); for it we pay twopence, which is equal to more than a shilling in London. The water that he brings he pours into a large earthern jar, which keeps it cool, and to it is attached over the mouth of the jar a sieve which is made of thick unbleached calico: if this were not done, hundreds of little red worms would get into the jar, because the water in Palestine is full of them. A law was made by the Jews that to drink water that had not been passed through a sieve was a sin; and, as little children are taught not to commit any sin, they do not drink any water that has not been passed through a sieve; owing to this, many illnesses are prevented among the Jews that are rampant among the Arabs and others. "The Jews are also very careful about their water for ordinary use, yet they really employ it more plentifully than we do in London when used in connection with laws of health as laid down in the Shulchan Aruch (a book of laws). For example, as soon as you step out of your bed, you pour water over your hands, wash your face, gargle your throat, and rub your teeth with a clean finger and rinse your mouth. No one would think of moving out of the room without doing this. I know among the very orthodox Jews in London they do the same thing, but the average Jew does not do it, and here it is done by everyone--even a baby is taught to do it the same way. "Later in the day, or when the men go to Synagogue, and we have finished with our household duties, we have the regular soap-and-water wash. Then again, everytime we have a meal we have to wash our hands and repeat a blessing; and, as this is done at various other times in a large family, it takes a good deal of water, but as it is used for cleaning purposes we need not stint ourselves. This law is especially valuable here, for it is very hot, and, if we were not very clean and especially careful about cleansing our eyes and mouths and throat, we should run the risk of catching a great many diseases which are quite common in the Holy Land at present. "I remarked to some women that it surprised me how much water was used for personal washing considering how scarce it was, but they told me that they were as careful with every drop of water as they were with food; none was wasted. Where the religious laws commanded the use of water for personal washing and cleansing they did not grudge it; for was not the body of man the temple where the Holy Spirit of God dwelt? God's spirit is in each one of us, and, therefore, we must do our best to keep our bodies clean for the presence of our Heavenly King, just as carefully as we should keep a house or palace clean in which our earthly king dwelt--more carefully indeed. What would courtiers around an earthly king say if they saw us take our food in the presence of the king, and praise him, with dirty hands? "They save water in many ways that are rather amusing to a stranger until he gets to know the reason for it. For instance, they do not, at meals, use different plates on the Sabbath, when they have a few courses: they eat the fish on one side of the plate, and then they wipe it and turn the plate over, and have soup and meat on the deeper side--thus saving the washing of many plates. "In my next letter I will write you all my tribulations and struggles in getting used to the new life when we moved into our own house. My great comfort is that we have got to know an American family, and they have been so kind to us and so cheery that it has made us feel a bit brighter, and Mother says that in time we shall get used to our new life. But I doubt it after living in London." When Mr Jacob had finished reading the letter the young folks began talking, the older ones listening and giving a smile now and then. One said: "I should not like to be there." "Neither should I," said another girl; "it must be awful after London." "The only thing that I like about the life," said the former, "is the hospitality and the friendliness that they show to one another, and the jolly good time they give to people who are utter strangers to them. We don't do that here--we seem cold and unfriendly." THE CELEBRATION OF PURIM As had now become a custom, the young friends of the Jacobs had all collected on the next Friday evening in the bright and warm kitchen-sitting room. After a short friendly chat with them Mr Jacobs said: "As Purim will begin in two days, perhaps you would like to hear how our cousins saw it celebrated when they went to Palestine, so I have chosen this letter to read to you this evening: "In Jerusalem a week is none too long to prepare for Purim. As you know, when we lived in London we always were strict about keeping our holy days; but while there I never realized the pleasure and excitement during Purim that one sees in Jerusalem. "Old and young are equally full of fun and joy, and there is plenty of rushing about with sleeves tucked up. At other times the women here gossip a great deal, and the girls naturally copy their elders and gossip too; but, when preparing for Purim, they are all too busy to talk or even to ask questions. The boys, too, up to the age of twelve, are allowed to help. Some break up the big pieces of loaf-sugar, and beat up the eggs, and take the cakes, when ready, to the public ovens, for here there are no proper ovens as there are in London houses, so a public oven is built not far from the Synagogue. It is very large, and each family sends its cakes in its own tins to be baked in it. Generally about half a dozen tins are carried by each boy. Nothing I have seen before can be compared with the many kinds of delicious cakes and stuffed monkeys that are seen here. My mouth waters even when I think of the delicious strudels filled with sesames and plenty of raisins and shiros! These things are very cheap here. "As there are not many boys free to help, you see quite young children, as well as young women and even grandmothers, going to and from the public oven, carrying tins of all the Purim delicacies. As they wait while the cakes are being baked, or waiting their turn to have their cakes put in, oh! what a chatter there is, and I imagine nowhere else can there be anything like it. I called it the 'Female Club' instead of 'An Old Maids Club,' as Mr Zangwill did, for there were no old maids waiting near the oven. "Most of them come as early as 5 a.m., and none care to leave till they have their cakes baked, for, if you do, your tins will be pushed aside as you are not there to scream at and scold the baker--if someone slips a copper into his hand he, on the quiet, puts their tins in first, though they may have come later! "Besides, if you are not there to watch carefully (for the tins are not named or numbered), someone might take your tins in exchange for his own, if the cakes, etc., look more tempting. During Purim this is not looked upon as stealing, but merely as a joke or a bit of fun. The youngsters will not move an inch unless they can trust someone to take their place. So I leave you to try to imagine the noise and the chatter. There is probably not a thing that has happened in Jerusalem during the last two months that is not discussed around the public oven while people are waiting for their cake-tins; and, as everyone wants to talk rather than to listen, the noise is like the buzz in a factory. "After all the cooking and so forth was finished, of course we had to keep the Fast of Esther, and everyone, even babies went to Shule to hear the Megilla (the _Book of Esther_) read; and, when the Chazan came to Haman, the Gragers went off with just such a noise as they do in the London Shules in Old Montague Street or Booth Street. Then we went home; and after the evening meal the joyfulness began, for they did not wait till the next day, as we do in England. "As only one room was lighted up by each family to economize light and for other reasons--there are no curtains or blinds to draw down--we were able to go through all Meah Sheorim and stop a minute or two at every lighted window and watch the goings on. We heard nothing but singing and clapping of hands, while the children danced. Sometimes one of the elders looking on could not resist joining in the fun, and tied his kaftan behind his back so as to leave his legs free, put one of the youngsters on his shoulders, and danced like a chassid or a jolly Irishman. "As we went from house to house peeping in at the windows, sometimes some of the family would come out and drag us in by force, and make us drink wine and eat cakes. If we did not wish to join in the dancing, but wanted to leave, they would just say 'Shalom'--'go in peace but come again.' I can tell you it was jolly, and nowhere else in all the world could Yomtov be kept up as it is here. "We were given wine in so many houses that from the eldest to the youngest we were beginning to feel rather funny. Next morning, after being well shaken up by Father, and after we had had a wash with cold water in the open air, we made up our minds to be firmer at the next Purim. "After going in the morning to hear the Chazan again, and coming home and enjoying the Hamantaschen and other good things, then begins the pleasure and excitement of sending Shalach-manoth to friends, acquaintances, and chiefly to the poor, and even to enemies if you have any. As you are supposed, if possible, to send back to the sender something similar to what is sent to you, things cannot be made ready beforehand. To the poor you always send useful presents as well as delicacies which are likely to last them for months or longer. "As to the beggars, I never imagined there could be so many in one country. We generally get enough beggars coming to us on Fridays and before holy days, but at Yom Kippur and Purim they come in crowds. Most of them are Sephardim and Yeminites. It is true you give each of them only a para, which is about a quarter of a farthing, and they give you a blessing for it; but, if they come to a rich class of home and are not given there according to the style of the house, they upbraid the people, and even curse them, so the children are told to stand at the doors with paras and cakes, etc. At some houses they are invited in. Each carries a sack on his shoulder, expecting, I suppose, that it will be filled with good things by the time Purim is over; and, as they never pass a door without begging, they are not likely to be disappointed. "The fun I enjoyed best was the uncovering of our plates and seeing what Shalach-monus had been sent to us. A cap had been sent to Father, made of velvet, with tails of sable and other skins round it. Father felt very downcast, for he did not at all like the idea of giving up wearing the high hat that he always wore in London on Sabbaths and holidays. Whether he will wear the velvet schtramel or not I cannot tell, but I will wait and see who wins--Father or the community--for we have some idea who sent it. "Mother received a beautiful, soft silk kerchief to wear on her head, and it seemed a sign that the community wanted her to put her wig aside and wear a kerchief instead. I was most thankful they did not send me a pair of scissors. If they had, I should have thought they wanted me to cut my plaits off. Well, I should have fought for my hair as I would for life! "In the afternoon I went to visit some friends, and I found a house full of men, young and old, with their schtramel on their heads, and their kaftans tied back, singing at the very top of their voices (and some have very fine voices); others were clapping their hands, while eight men, four on each side, were dancing what looked like a pantomime ballet that I once went to. It was simply grand to watch them, for some were old men with long, white beards, while others were serious-looking young men who are to be seen daily in the street walking to and from their homes and Shules, always deep in thought and so very serious-looking that you would imagine that they did not know how to smile. Here they were, on this Purim afternoon, dancing with all their might, and with bright, smiling eyes! You could see it was not wine that had made them bright and cheery: it was the spirit, or fire, of their religious zeal commemorating with thankfulness the anniversary of the day when their nation was saved from destruction. Of course I was too fascinated watching them at the time to think this was the reason for this unusual sight. "After a while, they went to pay visits to the Rav and to others who were scholars or pious men in the community. Often when walking to the various houses they would catch hold of others and dance with them in the open streets as you see children doing when an organ-grinder plays. "I was so attracted by them, and so was everyone who saw them, that we followed them at a respectful distance. Sometimes someone had had a little too much wine when visiting and it had gone to his head. Then some of the party would say: 'Ah well, it is Purim--there is no shame.' "I told Father this when I returned home, and he explained to me that their rejoicing during Purim did not mean simply a material satisfaction--it was a spiritual rejoicing, as on Simhath Torah, when the Reading of the Law was started again, so that during Purim and Simhath Torah allowance is made if a little more wine is taken than is usually the case. "Then we had Purim Schpielers, who visited every house, dressed up very funnily and full of jokes; some acted, and some were disguised. In fact, it was the happiest Purim I have ever spent, and I doubt if there is any other place where it could be spent so happily. For here in Jerusalem we are all like one large family: respect is paid to the righteous and to worthy scholars, whether they are poor or rich. Money has not the same power here. There is a good deal of quarrelling and mischief going on among our female neighbours, but the quarrels are not very serious but more like quarrels in a large family. In another letter I will write about our 'Female Club.'" THE BAKING OF THE MATZOS Friday evening came round again, and the friends of the Jacob family were comfortably seated in the bright cellar-kitchen, eagerly waiting to hear another letter read, for old and young were equally interested in hearing details of life in Palestine so many years ago. On coming in with a letter Mr Jacob said: "As preparation for the Passover is not far off, I think it will interest you to hear how it was done in Palestine." They all agreed, so he began: "My dear Jacob,--Please forgive my not having written sooner, but I have really been too busy. We have just had Passover. I think you will be glad to hear how we prepared for it here. Each family is forced to bake its own matzos, as none can be bought from abroad. It was no easy matter, I can tell you, especially the baking, and it is a good thing we had strong teeth, as the matzos are not rolled out as thin as in London and are pretty hard to eat. There's a lot of fun attached to making matzos, but I am thankful the baking comes only once a year. "As each family in turn gets the use of the public baking-oven, it is necessary to start soon after Purim to prepare the special flour used for matzos. In every house a room is set apart and thoroughly cleansed for the wheat, which is laid out on large trays. Then during the winter it is examined by the mother and girls to see that no dust be mixed with it, and sometimes neighbours come in and help. All who enter this room must have very clean hands; even the finger-nails must be carefully cleaned, and clean clothes put on, so that there is no chance of any chometz. When enough of the best grains have been selected, they are washed, dried, and then ground into flour. "As each family's turn comes round for the use of the bakehouse, those who help always wash very carefully and put on clean overalls; also new cooking-utensils are always used. "Water is carried by a few of the elder men of the family, as the youngsters would not be trusted to carry it without spilling it. ADVENTURES "There is great talking among those waiting their turn for the use of the oven, and great teasing, and sometimes fighting, amongst the boys. Now and then one of the elder men pulls their ears with a vengeance for being 'shkotzim', as he calls it. Then they keep quiet till he goes away. When our turn came, Millie kneaded the flour, while father poured the water on for her. You remember what a strong girl she is, and she did the kneading with such a will that I warned her not to get too hot. No flour-dredgers are used. My duty was to roll out the dough, but Mother wasn't satisfied with the way I did it, and sent me to put more wood in the oven. When the oven was hot enough, I had to sweep all the burnt wood and ashes out to get it nice and clean. [Illustration: CHADAR (SCHOOL)] "Then we started to put the matzos in, one by one. Oh, it was hot work! I hardly knew what to do, it was so hot. Mother came and pushed me aside, saying to herself I was good for nothing. In fact, my dear Jacob, one wants training to stand such heat, as one does to be a blacksmith. Mother said that making matzos teaches us to realize what some of the hardships were that our forefathers went through in Egypt. I hope it will become easier in time, for all the others are quite happy making and baking them, singing at the same time. "Well, well! to be a true Jew is a hard matter. As I grow older and get more knowledge and sense I shall find a pleasure in doing these things. TEMPTATION--AND JONATHAN "After a few hours of hard work all the newly baked matzos were put in a basket, in which had been laid a clean table-cloth; and, when all had been carefully packed in, they were covered with another white cloth. What I felt most was not being allowed to taste a bit, for it is forbidden till Seder to eat any of the matzos. As I was carrying the basket home, I felt as if the devil was in me, and the temptation was so strong that I undid the cord and took one out. Hearing someone coming up behind me, I slipped it hurriedly into my pocket and took up the basket and started off again. "I heard the footsteps coming closer until who should come up to me but my best friend, Jonathan? He glared at me and said: 'Oh you sinner in Israel!' 'Why, what have I done?' I exclaimed. 'I saw you put a matzo in your pocket!' he said. "I felt hot all over, for I did not want him to have a bad opinion of me, as we had sworn friendship to each other like Jonathan and David. "So I took the matzo out of my pocket, threw it in the gutter, and jumped on it. "'Why have you done that?' he said. 'Because I don't want you to think badly of me.' 'Yet you did not care for what God thought!' he said. 'Don't you know that our Rabbis say that a bad thought is just as evil as a bad deed; for, if we check a bad thought or wish, it helps us not to put the bad thoughts or wish into action. If we were as anxious to please God as we are to please our friends, and to be as well thought of by Him, we should check our bad thoughts before they led us to do bad deeds.' "He said, too, that he was sorry to see that I cared more for his approval than I did for God's approval. I promised for the future to try to overcome any evil thoughts or wishes that came into my mind so that I should not be so tempted to do wrong--in fact I would try to check a bad thought in the bud. "Then he forgave me, and we parted good friends, for I love him. He is exactly what I think Jonathan must have been to David, and I will write more about him in another letter. "When I arrived home, we had to prepare and cleanse the house for Passover. We had to do all the work ourselves, for we could not hire any helpers except, by a stroke of luck, the 'white-washers,' as they are called. SPRING CLEANING "All the furniture is put out of doors, not even a pin is left in the house. As everyone does the same, a stranger passing by would think there must be a 'jumble sale' going on. "Passover time is usually like lovely English summer weather. As very little water can be got, guess how everything is scrubbed and rubbed! "Outside Meah Sheorim there are large holes from which clay has been taken for building purposes, and during the winter-rains they get filled with water and they look nearly as large as ponds. "We carried or pushed all the furniture to one of these ponds, took sand moistened with a little water, and rubbed the furniture till it was white and clean. This we have to do three times: such is the rule. If any of the furniture was polished, you can imagine that not much of the polish was left after all this scrubbing and rubbing. "We threw into the pond whatever we could, and as it was not deep, we pulled up our trousers, and washed those pieces of furniture in the water. Some threw in boards, and we made see-saws and played on them till one of us fell in. It was such fun! Sometimes the furniture got mixed, and it was hard to tell to whom it belonged. Indeed, I never enjoyed myself so much as on this Erev Passover. Even more than in London when I went to see _Sindbad the Sailor_. There is plenty of fun going on when we are left free, but that is not often, you may be sure. The best fun we had was when someone threw a chair into the pond and sat on it while other boys pushed it along. Somebody else threw in a barrel and a few of us got on it, and then over we went into the water. LOTS OF FUN "We were not anxious to go home, even for meals, when our mothers called us. When we did get home, we found all the walls looking lovely with fresh whitewash. For a few days we were not allowed to go into the house unless we took our outer clothes off to prevent our bringing in some chometz. The weather was beautifully warm, so that we really enjoyed eating our meals out of doors and calling out to other boys as they ate theirs. "On the eve before Passover we had the fun of going to the Turkish bath and then to Mikva and help to have all new things 'tavelt', and then the greatest enjoyment was on the day for the preparation of the Seder! THE BONFIRE "Before I stop writing I must tell you of the bonfire we had on Erev Passover, when over a hundred of us each threw the wooden spoon and remnants of chometz on the lighted fire, and then there was such a blaze for nearly two hours! We caught hold of each other's hands and danced round the bonfire. Oh! it was a grand sight. Now I'm called to go to a Bar Mitzvah, but will write you again very soon. How I wish you were here with me, Jacob!" "I wish I was, too," exclaimed Benjamin, who had sat listening quietly whilst the letter was being read. On the faces of several of the elder people there was a far-away look and sometimes a smile, for the scenes described in the letter brought back memories of their own childhood when the holidays and the preparations for them were similar to those in Palestine. HOW TO ENJOY THE PASSOVER IN LONDON One of the boy-listeners said: "I see now why some of us in London do not enjoy the holidays. It is due to our surroundings. Many of us here have to work or go to business whether it is a holiday or not, and so we do not enjoy them in the same spirit as the boys and girls in Palestine, where they are freer to carry out the teaching of our religion." "Well!" said Benjamin; "there's one thing at least I can do, and that is to help my mother to prepare for the Passover in my spare time." "And I, too," and "I, too," exclaimed others. "Bravo, boys!" said Mr Jacob. "Even if you do not enjoy it so much physically, you will do so spiritually, for anyone who tries to help his mother to keep up our fine old customs will be blessed." LAG B'OMER It was a week before Lag B'Omer, and the friends of the Jacobs family continued to attend every Friday evening to hear a letter from Jerusalem read. There was only one drawback to these Friday re-unions, and that was that every week the little cellar-kitchen sitting-room got more and more crowded, for each friend became so interested that he brought another with him without asking permission. However, as no one complained, Mr and Mrs Jacobs said nothing, and were indeed thankful that so many were interested in those old letters; and Mr Jacobs at once started reading as follows:-- "DEAR MILLIE,--I want to tell you how we spent Lag B'Omer here, for in London we used not to make much of a holy day of it. Here days are taken in preparing for it, baking cakes and preparing tasty meals. Both old and young spend that day in visits to the graves of our great Rabbis and in picnics on the Mount of Olives or in the cool shade of the many caves in the neighbourhood. Those who have large families have their hands full, for the walks in the open air give the children huge appetites; and, unless you are prepared for such appetites it is difficult to supply all that is needed, for you cannot buy extra food, as in England, except perhaps a few nuts and a drink of water. "Before dawn, our youngsters awakened us and hurried us to get ready to start, as if we should not have quite enough of their pranks even if we left a few hours later. As we have to form ourselves into large groups, we arrange these a day or two beforehand, for there are a great number of Arabs and Turks about, and many of them are very wild. If you go alone, or even in pairs, they are often known to attack you, especially in the case of a girl or a woman. At first I laughed at the girls fearing to go alone when in the country, but, after having had an unpleasant adventure myself, I determined to be more careful and obey those who knew better than I did as to what was safe and what not. "It happened in this way. One Sabbath afternoon I went out of the suburb with a few girls, who, like myself, had the spirit of adventure. As we went along chatting merrily together, we felt ourselves caught from behind by some Turks. Fortunately we had not got far, so that when we shrieked out our cries were heard in the town, and to our great relief we soon heard a horse galloping in our direction. We kept on screaming, and one Turk put his hand over my friend's mouth; but she bit and scratched his hand. Then, suddenly, we were let loose, and the Turks took to their heels, for they saw Europeans galloping up to us. Two of them jumped off their horses and asked if we were hurt, for we had been so frightened that we could not quickly leave off crying. They kindly brought us home, and after that experience I never wanted to go out without enough men in our party to guard us. "Now this Lag B'Omer a number of girls wanted to go to see some special places, so we formed ourselves into a large party and started very early, for you rarely get such an outing. It was a most glorious spring morning, and a few of us had donkeys to ride. To do so is not as much pleasure as you might think, for the donkeys in Palestine stop every few minutes, and, unless you beat them cruelly, which we did not like doing, they will not budge an inch. Sometimes they consent to be led, but they will not be driven, and you have a weary time of it. Now and then a donkey will suddenly start off on a quick trot, and, being thus taken unawares, the rider often falls off. You can imagine the laughter of your friends and how stupid the girl feels, but somehow it is always taken in good part. "Our visit first was to David's Tomb, but we were not allowed to go in. Next we walked round the walls of Jerusalem, climbed up the Mount of Olives, then rested under the shade of a large olive-tree, where we spread out our table-cloth and arranged on it all the good things we had brought with us. The long walk had given us good appetites. After we had finished our meals, other groups of friends came close to us, and then some of the men in turns told us tales of our nation's ancient glory, and each one had something interesting to relate. Then a middle-aged man with a group of boys came near us. I think he must have been a teacher, for he started telling the boys about Bar Cochba and his struggle with the Romans. "'Fierce struggles for Jewish freedom went on for three years, and the Jews were proving so successful under the leadership of Bar Cochba that the Romans thought it necessary to bring their greatest general, Julius Severus, from Britain to command the Roman Army in Palestine. At last the Samaritans betrayed our people: our last remaining fortified city, Bethar, fell, and Bar Cochba died in defending it on 9th of Ab, 135 C.E. "'The Jews were the last people under Roman rule in those days to fight for freedom, and over half-a-million of them lost their lives in this long struggle. Rabbi Akiba, the wise and dearly-loved Jewish scholar, was taken prisoner and scourged, until he expired under his sufferings. Jerusalem was turned into a Roman colony called Aelia Capitolina, and no Jew dared appear in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, under penalty of death. Jews under the Roman rules were forbidden to practise their religion, and anyone found teaching or preaching Judaism was horribly tortured.' "The Rabbi, continuing, reminded his boys that, in remembrance of the brave deeds of Bar Cochba and his Jewish soldiers, Jewish boys to this present time play with bows and arrows on Lag B'Omer. "I was most interested to hear all the Rabbi had to tell his boys, and glad to feel I was at last living in the Holy Land where so many of our noble heroes of past ages lived and fought and suffered martyrdom. I could not prevent tears coming to my eyes when thinking on our nation's past glory and praying silently we may come again into our own; but I believe it will not be so much by the power of the sword, but as the Prophet Zachariah foretold unto Zerubbabel: 'Not by might, nor by power (or arms), but by MY SPIRIT, saith the Lord.' Those who have been born here or lived here for many years cannot understand our feeling thus, though they love their country and their nation dearly. "When the Rabbi had ended, we all stood up and received his blessing. We then went on to the grave of Rabbi Shiman, which was in a beautiful, cool, and shady spot. There we found numbers of people. Some groups were having a lively time singing and clapping their hands, while the men were dancing; but none of the women or girls danced, as it would be thought immodest of them, but they helped by singing and clapping their hands. Then other folks came to pray at the saint's grave for the health of some of their children that were ailing. Others dropped letters or pieces of paper into the Rabbi's tomb with special requests written on them. Some put money into the charity-boxes hanging at different parts around the tomb. There was also no end of beggars there. One nice-looking man went about with a red handkerchief tied up by the four corners, asking people to put in as much as they could spare to uphold the yeshibas and the hospital or the home for the aged, and other institutions. But as most of the people there around the Rabbi's grave lived on charity, I could not see what they could spare. "I happened to mention this to Father and said how I disliked seeing people living on Chalukha (alms sent them from Europe), and I could not understand why they were not ashamed to take it, for they did not look like ordinary beggars, but quite the reverse--independent, studious, and refined-looking, as I found out later when I spoke to them. They seemed indeed to think they were conferring a favour by accepting alms. Father said to a certain degree they were wrong, but from another point of view it is difficult for a man to progress in business and at the same time devote many hours to the study of the Torah. Our ancient Rabbis realized this, and said that those who had not the leisure or the inclination to devote much time to the study of the Torah should make it their duty to give of their means towards the up-keep of those who did. If they did this God would bless them. So it is now a recognized duty for every Jew in Europe who has any respect for the Torah and other religious learning or teaching to send his 'bit' towards the yearly support of the scholars here. "The latter, who do nothing but study the Torah, think that it is through their efforts in this direction that Israel is saved. They do not consider the money given for their support a charity, but believe they hold a similar position in Palestine to that of professors and students who hold scholarships in the various universities in Great Britain and Europe. The Jews in certain countries send more money for the support of their fellow-countrymen who are teachers and scholars than the Jews of some of the Eastern European countries, and that is why some appear to be better off than many of their fellow-teachers and scholars. "This chat with Father helped me to understand other things as well which had puzzled me before. About this I will write more in another letter. "Now I must return to Lag B'Omer, and tell you what struck me as very strange on that day. As I went with a few of my girl-friends from group to group to see and hear all I could about what was going on, we came to a group of women, girls, and youngsters, and in the centre of them all a lovely little child about three years of age sitting dressed in silk, and a plate near by with some lovely black curls lying on it. I, of course, asked what it all meant, and was told that those people who had only one boy, or who had lost some by death, never cut the hair of their children till they were between three and four years of age. Then, when it was cut, they put all they had cut off upon a scale, and upon the other side of the scale copper, silver, or gold money, according to their means. If poor, they put copper coins upon the scales to test the weight of the hair, and then distributed these copper coins among the poor. In fact, it just looks as if those who receive charity take it in one hand and distribute it with the other. [Illustration: YEUSHIVA (TALMUDICAL SCHOOL)] "Nowhere have I ever seen so much almsgiving as here. Alms-boxes are hung up in various places, where in Europe you would see only ornaments. For every joy or blessing and for those who have relatives or friends ill or in danger, money is freely dropped into the box. This money is given towards the up-keep of the hospital for the very poor, and so on. Really, it must be very hard for those people who have little to spare, but Father says this is one of the means by which every Jew in Palestine is trained to love his neighbour as himself. I feel he is right, for I never saw so much kindness and thoughtfulness for others as I have seen since we arrived here. Everyone naturally does what the others do, and it has proved to me how true it is that example is far more powerful than preaching or teaching. "As we appeared so interested in what they told us, they kindly invited us to sit down and offered us wine, cake, delicious pasties, and jams, and later on baked nuts, though we were quite strangers to them. It is this kindliness that surprised me so much. Altogether we spent a very joyful day, returning home by moonlight, when we girls and women thoroughly enjoyed listening to the groups of men and boys who sang and danced on the way home. "I don't think I could ever make you realize all the drawbacks to the life here; but yet it has a very pleasant and happy side too, and you really see far more pleasure than you ever do in London. In my next letter I'll tell you about the engagement and marriage of my friend who is only fifteen years old. Now I must stop, hoping that we may see you here some day soon." The older folks started discussing the life in Palestine. Directly Mr Jacobs had finished reading the letter, they agreed that it could only be in Palestine that a truly Jewish life could be lived, for everything depends so much on environment. "In London the surroundings are against a consistently Jewish religious life," said one; "if you try, it is just like swimming against a strong current." "But here comes our chance," replied another, "for if we fight or swim against the current, we gradually become stronger, and at last we are able to swim well in spite of it, and so win the race and prize. If we just swim with the current, or just suit our life to our environment, which of course at first is much easier and pleasanter, the current at last carries us along so rapidly that we are unable to avoid rocks or crags in the river, and then we 'go under,' or make shipwreck of our lives." "That's true indeed," said all the elders, shaking their heads solemnly. "Then," replied Mr Jacobs, "our greatest duty is to have one thought and one aim constantly in our minds, no matter what our environment may be, and that thought is that God's Holy Spirit is in and around all who try to obey Him, no matter where they are; and it is only by the guidance and help of His Holy Spirit that we can lead true, consistent, Jewish lives, live up to the old familiar words of the Shema, and love our neighbours as ourselves." THE SABBATH IN PALESTINE When Mr Jacobs' family and friends assembled again on Friday evening, he said: "You know what discussions there have been lately in England about the proper way to keep the Sabbath, so it may interest you to hear a letter from my cousin, giving an account how Sabbath was kept in Jerusalem." "My dear Millie,--I will explain as well as I can what it means to prepare for Sabbath here, and how it is spent. About four o'clock on Friday mornings Mother and I get up and prepare the Sabbath loaves. I can tell you it is no easy matter, for, even when the weather is not frosty, the exertion of kneading the dough makes you perspire. If you finish kneading early enough, you get back to bed while the dough is rising. "Early on Friday mornings beggars start going from house to house (especially the Sephardim and Yemenites or Arabian Jews). At each house they are given small, fresh-baked chola, bun, or beigel. No one refuses to give this. Later on, two respectable men or women go from house to house collecting in a large bag whatever anyone gives them, such as cholas, meat, cereals, oil, wine, or money. The Community know that these things are not for themselves, but are to be distributed amongst the sick and the most needy, who cannot beg for themselves. Sometimes we have as many as six or seven people who come collecting, and no one ever thinks of refusing them. In fact, everyone prepares for this, and gives most willingly, knowing that the Sabbath must be celebrated by rich and poor alike with the best one has. "In a future letter I will tell you more about certain people who give up a part of their time to works of charity, and how they do it; for there is no Board of Guardians here, as there is in London. "Then when Father and the boys go to synagogue, we start to prepare for the day's work. First we take all the furniture we can out of the house, so as to leave the rooms free for the lower part of the walls to be whitewashed and the marble floors cleaned. Of course, we try to use as little water as possible, as it is scarce, but even so the floors must be clean and look well polished, and the wooden furniture washed and rubbed well with sand. "Then the tea-urn and all the saucepans and trays, which are either brass or copper, have to be cleaned and brightened; and, as we cannot get brass-polish here, we rub them with fine sand. It needs plenty of 'elbow grease' to make them look bright, but the rubbing well repays us. Since we came here I quite understand how brass or copper looking-glasses were used by our ancestors, for, after rubbing very hard with fine sand and a piece of lemon peel, you can see your face clearly reflected in the trays. Some who had no mirror used the trays for looking-glasses. "Mother prepares our Sabbath meals, whilst we girls are doing the hard work--hanging up our best curtains or putting our best covers on the beds and cushions, and spreading the Sabbath table-cloth. These are put away again on Saturday evenings. Those who have them also use special Sabbath china, glass, and silver for their meals. "This work keeps us busy nearly all day. About three hours before sunset Father and the boys go to the public baths, and by the time they return we are all dressed in our best clothes, the samovar (the urn) is placed on a table in the porch, and we all sit there to rest and drink tea, awaiting the coming in of 'Princess Sabbath.' A matter of an hour before Sabbath a voice is heard calling out: 'Sabbath is in, friends! Sabbath is in!' "The first time I heard the call I could not understand the reason until Father told me that, as there are no bells in the suburb and very few people have clocks, one of the highly-respected members of the community undertakes the job of going right round Meah Sheorim every Friday, so that the women may know when to light their Sabbath lamps--for directly the Sabbath call is heard all the women stop whatever work they are at and go to light the Sabbath lamp, which has seven wicks, in a basin of oil hanging from the ceiling, for there are no candles here. When this is done the men and children go to synagogue, and some of the women too. As they all love bright colours, when you see them from a distance walking to synagogue, the suburb looks like a flower-garden. "After Sabbath dinner, which consists of the _cholent_ baked on the previous day, Father gathers the boys round the table to hear what lessons they have learnt during the week. He discusses and explains part of the Torah to them, while mother and we girls read the Zeene ureene (a commentary on the Bible for women), the Ethics of the Fathers, and the like. This goes on for some time, and then we are free to go and visit our friends. We and several of our friends often go to an old lady's house, where we spend pleasant Sabbath afternoons. "Years ago this dear old lady came from Russia to end her days in the Holy Land. She is well provided for by her children, so she has the time and means to lead a happy and useful life here, and does a lot of good quietly, by the cheery, sensible way she often gives a "helping hand" to those who need it. "She so understands all our fun that we sometimes forget she is old. We just talk things over with her as we would with our young friends. Not only we girls, but young married women, just love spending part of the Sabbath afternoons with her. The room is often so full that we have to sit cross-legged, like the Turks, on the marble floor, which in summer time is quite the coolest seat. "We then play 'Nuts.' Each one puts a certain number into a cap, but to win the game one has to be very quick and sharp: it is really quite exciting. What we like best is when the old lady sits amongst us and reads us a tale from a book, or some of the papers sent her from abroad. The stories are very tantalizing, for they always leave off at the most interesting part, and then we may have to wait a week or two before we get the next number! During the week we try to imagine what the next chapter will be like. "Sometimes she reads from the Ethics of the Fathers--those wise sayings of the ancient Rabbis. I remember last week she told us of one of the Rabbis who wrote that 'those who control or overcome their hasty tempers are greater than those who take a city from an enemy,' She, as usual, asks us to give our views on what she has read, and an excited discussion follows. Those of us who naturally have a calm, good temper said that they did not agree with the Rabbi, because they did not think it at all hard to keep their temper when provoked. Others, who had hasty passionate tempers, said the Rabbi was quite right: it would be far easier, they felt sure, to take a city than to control their tempers, for the whole nation would help them to take a city, as it was considered a grand thing to do, but very few people would help them to control their tempers. In fact, even their relatives and friends provoked them to be hasty and passionate. When provoked or irritated the blood rushes so quickly to the head that it makes it very, very hard to remain calm, and then we often say or do things we are really sorry for afterwards. "As we could not agree, we turned to the old lady, for she is full of wisdom and understanding. She tried to pacify us, for we were nearly on the verge of quarreling. She said that if, when young, we tried, with the Almighty's help, to keep our hasty tempers under control, it would be easier to do so every time we were provoked, but the older we were before beginning, the more difficult it would be to be successful. Even then we had always to keep a watch over ourselves, for one of our wise sages wrote: 'One is never sure of himself till the day of his death.' We all saw the wisdom of her advice, and made up our minds that we must all help each other, for very often the calm quiet natures are those who love teasing and provoking the hasty-tempered ones, for the fun of seeing them get into a temper; and this, we realized after her talk with us, was not pleasing to God. [Illustration: THE OLD LADY] "After we leave her we take a walk outside the suburb. At sunset, when we return home, until the time to go to bed, we are kept very busy washing up all the things used at meals, as no washing up is done during the Sabbath. Then, too, all the Sabbath curtains, coverlets, glass, china, and silver have to be carefully put away. "In my next letter I will write you more about our old lady." When Mr Jacobs had finished the letter, the usual talk started. One said that "Such a Sabbath might be all very well in Palestine!" An elderly friend said: "Well! in Palestine they at least _know_ what the Sabbath is, whilst here in London, unless one keeps it strictly and remains indoors all day, except to go to synagogue, one never sees any difference between the Sabbath and any other day of the week." Mr Jacobs said: "I think what you both say is true, and the only way is to try to keep our Sabbath in the spirit, as well as in the letter as much as possible. If each of us tried to do this in his own home, even in London, gradually a difference would be seen in the neighbourhood in which we live. A wise man wrote: 'All reforms begin with _man_ and not with _men_.' The first important step is to think good thoughts; for 'thoughts have wings,' and, when expressed, they are readily impressed upon the minds of those in sympathy with the thinker." "True, very true!" exclaimed the others. "Let us each, with God's help, strive to remember more often those thoughts of our Prophet Isaiah (chap. 58): 'If thou call the Sabbath a delight, and the holy of the Lord honourable, and shalt honour it, not doing thy wonted ways, nor pursuing thy business, nor speaking thereof, then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord, and I will make thee to ride upon the high places of the earth, and I will feed thee with the heritage of Jacob thy father: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.'" By this the Prophet meant that we were to drive all thoughts of business from our minds on the Sabbath. No thoughts of scandal, evil, or uncharitableness were to be harboured, but our minds and hearts were to delight in words of prayer, in the study of the Holy Law. It was to be truly a day of peace, a day of rest. THE SUCCAH Mr Jacob told his friends the next Friday evening, when they arrived as usual, that he thought they would be interested in the letter describing the Succah. "My dear Millie,--After the Day of Atonement, everyone was very busy preparing for the Feast of Tabernacles, which is still celebrated here as it must have been in Bible times. "With great merriment all the young people decorate their Succahs, while their mothers with the baby in their arms watch the young folks at work. "The Succahs in Palestine are not made as they are in Europe. The saplings are covered with palm-leaves woven together, the roof with branches of trees, as there is no chance of rain at this time of the year in Palestine. Everything that is beautiful in the home is brought out to decorate the interior of the Succah. The poor make their Succahs of doors or wooden boxes. "As this was the first Succah since our arrival, we were invited by our neighbours to join them. The father, a patriarchal looking old man with a saintly face, sat at the head of the table, and we were fascinated by his looks. His eldest son came in soon after, followed by his other grown-up sons and his daughters. He greeted his aged father with a smile, and wished him good 'Yom Tov' and bowed his head for his father's blessing. Then one by one all the children came to greet him and receive his blessing, with quite a number of grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and last but not least the little great-great-grandchild. "When my parents looked astonished at the number, one of the daughters quietly said: 'You see that here we marry our children while very young, so that the Psalmist's words are very often fulfilled in Palestine, and nearly everyone has his quiver full.' When all were quiet, our aged friend repeated a prayer over the wine, and the large silver cup was passed from one to the other. This was very solemnly and reverently done. "After this, our aged neighbour's children who had large families went to their own homes, while those of his children who had small families remained to celebrate the Feast with him. When he had washed his hands before eating and repeated the blessing upon the meal, he took his youngest great-grandchild on his knee. "The only thing that saddened the scene was the empty chair beside our aged friend--his wife had died during the course of the year. The family all looked at the empty chair and sighed, and the great-great-grandfather, with tears glistening in his eyes, also gave a sigh, and then turned with a smile to his large family and said: 'Let us begin. My little Samuel will start a Brocha,' and the rest listened to hear how the little one lisped the words after his great-grandfather. "The following day our aged friend sat like a king in his Succah, while relatives and friends came to pay their respects to him, and all was joy and merriment. "Some of the younger grandchildren wanted to show their grandfather what they had lately learned, and there was quite a scramble around his knees to try and be first heard. With a wave of his hand he said: 'I will hear you all in turn, my children.' This quietened the eager little souls, and they waited patiently for their turns to come. "While the children were thus busy with their grandfather, the elder sons and sons-in-law and their wives sat around, discussing quietly various topics of interest, till the time for Mincha came round. "Then the great grandfather went to Shule, followed by all his children. "Visiting other neighbours during the Succah weeks, we found that they preserved this beautiful and ancient way of keeping the Festival. "I never realized till then what a great influence for good the surroundings and teaching in childhood can be, and how a father and mother can leave the impress of their teaching in early life upon both sons and daughters. It is the mother specially who forms the child's soul, quite as clearly on the boys as on the girls from their cradle-days, and the father and the teacher only builds on the foundation laid by the mother: this is seen here more than elsewhere." "Very true," exclaimed the others; "a great deal is done by the mother; but the environment has a great influence on the character." This caused a good deal of discussion and the meeting did not close till one o'clock in the morning. HOW CHARITY IS GIVEN On the following Friday evening, the next letter that Mr Jacob chose for reading to his family and friends was on the way almsgiving, or charity, was managed in Palestine. Before starting to read, he advised his hearers not to forget that the Jewish community in Palestine was very small when this letter was written, and the majority of the people were very poor. Many had spent most of their money and worldly goods in the expenses of travelling there, with the object of ending their days in their beloved land, and being buried with their forefathers. Mr Jacob then began the letter. "My dear Millie,--You seem so interested in all I have so far told you about our life in Palestine, that I think you will like to hear of some of the ways that our poorer brethren are helped in Palestine. "Many of the ways will appear strange to you; yet I think some of them are really better than those adopted by our community in England. "Here, there is no Board of Guardians, so that the giving of charity, or a 'helping hand' to the sick or needy, is more of a direct personal matter. The givers strive to be wise and tactful, so that our people may not lose their self-respect; for, as a rule, they are naturally very sensitive, and if self-respect is lost some are encouraged to become beggars proper. "Mother tells us that our Jewish ethics teaches 'that true charity, or almsgiving, is to make personal sacrifices when helping others. There is no self-sacrifice in giving what you cannot make use of yourself.' Indeed, one Jewish ethical teacher wrote: 'If one who has lived a luxurious life becomes sick and in need, we should try to deny ourselves, in order to give the sick one dainties such as chicken and wine.' "Really some of our neighbours here seem to rejoice in giving away not only all they can spare, but also in making personal sacrifices in helping to relieve a needy neighbour. "From early childhood they were trained to give. In every Jewish home in Palestine we see from two to perhaps more than a dozen boxes placed in various parts of the house, and written on each is the special charity to which the box is devoted. Into these boxes even tiny children are trained to drop a coin at special times, and it is considered a happy privilege to do so at times of Thanksgiving to God. The coins thus collected are from time to time distributed amongst the sick and the needy. "There is one hospital near us; and, though it is known to be well managed, very few Jews whom we know go there for treatment, for it is a Missionary Hospital, and we strongly object to the methods of Christian missionaries. Instead of many of them as formerly, persecuting us for clinging to our dearly beloved religion, they now try, by acts of kindness in times of sickness and poverty, to influence our people in favour of accepting their religion. "Indeed, I have heard some of our people say that they would rather go to the Arabs for treatment than enter the Missionary Hospital! Therefore those who cannot nurse the sick ones at home take them to the Bikkur-Holim, which a doctor visits once every few days. A mother, wife, or father goes with the patients to give them the necessary food and medicine, for in the Bikkur-Cholem there are no trained nurses. The relatives also keep the patients clean and tidy; but little cooking is done there, as the food is generally brought cooked from the patients' homes. "I once went to visit the Bikkur-Cholem. One patient I saw had a jug of cold water brought to her, and, though her own lips were very parched, she would not take even one sip, but had the water given to those near her, who, in a very high state of fever, were clamouring for water. Other patients I saw were cheerfully and willingly sharing their food with those who had none. Until I had visited that Bikkur-Cholem I had never realized what real charity meant. For these sufferers, in their love and thoughtfulness and genuine self-sacrifice towards fellow-sufferers less fortunate than themselves, were obeying in spirit as well as in the letter the time-honoured commandment given us 'to love one's neighbour as oneself.' "The arrangements in the Bikkur-Cholem are most insanitary; disinfectants are unheard of; and I greatly pitied the poor unfortunates that have to go there." Mr. Jacob was too overcome by his feelings to continue--so for a few minutes there was a deep silence. Then one of the listeners said: "One is thankful to remember that this letter was written fifty years ago, and conditions must have improved since our writer first went to Palestine." "Yes, thank God!" replied kind-hearted Mr Jacob; and then he continued reading the letter. "Most of the patients die; but a few get cured and leave. If they do, it is certainly more through faith in God's love and mercy than through the remedies they receive while there. "Now, I want to tell you of a voluntary service which respectable, well-to-do men and women, and even scholars, do, for the poor who die. These kind folk are called 'the Chevra Kadisha.' No doubt because of the heat, there is a strict law that no one who dies in Palestine is allowed to remain unburied long; and it is believed here that the dead continue to suffer until they are entombed. So the custom is to bury within twelve hours every one who dies. The Chevra Kadisha look upon such a deed as a Mitzvoth. If a poor woman dies, one of these kind women at once goes to wash the corpse and lay it out ready to be put on the bier--then when all the relatives and friends of the deceased have given vent to their sorrow by weeping, some men and some scholars belonging to the Chevra Kadisha voluntarily carry the bier on their shoulders to the place of burial (which I think is the Mount of Olives), while others dig the grave and a scholar or two read the Prayers over the Dead. "By the Chevra Kadisha beggars and tramps are thus washed and buried when dead, free of expense, by these good, self-sacrificing people, at all times and in all weathers, as a sign that in death all are equal. The people who can afford it leave enough money to pay all their own burial expenses or these are paid for by their relatives. "Acts of charity towards very poor girls who have no dowry or suitable wedding-clothes are very touching and generous. It is considered a disgrace to the community if a poor girl is not given the opportunity to marry, and a community not only provides a dower, but also seeks for a bridegroom for her. The housewives willingly and generously prepare the wedding-feast, for everyone is willing to give something from their store-room. No shame is attached to poor girls accepting such help; for it is considered a duty by all our brethren to provide what is necessary for a bride who has not the means to get things for herself. "I am sorry that I cannot write more by this mail." One listener interrupted, saying: "Most of what you have read Mr Jacob happens in Russia and in other parts of the world where Jews live in ghettos." "Quite true," said Mr Jacob, "for wherever Jews live together they keep up old customs, and all old customs are more or less alike in all ghettos. It is only when we Jews live outside the ghettos, under different surroundings, that we are tempted to throw over many religious customs. The unfortunate thing is, that we are too often inclined to throw off the really good customs rather than the useless ones, and more inclined to adopt the bad traits and customs of our neighbours rather than the good ones amongst whom we live, be it in England, France, Germany, India, or elsewhere. This is a bad habit, and we must do our utmost in the future to guard against it; for, if we all made an effort to retain our own ancient customs that are really good and beneficial to ourselves and others and adopt only the good and healthy customs of our neighbours, then, indeed, we might feel we had a right to call ourselves and be recognized by those we live amongst as 'God's Chosen People.'" FATHER FROST IN JERUSALEM The next Friday evening Mr Jacob read the following letter. "My Dear Cousin Mill,--I have not yet written to tell you how we manage during cold weather. Before we arrived, we were under the impression that it was always warm in Palestine. Certainly the sun does shine more in winter here than in England, and while it shines the weather is very pleasant; but we get very cold weather, too, especially in Jerusalem. We get very little snow, but a good deal of frost, which no one enjoys. No doubt you wonder why, because we all enjoyed the cold and frost in England, and loved the skating and the snowballing. "The reason is very clear, for here we have no cheery open fireplaces, which give out so much heat in England; in fact there are not even any steel or iron ovens, and the result is, the Palestinian houses are intensely cold in frosty weather. The ceilings are all lofty and in the shape of a dome, which, with the very thick stone walls is very pleasant in summer but very cold in the winter. Then there is very little firewood to be had here, as the Turks try to prevent much tree-planting, so fire wood is a luxury which very few can afford. Instead, we have all copper buckets pierced with holes standing on a tripod and filled with burning charcoal, which is placed in the middle of the room. "How we all eagerly cluster round it and watch the red hot charcoal, hoping that by _looking at it_ the warmth will go into our bodies! Such a small amount of charcoal as we can afford does not warm a room very much, so all the windows are closed tightly to prevent any cold air coming in. This also prevents the fumes of the burning charcoal from escaping, so naturally the air gets very stuffy, and many suffer from headaches or fall into a heavy sleep. "You will wonder why it is many people do not get frozen. Well, the old proverb holds good here, that 'Necessity is the mother of invention,' so even in the coldest weather we have a remedy; for we heat also our brass samovar, which holds about thirty glasses of tea, and we drink a glass of hot tea every now and then. "As the samovar boils all day the steam also sends out some warmth into the room. "Then, again, the younger children are during the very cold weather kept warm in bed with feather coverlets and pillows, which the elder people try to keep warm in doing the necessary household duties. Very few go out in the streets, except the men when they go to Shule, and the elder boys when they go to the Yeshiba or Cheder, and even they are very often kept at home. "One comfort is that 'Father Frost' does not stay long, so we can manage to bear his icy breath: the greatest hardship is when he visits us on a Sabbath, for of course on that day we cannot heat the samovar and so we have to do with less tea. "We prepare our Sabbath meals in a small scullery, or porch, in which a small brick oven is built to keep the food hot for the Sabbath. A few pieces of wood are put in, and, when well lighted, the oven is half-filled with charcoal-dust--this again is covered by pieces of tin or lime, and, on top of all, the saucepans are put containing food for the Sabbath meals: also bottles or jars of water are thus kept hot for tea or coffee. Neighbours who are not lucky enough to have such an oven bring in their food, and we let them put it in our ovens. In this way we have enough for every one to drink who may come in. Sometimes twenty poor people come in on a Sabbath day and say: 'Spare me, please, a little hot water?' No one would think of refusing to give them some, even if they had to share their last glass with them. "Generally on cold Sabbath afternoons our parents have a nap after eating the nice hot cholent, and we girls and the young married women go and spend a few hours with our old lady friend, who always entertains us with stories and discussions on various interesting subjects. So the time passes very quickly and so pleasantly that we forget how cold it is. About twenty or thirty of us all sit close together on her divan covered up with rugs, and this with the excitement over the tales she tells us, helps to keep us warm. "Last Sabbath our old lady was not very well, and we were feeling very miserable without her entertaining tales. Suddenly, one of my girl-friends asked me to tell them about our life in London. "As they had never read or heard about life outside Jerusalem, it was most amusing to hear their exclamations of wonder; for they could hardly believe what I told them was true, till our old lady confirmed our statements. "First, they wanted to know how young men and women behaved toward each other. "I told them that every man and every woman, whether young or old, either in the street or in-doors, always shook hands with friends--at this they looked very surprised and some seemed even horrified, exclaiming: 'What a sin to commit.' I asked them where it was written that this was a sin? 'Well,' some replied, 'our parents or husbands say it is a sin,' 'I don't think it is a sin, but only a custom,' said I. 'But it _is_ a sin,' insisted one little wife of fifteen 'to touch one another's hands.' I tried to explain to her, but she would not listen to me and we were on the verge of quarreling but as usual, when there was a difference of opinion between any of us, we always appealed to our old lady and she agreed with me that there was no sin in shaking hands. 'Sin,' she said, 'comes from thoughts--if while talking or laughing or even shaking hands, evil thoughts pass through the minds of men or women then, and then only, is the act likely to be a sin. In Europe,' she went on to say, 'it is quite a natural thing for men and women to shake hands and talk to each other naturally.' "Then I asked my new friend Huldah (a young wife of fifteen years of age) to tell us all about her own love-affair and marriage. She was greatly shocked to hear me speaking of love _before_ marriage--'Such a thing could never happen to a modest Jewish maiden in those days,' she said. "I told her that it did happen in Europe. 'May be,' she replied; 'it may happen in lands where Jews mix with non-Jews and copy their ways!' "As I rather liked to tease her, I said she was mistaken, for here in Jerusalem did the great Rabbi Akiba fall in love with his wife before marriage. 'Oh, that was quite different!' she replied. 'Not at all,' said I, for were not feasts and rejoicing held so that youths and maidens could meet one another in the vineyards and dance in the meadows?--Look in the Bible,' I continued, 'and you will see it is mentioned there.' Then all looked abashed. The only one who smiled was our old lady. "'Don't unsettle their minds, dear,' she whispered softly to me. 'I don't want to,' I said; 'I only want to show them that, though such things are done in other countries, there is no sin in it as they have been brought up to believe.' 'Well, well!' she said, 'let us hope God will restore our beloved land to us in his own good time, and then we shall again, as in days of old, celebrate such Festivals!' "We all said 'AMEN,' most heartily, to this wish. "In my next letter I will tell you of our friend's engagement and marriage. Your loving cousin, Millie." ENGAGEMENT AND WEDDING CEREMONIES The hearers waited with eagerness for the next Friday evening, as they enjoyed so much hearing those interesting letters. The next Mr Jacobs read was this: "Hulda is only fifteen years of age, and has already been married six months. If she were dressed as girls are dressed in England, she would really look beautiful; but her beauty is, I think, marred by the silk handkerchief she wears on her head, which covers half her forehead and her ears, so that none of her hair can be seen, I mean that part of it that was shaved off. Over the silk handkerchief she wears a black velvet band, to which gold coins are attached and these are put on so coquettishly that it makes the head-gear look quite artistic. Sometimes she wears ornaments with pearls in them. These special trinkets are, of course, worn only on Sabbaths and Festivals or some other special occasions. "The shaving of part of the young wife's head the day after her marriage is a custom to prevent young married women from being tempted by vanity to show off their hair, which is generally in Palestine very beautiful. The poor things cover up the part so well that there is no fear of any of it being seen. "Hulda is tall and well-developed for her age, and lively as a cricket, always ready to play and laugh and joke with us. She started by telling me: 'I was invited to visit my betrothed's family during the holidays, and my future mother-in-law let me help her with the baking and cooking, and was specially pleased with the way I stretched out the dough for the lockshen--I made it look so thin, like a paper wrapper. She told me that I would make a good housewife. Then I showed all the family some of the linen garments I had made and had with me, and the crochet I had trimmed them with.' "Here Hulda turned to me and said: 'our mothers encourage us at eight years of age to begin to make garments for our trousseaux, and at the age of ten we start to crochet lace and embroider, so by the time we get married we have all our things ready, for they cannot be bought ready-made in Palestine. When we become betrothed we work our future initials on our things and make our dresses.' "'While I was staying at my betrothed's home, we never spoke to each other, except to say Good-morning and Good-night. Sometimes when no one saw us we looked at one another, for already I liked my young man, though he was not handsome. A wise girl does not want good looks in a husband so much as that he should be a good Talmudist and be a good character; this he is, and I could listen to him for ever,' she said, blushing like a rose; 'when he sings Zmires, his voice is like a nightingale, and even in the mornings, when he thinks I am asleep, it is just lovely to hear his sing-song as he studies--it is to me the sweetest of all music,' she said. "'So it should be, my child,' said our old lady, 'and it is a privilege for us women to help them to study.' "'So my mother says,' said Hulda, naturally. "At the same time I thought to myself: 'A nice thing it would be if only our men were to study and our women to work, as they mostly do here and in Russian ghetto towns. No,' I thought, 'I would rather that the men did some manual labour as well as study, and the women have some time for study as well as for household work.' "But I kept these thoughts to myself, while Hulda continued to tell me what a longing she had to see more of her betrothed; but she did not see him again till after the marriage ceremony. "I will try to describe the ceremonies to you in detail, as I have now been to several weddings here, and I think you would like to know. "A week before the wedding, all the relations and friends come to help bake and prepare the wedding-feast; for, as these proceedings last about eight days, it is no easy matter to celebrate them. "The bride's trousseau is shown to the guests who come, and everything is examined and counted by all, especially the relations of the bridegrooms. When there happens to be less than expected, woe betide the bride, for she is always reproached about it by her mother-in-law or his other relatives. "On the Sabbath before the marriage the bridegroom is called up to read the Law, and friends pay him visits.--First they send him nicely baked cakes or puddings and a bottle of wine. (It is a good thing that this is the custom, or else a poor man would be ruined by the cost of all the feasting that he is expected to provide). "During the week the bride's friends come every evening and dance and sing in her home, coffee and cakes and baked nuts being handed round. "The morning of the wedding, both bride and bridegroom fast, and each goes with his or her parents to the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, to pray for a blessing on their married life, and then they go to be blessed by the Rav. "When the bride returns home, she is dressed in her bridal dress. Then she is led up to a chair that has been raised off the floor; her hair is unloosed and allowed to hang over her shoulders; and this is the last time, for the next day most of it is shaved off. "Her young friends stand near her and each sings a song, bidding good-bye to her maiden days; and the bride weeps, fearing what the future may hold in store for her. Then the bridegroom comes in, led by his friends, who carry candles. He is given a veil, which he throws over his bride's head, and then leaves with his friends for the Synagogue. "Though some parts of the ceremony look ridiculous, yet all is carried out so solemnly that one feels very much impressed. "The bride is then led by two of her relatives or friends, who carry candles, and all the other friends follow them through the streets, some also carrying candles. As there are no carriages to be had in Jerusalem, they have sometimes to walk some distance to the Synagogue. "The usual bridal canopy is in the Synagogue, and they walk round it seven times; then prayers are said, and the glass is broken; Mazzeltov is said, and with songs and clapping of hands the bridal pair is led home again. Near the home a large Bagel is held by a friend, and as the couple cross the threshold it is broken over their heads, and the pieces are distributed among the guests. The bride and bridegroom are then led into a room, and the door is closed for five minutes--I suppose to be sure that they are the right persons, anyhow the bridegroom lifts the bride's veil and gives her the first kiss he has ever given her. (I do not know if she kisses him, for she may be too shy: they will not tell when I ask). "After the five minutes have passed, the bride is led out of the room to a room where the women-guests are assembled, while the bridegroom goes to a room where the men-guests are. The feasting lasts for a few hours in each room. Then the bride is led by some of her women friends to the room where the men are, and the bridegroom takes her by the hand and starts dancing; the other guests follow suit. It is amusing to see the old grey-bearded scholars, who, one would think, could not move their legs, dance and rejoice while the lookers-on clap and sing. It is far more exciting than a wedding in London, for it is considered a 'Mitzvah' to rejoice with a young bridal couple. "The dancing goes on for some time, the only miserable pair, I expect, are the bride and bridegroom, who generally become very weary of it all, for they started their wedding pilgrimage very early in the morning and had fasted till the feasting began late in the afternoon--I often wonder that they have any energy left in them, poor things, for they cannot retire till late at night. "The next day comes the ceremony of cutting off the bride's hair. The bridegroom's mother hands her a few silk handkerchiefs to be worn on her head on special occasions. Sometimes the poor little bride is so young that she cries while her beautiful plaits are being cut off. "At times a quarrel begins between the two mothers: the bride's mother sometimes insisting that her child's hair shall only be cut short and not shaved, and she generally gets her way. "Some brides do not mind being shaved, for they like the idea of wearing the pretty coloured silk handkerchiefs. "At nearly every wedding a table is spread for the poor, and I was present at a wedding when more than a hundred poor men came regularly for eight days, and the table was spread as bountifully for them as for the other guests. Here in Palestine the poor share in the joys of their richer brethren. "When the eight days of Festival are over, the young couple usually settle down close by or in one of their parents' homes, who give them a room. A great deal of the happiness of young couples depends on the character of the mother-in-law, for they have the power of making or marring their happiness more than anyone else. "Huldah told me that she would have been quite happy in her mother-in-law (for she really was a good kind woman) if only she would more often allow her to talk to her husband, 'and I do so like a talk with him,' she said to me with a sigh, 'for he is so wise. When my mother-in-law sleeps after the Sabbath dinner, we go into the next room and we sit talking, and he tells me tales from the Talmud, and sometimes reads aloud from it. I do so enjoy those Sabbath hours,' she continued, 'for I have only my bedroom which I can call my own, but I am not allowed to be much in it,--the little time I have with my husband each day makes me very happy, for I know he loves me dearly (although he does not say so), for when he comes home his first word is for me,' "'Sometimes, when my mother-in-law is in a good temper, she lets us eat out of the same dish, and then he jokingly puts the daintiest bits on my side; often when I wake in the mornings I find pinned to my pillow a few words he has copied from the _Song of Songs_, put there before leaving for the Synagogue.' Then Huldah added 'After returning himself from the Synagogue on Sabbath Eve, my dear husband always looks at me with a loving smile when he reads that part where it says: ''The price of a virtuous woman is far above rubies, the heart of her husband trusteth in her.' 'Yes indeed,' she said, 'thanks be to God--I am a very happy wife, and when God blesses us with children, my cup of joy will be very full.' "And this child-wife of fifteen did indeed look very happy as she spoke--and I, deep down in my heart, thought, 'What would they say to such match-making in England and Western Europe,' and yet in Palestine such marriages arranged by the parents are nearly always happy. "I must close now, Your loving Millie." When Mr Jacob had finished reading, some of his young listeners said they thought it was a very foolish way to arrange marriages. One of them remarked: "How could there be any love, if a couple rarely met each other before marriage." Another said: "For my part, I would never marry unless I felt sure that I was in love with my husband to-be and that he also was in love with me. Love is everything in life, _I_ think." Then said a middle-aged lady, much loved and respected by all the listeners: "How often has many a marriage not turned out well, even when as young people a husband and wife had a passionate love for each other. The seed of love may be sown before or after marriage; but, unless carefully cultivated during married life by both husband and wife, through deeds of kindness and thoughtfulness and forbearance and mutual sympathy and understanding, the tender plant may soon wither and die. The old customs of our race, which this letter shows are still kept up in Palestine and I believe in other parts where ghetto life still obtains, if they are not carried to extremes, are, I think, very wise; but, unfortunately, our people are very tempted to go to extremes, and a good custom can thus be distorted and brought to ridicule." "True, true," murmured some of the older people. "In all things moderation and balance are safe guides to follow," said Mr. Jacobs. The next book will be all about Millie's love affairs and marriage and her life, impressions, and tribulations in Palestine. APPENDIX THE CELEBRATION OF THE JUBILEE OF ZORACH BARNETT (Translated from the _Palestine Daily Mail_ of Friday, December 2nd, 1921). Those who felt stirred to celebrate the jubilee of this illustrious old pioneer did very well indeed. For a young man who leaves all his business enterprises far behind him in London and who migrates to Eretz-Israel over fifty years ago--at a time when Jaffe did not posses even a Minyan foreign Jews; and at a time when the way from Jaffe to Jerusalem was a very long and tedious one--aye, a way fraught with all possible dangers, and moreover, teeming with robbers, a journey which lasted three whole days, such a Jew is indeed entitled to some mark of appreciation and respect. A Jew who has worked for the re-building of our land for over fifty consecutive years in which period he visited the lands of the Diaspora fifteen times and all that he did and profited there was afterwards invested in the re-building of Eretz-Israel such a Jew has indeed merited to be praised even during his life-time. A Jew who was one of the first to found the colony of Petah-Tikvah and therefore merited that people in Jerusalem should mark him out as an object of derision and scorn because he was a dreamer--a man who built the first house in this Petah-Tikvah--who was one of the founders of the "Me'ah Shearim in Jerusalem--who constructed perfect roads in Jaffe--who founded Zionist Societies in the lands of the Diaspora at a time when Zion did not occupy such a foremost part in the heart of the Jew--such a Jew is indeed worthy that a monument of his splendid achievement be erected for him even during his life-time!" It must, moreover, be mentioned that Z. Barnett and his wife are one of the remnant of those noble men who participated in that famous assembly of Kattovitz--that noble gathering of illustrious men which can be verily described as the Aurora as the Dawn of the conception of the Restoration of the land of Israel. The celebration took place on Sunday, November 27th, in the private house of Mr. Barnett. Those who had assembled were many, in fact, there were present representatives of every shade and section of Jewish communal life in Palestine. Thus there came along Rabbis of all the various congregations, various Jewish communal workers, heads of colonies, teachers, business men and workpeople and even beggars who came to enjoy the material blessings of this great national festivity. Mr. Joseph Lipshitz opened the proceedings by explaining the importance of this great red letter day for Mr. Barnett and then called upon Rabbi Auerbach of Jerusalem who had come specially to take part in this celebration. Rabbi Auerbach delivered a long Talmudical dissertation in which he recited the great merits of the jubilant. He compared Z. Barnett to a king, because he based himself on a Talmudic statement concerning Omri which asserts that he who builds a little town or village is worthy to be called a king. The learned Rabbi also emphasised the importance of acquiring land in Palestine by many pithy remarks. Then spoke the Rabbis: Joseph Ha-levi, Shneiur Lenskin, Joseph Arwatz and Joseph Rabbi. All these testified to the great qualities of their host, who besides being a great idealist was also a very practical man too. After the Rabbis, Mr. S. Nissim, chief of the colony of Petah-Tikvah spoke. He narrated in a very realistic and eloquent way how that pioneer Zorach Barnett came fifty years ago to build up the ruins of the land and how he bought up the land of Petah-Tikvah, which was now a flourishing colony, but which was then a howling desert wilderness, such as only insane men could ever think of converting this into an habitation of men. At the present day, thousands of pioneers are flocking to the land, but they are only a continuation of the pioneering of Z. Barnett and his stalwart companions. The speaker concluded by blessing the jubilant that he should survive to see thousands of Jewish Colonies in Palestine and tens of thousands of pioneers flocking here from every part of the world. Mr. I. Adler, chief representative of the Council at Jaffe, also spoke on this great member of the Jewish community at Jaffe. Such men are really a blessing to the whole of Israel; they are not only Banim (sons) of the Jewish people, but also Bonim (builders). Many were the letters and telegrams of congratulation received on this occasion from various ranks of Jewish representatives in Palestine. The private secretary of Sir Herbert Samuel wrote: "I am commanded by His Excellency, the High Commissioner, to acknowledge your invitation to partake in your celebration of the 27th inst. His Excellency, is, however, restrained from accepting this invitation owing to the various duties which occupy him at present. He sends you his blessing and hopes that all your ambitions will be realised with, the greatest success." The Chief Rabbi of Eretz-Israel, Rabbi A.I. Kook, wrote: "I should very much have wished to be present at the occasion of the jubilee of my dear and respected friend, who first trod upon this Holy soil over fifty years ago and who has since then been building up the ruins of our land, but, unfortunately, to my great pain, I am not able to realise this my wish, owing to the present troubled state of the Jewish community. Please accept my heartiest blessings for a happy old age, in which you may verily see the re-birth of our People and of our land." Rabbi Rabbinowitz wrote: "I bless our jubilant from the depths of my heart. This occasion is not only a happy one for him, it is also for us. This shows that though the enemies of re-building Palestine were, and are still, many, Palestine is, nevertheless, steadily but surely being rebuilt." Mr. Diznoff, in the name of the Colony of Tel-Avis wrote: "On this great occasion, we should like to say, that as you have merited to see that the "howling desert" you have found, you have succeeded in creating into a "Garden of Eden," thus may you merit to see the flourishing state of the whole of Palestine." Mr. Ephraim Blumenfeld wrote: "Though I should have very much have liked to be present, yet my present bad state of health does not enable me to do so. This is a happy moment for all lovers of Zion. May you merit to see with your own eyes the restoration of Israel on its own land." Messages and telegrams were also received from the Yeshivah Me'ah Shearim, Mr. D. Slutskin, from the scholars of the Yeshivah "Or Zoraiah" of Jaffa and many synagogues. Also from Mr. Friedenberg of Jerusalem, Mr. S. Tolkovsky, Dr. Eliash, from the Chief Rabbi of Alexandria, from the "Old Aged" Home in Jaffe, from the Mizrachi, from Rabbi S.L. Shapiro of Jerusalem, etc., etc. At the request of the host, who is a British subject, a special prayer was offered up for the Divine protection of King George the Fifth, and also prayers in the name of R. Barnett for the health of the High Commissioner, the Secretary, the leaders of the Zionist Movement--Weitzman, Sokolov and Usishkin, for the Chief Rabbis of Palestine and for the Rabbi Sonnenfeld, Rabbis Diskin, Epstein, etc., etc. Mr. Barnett offered a certain sum in the name of each, and among the numerous institutions to which he contributed were the following: Hebrew Archaeological Society at Jerusalem, the building of a synagogue on the site of the Old Temple Wall, the school for the blind, the poor of Jaffe, the Home for Aged Jews, etc., etc. Mr. Barnett was then enrolled in the Golden Book by those present. Great indeed was the honour which R. Zorach Barnett and his wife received on that day, but they were really worthy of it. May theirs be an example to others! GLOSSARY BAR COCHBA. The heroic Jewish leader who led the final revolt against the Romans in the year A.D. 123. BAR MITZVAH. Confirmation of a boy at the age of thirteen. BEZEL. A cake made in the shape of a ring. BIKKUR-HOLIM. Used to denote a Hospital. BROCHA. A blessing or a thanksgiving used on various occasions. CHALLAH. White bread shaped as a twist used for the Sabbath sanctification. CHASSID. Pietist; a name assumed by a sect of Jews mainly in Galicia established by "Baal Shemtob." CHAZAH. A cantor, or Synagogue reader. CHEVRA-KADISHA. A burial society. CHOLENT. A dish of various vegetables and meat, eaten on the Sabbath. CHOMETZ. Leavened bread. EREV. Evening. HAMANTASCHEN. A triangular cake eaten on Purim, shaped according to the hat Haman was supposed to have worn. KAFTAN. A long coat, worn by Jews in eastern Europe. KIDDUSH. A blessing of sanctification over wine, said at the ushering in of Sabbath and of Festivals. LAG B'OMER. The 33rd day of the seven weeks between Passover and Pentecost: a students' holiday. MAZZELTOV. A greeting signifying Good Luck. MEAH SHEORIM. A Hundred Gates: the name of a suburb of Jerusalem. MINCHA. The afternoon service. MITZVOTH. Acts of piety. PARA. A Turkish coin of small value. PESACH. Passover. PRINCESS SABBATH. A poetical expression, used for welcoming the Sabbath. PURIM. The Festival referred to in _The Book of Esther_. RAV. One learned in rabbinical lore. SAMOVAR. A tea-urn. SCHPIELERS. Strolling-players. SCHTRAMEL. Head-gear worn by Chassidim. SEDER. The Service on the first two nights of Passover. SEPHARDIM. Jews of Spanish or of Portuguese origin. SHALACH MANOTH. Gifts--especially used with reference to distributions on Purim (vide _The Book of Esther_). SHALOM. Peace. SHIROS. Oil made from the sesame seed. SHULCHAN ARUCH. The Jewish religious Code; compiled in the middle of the 16th century and regarded as of high authority. SHULE. Synagogue, derived from the German _Schule_ (school). SIMHATH TORAH. The festival of the Law, following the Tabernacle festival when the reading of the _Pentateuch_ is completed and recommenced amid great rejoicing. STRUDEL. A sweet pudding or cake. SUCCAH. The tabernacle used as a dwelling on the Feast of Tabernacles. TAVELT. Immersed; used in reference to the Ritual Bath. TORAH. The Law; specially referring to the Mosaic code and its derivatives. TSENNAH URENNAH. A Jewish German translation of the _Pentateuch_, embellished with legends for the use of women. TSITSITH. Knotted fringes worn by men according to Mosaic injunction on Tallith or praying-scarf, and also used for a small four-cornered fringed garment worn on the chest, under the coat. YEMENITES. South-Arabian Jews. YESHIBAH. A Jewish theological Academy. YOM KIPPUR. The Day of Atonement. YOMTOV. Holy-day 
10551	----	AFFAIR IN ARABY by Talbot Mundy CHAPTER I "I'll make one to give this Feisul boy a hoist" Whoever invented chess understood the world's works as some men know clocks and watches. He recognized a fact and based a game on it, with the result that his game endures. And what he clearly recognized was this: That no king matters much as long as your side is playing a winning game. You can leave your king in his corner then to amuse himself in dignified unimportance. But the minute you begin to lose, your king becomes a source of anxiety. In what is called real life (which is only a great game, although a mighty good one) it makes no difference what you call your king. Call him Pope if you want to, or President, or Chairman. He grows in importance in proportion as the other side develops the attack. You've got to keep your symbol of authority protected or you lose. Nevertheless, your game is not lost as long as your king can move. That's why the men who want to hurry up and start a new political era imprison kings and cut their heads off. With no head on his shoulders your king can only move in the direction of the cemetery, which is over the line and doesn't count. I love a good fight, and have been told I ought to be ashamed of it. I've noticed, though, that the folk who propose to elevate my morals fight just as hard, and less cleanly, with their tongue than some of us do with our fists and sinews. I'm told, too, quite frequently that as an American I ought to be ashamed of fighting for a king. Dear old ladies of both sexes have assured me that it isn't moral to give aid and comfort to a gallant gentleman--a godless Mohammedan, too; which makes it much worse--who is striving gamely and without malice to keep his given word and save his country. But if you've got all you want, do you know of any better fun than lending a hand while some man you happen to like gets his? I don't. Of course, some fellows want too much, and it's bad manners as well as waste of time to inflict your opinion on them. But given a reasonable purpose and a friend who needs your assistance, is there any better sport on earth than risking your own neck to help him put it over? Walk wide of the man and particularly of the woman, who makes a noise about lining your pocket or improving your condition. An altruist is my friend James Schuyler Grim, but he makes less noise than a panther on a dark night; and I never knew a man less given to persuading you. He has one purpose, but almost never talks about it. It's a sure bet that if we hadn't struck up a close friendship, sounding each other out carefully as opportunity occurred, I would have been in the dark about it until this minute. All the news of Asia from Alexandretta to the Persian Gulf and from Northern Turkestan to South Arabia reaches Grim's ears sooner or later. He earns his bread and butter knitting all that mess of cross-grained information into one intelligible pattern; after which he interprets it and acts suddenly without advance notices. Time and again, lone-handed, he has done better than an army corps, by playing chief against chief in a land where the only law is individual interpretation of the Koran. But it wasn't until our rescue of Jeremy Ross from near Abu Kem, that I ever heard Grim come out openly and admit that he was working to establish Feisul, third son of the King of Mecca, as king of just as many Arabs as might care to have him over them. That was the cat he had been keeping in a bag for seven years. Right down to the minute when Grim, Jeremy and I sat down with Ben Saoud the Avenger on a stricken field at Abu Kem, and Grim and Jeremy played their hands so cleverly that the Avenger was made, unwitting guardian of Jeremy's secret gold-mine, and Feisul's open and sworn supporter in the bargain, the heart of Grim's purpose continued to be a mystery even to me; and I have been as intimate with him as any man. He doles out what he has in mind as grudgingly as any Scot spends the shillings in his purse. But the Scots are generous when they have to be, and so is Grim. There being nothing else for it on that occasion, he spilled the beans, the whole beans, and nothing but the beans. Having admitted us two to his secret, he dilated on it all the way back to Jerusalem, telling us all he knew of Feisul (which would fill a book), and growing almost lyrical at times as he related incidents in proof of his contention that Feisul, lineal descendant of the Prophet Mohammed, is the "whitest" Arab and most gallant leader of his race since Saladin. Knowing Grim and how carefully suppressed his enthusiasm usually is, I couldn't help being fired by all he said on that occasion. And as for Jeremy, well--it was like meat and drink to him. You meet men more or less like Jeremy Ross in any of earth's wild places, although you rarely meet his equal for audacity, irreverence and riotous good-fellowship. He isn't the only Australian by a long shot who upholds Australia by fist and boast and astounding gallantry, yet stays away from home. You couldn't fix Jeremy with concrete; he'd find some means of bursting any mould. He had been too long lost in the heart of Arabia for anything except the thought of Sydney Bluffs and the homesteads that lie beyond to tempt him for the first few days. "You fellers come with me," he insisted. "You chuck the Army, Grim, and I'll show you a country where the cows have to bend their backs to let the sun go down. Ha-ha! Show you women too--red-lipped girls in sunbonnets, that'll look good after the splay-footed crows you see out here. Tell you what: We'll pick up the Orient boat at Port Said--no P. and O. for me; I'm a passenger aboard ship, not a horrible example!-- and make a wake for the Bull's Kid. Murder! Won't the scoff taste good! "We'll hit the Bull's Kid hard for about a week--mix it with the fellers in from way back--you know--dry-blowers, pearlers, spending it easy-- handing their money to Bessie behind the bar and restless because she makes it last too long; watch them a while and get in touch with all that's happening; then flit out of Sydney like bats out of--and hump blue--eh?" "Something'll turn up; it always does. I've got money in the bank-- about, two thousand here in gold dust with me,--and if what you say's true, Grim, about me still being a trooper, then the Army owes me three years' back pay, and I'll have it or go to Buckingham Palace and tear off a piece of the King! We're capitalists, by Jupiter! Besides, you fellers agreed that if I shut down the mine at Abu Kem you'd join me and we'd be Grim, Ramsden and Ross." "I'll keep the bargain if you hold me to it when the time comes," Grim answered. "You bet I'll hold you to it! Rammy here, and you and I could trade the chosen people off the map between us. We're a combination. What's time got to do with it?" "We've got to use your mine," Grim answered. "I'm game. But let's see Australia first." "Suppose we fix up your discharge, and you go home," Grim suggested. "Come back when you've had a vacation, and by that time Ramsden and I will have done what's possible for Feisul. He's in Damascus now, but the French have got him backed into a corner. No money--not much ammunition--French propaganda undermining the allegiance of his men-- time working against him, and nothing to do but wait." "What in hell have the French got to do with it?" "They want Syria. They've got the coast towns now. They mean to have Damascus; and if they can catch Feisul and jail him to keep him out of mischief they will." "But damn it! Didn't they promise the Arabs that Feisul should be King of Syria, Palestine, Mesopotamia, and all that?" "They did. The Allies all promised, France included. But since the Armistice the British have made a present of Palestine to the Jews, and the French have demanded Syria for themselves. The British are pro-Feisul, but the French don't want him anywhere except dead or in jail. They know they've given him and the Arabs a raw deal; and they seem to think the simplest way out is to blacken Feisul's character and ditch him. If the French once catch him in Damascus he's done for and the Arab cause is lost." "Why lost?" demanded Jeremy. "There are plenty more Arabs." "But only one Feisul. He's the only man who can unite them all." "I know a chance for him," said Jeremy. "Let him come with us three to Australia. There are thousands of fellers there who fought alongside him and don't care a damn for the French. They'll raise all the hell there is before they'll see him ditched." "Uh-huh! London's the place for him," Grim answered. "The British like him, and they're ashamed of the way he's been treated. They'll give him Mesopotamia. Baghdad's the old Arab capital, and that'll do for a beginning; after that it's up to the Arabs themselves." "Well? Where does my gold mine come in?" Jeremy asked. "Feisul has no money. If it was made clear to him that he could serve the Arabs best by going to London, he'd consider it. The objection would be, though, that he'd have to make terms in advance with hog-financiers, who'd work through the Foreign Office to tie up all the oil and mine and irrigation concessions. If we tell him privately about your gold mine at Abu Kem he can laugh at financiers." "All right," said Jeremy, "I'll give him the gold mine. Let him erect a modern plant and he'll have millions!" "Uh-huh! Keep the mine secret. Let him go to London and arrange about Mespot. Just at present High Finance could find a hundred ways of disputing his title to the mine, but once he's king with the Arabs all rooting for him things'll be different. He'll treat you right when that time comes, don't worry." "Worry? Me?" said Jeremy. "All that worries me is having to see this business through before we can make a wake for Sydney. I'm homesick. But never mind. All right, you fellers, I'll make one to give this Feisul boy a hoist!" CHAPTER II "Atcha, Jimgrim sahib! Atcha!" That conversation and Jeremy's conversion to the big idea took place on the way across the desert to Jerusalem--a journey that took us a week on camel-back--a rowdy, hot journey with the stifling simoom blowing grit into our followers' throats, who sang and argued alternately nevertheless. For, besides our old Ali Baba and his sixteen sons and grandsons, there were Jeremy's ten pickups from Arabia's byways, whom he couldn't leave behind because they knew the secret of his gold-mine. Grim's authority is always at its height on the outbound trail, for then everybody knows that success, and even safety, depends on his swift thinking; on the way home afterward reaction sets in sometimes, because Arabs are made light-headed by success, and it isn't a simple matter to discipline free men when you have no obvious hold over them. But that was where Jeremy came in. Jeremy could do tricks, and the Arabs were like children when he performed for them. They would be good if he would make one live chicken into two live ones by pulling it apart. They would pitch the tents without fighting if he would swallow a dozen eggs and produce them presently from under a camel's tail. If he would turn on his ventriloquism and make a camel say its prayers, they were willing to forgive--for the moment anyhow--even their nearest enemies. So we became a sort of travelling sideshow, with Jeremy ballyhooing for himself in an amazing flow of colloquial Arabic, and hardly ever repeating the same trick. All of which was very good for our crowd and convenient at the moment, but hardly so good for Jeremy's equilibrium. He is one of those handsome, perpetually youthful fellows, whose heads have been a wee mite turned by the sunshine of the world's warm smile. I don't mean by that that he isn't a tophole man, or a thorough-going friend with guts and gumption, who would chance his neck for anyone he likes without a second's hesitation, for he's every bit of that. He has horse sense, too, and isn't fooled by the sort of flattery that women lavish on men who have laughing eyes and a little dark moustache. But he hasn't been yet in a predicament that he couldn't laugh or fight his way out of; he has never yet found a job that he cared to stick at for more than a year or two, and seldom one that could hold him for six months. He jumps from one thing to another, finding all the world so interesting and amusing, and most folk so ready to make friends with him, that he always feels sure of landing softly somewhere over the horizon. So by the time we reached Jerusalem friend Jeremy was ripe for almost anything except the plan we had agreed on. Having talked that over pretty steadily most of the way from Abu Kem, it seemed already about as stale and unattractive to him as some of his oldest tricks. And Jerusalem provided plenty of distraction. We hadn't been in Grim's quarters half an hour when Jeremy was up to his ears in a dispute that looked like separating us. Grim, who wears his Arab clothes from preference and never gets into uniform if he can help it, went straight to the telephone to report briefly to headquarters. I took Jeremy upstairs to discard my Indian disguise and hunt out clothes for Jeremy that would fit him, but found none, I being nearly as heavy as Grim and Jeremy together. He had finished clowning in the kit I offered him, and had got back into his Arab things while I was shaving off the black whiskers with which Nature adorns my face whenever I neglect the razor for a few days, when an auto came tooting and roaring down the narrow street, and a moment later three staff officers took the stairs at a run. So far, good; that was unofficial, good-natured, human and entirely decent. The three of them burst through the bed room door, all grins, and took turns pumping with Jeremy's right arm--glad to see him--proud to know him--pleased to see him looking fit and well, and all that kind of thing. Even men who had fought all through the war had forgotten some of its red tape by that time, and Jeremy not being in uniform they treated him like a fellow human being. And he reciprocated, Australian fashion, free and easy, throwing up his long legs on my bed and yelling for somebody to bring drinks for the crowd, while they showered questions on him. It wasn't until Jeremy turned the tables and began to question them that the first cloud showed itself. "Say, old top," he demanded of a man who wore the crossed swords of a brigadier. "Grim tells me I'm a trooper. When can I get my discharge?" The effect was instantaneous. You would have thought they had touched a leper by the way they drew themselves up and changed face. "Never thought of that. Oh, I say--this is a complication. You mean...?" "I mean this," Jeremy answered dryly, because nobody could have helped notice their change of attitude: "I was made prisoner by Arabs and carried off. That's more than three years ago. The war's over. Grim tells me all Australians have been sent home and discharged. What about me?" "Um-m-m! Ah! This will have to be considered. Let's see; to whom did you surrender?" "Damn you, I didn't surrender! I met Grim in the desert, and reported to him for duty." "Met Major Grim, eh?" "Yes," said Grim, appearing in the door. "I came across him in the desert; he reported for duty; I gave him an order, and he obeyed it. Everything's regular." "Um-m-m! How'd you make that out--regular? Have you any proof he wasn't a deserter? He'll have to be charged with desertion and tried by court martial, I'm afraid. Possibly a mere formality, but it'll have to be done, you know, before he can be given a clear discharge. If he can't be proved guilty of desertion he'll be cleared." "How long will that take?" Jeremy demanded. His voice rang sharp with the challenge note that means debate has ceased and quarrel started. It isn't the right note for dissolving difficulties. "Couldn't tell you," said the brigadier. "My advice to you is to keep yourself as inconspicuous as possible until the administrator gets back." It was good advice, but Grim, standing behind the brigadier, made signals to Jeremy in vain. Few Australians talk peace when there is no peace, and when there's a fight in prospect they like to get it over. "I remember you," said Jeremy, speaking rather, slowly, and throwing in a little catchy laugh that was like a war-cry heard through a microphone. "You were the Fusileer major they lent to the Jordan Highlanders--fine force that--no advance without security--lost two men, if I remember--snakebite one; the other shot for looting. Am I right? So they've made you a brigadier! Aren't you the staff officer they sent to strafe a regiment of Anzacs for going into action without orders? We chased you to cover! I can see you now running for fear we'd shoot you! Hah!" Grim took the only course possible in the circumstances. The brigadier's neck was crimson, and Jeremy had to be saved somehow. "Touch of sun, sir--that and hardship have unhinged him a bit. Suffers from delusions. Suppose I keep him here until the doctor sees him?" "Um-m-m! Ah! Yes, you'd better. See he gets no whisky, will you? Too bad! Too bad! What a pity!" Our three visitors left in a hurry, contriving to look devilish important. Grim followed them out. "Rammy, old cock," said Jeremy, sprawling on the bed again and laughing, "don't look all that serious. Bring back your brigadier and I'll kiss him on both cheeks while you hold him! But say; suppose that doctor's one of these swabs who serve out number nine pills for shell-shock, broken leg, dyspepsia, housemaid's knee and the creeping itch? Suppose he swears I'm luny? What then?" "Grim will find somebody to swear to anything once," I answered. "But you look altogether too dashed healthy--got to give the doctor-man a chance--here, get between the sheets and kid that something hurts you." "Get out! The doc 'ud put a cast-iron splint on it, and order me into a hospital. How about toothache? That do? Do they give you bread and water for it?" So toothache was selected as an alibi, and Jeremy wrapped his jaw in a towel, after jabbing his cheek with a pin so as to remember on which side the pain should be. But it was artifice wasted, for Grim had turned a better trick. He had found an Australian doctor in the hospital for Sikhs--the only other Australian in Jerusalem just then-- and brought him cooee-ing upstairs in a way that proved he knew the whole story already. The autopsy, as he called it, was a riot. We didn't talk of anything but fights at Gaza--the surprise at Nazareth, when the German General Staff fled up the road on foot in its pyjamas--the three-day scrap at Nebi Samwil, when Australians and Turks took and retook the same hill half a dozen times, and parched enemies took turns drinking from one flask while the shells of both sides burst above them. It seems to have been almost like old-fashioned war in Palestine from their account of it, either side conceding that the other played the game. When they had thrashed the whole campaign over from start to finish, making maps on my bed with hair brushes, razors and things, they got to talking of Australia; and that was all about fighting too: dog fights, fist fights between bullockies on the long road from Northern Queensland, riots in Perth when the pearlers came in off the Barrier Reef to spend their pay, rows in the big shearing sheds when the Union men objected to unskilled labour--you'd have thought Australia was one big battlefield, with nothing else but fights worth talking of from dawn till dark. The doctor was one of those tightly-knit, dark-complexioned little men with large freckles and brown eyes, who surprise you with a mixture of intense domestic virtue and a capacity, that shouldn't mix with it at all, for turning up in all the unexpected places. You meet his sort everywhere, and they always have a wife along, who worships them and makes a home out of tin cans and packing-cases that would put the stay-at-home housekeepers to shame. They always have a picture on the wall of cows standing knee-deep in the water, and no matter what their circumstances are, there's always something in reserve, for guests, offered frankly without apology. Never hesitate with those folk, but don't let them go too far, for they'll beggar themselves to help you in a tight place, if you'll let them. Ticknor his name was. He's a good man. "Say, Grim, there's a case in the Sikh hospital that ought to interest you," he said at last. "Fellow from Damascus--Arab--one of Feisul's crowd. He wouldn't let them take him to the Zionist hospital--swore a Jew knifed him and that the others would finish the job if they got half a chance. They'd have been arguing yet, and he dead and buried, if I hadn't gone shopping with Mabel. She saw the crowd first (I was in Noureddin's store) and jabbed her way in with her umbrella--she yelled to me and I bucked the line. "The Jews wanted to tell me I had no right to take that chap to the Sikh hospital, and no more had I; so I plugged him up a bit, and put him in a cab, and let him take himself there, Mabel and me beside him. Seeing I was paying for the cab, I didn't see why Mabel should walk. Of course, once we had him in there he was too sick to be moved; but the Army won't pay for him, so I sent a bill to the Zionists, and they returned it with a rude remark on the margin. Maybe I can get the money out of Feisul some day; otherwise I'm stuck." "I'll settle that," said Grim. "What's the tune he plays?" "Utter mystery. Swears a Jew stabbed him, but that Damascus outfit blame the Jews for everything. He's only just down from Damascus. I think he's one of Feisul's officers, although he's not in uniform-- prob'ly on a secret mission. Suppose you go and see him? But say, watch out for the doc on duty--he's a meddler. Tell him nothing!" "Sure. How about Jeremy? What's the verdict?" "What do you want done with him?" "I want him out of reach of trouble here pending his discharge. No need to certify him mad, is there?" "Mad? All Australians are mad. None of us need a certificate for that. Have you arrested him?" "Not yet." "Then you're too late! He's suffering from bad food and exposure. The air of Jerusalem's bad for him, and he's liable to get pugnacious if argued with. That runs in the blood. I order him off duty, and shall recommend him within twenty minutes to the P.M.O. for leave of absence at his own expense. If you know of any general who dares override the P.M.O. I'll show you a brass hat in the wind. Come on; d'you want to bet on it?" "Will the P.M.O. fall?" asked Grim. "Like a new chum off a brumby. Signs anything I shove under his nose. Comes round to our house to eat Mabel's damper and syrup three nights a week. You bet he'll sign it: Besides, he's white; pulled out of the firing-line by an Australian at Gaza, and hasn't forgotten it. He'd sign anything but checks to help an Anzac. I'll be going. "You trot up to the slaughter-shop, Grim, and interview that Arab--Sidi bin Something-or-Other--forget his name--he lies in number nineteen cot on the left-hand side of the long ward, next to a Pathan who's shy both legs. You can't mistake him. I'll write out a medical certificate for Jeremy and follow. And say; wait a minute! What price the lot of you eating Mabel's chow tonight at our house? We don't keep a cook, so you won't get poisoned. That's settled; I'll tell Mabel you're coming. Tootleloo!" But there was a chance that the brigadier might carry resentment to the point of sending up a provost-marshal's guard to arrest Jeremy on the well-known principle that a bird in the hand can be strafed more easily than one with a medical certificate. The bush was the place for our bird until such time as the P.M.O.'s signature should adorn the necessary piece of paper; so we three rode up in a cab together to the Sikh hospital, and had a rare time trying to get in. You see, there was a Sikh on guard outside, who respected nothing under heaven but his orders. He wouldn't have known Grim in any event, being only recently from India; Grim's uniform would have passed him in, but he and Jeremy were still arrayed as Arabs, and my civilian clothes entitled me in the sentry's opinion to protection lest I commit the heinous sin of impertinence. An Arab in his eyes was as an insect, and a white man, who consorted with such creatures, not a person to be taken seriously. But our friend Narayan Singh was in the hospital, enjoying the wise veteran's prerogative of resting on full pay after his strenuous adventures along with us at Abu Kem. There was nothing whatever the matter with him. He recognized Grim's voice and emerged through the front door with a milk-white smile flashing in the midst of newly-curled black hair--dignified, immense, and full of instant understanding. Grim said a few words to Narayan Singh in Arabic, which so far as the sentry was concerned wasn't a language, but Narayan Singh spoke in turn in Punjabi, and the man just out from India began to droop like Jonah's gourd under the old soldier's scorn. In consequence we got a full salute with arms presented, and walked in without having to trouble anybody in authority, Narayan Singh leading with the air of an old-time butler showing royalty to their rooms. He even ascertained in an aside, that the doctor of the day was busy operating, and broke that good news with consummate tact: "The sahibs' lightest wish is law, but if they should wish to speak with the doctor sahib, it would be necessary to call him forth from the surgery, where he works behind locked doors. Is it desired that I should summon him?" "Operation serious?" asked Grim, and neither man smiled. It was perfect acting. "Very, sahib. He removes the half of a sepoy's liver." "Uh! Couldn't think of interrupting him. Too bad! Lead the way." But we didn't enter the ward until Narayan Singh and an orderly had placed two screens around number nineteen cot, in the way they do when a man is dying, and had placed three chairs at the bedside contrary to the regulations printed on the wall. Then Narayan Singh stood on guard outside the screens, but didn't miss much of the conversation, I believe. The man in bed was wounded badly, but not fatally, and though his eyes blazed with fever he seemed to have some of his wits about him. He recognized Grim after staring hard at him for about a minute. "Jimgrim!" "Sidi bin Tagim, isn't it? Well, well I thought it might be you," said Grim, speaking the northern dialect of Arabic, which differs quite a bit from that spoken around Jerusalem. "Who are these?" asked the man in bed, speaking hoarsely as he stared first at Jeremy and then at me. "Jmil Ras, a friend of mine," Grim answered. "And that one?" He didn't like the look of me at all. Western clothes and a shaven face spell nothing reassuring to the Arab when in trouble; he has been "helped" by the foreigner a time or two too often. "An American named Ramsden. Also a friend of mine." "Oh! An Amirikani? A hakim?" "No. Not a doctor. Not a man to fear. He is a friend of Feisul." "On whose word?" "Mine," Grim answered. Sidi bin Tagim nodded. He seemed willing to take Grim's word for anything. "Why did you say a Jew stabbed you?" Grim asked suddenly. "So that they might hang a Jew or two. Wallah! Are the Jews not at the bottom of all trouble? If a Greek should kill a Maltese it would be a Jew who planned it! May the curse of Allah change their faces and the fire of Eblis consume them!" "Did you see the man who stabbed you?" "Yes." And was he a Jew?" "Jimgrim, you know better than to ask that! A Jew always hires another to do the killing. He who struck me was a hireling, who shall die by my hand, as Allah is my witness. But may Allah do more to me and bring me down into the dust unburied unless I make ten Jews pay for this!" "Any one Jew in particular?" Grim asked, and the man in bed closed up like a clam that has been touched. He was a strange-looking fellow--rather like one of those lean Spaniards whom Goya used to paint, with a scant beard turning grey, and hollow cheeks. He had thrown off the grey army blanket because fever burned him, and his lean, hard muscles stood out as if cast in bronze. "But for the Jews, Feisul would be king of all this land this minute!" he said suddenly, and closed up tight again. Grim smiled. He nearly always does smile when apparently at a loose end. At moments when most cross-examiners would browbeat he grows sympathetic--humours his man, and, by following whatever detour offers, gets back on the trail again. "How about the French?" he asked. "May Allah smite them! They are all in the pay of Jews!" "Can you prove it?" "Wallah! That I can!" Grim looked incredulous. Those baffling eyes of his twinkled with quiet amusement, and the man in bed resented it. "You laugh, Jimgrim, but if you would listen I might tell you something." But Grim only smiled more broadly than ever. "Sidi bin Tagim, you're one of those fanatics who think the world is all leagued against you. Why should the Jews think you sufficiently important to be murdered?" "Wallah! There are few who hold the reins of happenings as I do." "If they'd killed you they'd have stopped the clock, eh?" "That is as Allah may determine. I am not dead." "Have you friends in Jerusalem?" "Surely." "Strange that they haven't been to see you." "Wallah! Not strange at all." "I see. They regard you as a man without authority, who might make trouble and leave other men to face it, eh?" "Who says I have no authority?" "Well, if you could prove you have--" "What then?" the man in bed demanded, trying to sit up. "Feisul, for instance, is a friend of mine, and these men with me are his friends too. You have no letter, of course, for that would be dangerous..." "Jimgrim, in the name of the Most High, I swear I had a letter! He who stabbed me took it. I--" "Was the letter from Feisul?" "Malaish--no matter. It was sealed, and bore a number for the signature. If you can get that letter for me, Jimgrim--but what is the use! You are a servant of the British." "Tell me who stabbed you and I'll get you the letter." "No, for you are clever. You would learn too much. Better tell the doctor of this place to hurry up and heal me; then I will attend to my own affairs." "I'd like to keep you out of jail, if that's possible," Grim answered. "You and I are old acquaintances, Sidi bin Tagim. But of course, if you're here to sow sedition, and should there be a document at large in proof of it, which document should fall into the hands of the police-- well, I couldn't do much for you then. You'd better tell me who stabbed you, and I'll get after him." "Ah! But if you get the letter?" "I shall read it, of course." "But to whom will you show it?" "Perhaps to my friends here." "Are they bound by your honour?" "I shall hold them so." There was the glint in Grim's eye now that should warn anyone who knew him that the scent was hot; added to the fact that the rest of his expression suggested waning interest, that look of his forebode fine hunting. "There's one other I might consult," he admitted casually. "On my way here I saw one of Feisul's staff captains driving in a cab toward the Jaffa Gate." The instant effect of that remark was to throw the wounded man into a paroxysm of mingled rage and fear. He almost threw a fit. His already bloodless face grew ashy grey and livid blue alternately, and he would have screamed at Grim if the cough that began to rack his whole body would have let him. As it was, he gasped out unintelligible words and sought to make Grim understand by signs. And Grim apparently did understand. "Very well," he laughed, "tell me who stabbed you and I won't mention your name to Staff-Captain Abd el Kadir." "And these men? Will they say nothing?" "Not a word. Who stabbed you?" "Yussuf Dakmar! May Allah cut him off from love and mercy!" "Golly!" exploded Jeremy, forgetting not to talk English. "There's a swine for you! Yussuf Dakmar's the son of a sea-cook who used to sell sheep to the Army four times over--drive 'em into camp and get a receipt--drive 'em out again next night--bring 'em back in the morning-- get a receipt again--drive 'em off--bring 'em back--us chaps too busy shifting brother Turk to cotton on. He'll be the boy I kicked out of camp once. Maybe remembers it too. I'll bet his backbone's twanging yet! Lead me to him, Grim, old cock, I'd like another piece of him!" But Grim was humming to himself, playing piano on the bed-sheet with his fingers. "Is that man not an Arab?" asked the fellow in bed, taking alarm all over again. "Arab your aunt!" laughed Jeremy: "I eat Arabs! I'm the only original genuine woolly bad man from way back! I'm the plumber who pulled the plug out of Arabia! You know English? Good! You know what a dose of salts is then? You've seen it work? Experienced it, maybe? Hah! You'll understand me. I'm a grain of the Epsom Salt that went through Beersheba, time the Turks had all the booze in sight and we were thirsty. Muddy booze it was too--oozy booze--not fit for washing hogs! Ever heard of Anzacs? Well, I'm one of 'em. Now you know what the scorpion who stung you's up against! You lie there and think about it, cocky; I'll show you his shirt tomorrow morning." "Suppose we go now," suggested Grim. "I've got the drift of this thing. Get the rest elsewhere." "You can fan that Joskins for a lot more yet," Jeremy objected. "The plug's pulled. He'll flow if you let him." Grim nodded. "Sure he would. Don't want too much from him. Don't want to have to arrest him. Get me?" "Come on then," answered Jeremy, "I've promised him a shirt!" Beyond the screen Narayan Singh stood like a statue, deaf, dumb, immovable. Even his eyes were fixed with a blank stare on the wall opposite. "How much did you hear?" Grim asked him. "I, sahib? I am a sick man. I have been asleep." "Dream anything?" "As your honour pleases!" "Hospital's stuffy, isn't it? Think you could recover health more rapidly outdoors? Sick-leave continued of course, but--how about a little exercise?" The Sikh's eyes twinkled. "Sahib, you know I need exercise!" "I'll speak to the doctor for you. In case he signs a new certificate, report to me tonight." "Atcha, Jimgrim sahib! Atcha!" CHAPTER III "Hum Dekta hai" Like most of the quarters occupied by British officers, the house occupied by Major Roger Ticknor and his wife Mabel was "enemy property," and its only virtue consisted in its being rent free. Grim, Jeremy, little Ticknor and his smaller wife, and I sat facing across a small deal table with a stuttering oil-lamp between us. In a house not far away some Orthodox Jews, arrayed in purple and green and orange, with fox-fur around the edges of their hats, were drunk and celebrating noisily the Feast of Esther; so you can work out the exact date if you're curious enough. The time was nine p.m. We had talked the Anzac hurricane-drive through Palestine all over again from the beginning, taking world-known names in vain and doing honour to others that will stay unsung for lack of recognition, when one of those unaccountable pauses came, and for the sake of breaking silence, Mabel Ticknor asked a question. She was a little, plucky, pale-faced thing whom you called instinctively by her first name at the end of half an hour--a sort of little mother of loose-ended men, who can make silk purses out of sows' ears, and wouldn't know how to brag if she were tempted. "Say, Jim," she asked, turning her head quickly like a bird toward Grim on my left, "what's your verdict about that man from Syria that Roger took in a cab to the Sikh hospital? I'm out a new pair of riding breeches if Roger has to pay the bill for him. I want my money's worth. Tell me his story." "Go ahead and buy the breeches, Mabel. I'll settle that bill," he answered. "No, you won't, Jim! You're always squandering money. Half your pay goes to the scallywags you've landed in jail. This one's up to Roger and me; we found him." Grim laughed. "I can charge his keep under the head of 'information paid for.' I shall sign the voucher without a qualm." "You'd get blood out of a stone, Jim! Go on, tell us!" "I'm hired to keep secrets as well as discover them," Grim answered, smiling broadly. "Of course you are," she retorted. "But I know all Roger's secrets, and he's a doctor, mind you! Am I right, Roger? Come along! There are no servants--no eavesdroppers. Wait. I'll put tea on the table, and then we'll all listen." She made tea Australian fashion in a billy, which is quick and simple, but causes alleged dyspepsia cures to sell well all the way from Adelaide to the Gulf of Carpentraia. "You'll have to tell her, Jim," said Jeremy. "Mabel's safe as an iron roof," put in her husband. "Noisy in the rain, but doesn't leak." But neither man nor woman could have extracted a story from James Schuyler Grim unless it suited him to tell it. Mabel Ticknor is one of those honest little women who carry men's secrets with them up and down the world. Being confided in by nearly every man who met her was a habit. But Grim tells only when the telling may accomplish something, and I wondered, as he laid his elbow on the table to begin, just what use he meant to make of Mabel Ticknor. He uses what he knows as other level-headed men use coin, spending thriftily for fair advantage. "That is secret," he began, as soon as Mabel had dumped the contents of the billy into a huge brown teapot. "I expect Narayan Singh here presently. He'll have a letter with him, taken from the Syrian who stabbed that man in the hospital." "Whoa, hoss!" Jeremy interrupted. "You mean you've sent that Sikh to get the shirt of Yussuf Dakmar?" Grim nodded. "That was my job," Jeremy objected. "Whoa, hoss, yourself, Jeremy!" Grim answered. "You'd have gone down into the bazaar like a bull into a china-shop. Narayan Singh knows where to find him. If he shows fight, he'll be simply handed over to the Sikh patrol for attacking a man in uniform, and by the time he reaches the lock-up that letter will be here on the table between us." "All the same, that's a lark you've done me out of," Jeremy insisted. "That Yussuf Dakmar's a stinker. I know all about him. Two whole squadrons had to eat lousy biscuit for a week because that swab sold the same meat five times over. But I'll get him yet!" "Well, as I was saying," Grim resumed, "there's a letter in Jerusalem that's supposed to be from Feisul. But when Feisul writes anything he signs his name to it, whereas a number is the signature on this. Now that fellow Sidi bin Tagim in the hospital is an honest old kite in his way. He's a great rooter for Feisul. And the only easy way to ditch a man like Feisul, who's as honest as the day is long, and no man's fool, is to convince his fanatical admirers that for his own sake he ought to be forced along a certain course. The game's as old as Adam. You fill up a man like Sidi bin Tagim with tales about Jews--convince him that Jews stand between Feisul and a kingdom--and he'll lend a hand in any scheme ostensibly directed against Jews. Get me?" "So would I!" swore Jeremy. "I'm against 'em too! I camped alongside the Jordan Highlanders one time when--" But we had had that story twice that evening with variations. He was balancing his chair on two legs, so I pushed him over backward, and before he could pick himself up again Grim resumed. "Feisul is in Damascus, and the Syrian Convention has proclaimed him king. That don't suit the French, who detest him. The feeling's mutual. When Feisul went to Paris for the Peace Conference, the French imagined he was easy. They thought, here's another of these Eastern princes who can be taken in the old trap. So they staged a special performance at the Opera for him, and invited him to supper afterward behind the scenes with the usual sort of ladies in full war-paint in attendance." "Shall we cut that too?" suggested Mabel. "Sure. Feisul did! He's not that kind of moth. Ever since then the French have declared he's a hypocrite; and because he won't yield his rights they've been busy inventing wrongs of their own and insisting on immediate adjustment. The French haven't left one stone unturned that could irritate Feisul into making a false move." "To hell with them!" suggested Jeremy, reaching for more tea. "But Feisul's not easy to irritate," Grim went on. "He's one of those rare men, who get born once in an epoch, who force you to believe that virtue isn't extinct. He's almost like a child in some things--like a good woman in others--and a man of iron courage all the time, who can fire Arabs in the same way Saladin did five centuries ago." "He looks like a saint," said Jeremy. "I've seen him." "But he's no soft liver," continued Grim. "He was brought up in the desert among Bedouins, and has their stoical endurance with a sort of religious patience added. Gets that maybe from being a descendant of the Prophet." "Awful sort to have to fight, that kind are," said Jeremy. "They wear you down!" "So the French decided some time ago to persuade Feisul's intimates to make a bad break which he couldn't repudiate." "Why don't he cut loose with forty or fifty thousand men and boot the French into the sea?" demanded Jeremy. "I'll make one to help him! I knew a Frenchman once, who--" "We'll come to that presently," said Grim. "I dare say you didn't hear of Verdun." "Objection sustained. Hand it to 'em. They've got guts," grinned Jeremy. "Fire away, old top." "Well, they ran foul of an awkward predicament, which is that there are some darned decent fellows among the officers of their army of occupation. There's more than a scattering of decent gentlemen who don't like dirt. I won't say they tell Feisul secrets, or disobey orders; but if you want to give a man a square deal there are ways of doing it without sending him telegrams." Mabel put the tea back on the kerosene stove to stew, with an extra handful of black leaves in it. Grim continued: "Another thing: The French are half afraid that if they take the field against Feisul on some trumped-up pretext, he'll get assistance from the British. They could send him things he needs more than money, and can't get. Ninety-nine per cent of the British are pro-Feisul. Some of them would risk their jobs to help him in a pinch. The French have got to stall those men before they can attack Feisul safely." "How d'you mean--stall 'em?" demanded Jeremy. "Not all the British are fools--only their statesmen, and generals, and sixty percent of the junior officers and rank and file. The rest don't have to be fed pap from a bottle; they're good men. Takes more than talk to stall that kind off a man they like." "You've got the idea, Jeremy. You have to show them. Well, why not stir up revolution here in Palestine in Feisul's name? Why not get the malcontents to murder Jews wholesale, with propaganda blowing full blast to make it look as if Feisul's hand is directing it all? It's as simple as falling off a log. French agents who look like honest Arabs approach the most hairbrained zealots who happen to be on the inside with Feisul, and suggest to them that the French and British are allies; therefore the only way to keep the British from helping the French will be to start red-hot trouble in Palestine that will keep the British busy protecting themselves and the Jews. "The secret agents point out that although Feisul is against anything of the sort, he must be committed to it for his own sake. And they make great capital out of Feisul's promise that he will protect the Jews if recognized as king of independent Syria. Kill all the Jews beforehand, so there won't be any for him to protect when the time comes--that's the argument." Mabel interrupted. "Haven't you warned Feisul?" She had both elbows on the table and her chin between her hands, and I dare say she had listened in just that attitude to fifty inside stories that the newspapers would scatter gold in vain to get. "I sure did. And he has sent one of his staff down here to keep an eye on things. I saw him this afternoon riding in a cab toward the Jaffa Gate. I said as much to that fellow in the hospital, and he was scared stiff at the idea of my recovering the supposed Feisul letter and showing it to an officer who is really in Feisul's confidence. That--I mean the man's fear--linked everything up." "You talk like Sherlock Holmes," laughed Jeremy. "I'll bet you a new hat nothing comes of it." "That bet's on," Grim answered. "It's to be a female hat, and Mabel gets it. Order an expensive one from Paris, Mabel; Jeremy shall pay. We've lots of other information. The troops here have been warned of an intended massacre of Jews. The arrival of this letter probably puts a date to it. "But it puts a date to something else on which the whole future of the Near East hangs; and that means the future of half the world, and maybe the whole of it, because about three hundred million Mohammedans are watching Feisul and will govern themselves accordingly. India, Persia, Mesopotamia, Egypt, all Northern Africa--there's almost no limit to what depends on Feisul's safety; and the French can't or won't understand that." There came the sound of heavy ammunition boots outside on the stone step, followed by a cough that I believe I could recognize among a thousand. Narayan Singh coughs either of two ways--once, deep bass, for all's well; twice, almost falsetto, for a hint of danger. This time it was the single deep bass cough. But it was followed after half a minute by the two high-pitched barks, and Grim held up a hand for silence. At the end of perhaps a minute there came from the veranda a perfect imitation of the lascar's ungrammatical, whining singsong from a fo'castle-head: "Hum dekta hai!--I'm on the watch." Grim nodded--to himself, I suppose, for none had spoken to him. "Do you mind stepping out and getting that letter from him, Ramsden? Keep in the shadow, please, and give him this pistol; he may need it." So I slipped out through the screen door and spent a minute looking for Narayan Singh. I'm an old hunter, but it wasn't until Narayan Singh deliberately moved a hand to call attention to himself that I discovered him within ten feet of me. The risk of being seen from the street in case some spy were lurking out there was obvious. So I walked all the way round the house, and came and stood below him on his left hand where the house cast impenetrable shadow; but though I took my time and moved stealthily he heard me and passed me a letter through the veranda rails, accepting the pistol in exchange without comment. I could see him distinctly from that angle. His uniform on one side was torn almost into rags, and his turban was all awry, as if he had lost it in a scuffle and hadn't spared time to rewind it properly--a sure sign of desperate haste; for a male tiger in the spring-time is no more careful of his whiskers than a Sikh is of the thirty yards of cloth he winds around his head. As he didn't speak or make any more movement than was necessary to pass me the letter and take the pistol, I returned the way I had come, entered by the back door, tossed the letter to Grim, and crept back again to bear a hand in case of need. Grim said nothing, but Jeremy followed me, and two minutes later the Australian and I were crouching in darkness below the veranda. This time I don't think Narayan Singh was aware of friends at hand. His eyes were fixed on the slightly lighter gap in a dark wall that was the garden gate but looked more like a dim hole leading into a cave. There being no other entrance that we knew of, Jeremy and I doubled up on the same job, and a rat couldn't have come through without one of the three of us detecting him. If we had had our senses with us we might have realized that Narayan Singh was perfectly capable of watching that single narrow space, and have used our own eyes to better advantage. However, we're all three alive today, and two of us learned a lesson. It wasn't long--perhaps five minutes--before a man showed himself outside the gate, like a spectre dodging this and that way in response to unearthly impulse. Once or twice he started forward, as if on the point of sneaking in, but thought better of it and retreated. Once his attitude suggested that he might be taking aim with a pistol; but if that was so, he chose not to waste a shot or start an alarm by firing at a mark he couldn't see. What he did accomplish was to keep six keen eyes fixed on him. And that gave three other men their chance to gain an entrance at the rear of the wall in the garden, and creep up unawares. It was probably sheer accident that led all three of them along the far side of the house, but it was fortunate for Jeremy and me, for otherwise cold steel between our shoulder-blades would likely have been our first intimation of their presence. We never suspected their existence until they gained the veranda by the end opposite to where we waited; and I think they would have done their murder if the man outside the gate hadn't lost his head from excitement, or some similar emotion and tried to make a signal to them. All three had brought up against the end window, where a shade torn in two places provided a good view into the room in which Grim, Mabel and the doctor were still sitting. Each of them had a pistol, and their intention didn't admit of doubt. "Are you there, sahib?" Narayan Singh whispered. But Jeremy and I were aware of them almost as soon as he, and rather than make a noise by vaulting the veranda rail, we took the longer route by way of the front steps. Jeremy, who was wearing sandals, kicked them off and not having to creep so carefully, moved faster. Of course, the obvious question is, why didn't Narayan Singh shoot? I had a pistol too; why didn't I use it? Well, I'll tell you. None but the irresponsible criminal shoots a man except in obedience to orders or in self-defence. You may argue that those three night-prowlers might have shot Ticknor and his wife and Grim through the window while we aired our superior virtue. The answer to that is, that they didn't, although that was their intention. Narayan Singh, already once that night in danger of his life, and a "godless, heathen Sikh," as I have heard a missionary call him, pocketed the pistol I had given him before proceeding to engage, he being also a white man by the proper way of estimating such things. Jeremy was first on the scene of action, with Narayan Singh close behind him, and I was quite a bit behind, for I tripped against the top step in my hurry. The noise I made gave the alarm, and the three Arabs twisted round like cornered scorpions. I guess they couldn't see us well at first, having been staring through the torn shade into the lighted room. Their pistols were cocked, but Jeremy's fist landed in the nearest man's face before he could shoot, and he went crashing backwards into his friend behind, whose head disappeared for a moment through the window-pane, and the only blood shed on that occasion came from the first man's nose and the back of the second man's neck where the smashed glass slit a gash in it. The third man fired wildly at me, and missed, a fraction of a second before Narayan Singh landed on him with hands and feet; whereat the man in the street emptied his pistol at me and ran away. I was in two minds whether to give chase to him, but made the wrong decision, being heavy on my feet and none too fond of running, so the big fish got away. But even with my help added, the three less important fish still gave a lot of trouble, for they fought like wild cats, using teeth and finger- nails; and the doctor and his wife and Grim were all out lending a hand before we had them finally convinced that the game was up. Mabel trussed up the worst man with a clothes line, while I sat on him. I expected to see a crowd around the house by that time, but Jerusalem works otherwise than some cities. The sound of a pistol-shot sends everybody hurrying for cover, lest some enemy accuse them afterwards of having had a hand in the disturbance. And the nearest police post was a mile away. So we had our little outrage all to ourselves, although strange tales went the rounds of the Holy City that night, and two weeks later several European newspapers printed a beautiful account of a midnight massacre of Jews. We dragged our prisoners into the sitting-room, and stood them up in front of Grim after the doctor and Mabel had attended to their hurts, which weren't especially serious; although nobody need expect to get in the way of Jeremy's fist and feel comfortable for several hours afterwards. The cut made in the second man's neck by broken glass needed several stitches, but the third man was only winded from having been sat on, and of course he was much more sorry for himself than either of the other two--a fact that Grim noted. There was another noticeable circumstance that shed light on human nature and Grim's knowledge of it. They were all three eager to tell their story, although not necessarily the same story; whereas Narayan Singh, who knew that every word he might say would be believed implicitly, was in no hurry to tell his at all. Now when you're dealing with Eastern and near-Eastern people of the sort who lie instinctively (and it may be that this applies to the West as well) it's a good plan to establish, if you can, a basis of truth for them to build their tale on; because the truth acts like acid on untruth. They're going to lie in any case; but lies told without any reference to truth knit better than when invented at a moment's notice to explain away another's straightforward statement. There's a plausible theory that culprits taken in the act are best examined in secret, one by one, in ignorance of all the evidence against them. The wise method is to let them hear the evidence against themselves. Nine times out of ten they will accept that as unanswerable, and strive to twist its meaning or smother it under a mass of lies. But the truth they have accepted, as I have said, works just like acid and destroys their argument almost as fast as they build it up. In the few cases when that doesn't happen, they break down altogether and confess. Anyhow, Grim, who taught me what I have just written, refused to listen to their bleating until Narayan Singh first told in their hearing all that he knew about the night's events. They were forced to sit down on the floor and listen to him like three coffee-shop loungers being told a story; and I don't doubt that the effect was strengthened by the Sikh's standing facing them, for the contrast was as between jackals and a lion. Not that they were small men, for they weren't, or mere ten-dollar assassins picked up in the suk. They looked well fed, and wore fine linen, whereas Narayan Singh was in rags and had lost weight in our recent desert marching, so that his cheek-bones stood out and he looked superficially much more like a man at bay than they did. But their well-cared-for faces were lean in the wrong place, and puffy under the eyes. In place of courage they flaunted an insolent leer, and the smile intended to convey self-confidence betrayed to a close observer anxiety bordering on panic. The most offensive part about them really was their feet, which are indices of character too often overlooked. They had come to their task in slippers, which they had kicked off before reaching the veranda, and instead of the firm, tough feet that a real man stands on, what they displayed as they squatted were subtle, soft things, not exactly flabby, but even more suggestive of treachery than their thin beaks and shifty eyes. To sum them up, they were dandies, of the kind who join the Young Turk Party and believe the New Era can be distilled of talk and tricks; and they looked like mean animals compared to that staunch conservative Narayan Singh, who, nevertheless, is not without his own degree of subtlety. CHAPTER IV "I call this awful!" Sahib, in accordance with instructions I proceeded to Christian Street to the place you spoke of, where I found Yussuf Dakmar drinking coffee and smoking in company with these men and others. They did not see me in the beginning, because I entered by the door of a house threescore and five paces farther down the street; and having by that means gained the roof I descended to a gallery built of stone above one end of the coffee-shop, and there lay concealed among evil-smelling bags. "They conversed in Arabic; and presently when other men had entered, some of whose names I overheard and wrote down on this slip of paper, Yussuf Dakmar locked the outer door, turning the great key twice and setting a chain in place as well. Then he stood on a red stool having four short legs, with his back to the door that he had locked, and spoke in the manner of one who stirs a multitude, gesticulating greatly. "The argument he made was thus: He said that Jerusalem is a holy city, and Palestine a holy land; and that promises are all the more sacred if given in connection with religious matters; whereat they all applauded greatly. Nevertheless, a little later on he mocked at all religion, and they applauded that too. He said that the Allies, persuaded thereto by the British, had made a promise to the Emir Feisul on the strength of which the Arabs made common war with the Allies against the Turks and Germans, losing of their own a hundred thousand men and untold money. "So, sahib. Next he asked them how much of that promise made by the Allies to Emir Feisul as the leader of the Arabs had been kept, or was likely to be kept; and they answered in one voice, 'None of it!' Whereat he nodded, as a teacher nods gravely when the pupils have their lesson well by heart, and said presently in a voice like that of a Guru denouncing sin: 'A woman's promise is a little matter; who believes it? When it is broken all men laugh. A promise extorted under threat or torture is not binding, since he who made the promise was not free to govern his own conduct; that is law. A promise made in business,' said he, 'is a contract contingent on circumstances and subject to litigation. But a promise made in wartime by a nation is a pledge set down in letters of blood. Whoever breaks it is guilty of blood; and whoever fails to smite dead the breaker of that oath, commits treason against Allah!' "They applauded that speech greatly, sahib, and when they grew silent he bade them look about and judge for themselves at whose door the breaking of that sacred promise really lay. 'Show me,' said he, 'one trace of Arab government in all Palestine. Who owns the land?' he asked them. 'Arabs!' said they. 'Yet to whom has the country been given?' he shouted. 'To the Jews!' they answered; and he grew silent for a while, like a teacher whose class has only given half the answer to a question until presently one man growled out, 'To the sword with the Jews in the name of Allah!' and the others echoed that which satisfied him, for he smiled, nevertheless not using those words himself. And presently he continued: "'We in this room are men of enlightenment. We are satisfied to leave past and future to speculations of idle dreamers. For us the present. So we attach no value to the fact that Feisul is descended in a straight line from the founder of the Moslem faith; for that is a superstition as foolish in its way as Christianity or any other creed. But who is there like Feisul who can unite all Arabs under one banner?' "They answered, sahib, that Feisul is the only living man who can accomplish that, making many assertions in his praise, Yussuf Dakmar nodding approval as each spoke. 'Yet,' said he when they had finished, 'Feisul is also fallible. In certain ways he is a fool, and principally in this: That he insists on keeping his own promises to men who have broken their own promises to him.' And like pupils in a class who recite their lesson, they all murmured that such a course as that is madness. "'So,' said he, 'we are clear on that point. We are not altruists, nor religious fanatics, nor slaves, but men of common sense who have a business in view. We are not Feisul's servants, but he ours. We make use of him, not he of us. If he persists in a wrong course, we must force him into the right one, for the day of autocratic government is past and the hour has come when those who truly represent the people have the first right to direct all policy. If the right is still withheld from them, they must take it. And it is we in this room who truly represent the Arab cause, on whom lies the responsibility of forcing Feisul's hand!' "Well, sahib, these three prisoners who sit here offered, at once to go to Damascus and kill the men who are advising Feisul wrongly. They said that if they were given money they could easily hire Damascenes to do the dagger work, there being, as the sahib doubtless knows, a common saying in these parts about Damascus folk and sharp steel. Whereat Yussuf Dakmar suddenly assumed a sneering tone of voice, saying that he preferred men for his part with spunk enough to do such work themselves, and there was an argument, they protesting and he mocking them, until at last this man, whose neck the glass cut, demanded of him whether he, Yussuf Dakmar, was not in truth an empty boaster who would flinch at bloodshed. "He seemed to have been waiting for just that, sahib, for he smirked and threw a chest. 'I am a man,' said he, 'of example as well as precept. I have done what I saw fit to do! I make no boasts,' said he, 'for a man who talks about himself sets others talking, and there are deeds creditable to the doer that are best not spoken of. But I will tell you other things, and you may draw your own conclusions. "'Because Feisul refuses to attack the French, having promised those promise-breakers that he will not; and because Feisul has promised to protect the Jews and is likely to try to keep that promise to the promise-breaking English, certain of his intimates in Damascus, in whose confidence I am, have determined to force both issues, taking steps in his name that will commit him finally. Feisul's army of fifty thousand men is as ready as it will ever be. There is no money in the Damascus treasury, and therefore every moment of delay is now a moment lost. The time has come for action!'" Our three prisoners were listening to the recitation spellbound, and so were we all for that matter. The mere memory feat was amazing enough. Few men could listen in hiding to a stranger's words, and report them exactly after an interval of more than an hour; but Narayan Singh did better than that, for he reproduced the speaker's gesture and inflexion, so that we had a mental picture of the scene that he described. Mabel offered him stewed tannic acid in the name of tea, and Ticknor suggested a chair, but he waved both offers aside and continued as if the picture before his mind and the words he was remembering might escape him if he took things easy. "Sahib, they were very much excited when he spoke of action. First one man and then another stood up and boasted of having made all things ready; how this one had supervised the hiding of sharp swords; how another had kept men at work collecting cartridges on battlefields; how this and that one had continued spreading talk against the Jews, so that they swore that at least ten thousand Moslems in Jerusalem are fretting to begin a massacre. 'Let Feisul only strike the first blow from Damascus,' said they, 'and Palestine will run blood instantly!'" "And we sit here drinking tea," exclaimed Mabel, "while up at headquarters they're dancing and playing bridge! I call this awful! We all ought to be..." Grim smiled and shook his head for silence. "We've known all this for some time," he said. "Don't worry. There'll be no massacre; the troops are sleeping by their arms, and every possible contingency has been provided for. Go on, Narayan Singh." "Well, sahib; when they had done babbling and boasting this Yussuf Dakmar got back on his stool and spoke sternly, as one who gives final judgment and intends to be obeyed. 'It is we who must make the first move,' said he; 'and we shall force Feisul to move after us by moving in his name.' Whereat this man here, whose nose was broken on the fist of Jeremy sahib, said that a letter bearing Feisul's seal would make the matter easier. 'For the men,' said he, 'who are to slit Jews' throats will ask first for proof of our authority to bid them begin the business.' "And at that speech Yussuf Dakmar laughed with great delight. 'Better late than never!' said he. 'Better to think of a wise precaution now than not at all! But oh, ye are an empty-headed crew!' he told them. 'I pity the conspiracy that had no better planning than ye would make for it without my fore thought! I thought of this long ago! I sent a message to Damascus, begging that a date be set and just such a letter sent to us. Feisul, I knew, would sign no such letter; but the paper he uses lies on an open desk, and there are men about him who have access to his seal. And because my appeal was well-timed it met with approval. A letter such as I asked for was written on Feisul's paper, sealed with his seal, and sent!' "'But does it bear his signature?' a man asked. "'How could it, since he never saw the letter?' Yussuf Dakmar answered. "'Then few will pay heed to it,' said the other. "'Perhaps if we were all such fools as you that might be so,' Yussuf Dakmar retorted. 'However, fortunately the rest of us have readier wits! This letter is signed with a number, and the number is that of Feisul's generation in descent from the Prophet Mohammed. Let men be told that this is his secret signature, and when they see his seal beside it, will they not believe? Every hour in Jerusalem, and in all the world, men believe things less credible than that!' "But at that, sahib, another man asked him how they might know that the letter really came from Damascus. 'It well might be,' said that one, 'a forgery contrived by Yussuf Dakmar himself, in which case though they might stir many Moslems into action by showing it, the men in Damascus would fail to follow up the massacre by striking at the French. And if they do not strike at the French,' said he, 'the French will not appeal to the British for aid; and so the British troops will be free to protect the Jews and butcher us, by which means we shall be worse off than before.' "Whereat Yussuf Dakmar laughed again. 'If ye will go to the Sikh hospital,' said he, 'ye will find there the man who brought the letter. He lies in a cot in the upper storey with a knife-wound between his shoulder-blades. It was a mistaken accident unfortunate for him; the letter was intended for me, but I did not know that. What does the life of one fool matter? He gave out that Jews stabbed him, and it may be he believes that; yet I have the letter in my pocket here!' And he touched with one hand the portion of his coat beneath which was the pocket that contained the letter. I was watching, sahib, from where I lay hidden. "He was about, I think, to show them the letter, when another thought occurred to him. He wrinkled his brow, as if seeking words in which to make his meaning clear, and they seemed willing enough to wait for him, but not so I, for I now knew where the letter was. So I sprang into their midst, falling less dangerously than I might have done by reason of a man's shoulders that served for a cushion. It may be that his bones broke under my weight. I can give no accurate report as to that, for I was in great haste. But as he gave way under me, I pitched forward, and, kicking Yussuf Dakmar in the belly with my boot, I fell on him, they falling on me in turn and we all writhing together in one mass on the floor. So I secured the letter." "Good man!" Grim nodded. "Wish I'd been there!" mourned Jeremy. "And, having what I came for, I broke free; and taking the red stool I hurled it at the lamp, so that we were in total darkness, which made it a simple matter to unlock the door, and proceed about my business. Nevertheless, I heard them strike matches behind me, and it seemed unwise to take to my heels at once, it being easy to pursue a man who runs. "As the sahib doubtless remembers, between that coffee shop and the next house is a stone buttress jutting out into the street, forming on its side farthest from the coffee-shop a dark corner, for whose filth and stink the street cleaners ought to be punished. Therein I lurked, while those who pursued ran past me up the street, I counting them; and among them I did not count Yussuf Dakmar and three more. It happened that a man was running up the street and the pursuers supposed him to be me. So I was left with only four to deal with; and it entered my head that no doubt Jimgrim sahib would be pleased to interview Yussuf Dakmar. "And after a few moments Yussuf Dakmar came forth, and I heard him speak to these three fellows. "'Those fools,' said he, 'hunt like street dogs at the sound of rubbish tossed out of a window. But I think that Indian soldier is less foolish than they. If I were he,' said Yussuf Dakmar, 'I think I wouldn't run far, with all these shadows to right and left and all the hours from now until dawn in which to act the fox. I suspect he is not far away at this minute. Nevertheless,' said he, 'those Indians are dangerous fellows. It is highly important that we get that letter from him; but it is almost equally important that we stop his mouth, which would be impossible if he should escape alive. If we wait here,' said he, 'we shall see him emerge from a shadow, if I am not much mistaken.' "So they waited, sahib. And after a few minutes, when my breath had returned to me, I let him have credit as a wise one by emerging as he had said. And those four stalked me through the streets, not daring to come close until I should lead them to a lonely place; and I led them with discretion to this house, where happened what the sahib knows. "That is all I know about this matter, except that being absent from duty on sick-leave there may be difficulty in the matter of my tunic, which is badly torn." Having finished his story Narayan Singh stood at attention like one of those wooden images they used to keep on the sidewalk outside tobacco stores. Grim smiled at the prisoners and asked whether they had any remarks to make--a totally lawless proceeding, for he did not caution them, and had no jurisdiction as a magistrate. They were three men caught red-handed attempting murder and burglary, and entitled accordingly to protection that the law doesn't always accord to honest men. But, as I have said, a true tale in the ears of criminals acts like a chemical reagent. It sets them to work lying, and the lie burns off, disclosing naked truth again. But, mother of me, they were daring liars! The fellow who had come out of the scrap more or less unscathed piped up for the three, the other two nodding and prompting him in whispers. "What that Indian says in the main is true. He did jump down from the gallery and surprise a meeting summoned by Yussuf Dakmar. And it is true that Yussuf Dakmar's purpose is to bring about a massacre of Jews, which is to be simultaneous with an attack by Feisul's forces on the French in Syria. But we three men are not in favour of it. We have had no part in the preparations, although we know all details. We are honest men, who have the public interest at heart, and accordingly we have spied on Yussuf Dakmar, purposing to expose all his plans to the authorities." Jeremy began humming to himself. Mabel tittered, and little Doctor Ticknor swore under his breath. But Grim looked as if he believed them --looked pleasantly surprised--and nodded gravely. "But that hardly explains your following this Indian through the streets and attacking him on the veranda," he suggested, as if sure they could explain that too--as sure enough they did. "We did not attack him. He attacked us. It was obvious to us from the first that he must be an agent of the Government. So when Yussuf Dakmar told us to follow and murder him we decided it was time to expose Yussuf Dakmar, and that this was our opportunity. We knew surely that this Indian would take that letter straight to some official of the Government; it was only necessary to pretend to hunt him and in that manner inveigle Yussuf Dakmar into the toils. "But when we reached this house Yussuf Dakmar was afraid and refused to approach nearer than the street. He insisted on keeping watch outside the garden gate while we should draw near and shoot everyone who might be in the house and recover the letter. He is a coward, and we could not persuade him. "So we decided to pretend to do his bidding, and to whisper through the window to the people within to pass out to the street by some back way and capture him, after which we would give all our evidence to the authorities. "It was while we were looking through the window, seeking to call the attention of those within for that purpose and no other, that we were attacked and submitted to much unnecessary violence. That is the whole truth, as Allah is our witness! We are honest men, who seek to uphold the law, and we claim the protection of the Government. We are ready to tell all we know, including the names of those connected with this plot." CHAPTER V "Nobody will know, no bouquets" There followed a tedious hour or two, during which Grim cross-examined the three "honest men," and took down lists of names from their dictation, getting Doctor Ticknor meanwhile to go for the police because Yussuf Dakmar might still be lurking in the neighbourhood for a chance to murder Narayan Singh. It was only after the police had carried off the prisoners to jail (where they repudiated their entire confession next morning) that Grim showed us the letter which, like a spark, had fired a powder magazine--although a smaller one than its writer intended. "It isn't in Feisul's handwriting," he said, holding the feathery Arab script up to the lamplight; "and it's no more like his phraseology than a camel resembles a locomotive. Listen to this: To the Pan-Arab Committee in Jerusalem, by favour of Yussuf Dakmar Bey its District President, Greeting in the name of God: Ye know that on former occasions the foes of our land and race were overwhelmed when, relying on the aid of the Most High, and raising the green banner of the Prophet--on whom be peace--we launched our squadrons in a cause held sacred by us all. Ye know that in that fashion, and not otherwise, the accursed conquerors were driven forth and our sacred banner was set on high over the Damascus roofs, where by Allah's blessing may it wave for ever! Ye know how those who claimed to be our friends have since proven themselves foes, so that the independent state for which we fought is held today in ignominious subjection by aliens, who deny the true Faith and hold their promises as nothing. Ye know how Damascus is beset by the French, and Palestine is held by the British who, notwithstanding the oath they swore to us, are daily betraying us Arabs to the Jews. Know now, then, that the hour has struck when, again in the name of Allah, we must finish what we formerly began and with our true swords force these infidels to yield our country to us. Nor on this occasion shall we sheathe our swords until from end to end our land is free and united under one government of our own choosing. Know that this time there shall be no half-measures nor any compromise. It is written, Ye shall show no quarter to the infidel. Let no Jew live to boast that he has footing in the land of our ancestors. Leave ye no root of them in the earth nor seedling that can spring into a tree! Smite, and smite swiftly in the name of Him who never sleeps, who keeps all promises, whose almighty hand is ready to preserve the Faithful. Whereunto ye are bidden to take courage. Whereunto our army of Syria stands ready. Whereunto the day has been appointed. Know ye that the tenth day from the sending of this letter, and at dawn, is the appointed time. Therefore let all make common cause for the favour of the Most High which awaits the Faithful. In the name of God and Mohammed the Prophet of God, on whom be blessings." There followed the Moslem date and the numerical signature over Feisul's indubitable seal. Grim figured a moment and worked out the corresponding date according to our western calendar. "Leaves six days," he said pleasantly. "It means the French intend to attack Damascus seven days from now." "Let 'em!" Jeremy exploded. "Feisul'll give 'em ----! All they've got are Algerians." "The French have poison gas," Grim answered dourly. "Feisul's men have no masks." "Get 'em some!" That was Jeremy again. Grim didn't answer, but went on talking: "They're going to get Damascus. All they've waited for was poison gas, and now there's no stopping 'em. They forged this letter after the gas arrived. Now if they catch Feisul in Damascus they'll put him on trial for his life, and they probably hope to get this letter back somehow to use as evidence against him." "Go slow, Jim!" Mabel objected. "Where's your proof that the French are jockeying this? Isn't that Feisul's seal?" "Yes, and it's his paper. But not his handwriting." "He might have dictated it, mightn't he?" "Never in those words. Feisul don't talk or write that way. The letter's a manifest forgery, as I'll prove by confronting Feisul with it. But there's a little oversight that should convince you it's a forgery. Have you a magnifying glass, doc?" Ticknor produced one in a minute, and Grim held the letter under the lamp. On the rather wide margin, carefully rubbed out, but not so carefully that the indentation did not show, was the French word magnifique that had been written with a rather heavy hand and one of those hard pencils supplied to colonial governments by exporters from stocks that can't be sold at home. "That proves nothing," Mabel insisted. "All educated Arabs talk French. Somebody on Feisul's staff was asked for an opinion on the letter before it went. My husband's Arab orderly told me only yesterday that a sling I made for a man in the hospital was magnifique." The objection was well enough taken, because it was the sort the forger of the letter would be likely to raise if brought to book. But Grim's argument was not exhausted. "There are other points, Mabel. For one thing, it's blue metallic ink. Feisul's private letters are all written with indelible black stuff made from pellets that I gave him; they're imported from the States." "But if Feisul wanted to prove an alibi, he naturally wouldn't use his special private ink," objected Mabel. "Then why his seal, and his special private notepaper? However, there's another point. Feisul writes the purest kind of Arabic, and this isn't that sort of Arabic. It was written by a foreigner--perhaps a Frenchman--possibly an Armenian--most likely a Turk--certainly one of the outer ring of politicians who have access to Feisul and seek to control him, but are not really in his confidence. Damascus is simply a network of spies of that kind--men who attached themselves to the Arab cause when it looked like winning and are now busy transferring their allegiance. "I think I could name the man who wrote this; I think I know the man who wrote that magnifique. If I'm right, Yussuf Dakmar will notify the French tonight through their agents in Jerusalem. The man who wrote that magnifique will know before morning that the letter's missing; and it doesn't matter how careful I may be, it'll be known as soon as I start for Damascus. "They'll dope out that our obvious course would be to confront Feisul with this letter. The only way to travel is by train; the roads are rotten--in fact, no auto could get through; they'd tip off the Bedouins, who'd murder everybody. "So they'll watch the trains and especially Haifa, where everyone going north has to spend the night; and they'll stop at nothing to get the letter back, for two reasons; as long as it's in our hands it can be used to establish proof of the plot against Feisul; once it's back in theirs, they can keep it in their secret dossier to use against Feisul if they ever catch him and bring him to trial. You remember the Dreyfus case? "I shall start for Damascus by the early train--probably take an auto as far as Ludd. If I want to live until I reach Damascus I shall have to prove conclusively that I haven't that letter with me. Anyone known to be in British service is going to be suspected and, if not murdered, robbed. Ramsden has been seen about too much with me. Jeremy might juggle by but he's already notorious, and these people are shrewd. Better hold Jeremy in reserve, and the same with Narayan Singh. A woman's best. How about you, Mabel?" "What d'you mean, Jim?" "Do you know a woman in Haifa?" "Of course I do." "Well enough to expect a bed for the night at a moment's notice?" "Certainly." Mabel's eyes were growing very bright indeed. It was her husband who looked alarmed. "Well, now, here's the point." Grim leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, not looking at anybody, stating his case impersonally, as it were, which is much the shrewdest way of being personal. "Feisul's up against it, and he's the best man in all this land, bar none. They've dealt to him from a cold deck, and he's bound to lose this hand whichever way he plays it. To put it differently, he's in check, but not checkmated. He'll be checkmated, though, if the French ever lay hands on him, and then good-bye to the Arab's chance for twenty years. "I propose to save him for another effort, and the only way to do that is to convince him. The best way to convince him is to show him that letter, which can't be done if Feisul's enemies discover who carries it. If Ramsden, Jeremy, Narayan Singh and I start for Damascus, pretending that one or other of us has the letter concealed on his person, and if a woman really carries it, we'll manage. Is Mabel Ticknor going to be the woman? That's the point." "Too dangerous, Jim! Too dangerous!" Ticknor put in nervously. "Pardon me, old man. The danger is for us four, who pretend we've got the thing." "There are lots of other women and I've only got one wife!" objected Ticknor. "We're pressed for time," Grim answered. "You see, Ticknor, old man, you're a Cornstalk and therefore an outsider--just a medico, who saws bones for a living, satisfied to keep your body out of the poorhouse, your soul out of hell, and your name out of the newspapers. Your wife is presumably more so. There are several officials' wives who would jump at the chance to be useful; but a sudden trip toward Damascus just now would cause any one of them to be suspected, whereas Mabel wouldn't be." "I don't know why not!" Ticknor retorted. "Wasn't she in here when those three murderers came to finish the lot of us? If Yussuf Dakmar makes any report at all he'll surely say he traced the letter to this house." "Yussuf Dakmar came no nearer than the street," Grim answered. "He has no notion who is in here. His three friends are in jail under lock and key, where he can't get at them. How long have you had this house? Since yesterday, isn't it? D'you kid yourself that Yussuf Dakmar knows who lives here?" "I can get leave of absence. Suppose I go in Mabel's place?" suggested Ticknor, visibly worried. "The mere fact that she goes, while you stay here, will be presumptive evidence that she isn't on a dangerous mission," Grim answered. "No. It has got to be a woman. If Mabel won't go I'll find someone else." You could tell by Mabel's eyes and attitude that she was what the salesmen call "sold" already; but you didn't need a magnifying glass to detect that Ticknor wasn't. Men of his wandering habit know too well what a brave, good-tempered wife means to encourage her to take long chances; for although there are lots of women who would like to wander and accept the world's pot luck, there are precious few capable of doing it without doubling a fellow's trouble; when they know how to halve the trouble and double the fun they're priceless. Grim played his usual game, which is to spank down his ace of trumps face upward on the table. Most of us forget what are trumps in a crisis. "I guess it's up to you, doc," he said, turning toward Ticknor. "There's nothing in it for you. Feisul isn't on the make; I don't believe he cares ten cents who is to be the nominal ruler of the Arabs, provided they get their promised independence. He'd rather retire and live privately. But he only considers himself in so far as he can serve the Arab cause. Now, you've risked Mabel's life a score of times in order to help sick men in mining camps, and malaria victims and Lord knows what else. Here's a chance to do the biggest thing of all--" "Of course, if you put it that way..." said Ticknor, hesitating. "Just your style too. Nobody will know. No bouquets. You won't have to stammer a speech at any dinner given in your honor." "D'you want to do it, Mabel?" asked Ticknor, looking at her keenly across the table. "Of course I do!" "All right, girl. Only, hurry back." He looked hard at Grim again, then into my eyes and then Jeremy's. "She's in your hands. I don't want to see any of you three chaps alive again unless she comes back safe. Is that clear?" "Clear and clean!" exploded Jeremy. "It's a bet, doc. Half a mo', you chaps; that's my mine at Abu Kem, isn't it? I've agreed to give the thing to Feisul and make what terms I can with him. Jim and Rammy divvy up with me on my end, if any. That right? I say; let the doc and Mabel have a half-share each of anything our end amounts to." Well, it took about as long to settle that business as you'd expect. The doctor and Mabel protested, but it's easier to give away a fortune that is still in prospect than a small sum that is really tangible--I mean between folk who stand on their own feet. It doesn't seem to deprive the giver of much, or to strain the pride of the recipient unduly. I've been given shares in unproven El Doradoes times out of number, and could paper the wall of, say, a good-sized bathroom with the stock certificates--may do it some day if I ever settle down. But the only gift of that sort that I ever knew to pay dividends, except to the printer of the gilt-edged scrip, is Jeremy's gold mine; and you'll look in vain for any mention of that in the stock exchange lists. The time to get in on that good thing was that night by Mabel Ticknor's teapot in Jerusalem. It was nearly midnight before we had everything settled, and there was still a lot to do before we could catch the morning train. One thing that Grim did was to take gum and paper and contrive an envelope that looked in the dark sufficiently like the alleged Feisul letter; and he carried that in his hand as he took to the street, with Narayan Singh following among the shadows within hail. Jeremy and I kept Narayan Singh in sight, for it was possible that Yussuf Dakmar had gathered a gang to waylay whoever might emerge from the house. But he seemed to have had enough of bungling accomplices that night. Grim hadn't gone fifty paces, keeping well in the middle of the road, when a solitary shadow began stalking him, and doing it so cautiously that though he had to cross the circles of street lamplight now and then neither Jeremy nor I could have identified him afterward. Narayan Singh had orders not to do anything but guard Grim against assault, for Grim judged it wise to leave Yussuf Dakmar at large than to precipitate a climax by arresting him. He had the names of most of the local conspirators, and if the leader were seized too soon the equally dangerous rank and file might scatter and escape. Down inside the Jaffa Gate, in a dark alley beside the Grand Hotel, there are usually two or three cabs standing at any hour of the night ready to care for belated Christian gentlemen who have looked on the wine when it was any colour that it chanced to be. There were three there, and Grim took the first one, flourishing his envelope carelessly under the corner lamp. Yussuf Dakmar took the next in line, and ordered the driver to follow Grim. So we naturally took the last one, all three of us crowding on to the rear seat in order to watch the cabs in front. But as soon as we had driven back outside the city gate Yussuf Dakmar looked behind him and, growing suspicious of us, ordered his driver to let us pass. It would have been too obvious if we had stopped too, so we hid our faces as we passed, and then put Jeremy on the front seat, he looking like an Arab and being most unrecognizable. Yussuf Dakmar followed us at long range, and as the lean horses toiled slowly up the Mount of Olives to headquarters the interval between the cabs grew greater. By the time we reached the guard-house and answered the Sikh sentry's challenge there was no sign of Grim in front, and we could only hear in the distance behind us the occasional click of a loose shoe to tell that Yussuf Dakmar was still following. CHAPTER VI "Better the evil that we know..." Yussuf Dakmar had his nerve with him that night, or possibly desperation robbed him of discretion. He may have been a more than usually daring man with his wits about him, but you'd have to hunt down the valley of death before you could bring the psychoanalytic guns to bear on him for what they're worth. I can only tell you what he did, not why he did it. The great hospice that the German nation built on the crown of the Mount of Olives to glorify their Kaiser stood like a shadow among shadows in its compound, surrounded by a fairly high wall. There was a pretty strong guard under an Indian officer in the guard-house at the arched main gate where the sentry challenged us. A sentry stood at the foot of the steps under the portico at the main entrance, and there was another armed man on duty patrolling the grounds. But there were one or two other entrances, locked, though quite easy to negotiate, which the sentry could only observe while he marched toward them; for five minutes at a time, while his back was turned, at least two gates leading to official residences offered opportunity to an active man. One lone light at a window on the top floor suggested that the officer of the night might be awake, but what with the screeching of owls and a wind that sighed among the shrubs, headquarters looked and sounded more like a deserted ancient castle than the cranium and brain-cells of Administration. We heard Yussuf Dakmar stop his cab two hundred yards away. The cabman turned his horses and drove back toward Jerusalem without calling on Allah to witness that his fare should have been twice what he received; he didn't even lash the horses savagely; so we supposed that he hadn't been paid, and went on to deduce from that that Yussuf Dakmar had driven away again, after satisfying himself that the Feisul letter had reached headquarters. It was lazy, bad reasoning--the sort of superficial, smart stuff that has cost the lives of thousands of good men times out of number--four o'clock o' the morning intelligence that, like the courage of that hour, needs priming by the foreman, or the sergeant-major, or the bosun as the case may be. The sentry turned out the guard, who let us through the gate after a word with Narayan Singh; and the man who leaned on his bayonet under the portico at the end of the drive admitted us without any argument at all. I suppose he thought that having come that far we must be people in authority. Ever since then I have believed all the stories told me about spies who walked where they chose unchallenged during wartime; for we three--a Sikh enlisted man, an Australian disguised as an Arab, and an American in civilian clothes--entered unannounced and unwatched the building where every secret of the Near East was pigeonholed. We walked about the corridors and up and downstairs for ten minutes, looking in vain for Grim. Here and there a servant snored on a mat in a corner, and once a big dog came and sniffed at us without making any further comment. Jeremy kicked one man awake, who, mistaking him for an Arab, cursed him in three languages, in the name of three separate gods, and promptly went to sleep again. The sensation was like being turned loose in the strong-room of a national treasury with nobody watching if you should choose to help yourself. There are acres of floor in that building. We walked twice the whole circuit of the upper and lower corridors, knocking on dozens of doors but getting no answer and finally brought up in the entrance hall. Then it occurred to me that Grim might have gone into the building by some private entrance, perhaps round on the eastern side, so we set out to look for one. We had just reached the northwest angle of the building, when Narayan Singh, who was walking a pace in front, stopped suddenly and held up both hands for silence. Whoever he could see among the shadows must have heard us, but it was no rare thing for officers to come roistering down those front steps and along the drive hours after midnight, and our sudden silence was more likely to give alarm than the noise had been. I began talking again in a normal voice, saying anything at all, peering about into the shadows meanwhile. But it was several seconds before I made out what the Sikh's keener eyes had detected instantly, and Jeremy saw it before I did. There was a magnolia shrub about ten paces away from us, casting a shadow so deep that the ground it covered looked like a bottomless abyss. But nevertheless, something bright moved in it--perhaps the sheen of that lone light in an upper window reflected on a knife-hilt or a button--something that moved in time to a man's breathing. If there was a certainty in the world it was that somebody who had no right to be there was lurking in that shadow, and he was presumably up to mischief. On the other hand, I had absolutely no right in that place either. Jeremy and Narayan Singh, being both in the British Army, were liable to be disciplined, and I might be requested to leave the country, if we should happen to blunder and tree the wrong 'possum, revenge being more than usually sweet to the official disturbed in the pursuit of unauthorized "diplomacy." It might even be some clandestine love affair. So I took each of my companions by the arm, gripping Jeremy's particularly tightly, and started forward, whispering an explanation after we had turned the corner of the building. "Let one of us go and warn the guard," I suggested. "If we should draw that cover and start a shindy, we're more likely to get shot by the guard than thanked." So Narayan Singh started off for the guard-house, he being the one most capable of explaining matters to the Sikh officer, and Jeremy and I crept back through the shadows to within earshot of the dark magnolia tree, choosing a point from which we could see if anybody bolted. You know how some uncatalogued sense informs you in the dark of the movement of the man beside you? I looked suddenly sideways toward Jeremy, knowing, although I couldn't see him, that his eyes were seeking mine. It is only the animals who omit in the darkness those instinctive daylight movements; men don't have sufficient control of themselves. We had both heard Grim's voice at the same instant, speaking Arabic but unmistakable. There were three men there. Grim was talking to the other two. "Keep your hands on each other's shoulders! Don't move! I'm going to search all your pockets again. Now, Mr. Charkian. Ah! That feels like quite a pretty little weapon; mother o' pearl on the butt? Have you a permit? Never mind; not having the weapon you won't need a permit, will you? And papers--Mashallah! What a lot of documents; they must be highly important ones since you hide them under your shirt. I expect you planned to sell them, eh? Too bad! Too bad! "You keep your hands on Mr. Charkian's shoulders, Yussuf Dakmar, or I'll have to use violence! I'm not sure, Mr. Charkian, that it wouldn't be kinder to society to send you to jail after all; you need a bath so badly. It seems a pity that a chief clerk to the Administration shouldn't have a chance to wash himself, doesn't it? Well, I'll have to read these papers afterward--after we've usurped the prerogative of Destiny and mapped out a little of the future. Now--are you both listening? Do you know who I am?" There was no answer. "You, Mr. Charkian?" "I think you are Major Grim." "Ah! You wish to flatter me, don't you? Never mind; let us pretend I'm Major Grim disguised as an Arab; only, I'm afraid we must continue the conversation in Arabic; I might disillusion you if I tried to talk English. We'll say then that I'm Major Grim, disguised. Let's see now... What would he do in the circumstances? Here's Yussuf Dakmar, wanted for murder in the city and known to be plotting a massacre, seen climbing a wall when the sentry's back was turned, and caught in conference with Mr. Charkian, confidential clerk to the Administration. I'm sorry I didn't hear all that was said at your conference, for that might have made it easier to guess what Major Grim would do." "Don't play with us like a cat playing with a mouse!" snarled somebody. "Tell us what you want. If you were Major Grim you'd have handed us over to those officers who passed just now. You're just as much irregular as we are. Hurry up and make your bargain, or the guard may come and arrest us all!" "Yes, hurry up!" complained the other man. "I don't want to be caught here; and as for those papers you have taken, if we are caught I shall say you stole them from the office--you and Yussuf Dakmar, and that I followed you to recover them, and you both attacked me!" "Very well," said Grim's voice pleasantly. "I'll let you go. I think you're dangerous. You'd better be quick, because I think I hear the guard coming!" "Give me back the papers, then!" "Aha! Will you wait and discuss them with the guard, or go at once?" The Armenian clerk didn't answer, but got up and slunk away. "Why did you let that fool go?" demanded Yussuf Dakmar. "Now he will awaken some officer and start hue and cry with a story that we robbed him. Listen! There comes the guard! We had better both run!" "Not so fast!" Grim answered. And then he raised his voice perceptibly, as if he wished to be overheard: "I think those men who passed just now were not officers at all. Perhaps they were strangers. It may be that one of them is confused, and is leading the guard in the wrong direction!" "Don't make so much noise then!" retorted Yussuf Dakmar. Jeremy, who thinks habitually about ten times as fast as I do, slipped away at once into the shadows to find Narayan Singh and decoy the guard elsewhere. I didn't envy him the job, for Sikhs use cold steel first and argue afterward when on the qui vive in the dark. However, he accomplished his purpose. Narayan Singh saved his life, and the guard arrested him on general principles. You could hear both Jeremy and Narayan Singh using Grim's name freely. Yussuf Dakmar wasn't deaf. He gave tongue: "There! Did you hear that? They are speaking of Major Grim. You are a fool if you wait here any longer. That fellow Grim is a devil, I tell you. If he finds us we are both lost!" "We have to be found first," Grim answered, and you could almost hear him smile. "Quick then! What do you want?" snapped Yussuf Dakmar. Grim's answer was the real surprise of the evening. It bewildered me as much as it astonished Yussuf Dakmar. "I want that letter that came from the Emir Feisul!" "I haven't got it! I swear I haven't!" "I know that already, for I searched you. Where is it?" "Ask Allah! It was stolen by a Sikh, who delivered it to someone in a house near the military hospital, who in turn gave it to an Arab, who brought it here. I hoped that fellow Charkian might steal it back again, but you have spoiled everything. Charkian will turn against me now to save himself. What do you want with the letter?" "I must have it!" Grim answered. "The French agent--" "What--Sidi Said? You know him?" "Surely. He would pay me a thousand pounds for it." "May Allah change his face! He only offered me five hundred!" "You have seen him already, then?" Grim asked. "I don't believe you! When did you see him?" "On the way up here. He stopped my cab to speak to me at the foot of the hill." I began to see the drift of Grim's purpose. He had established the fact that the French secret agent was already on the track of the letter, and that in turn explained why he had not seized Yussuf Dakmar and put him in jail. It was better to use the man, as the sequel proved. And Yussuf Dakmar walked straight into Grim's trap. "What is your name?" he demanded. "Call me Omar," said Grim. "A Turk, are you? Well, Omar, let us help each other to get that letter, and divide the reward. Sidi Said told me that the British are sure to confront Feisul with it, and to do it secretly if they can. They will try to send it to Damascus. Let us two find out who takes it, and waylay him." "Why should I divide with you?" demanded Grim, who is much too good an actor to pretend to agree without bargaining. "Because otherwise you will not succeed. I was afraid of you when you first surprised me with Charkian. But now that I know you for a spy in the pay of the French I am not afraid of you, even though you have my revolver and dagger. You dare not kill me, for I would shout for help and the guard would come. You are in danger as much as I am. So you may either agree to work with me, sharing the reward, or you may work alone and have nothing for your pains; for I shall bring accomplices to help me take the letter from you after you have stolen it!" Well, I suppose that anyone with criminal intentions could submit gracefully to that much blackmail. Besides, Grim was rather pressed for time and couldn't afford to prolong the argument. "I see you are a determined man," he answered. "Your demand is unreasonable, but I must agree to it." "Then give me back my pistol!" "No. I need it. I lent mine this evening to another man, who has not yet returned it. That was a piece of wood with which I held you up just now. You must get yourself another." "They are hard to come by in Jerusalem. Give me mine back." "No. I shall keep it to protect myself against you." "Why? You have no need to fear me if we work together." "Because I intend to tell you what I know; and I may find it convenient to shoot you if you betray the information." "Oh! Well, tell away." "I have been cleverer than you," Grim announced blandly. "I knew who had given the order to the Sikh to steal that letter from you, and I was concealed in his house when the letter was brought to him. I heard the conference that followed, so I know what is going to be done about it." "Oh! That was very smart. Well, tell me." "Three men are going to take the letter to Damascus, but I don't know which of them will have it on his person. One is an Arab. One is an American. The third is that same Sikh who took the letter from you. They will take the train from Ludd, and I have engaged myself as servant to the American." "Now that was extremely clever of, you!" said Yussuf Dakmar. "Yes," Grim agreed. "But perhaps it will be as well to have an accomplice after all, and you will do as well as any. If I steal the letter they may accuse me; but if I can pass it to you, then I can submit to a search and oblige them to apologize." "True! True! That will be excellent." "So you had better take the morning train for Damascus," Grim continued. "But understand: If you bring others with you I shall suspect you of intending to play a trick on me. In that event I shall shoot you with your own pistol, and take my chance of escaping afterward. In fact, you are a dead man, Yussuf Dakmar, the minute I suspect you of playing me false." "The same to you likewise!" Yussuf Dakmar answered fervently. "Then we understand each other," said Grim. "The best thing you can do between now and train-time is to see the French agent again." "What good will that do? He is irritable--nervous; he will only ask a thousand questions." "Then your visit will do all the more good. You can calm him. We don't want a horde of fools interfering with us on the journey. We want to work quietly, and to share the reward between us. Therefore, you should tell him that you are confident of getting the letter if he will only leave the business to you alone. Give him every assurance, and explain to him that interference may mean failure. Now, I have done much the greater part so far; let this be your share to balance the account between us; you go to Sidi Said, the French agent, and make sure that he doesn't hinder us by trying to help." "Very well, I will do that. And I shall meet you at the station in the morning?" "No. My party will go as far as Ludd by motor. You will see us join the train there. Go now, while the guard is out of the way." I could not see, but I heard Yussuf Dakmar get up and go. He had hardly time to get out of earshot when Grim's voice broke the silence again: "You there, Ramsden?" Instead of answering I approached. "Did you hear what was said?" he asked. "Yes. Why didn't you arrest both the blackguards and have done with it?" "Better the evil that we know..." he answered, with the familiar smile in his voice. "The important thing is to sidetrack the French agent, who could put fifty ruffians on our trail instead of one." "Why not send a provost-marshal's guard to the French agent, then?" "Can't do that. France and Great Britain are allies. Besides, they might retaliate by spiflicating our agent in Damascus. Wise folk who live in glass-houses don't throw stones. What I think has been accomplished is to reduce our probable risk down to Yussuf Dakmar, who's a mean squib at best; and I think we've drawn suspicion clear away from Mabel Ticknor. All that remains is for me to go to that room where you see the light burning and discuss matters with the chief." "If he's awake he's lonely!" said I; and I told Grim of our experience inside the building. "Yes," he said. "Governments are all like that. They talk glibly of the ship of state; but a ship run in the same way would pile up or sink the first night out. You'd better go home and get an hour's sleep; I'll call you at seven." "We'll take turns sleeping on the train," I answered. "Come first and rescue Jeremy. I think the guard pinched him. Say, did you intend one of us to go and decoy the guard away that time you raised your voice?" "Sure. Recognized your voices--yours especially--when you passed, and heard you breathe as you crept back. You nearly spoilt the game by turning out the guard, but you saved it again handsomely." "It's a marvel those Sikhs didn't shoot Jeremy in the dark," I answered. "You bet it is," said Grim. "I guess he's too useful to be allowed to die just now." He hung his head, thinking, as we walked side by side. "That was a close shave--too close! Well, as you say, let's go and rescue him." CHAPTER VII "You talk like a madman!" Grim changed the plan a little at the last minute. Mabel Ticknor left Jerusalem by train, as agreed, but Narayan Singh was sent that way too, to keep an eye on her. He being a Sikh, could sit in the corridor without exciting comment, and being dressed for the part of a more or less prosperous trader, he could travel first class without having to answer questions or allay suspicion. Grim, Jeremy and I drove to Ludd in a hired auto, Grim and Jeremy both in Arab costume, and I trying to look like a tourist. Jeremy was supposed to be a travelled Arab intent on guiding me about Damascus for the usual consideration. The platform was crowded, and we secured a compartment in the train without calling much attention to ourselves. There were British officers of all ranks, Egyptians, Jews, Greeks, refugee Armenians, Maltese, Kurds, a Turk or two, Circassians, men from as far off as Bokhara, Turkomans, Indians of all sorts, a sprinkling of Bedouins looking not quite so at home as in their native desert, and local Arabs by the score. About half of them were in a panic, encouraged to it by their shrill women-folk, fighting in a swarm for tickets at one small window, where an insolent Levantine demonstrated his capacity for self-determination by making as many people as possible miss the train. I caught sight of Mabel Ticknor in the front compartment of our car, and Grim pointed out Yussuf Dakmar leaning through a window of the car behind. His face was fat, unwholesome, with small, cold eyes, an immoral nose, and a small mouth with pouting lips. The tarboosh he wore tilted at an angle heightened the general effect of arrogant self-esteem. He was an illustration of the ancient mystery--how is it that a man with such a face, and such insolence written all over him, can become a leader of other men and persuade them to hatch the eggs of treachery that he lays like a cuckoo in their nests? He smirked at Grim suggestively as we went by, and Grim, of course, smirked back, with a sidewise inclination of the head in my direction, whereat Yussuf Dakmar withdrew himself, apparently satisfied. "Now he'll waste a lot of time investigating you," said Grim in an undertone. "We'd better keep awake in turns, or he'll knife you." "The toe of my boot to him!" I retorted. "One clean kick might solve this international affair!" "Steady!" Grim answered. "We need him until after leaving Haifa. The French agent wired, and they'll have a gang at Haifa ready for us; but Yussuf Dakmar will warn them off if we keep him hoping." So we settled down into our compartment after a glance to make sure that Mabel was all right, and for about two minutes I imagined we were in for a lazy journey. Narayan Singh was on a camp-stool in the corridor, snoozing with one eye open like a faithful sheep-dog. It didn't seem possible for a creature like Yussuf Dakmar to make trouble for us, and I proposed that we should match coins for the first turn to go to sleep. We had just pulled our coins out, and the engineer was backing the train in order to get her started, when Yussuf Dakmar arrived at our door, carrying his belongings, and claimed a seat on the strength of a lie about there being no room elsewhere. There's something about a compartment on a train that makes whoever gets in first regard the rest of the world as intruders. Nobody would have been welcome, but we would have preferred a pig to Yussuf Dakmar. Jeremy, democrat of democrats, who had slept without complaining between the legs of a dead horse on a rain-swept battlefield, with a lousy Turkish prisoner hugging him close to share the blanket, was up in arms at once. "Imshi!" he ordered bluntly. But Yussuf Dakmar was delighted. The reception convinced him, if anything were needed to do that, that one of us really was guarding the secret letter; and he was one of those hogs, anyhow, who glory in snouting in where they are plainly not wanted. He took the corner seat opposite Jeremy, tucked his legs up under him, produced a cigarette and smiled offensively. I'll concede this, though: I think the smile was meant to be ingratiating. He pulled out a package wrapped in newspaper and began to eat before the train had run a mile. And, you know, more men get killed because of how they eat than by the stuff they devour. If you don't believe that, try living in camp for a week or two with a man who chews meat with his mouth open. You'll feel the promptings of a murderer. I know a scientist who swears that the real secret of the Cain and Abel story is that Abel sucked his gums at mealtime. "You ought to be buried up to the neck and fed with a shovel!" Jeremy informed him in blunt English after listening to the solo for a while. "Aha! That is the way they used to treat criminals in Persia," he answered pleasantly, with his mouth full of goat's milk cheese. "Only they put plaster of Paris in the hole, and when it rained the wretched man was squeezed until the blood came out of his mouth and eyes, and he died in agony. But how comes it that you speak to me in English? If we are both Arabs, why not talk the mother tongue?" "My rump is my rump and the land is its rulers," Jeremy answered in Arabic, quoting the rudest proverb he could think of on the spur of the moment. "Ah! And who is its ruler? Who is to be its ruler?" Yussuf Dakmar made a surreptitious face at Grim, and his little cold eyes shone like a hungry pariah dog's. It began to be interesting to watch his opening gambit. "I have heard tales," he went on, "of a new ruler for this country. What do you think of Feisul's chance?" As he said that he eyed me sideways swiftly and keenly. Grim sat back in his own corner and folded up his legs, watching the game contentedly. Jeremy, intercepting Yussuf Dakmar's glance, put his own construction on it. He is a long, lean man, but like the Fat Boy in Pickwick Papers he likes to make your flesh creep, and humor, to have full zest for him, has to be mischievous. So he commenced by pulling out his weapons one by one. The first was a razor, which he sharpened, tested with his thumb suggestively, and then placed in his sock, studying Yussuf Dakmar's throat for a minute or so after that, as if expecting to have to use the razor on it presently. As the effect of that wore off he pulled out a pistol. It was one of the kind that won't go off unless you pull the Hammer back, but Yussuf Dakmar didn't know that, and if he had flesh and blood capable of creeping it's a safe assertion that they crept. Jeremy acted as if he didn't understand the weapon, and for fifteen minutes did more stunts with it than a puppy can do with a ball of twine. One of them that interested Yussuf Dakmar awfully was to point the pistol straight ahead, half-cocked, and try to get the hammer down by slapping it with the palm of his hand. Most of our baggage was on the floor, but one fairly heavy valise was in the rack over Yussuf Dakmar's head. Jeremy got up to examine it when the pistol had ceased to amuse him, and taking advantage of a jerk as the train slowed down, contrived to drop it into the Syrian's lap; who rather naturally swore; whereat Jeremy took offence, and accused him of being a descendant of Hanna, son of Manna, who lived for a thousand and one years and never enjoyed himself. It was our turn to eat sandwiches after that, while Yussuf Dakmar recovered from his disgruntlement. But just before the meal was finished Jeremy revived the game by asking suddenly in an awestruck whisper where "it" was. He slapped himself all over in a hurry, feeling for hidden pockets, and then came over and pretended to search me. There wasn't anything to do but fall in with his mood, so I resisted, searched my own pockets reluctantly, and said that we might as well take the next train back, since we had lost the important document. Before we started we had put into a wallet the fake envelope that Grim had carried in his hand the previous night, and had entrusted the wallet to Jeremy in order to have an alibi ready for Mabel in case of need. Grim took up the cudgels now and reminded me respectfully, as a servant should when speaking to his master, that I had taken all proper precautions and could not be blamed in any event. "But I think it will be found," he said hopefully. "Inshallah, it is not lost, but in the wallet in the pocket of that hare-brained friend of yours." So Jeremy went back to his corner, searched for the wallet, found it after pretty nearly, standing on his head to shake his clothes, examined it excitedly, and produced the fake envelope, flourishing it so violently that nobody, even with eyes like a hawk's, could have identified it with certainty. Then he dropped it in among the baggage on the floor, and went down on his knees to pick it up again. There is no more finished expert at sleight of hand than he, so it vanished, and he swore he couldn't find it. In a well-simulated agony of nervousness he called on Yussuf Dakmar to get down and help him search, and the Syrian hadn't enough self-command left to pretend to hesitate; his cold eyes were nearly popping from his head as he knelt and groped. The chief subject of interest to me just then was how he proposed to retain the letter in the unlikely event of his finding it first. It was a ridiculous search, because there wasn't really anywhere to look. After three bags had been lifted and their bottoms scrutinized the whole floor of the compartment lay naked to the eye, except where my feet rested. Jeremy insisted on my raising them, to the accompaniment of what he considered suitable comment on their size, turning his "behind end" meanwhile toward Yussuf Dakmar. Grim chuckled and caught my eye. Yussuf Dakmar had walked straight into temptation, and was trying to search Jeremy's pockets from the rear--no easy matter, for he had to discover them first in the loose folds of the Arab costume. Suddenly Jeremy's mood changed. He became suspicious, stood up, resumed his seat--and glared at Yussuf Dakmar, who retired into his corner and tried to seem unconscious of the game. "I believe you are a thief--one of those light-fingered devils from El-Kalil!" said Jeremy suddenly, after about three minutes' silence. "I believe you have stolen my letter! Like the saint's ass, you are a clever devil, aren't you? Nevertheless, you are like a man without fingernails, whose scratching does him no good! Your labour was in vain. Give me back the letter, or by Allah I will turn you upside down!" Yussuf Dakmar denied the accusation with all the fervour that a blackguard generally does use when, for once, he is consciously innocent. "By the Beard of the Prophet and on my honor I swear to you that I haven't touched your letter! I don't know where it is." "Show me the Prophet's beard!" commanded Jeremy. "Show me your honor!" "You talk like a madman! How can I show either?" "Then how can you swear by them? Father of easy words and evil deeds, give me the letter back!" Yussuf Dakmar appealed to me as presumably responsible for Jeremy. "You saw, effendi, didn't you? I tried to help him. But he who plays with the cat must suffer her claws, so now he accuses me of stealing. I call you to witness that I took nothing." "You must excuse him," I answered. "That is a highly important letter. If it isn't found the consequences may be disastrous." "By Allah, it shall be found!" exploded Jeremy, glaring harder than ever at Yussuf Dakmar. "Look at his face! Look at his evil eyes! He came in here on purpose to spy on us and steal that letter! It is time to use my razor on him! I swear not by the Prophet's beard or anybody's honor, but by the razor in my sock that he has the letter and that I will have it back!" Well, that was a challenge there was no side-stepping. Sure of being able to prove innocence, Yussuf Dakmar decided that a bold course was the best. He proceeded to empty his own pocket, laying the contents on the seat before Jeremy's eyes. And Jeremy watched like a puzzled puppy with his brow wrinkled. The process took time, because he was wearing one of those imitation Western suits, of prehistoric cut but up-to-date with every imaginable pocket that a tailor could invent. Their contents included a dagger and a clasp-knife with a long blade sharpened on both edges, but no pistol. "Now are you satisfied?" he demanded, after turning inside-out the two "secret" pockets in the lining of his vest. "Less than ever!" Jeremy retorted. "Until I see you naked I will not believe you!" Yussuf Dakmar turned to me again. He was a patient spy, if ever there was one. "Do you think I should be put to that indignity?" he asked. "Shall I undress myself?" "By Allah, unless you do it I will cut your clothes off with my razor!" Jeremy announced. We drew up at a station then, and had to wait until the train went on again. By that time Yussuf Dakmar had made up his mind. He slipped off his jacket and vest and began to unfasten his collar-button as the train gained speed. Everything went smoothly until he stood up to remove his pants. He had the top of them in both hands when Jeremy seized him suddenly by the elbows and spun him face about. And there the letter lay, face downward on the seat he had just left, bent and a little crinkled in proof that he had been sitting on it for some minutes past. Now it doesn't make any difference whether a man meant to take off his trousers or not. In a crisis, if they are unfastened, he will hold them up. It's like catching a monkey; you put corn into a narrow-necked basket. The monkey inserts his arm, fills his hand with corn, and tries to pull it out, but can't unless he lets go of the corn, which he won't do. So you catch him. Yussuf Dakmar held up his pants with one hand, and tried to free himself from Jeremy with the other. If he had let go his pants he might have seized the envelope and discovered what a fake it was; but he wouldn't do that. It was I who pounced on it and stowed it away carefully in my inner pocket. Yussuf Dakmar's emotions were poignant and mixed, but he was no quitter. He thought he knew definitely where the letter was now, and the wolf glance with which he favoured me changed swiftly to a smile of ingratiating politeness. "I am glad you have recovered what you lost," he said, smiling, as he fastened up his pants and resumed his coat. "This friend of yours--or is he your servant?--made me nervous with his threats, or I should certainly have found it for you sooner." And now Grim resumed a hand. The last thing he wished was that Yussuf Dakmar should consider his quest too difficult, for then he would probably summon assistance at Haifa. Encouragement was the proper cue, now that Jeremy had tantalized him with a glimpse of the bait. We had nothing to fear from him unless he should lose heart. "The value of a sum lies in the answer," he said, quoting one of those copybook proverbs with which all Syrians love to clinch an argument. "The letter is in its owner's pocket. The accuser should now apologize, and we can spend the rest of the journey pleasantly." Jeremy proceeded to apologize: "So you're not such a thief as you looks." Then he provided entertainment. He drew out the razor and did stunts with it, juggling it with open blade from hand to hand--pretending to drop it and always catching it again within a fraction of an inch of Yussuf Dakmar's person. By and by he juggled with coins, match-box, cigars, razor and anything he could lay his hands on. "Mashallah!" exclaimed the Syrian at last, his face all sweaty with excitement as he shrank back to avoid the spinning razor. "Where did you learn such accomplishments?" "Learn them?" answered Jeremy, still juggling. "I am a dervaish. I was born, not taught. I can ride through the air on cannon-balls, and whatever I wish for is mine the next minute. Look, I have one piastre. I wish for twenty. What do I do? I spin it in the air--catch it--d'you hear them? There you are--twenty! Count 'em if you like." "A dervaish? A holy person? You? Where do you come from?" "I was born in the belly of the South Wind," answered Jeremy. "Where I come from, every shell-fish has a pearl in it and gold is so common that the cattle wear it in their teeth. I can talk three languages at once and swear in six, use sulphur for tobacco, eat sardines without opening the can, and flavour my food for choice with gun-powder. "I've been everywhere, seen everything, heard all the lies, and I found that big effendi in Jerusalem. I saw him first. He calls himself Ramsden, which is derived from the name of a creature bearing wool, which in turn is a synonym for money. He's on his way to supply Feisul with money, and I'm going to show him the streets of Damascus. Anything else you want to know?" "Supply Feisul with money? That is interesting. American money perhaps? An American banker by any chance?" "Nothing to do with chance. He's a father of certainties. Didn't he give me that letter to keep, and didn't I find a safe place for it between you and the cushions? Yes, I put it there. I'm an honest man, but I have my reasonable doubts about this other fellow. Ramsden effendi found him somewhere, and engaged him as a servant without asking me. Perhaps he's honest. Only Allah knows men's hearts. But he hasn't got an honest face like yours, and when pay-day comes I shall hide my money." "So you know Damascus?" answered Yussuf Dakmar. "I hope you will come and see me in Damascus. I will give you my address. If Ramsden effendi has only engaged you temporarily, perhaps I can show you a way to make money with those accomplishments of yours." "Make money?" answered Jeremy, prattling away like a madman. "I am weary of the stuff. I'm hunting the world over, in search of a friend. Nobody loves me. I want to find someone who'll believe the lies I tell him without expecting me to believe the truth he tries to foist on me. I want to find a man as tricky with his brains as I am with my hands. He must be a politician and a spy, because I love excitement. That's why I called you a spy. If you were one, you might have admitted it, and then we could have been friends, like two yolks in one eggshell. But I see you're only a shell without a yolk in it. Who cleaned you?" "How long have you been in the service of Ramsden effendi?" Yussuf Dakmar asked him. "Not long, and I am tired of it. He is strong, and his fist is heavy. When he gets drunk he is difficult to carry upstairs to bed, and if I am also drunk the feat is still more difficult. It is a mystery how such a man as he should be entrusted with a secret mission, for he drinks with anyone. Aha! He scowls at me because I tell the truth about him, but if I had a bottle of whisky to offer him he would soon look pleasant again, and would give me a drink too, when he had swallowed all he could hold." If he had really been my servant I would naturally have kicked him off the train for a fraction of such impudence. I didn't exactly know what to do. There is a thoughtful motive behind every apparently random absurdity that Jeremy gets off, but I was uncomfortably conscious of the fact that my wits don't work fast enough to follow such volatile manoeuvres. Perhaps it's the Scotian blood in me. I can follow a practical argument fast enough, when the axioms' are all laid down and we're agreed on the subject. However, Grim came to my rescue. He had his pencil out, and contrived to flick a piece of paper into my lap unseen by Yussuf Dakmar. Jeremy's cue is good [the note ran]. Dismiss him for talking about you to a stranger. Trust him to do the rest. So I acted the part of an habitually heavy drinker in a fit of sudden rage, and dismissed Jeremy from my service on the spot. "Very well," he answered blandly. "Allah makes all things easy. Let us hope that other fellow finds it easy to put you to bed tonight! Allah is likewise good, for I have my ticket to Damascus, and all I need to beg for is a bed and food at Haifa." I muttered something in reply about his impudence, and the conversation ceased abruptly. But at the end of ten minutes or so Yussuf Dakmar went out into the corridor, signaling to Jeremy to follow him. CHAPTER VIII "He'll forgive anyone who brings him whiskey." You remember, of course, that line that Shakespeare put into the mouth of Puck? "What fools these mortals be!" The biggest fools are the extra smart ones, whose pride and peculiar joy it is to "beat the game." Yussuf Dakmar assessed all other humans as grist for his mill. Character to him was expressed in degrees of folly and sheer badness. Virtue existed only as a weakness to be exploited. The question that always exercised him was, wherein does the other fellow's weakness lie? It's a form of madness. Where a sane man looks for strength and honesty that he can yoke up with, a Yussuf Dakmar spies out human failings; and whereas most of us in our day have mistaken pyrites for fine gold, which did not hurt more than was good for us, he ends by mistaking gold for dross. You can persuade such a man without the slightest difficulty that you are a fool and a crook. Jeremy had turned the trick for his own amusement as much as anything, although his natural vein of shrewdness probably suggested the idea. Yussuf Dakmar, ready to believe all evil and no good of anyone, was convinced that he had to deal with a scatter- brained Arab who could be used for almost any purpose, and Jeremy's riotous bent for jumping from one thing to another fixed the delusion still more firmly. But Lord, he had caught a Tartar! Outside at the end of the corridor, in full view, but out of earshot, of Narayan Singh, Yussuf Dakmar made a proposal to Jeremy that was almost perfect in its naive obliquity. There was nothing original or even unusual about it, except the circumstances, time and place. Green-goods men and blue-sky stock salesmen, race-course touts and sure-thing politicians get away with the same proposition in the U.S. every day of the week, and pocket millions by it. Only, just as happens to all such gentry on occasion, Yussuf Dakmar had the wrong fish in his net. He jerked his head toward where Narayan Singh sat stolid and sleepy- looking on a camp-stool with his curly black beard resting on the heel of one hand. "Do you know that man?" he asked. "Wallah! How should I know him?" Jeremy answered. "He looks like a Hindu thinking of reincarnation. Inshallah, he will turn into a tiger presently!" "Beware of him! He is an Administration spy. He is watching me talk to you, and perhaps he will ask you afterward what I have said. You must be very careful how you answer him." "I will tell him you asked me for a love-potion for the engine-driver's wife," Jeremy answered. "I am listening. What is it you are really going to say?" "That master of yours--that Ramsden, who dismissed you so tyrannically just now--" "That drunkard? There is nothing interesting to be said about him," Jeremy answered. "He is a fool who has paid my fare as far as Damascus. May Allah reward him for it!" "Are you telling me the truth?" demanded Yussuf Dakmar, fixing his eyes sternly on Jeremy's. Your con man never overlooks a chance to put his intended victim on the defensive at an early stage in the proceedings. "How can he have paid your fare as far as Damascus? This line only goes to Haifa, where you have to change trains and buy another ticket." "I see you are a clever devil," Jeremy retorted. "May Allah give you a belly ache, if that is where you keep your brains! It was I who bought the tickets. The fool gave me sufficient money for three first-class fares all the way to Damascus, and I have the change. He forgot that when he dismissed me." "Then you won't need to beg board and lodging in Haifa?" "Oh, yes. I need my money for another matter. It is high time I married, and a fellow without money has to put up with any toothless that nobody else will take." "So you hope to find a wife in Damascus?" "Inshallah," Jeremy answered piously. "Well, I will find you a good-looking girl for wife, provided you first prove that you will make a good son-in-law. I take men as I find them, not as they represent themselves. He who wishes for the fire must first chop wood. You understand me?" "Wallah! I can chop wood like an axe with two heads. Is the woman your daughter?" "That is as may be. Let us talk business. I reward my friends, but woe betide the fool who betrays my confidence!" said Yussuf Dakmar darkly. "I see you are a man after my own heart," answered Jeremy; "a thorough fellow who stops at nothing! Good! Allah must have brought us two together for an evil purpose, being doubtless weary of the League of Nations; Unbosom! I am like a well, into which men drop things and never see them any more." "You are a fine rascal, I can see that clearly! So you think that Allah is cooking up evil, do you? Tee-hee! That is an original idea, and there may be something in it. Let us hope there is something in it for us two, at all events. Now, as to that fellow Ramsden--" "Avoid him unless he is drunk," advised Jeremy. "The weight of his fist would drive a man like you like a nail into a tree." "Who fears such an ox?" the Syrian retorted. "A fly can sting him; a little knife can bleed him; a red rag can enrage him; and the crows who devour that sort of meat won't worry as to whether he was killed according to ritual! He has money for Feisul, has he? Well, never mind. He has a letter as well, and that is what I want. Will you get it for me?" "Do you need it badly?" "By Allah, I must have it!" "By Allah, then I am in good luck, for that makes me indispensable, doesn't it? And an indispensable man can demand what he pleases!" "Not at all," Yussuf Dakmar answered, frowning. "I have taken a fancy to you, or I would see you to the devil. When we reach Haifa, ten or even twenty men will present themselves to do this business for me. Or, if I choose, I can use that fellow Omar who is travelling with Ramsden; he would like to be my accomplice, but I don't trust him very much." "In that you are perfectly right," answered Jeremy. "He is not at all the sort of man for you to trust. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that he has warned Ramsden against you already! Better beware of him!" According to Jeremy's account of the conversation afterward, it was not until that moment that he saw clearly how to prevent Yussuf Dakmar from calling in thugs to attack me either at Haifa or at some point between there and Damascus. Until then he had been feeling his way along-- "spieling," as he calls it--keeping his man interested while he made all ready for the next trick. "To tell you the truth," he went on, "Omar isn't that fellow's real name. He is a sharp one, and he is after the letter every bit as much as you are." "How do you know that?" "Wallah, how not? because he himself told me! just like you, he tried to get me into partnership. He offered me a big reward, but he's not like you, so I didn't believe him; and he has no daughter; I've no use for a man who hasn't a good-looking daughter. What he's afraid of is that someone else may get the letter first. And he's a desperate fellow. He told me his intentions and whether you believe me or not, they're worthy of a wolf!" "I'm glad I resolved to take you into my confidence," said Yussuf Dakmar, nodding. "Go on; I'm listening. Tell me what he told you." "He plans to get hold of the letter between Haifa and Damascus. He thinks that's safest, because it's over the border and there won't be any British officers to interfere. Somewhere up the Lebanon Valley, after most of the passengers have left the train, looks good to him. But I think he knows who you are." "Yes, he knows me. Go on." "And He's afraid you'll get help and forestall him. So he's going to watch Ramsden like a cat watching a mouse-hole, and he's going to watch you too. And if anybody tries to interfere at Haifa, or if men get on the train between Haifa and Damascus who look like being accomplices of yours, he's going to murder Ramsden there and then, seize the letter, and make a jump for it! You see, he's one of those mean fellows--a regular dog-in-the-manger; he'd rather get caught by the police and hanged for murder than let anybody else get what he's after. Oh, believe me, I didn't trust him! I laughed when he made his proposal to me." "Now that is very interesting," said Yussuf Dakmar. "To tell you the truth I had a little experience with him last night myself. He came on me by accident in a certain place, and we conversed. I pretended to agree with him for the sake of appearances, but I formed a very poor opinion of him. Well, suppose we put him out of the way first; how would that be? You look like a strong man. Suppose you watch for an opportunity to push him off the train?" "Oh, that would never do!" Jeremy answered, shaking his head from side to side. "You mustn't forget that Indian who sits in the corridor. It was you yourself who told me he is an Administration spy. If he suspects you already, he will suspect me for having talked with you, and will watch me; and if I try to push that fellow Omar off the train, he will come to the rescue. Surely you don't expect me to fight both of them at once! Besides, you must consider Ramsden. "That fellow Ramsden is big and strong, but he is a nervous wreck. Give him the least excuse and he will yell for the police like a baby crying for its mother! He looks on Omar as his bodyguard now that he has dismissed me; and if Omar should get killed, or disappear between here and Haifa, Ramsden would demand an escort of police. In fact, I think he'd lose courage altogether and put that letter in a strong-room in the Haifa bank. What is the letter, anyway? What's in it? How much will you pay me if I get it for you?" "Never mind what's in it. Will you get it, that's the point--will you get it and bring it to me?" "That isn't the point at all," answered Jeremy. "The point is how much will you pay me if I do that?" "Very well, I will pay you fifty pounds." "Mashallah! You must need it awfully badly. I could have been hired for fifty shillings to do a much more dangerous thing!" "Well, twenty-five pounds ought to be enough. I will pay you twenty- five." "Nothing less than fifty!" Jeremy retorted. "I always get fifty of everything. Fifty lashes in the jail--fifty beans at meal-time--fifty pairs of boots to clean for Ramsden--fifty is my lucky number. I have made forty-nine attempts to get married, and the next time I shall succeed. If it isn't the woman's lucky number too, that's her affair. Show me the fifty pounds." "I haven't that much with me," answered Yussuf Dakmar. "I will pay you in Damascus." "All right. Then I will give you the letter in Damascus." "No, no! Get it as soon as possible." "I will." "And give it to me immediately. Then if you like you can stay close to me until I pay you in Damascus." "'The ass is invited to a wedding to carry wood and water, and they beat him with one of the sticks he carried,'" Jeremy quoted. "No, no, no! I will get the letter, for I know how. After I have it you may keep close to me until we reach Damascus. I will show it to you, but I won't give it to you until after I get the fifty pounds." "Very well, since you are so untrustful." "Untrustful? I am possessed by a demon of mistrust! Why? Because I know I am not the worst person in the world, and what I can think of, another might do. Now, if you were I and I were you, which God forbid, because I am a happy fellow and you look bilious, and you stole the letter for me because I promised to pay you in Damascus, but wouldn't give me the letter until I paid you, do you know what I would think of doing? I would promise a few tough fellows ten pounds among them to murder you. Thus I would get the letter and save forty pounds." "Ah? But I am not that kind of man," said Yussuf Dakmar. "Well, you will learn what kind of man you are in the next world when you reach the Judgment Seat. What is most interesting now is the kind of fellow I am. I will steal the letter from Ramsden, and keep it until you pay me in Damascus. But I shan't sleep, and I shall watch you; and if I suspect you of making plans to have me robbed or murdered I shall make such a noise that everybody will come running, and then I shall be a celebrity but they'll put you in jail." "Very well; you steal the letter, and I'll keep close to you," said Yussuf Dakmar. "But how are you going to do it, now that Ramsden has dismissed you from his service?" "Oh, that's easy. You get me some whisky and I'll take it to him for a peace offering. He'll forgive anyone who brings him whisky." "Tee-hee! That is quite an idea. Yes. Now--how can I get whisky on the train? If only I could get some! I have a little soporific in a paper packet that could be mixed with the whisky to make him sleep soundly. Wait here while I walk down the train and see what I can find." Yussuf Dakmar was gone twenty minutes, and whether he begged, bought or stole did not transpire, but he returned with a pint flask containing stuff that looked and smelt enough like whisky to get by if there had been a label on the bottle. He poured a powder into it in Jeremy's presence, the two of them squatting on the floor of the corridor with the bottle between them so that no one else might see what was taking place. "Now, you would better get rid of that fellow Omar while you attend to this," Yussuf Dakmar cautioned him. "Can you think of any way of doing that?" "Oh, easily!" Jeremy answered. "He is a great one for the women. I will tell him there is a pretty Armenian girl in the car behind. He will run like any other Turk to have a good look at her." "Very well. I will wait here. But understand now; I am a dangerous man. You have fortune in one hand, but destruction in the other!" "Very well; but this may take me an hour, and if you grow impatient, and that Indian sees you peering into the compartment after having watched you and me talking all this time, he'll grow suspicious." "All right; I'll go to the car behind. As soon as you have the letter, come and tell me." So Jeremy came back and entertained Grim and me with a burlesque account of the interview, after whispering to Narayan Singh to give the alarm in the event of Yussuf Dakmar returning forward to spy on us. Grim put the doped whisky into his valise after a sniff at it, instead of throwing it out of the window at my suggestion; and after a suitable interval he went out in the part of the Turk to look for the imaginary beautiful Armenian. Then I gave Jeremy the fake letter back, and went to sleep. So it's no use asking me what the country looks like between Ludd and Haifa. I didn't even wake up to see the Lake of Tiberias, Sea of Galilee, or Bahr Tubariya, as it is variously called. A rather common sickness is what Sir Richard Burton called Holylanditis and I've had it, as well as the croup and measles in my youth. Some folk never recover from it, and to them a rather ordinary sheet of water and ugly modern villages built on ruins look like the pictures that an opium smoker sees. The ruins and the history do interest me, but you can't see them from the train, and after a night without sleep there seemed to me something more profitable in view than to hang from a window and buy fish that undoubtedly had once swum in Galilee water, but that cost a most unrighteous price and stank as if straight from a garbage heap. The whole train reeked of putrid fish when we reached Haifa in the evening, in time to watch the sun go down across the really glorious Bay of Acre. CHAPTER IX "The rest will be simple!" Haifa was crowded with Syrians of all sorts, and there were two or three staff officers in the uniform of Feisul's army lounging on the platform, who conned new arrivals with a sort of childlike solicitude, as if by looking in a man's face they could judge whether he was friendly to their cause or not. Mabel had wired to her friend, and was met at the station, so we had nothing to worry over for the present on her score. Our own troubles began when we reached the only hotel and found it crowded. The proprietor, a little wizened, pockmarked Arab in a black alpaca jacket and yellow pants, with a tarboosh balanced forward at a pessimistic angle, suggested that there might be guests in the hotel who would let us share their beds... "Although there will be no reduction of the price to either party in that event," he hastened to explain. It was a wonder of an hotel. You could smell the bugs and the sanitary arrangements from the front-door step, and although the whole place had been lime-washed, dirt from all over the Near East was accumulating on the dead white, making it look leprous and depressing. The place fronted on a main street, with its back toward the Bay of Acre at a point where scavengers used the beach for a dumping place. There was a hostel of British officers about a mile away, where Grim might have been able to procure beds for the whole party; but I noticed no less than five men who followed us up from the station and seemed to be keeping a watchful eye on Yussuf Dakmar and it was a sure bet that if we should show our hands so far as to mess with British officers, the train next day would be packed with men to whom murder would be simple amusement. Yet Grim and Jeremy needed sleep and so did Narayan Singh. We offered to rent an outhouse for the night--a cellar--the roof, but there was nothing doing, and it was Yussuf Dakmar at last who solved the problem for us. He found a crony of his, who had occupied for several days a room containing two beds. With unheard-of generosity, accompanied, however, by a peculiar display of yellow teeth and more of the jaundiced whites of his eyes than I cared to see, this individual offered to go elsewhere for the night and to place the room at my disposal. "But there is this about it," he explained. "Where I am going there is no room for my friend Yussuf Dakmar Bey, so I must ask you to let him share this with you. You and he could each have a bed, of course, but it seems to me that your servants look wearier than you do. I suggest then that you take one bed, effendi, and share it with my friend Yussuf Dakmar Bey, leaving the other to your servants, who I hope will be suitably grateful for the consideration shown them." Grim nodded to me from behind the Syrians' backs, and I jumped at the offer. Payment was refused. The man explained that he had the room by the week and the loan of it to me for one night would cost him nothing. In fact, he acted courteously and with considerable evidence of breeding, merely requesting my permission to lock the big closet where he kept his personal belongings and to take the key away with him. Even if we had been in a mood to cavil it would have been difficult to find fault, for it was a spacious, clean and airy room--three characteristics each of which is as scarce as the other in that part of the world. The beds stood foot to foot along the right wall as you entered. Against the opposite wall was a cheap wooden wash-stand and an enormous closet built of olive wood sunk into a deep recess. The thing was about eight feet wide and reached to the ceiling; you couldn't tell the depth because he locked it at once and pocketed the key, and it fitted into the recess so neatly that a knife-blade would hardly have gone into the crack. Outside the bedroom door, in a lobby furnished with odds and ends, was a wickerwork sofa that would do finely for Narayan Singh, and that old soldier didn't need to have it pointed out to him. Without word or sign from us he threw his kit on the floor, unrolled his blankets, removed his boots, curled up on the sofa, and if he didn't go to sleep at once, gave such a perfect imitation of it that somebody's fox terrier came and sniffed him, and, recognizing a campaigner after his own wandering heart, jumped on his chest and settled down to sleep too. As soon as our host had left the room, all bows and toothy smiles, Jeremy with his back to me drew from one pocket the letter he was supposed to have stolen from me, flourished it in Yussuf Dakmar's face, and concealed it carefully in another. Then a new humorous notion occurred to him. He pulled it out again, folded it in the pocket wallet in which he had carried it from the first, wrapped the whole in a handkerchief, which he knotted carefully and then handed it to me. "Effendi," he said, "you are a fierce master and a mighty drunkard, but a man without guile. Keep that till the morning. Then, if Omar wants to steal it he will have to murder you instead of me, and I would rather sleep than die. But you must give it back at dawn, because the prayers are in it that a very holy ma'lim wrote for me, and unless I read those prayers properly tomorrow's train will come to grief before we reach Damascus." He acted the part perfectly of one of those half-witted, wholly shrewd mountebanks, who pick up a living by taking advantage of tolerance and good nature. You've all seen the type. It's commonest at race-meetings but you'll find it anywhere in the world where vagrant men of means foregather. Again Yussuf Dakmar's face became a picture of suppressed emotion. I pocketed the wallet with the same matter-of-fact air with which I have accepted a servant's money to keep safe for him scores of times. He believed me to be a drunkard, who had been thoroughly doped that day and would probably drink hard that night to drown the after-taste. It ought to be easy to rob me while I slept. Any fool could have read his thoughts. He came down and ate supper with us at a trestle table in the dimly lighted dining-room, and I encouraged his new-born optimism by ordering two bottles of whisky to take upstairs. Jeremy, who can't be happy unless playing his part for all it's worth, became devoutly religious and made a tremendous fuss because ham was put on the table. He accused the proprietor of using pig's fat to smear all the cooking utensils, demanded to see the kitchen, and finally refused to eat anything but leban, which is a sort of curds. If Yussuf Dakmar had entertained suspicions of Jeremy's real nationality they were all resolved by the time that meal was finished. But the five' men who had followed us from the station sat in the dark at a table in the far corner of the room and watched every move we made. When the coffee was brought I sat smoking and surly over it, as if my head ached from the day's drink; Grim and Jeremy, aching for sleep but refusing like good artists to neglect a detail of their part, went to another table and played backgammon, betting quarrelsomely; and at last one of the five men walked over and touched Yussuf Dakmar's shoulder. At once he followed all five of them out of the room, whereat Grim and Jeremy promptly went to bed. It was so obviously my turn to stay awake that Grim didn't even trouble to remind me of it. So I took the whisky upstairs, noticed that Narayan Singh was missing from the couch where he had gone to sleep, although the fox-terrier was snoring so loud in his blankets that I had to look twice in the dim light. I mentioned that fact to Grim who merely smiled as he got between the sheets. Then I went down to the street to get exercise and fresh air. I didn't go far, but strode up and down in front of the hotel a quarter of a mile or so in each direction, keeping in the middle of the street. I had made the fourth or fifth turn when Narayan Singh came out and accosted me under the lamplight. "Pardon," he called aloud in English, "does the sahib know where I can find a druggist's open at this hour? I have a toothache and need medicine." "Come and I'll show you a place," said I with the patronizing air of a tourist showing off his knowledge, and we strode along together down the street, he holding one hand to his jaw. "Thus and so it happened, sahib," he began as soon as we had gone a safe distance. "I lay sleeping, having kept my belly empty that I might wake easily. There came Yussuf Dakmar and five men brushing by me, and they all went into a room four doors beyond the sahib's. The room next beyond that one is occupied by an officer sahib, who fought at El-Arish alongside my battalion. Between him and me is a certain understanding based on past happenings in which we both had a hand. He is not as some other sahibs, but a man who opens both ears and his heart, and when I knocked on his door he opened it and recognized me. "'Well?' said he. 'Why not come and see me in the morning? "'Sahib,' said I, 'for the sake of El-Arish, let me in quickly, and close the door!' "So he did, wondering and not pleased to be disturbed by a Sikh at such an hour. And I said to him: "'Sahib,' said I, 'am I a badmash? A scoundrel?' "'No,' said he, 'not unless you changed your morals when you left the service.' "Said I, 'I am still in the service.' "'Good,' said he. 'What then?' "'I go listening again in no-man's land,' said I, and he whistled softly. 'Is there not a roof below your window?' I asked him, and he nodded. "'Then let me use it, sahib, and return the same way presently.' "So he threw back the shutter, asking no more questions, and I climbed out. The window of the room where Yussuf Dakmar and the five were stood open, but the lattice shutter was closed tight, so that I could stand up on the flat roof of the kitchen and listen without being seen. And, sahib, I could recognize the snarl of Yussuf Dakmar's voice even before my ear was laid to the open lattice. He was like a dog at bay. The other five were angry with him. They were accusing him of playing false. They swore that a great sum could be had for that letter, which they should share between them. Said a voice I did not recognize: 'If the French will pay one price they will pay another; what does money matter to them, if they can make out a case against Feisul? Will they not have Syria? The thing is simple as twice two,' said he. 'The huntsman urges on the hounds, but unless he is cleverer than they, who eats the meat? The French regard us as animals, I tell you! Very well; let us live up to the part and hunt like animals, since he who has the name should have the game as well; and when we have done the work and they want booty let them be made aware that animals must eat! We will set our own price on that document.' "'And as for this Yussuf Dakmar,' said another man, 'let him take a back seat unless he is willing to share and share alike with us. He is not difficult to kill!' "And at that, sahib, Yussuf Dakmar flew into a great rage and called them fools of complicated kinds. "'Like hounds without a huntsman, ye will overrun the scent!' said he; and he spoke more like a man than any of them, although not as a man to be liked or trusted. 'Who are ye to clap your fat noses on the scent I found and tell me the how and whither of it? It may be that I can get that letter tonight. Surely I can get it between this place and Damascus; and no one can do that, for I, and I only, know where it is. Nor will I tell!' And they answered all together, 'We will make you tell!' "But he said, 'All that ye five fools can do is to interfere. Easy to kill me, is it? Well, perhaps. It has been tried. But, if so, then though ye are jackals, kites and vultures all in one with the skill of chemists added, ye can never extract secret knowledge from a dead man's brain. Then that letter will reach Feisul tomorrow night; and the French, who speak of you now as of animals, will call you what? Princes? Noblemen?' "I suppose they saw the point of that, sahib, for they changed their tone without, however, becoming friendly to Yussuf Dakmar. Thieves of that sort know one another, and trust none, and it is all a lie, sahib, about there being any honor among them. Fear is the only tie that binds thieves, and they proceeded to make Yussuf Dakmar afraid. "There seems to be one among them, sahib, who is leader. He has a thin voice like a eunuch's, and unlike the others swears seldom. "This father of a thin voice accepted the situation. He said: "'Well and good. Let Yussuf Dakmar do the hunting for us. It is sufficient that we hunt Yussuf Dakmar. Two of us occupy the room next to Ramsden's. If Yussuf Dakmar needs aid in the night, let him summon us by scratching with his nails on the closet door. The rest will be simple. There are four in this besides us five; so if we count Yussuf Dakmar that makes ten who share the reward. Shall Yussuf Dakmar grow fat, while nine of us starve? I think not! Let him get the letter, and give it to me. We will hide it, and I will deal with the French. If he fails tonight, let him try again tomorrow on the train. But we five will also take that train to Damascus, and unless that letter is in my hands before the journey's end, then Yussuf Dakmar dies. Is that agreed?' "All except Yussuf Dakmar agreed to it. He was very angry and called them leeches, whereat they laughed, saying that leeches only suck enough and then fall off, whereas they would take all or kill. They made him understand it, taking a great oath together to slay him without mercy unless he should get the letter and give it to them before the train reaches Damascus tomorrow evening. "Well, sahib, he agreed presently, not with any effort at good grace, but cursing while he yielded. "In truth, sahib, it is less fear than lack of sleep that Yussuf Dakmar feels. I could hear him yawn through the window lattice. Now a man in that condition is likely to act early in the night for fear that sleep may otherwise get the better of him, and the sahib will do well to be keenly alert from the first. I shall be asleep on that couch outside the door and will come if called, so the sahib would better not lock the door but should call loud in case of need, because I also have been long awake and may sleep heavily." "Suppose I walk the streets all night?" said I. "Wouldn't that foil them?" "Nay, sahib, but the reverse; for if Yussuf Dakmar should miss you after midnight he would go in search of you, with those five in turn tracking him. And as for finding you, that would be a simple matter, for every night thief and beggar waiting for the dawn would give attention to such a big man as you and would report your movements. All six would come on you in the dark and would kill you surely. Then, as if that were not bad enough, having searched you they would learn that the letter in your possession is not the right one; and the trail of the right one would be that much easier to detect." "Then come with me," said I, "and we'll make a night of it together. You and I can defend ourselves against those six." "Doubtless, sahib. But my place is within hail of Jimgrim. No, it is best that you see this matter through tonight between four walls. Only remember, sahib, that though a man on duty may feign sleep, it is wiser not to, because sleep steals on us unawares!" So I returned to the bedroom where Grim and Jeremy were snoring a halleluja chorus; but Yussuf Dakmar hadn't returned yet. I took advantage of the Syrian's absence to open Grim's valise, remove the bottle of doped whisky and set it on the table close to the window beside the two bottles that I had bought downstairs--one of which, for the sake of appearances, I opened just as Yussuf Dakmar entered, smiling to conceal anxiety. CHAPTER X "You made a bad break that time" Grim was in Mephistophelian humor. He can sleep cat-fashion, for sixty seconds at a time, with all his wits about him in the intervals, and likes to feel in the crook of his own forefinger the hidden hair-trigger of events. I don't think Jeremy was awake when I first entered the room, although it suited Grim's humor that he should be presently; but you would have sworn they were both unconscious, judging by the see-saw, bass and baritone snoring. I poured out whisky, drank a little of it grouchily, and watched Yussuf Dakmar into bed. He didn't take many of his clothes off and even by candle-light you could see the shape of the knife concealed under his shirt. He sat cross-legged on the bed, presumably praying, and as I didn't like the look of him I blew out the candle. Instantly, pinched and prompted by James Schuyler Grim, Jeremy sat up and yammered profanely at the darkness, vowing he couldn't see to sleep without a light in the room. I tinkled a tumbler against a whisky bottle, and Jeremy instantly swore that he heard burglars. Sitting up and whirling his pillow he knocked Yussuf Dakmar off the bed on to the floor. So I lit the candle again, after emptying my glass of whisky into a spittoon; whereat Jeremy quoted the Koran about the fate of drunkards and, getting out of bed, apologized to Yussuf Dakmar like a courtier doing homage to a king. "Your honor was born under a lucky star," he assured him. "I usually shoot or stab, but the pillow was the first thing handy." The Syrian had hard work to keep his temper, for he had fallen on the haft of the hidden knife and it hurt him between two ribs, where a poorly conditioned man is extra sensitive. However, he mumbled something and crawled between the sheets. Then Grim vowed that he couldn't sleep with a light so I blew out the candle, and in about two minutes the steady seesaw snoring resumed. I took the opportunity to empty half the contents of a whisky bottle into the spittoon, and after lighting a pipe proceeded to clink a tumbler at steady intervals as evidence of debauch well under way. Except for the clink and bump of the tumbler, and once when I filled and relit the pipe, all was quiet for half an hour, when Yussuf Dakmar piped up suddenly and asked me whether I didn't intend to come to bed. "I will not trouble you, effendi. I will keep over to my side. There is plenty of room in the bed for the two of us." As he spoke I heard a movement of the bedclothes as Grim pinched Jeremy awake again. I answered before Jeremy could horn in. "Hic! You 'spect me 'nto bed full o' snakes? Never sleep 'slong as venomous reptiles waiting! Hic! You stay 'n bed an keep 'em 'way from me!" Well, Jeremy didn't want any better cue than that. He got up, lit the candle and explained to me with great wealth of Arabic theosophy that the snakes I saw were mere delusions because Allah never made them; and I tried to look utterly drunk, staring at him with dropped jaw and droopy eyelids, knocking an empty bottle over with my elbow by way of calling attention to it. "Get into bed, effendi," Jeremy advised me, feeding the cue back, since I was in the middle of the stage. "Not into that bed!" I answered, shaking my head solemnly. "That f'ler put snakes in on purpose. Why's he sober when I'm drunk? I won't sleep in bed with sober man. Let him get drun' too, an' both see snakes. Then I'll sleep with him!" Jeremy's roving eye fell on the small doped bottle that I had taken from Grim's valise. Looking preternaturally wise, he walked over to Yussuf Dakmar's bed, sat down on it with his back toward me and proceeded to unfold a plan. "Allah makes all things easy," he began. "It is lawful to take all precautions to confound the infidel. We shall never get that drunkard to bed as long as there's any whisky, so let's encourage him to drink it all. When it's gone he'll sleep on the floor and we'll get some peace. It's a good chance for us to drink whisky without committing sin! We needn't take much--just one drink each, and then he'll swallow the rest like a hog to prevent our getting any more. You look as if a glass of whisky would do you good. That fellow Omar is asleep and won't see us, so nobody can tell tales afterwards. It's a good opportunity. Come on!" I had sat so that Yussuf Dakmar couldn't see what I was doing and poured out the liquor in advance, arranging the glasses so that Yussuf Dakmar would take the doped stuff--a perfectly un-Christian proceeding, I admit. Christians are scarce when you get right down to cases. Most of us in extremity prefer Shakespeare's adage about hoisting engineers. It gets results so much more quickly than turning the other cheek. At any rate, I own up. Yussuf Dakmar, smirking in anticipation of an easy victory, took the nearest tumbler and tossed off the contents in imitation of Jeremy's free and easy air; and the drug acted as swiftly as the famous "knock- out-drops" they used to administer in the New York Tenderloin. He knew what had happened before he lost consciousness, for he tried to give the alarm to his friends. He lay on the floor opening and shutting his mouth, and I think he believed he was shouting for help; but after a minute or two you could hardly detect his breathing, and his face changed colour as if he had been poisoned. Grim didn't even trouble to get out of bed, but listened without comment to my version of Narayan Singh's report, and Jeremy went back to sleep chuckling; so I held a silent wake over Yussuf Dakmar, keeping some more of the doped whisky ready in case he should look like recovering too soon. I even searched him, finding nothing worthy of note, except that he had remarkably little money. I expect the poor devil was a penny ante villain scheming for a thousand-dollar jackpot. I felt really sorry for him and turned him over with my boot to let him breathe better. A little before dawn I awakened Grim and Jeremy and we left the room quietly after I had scratched on the closet door with my fingernails. Pausing outside to listen, we heard the closet door being opened stealthily from the far side. I caught Grim's eye, thinking he would smile back, but he looked as deadly serious as I have ever seen him. "You made a bad break that time," he said when we had gone downstairs. "Never give away information unless you're getting a return for it! If you'd left Yussuf Dakmar to scratch that door after he recovered consciousness, he'd have invented a pack of lies to tell his friends, and they'd have been no wiser than before. Now they'll know he never scratched it. They'll deduce, unless they're lunatics, that someone overheard their conference last night and knew the signal. That'll make them desperate. They'll waste no more time on finesse. They'll use violence at the first chance after the train leaves Haifa." "Rammy's like me; he hates not to have an audience for his tricks," put in Jeremy by way of consolation. "We've got to stage a new play, that's all," said Grim. "I'd have the lot of them arrested, but all the good that would do would be to inform the man higher up, who'd tip off another gang by wire to wait for us over the border. Say, suppose we all three bear this in mind: No play to the gallery! That's where secret service differs from other business. Applause means failure. The better the work you do, the less you can afford to admit you did it. You mustn't even smile at a man you've scored off. Half the game is to leave him guessing who it was that tripped him up. The safest course is to see that someone else gets credit for everything you do." "Consume your own smoke, eh?" suggested Jeremy. "That and more," Grim answered. "You've got to work like Hell for what'll do you no good, because the moment it brings you recognition it destroys your usefulness. You mayn't even amuse yourself; you have to let the game amuse you, without turning one trick for the sake of an extra smile; most of the humor comes in anyhow, from knowing more than the other fellow thinks you do. The more a man lies the less you want to contradict him, because if you do he'll know that you know he's lying and that's giving away information, which is the unforgivable sin." "Golly!" exclaimed Jeremy. "Your trade wouldn't suit me, Jim! When doing tricks, it's good to watch folks' eyes pop open. What tickles my wish-bone is what I can see for myself on their silly faces, half of 'em trying to look as if they know how it's done and the other half all grins. I did tricks for a Scotchman once, who got so angry I thought he'd hit me; he said, what I did was impossible, so I did it again and he still said it was impossible, and he ended by calling me a 'puir dementit men.' That was my apogee; I've never reached that height since, not even when I first made a camel say prayers at Abu Keen and the Arabs hailed me as a prophet! Bread's good, but it's better with the butter on it right side up!" "Not in this game, it isn't," answered Grim. "If your bread seems smeared with butter that's a sure sign it's dangerous. For God's sake, as long as you stay in the game with me don't play to the gallery, either of you! Let's order breakfast." It was the longest lecture and expression of opinion I had ever listened to from James Schuyler Grim, and though I've turned it over in my mind a great deal since, I can't discover anything but wisdom in it. I believe he told Jeremy and me the secret of power that morning. CHAPTER XI "They are all right!" There was no competition for seats on the Damascus train that morning. Several of the window-panes were smashed, there were bullet-marks and splinters on the woodwork everywhere--no need to ask questions. But I found time on the platform to chat with some British officers while keeping an eye lifting for Yussuf Dakmar and his friends. "Damascus, eh? You'll have a fine journey if you get through alive. Nine passengers were shot dead in the last train down." "No law up there, you know. Feisul's army's all concentrated for a crack at the French (good luck to 'em! No, I'm not wishing the French any particular luck this trip). Nobody to watch the Bedouins, so they take pot shots at every train that passes, just for the fun of it." "May be war, you know, at any minute. The French are sure to make a drive for the railway line--you'll be hung up indefinitely--commandeered for an ambulance train--shot for the sake of argument--anything at all, in fact. They say those Algerian troops are getting out of hand--paid in depreciated francs and up against the high cost of debauchery. You're taking a chance." "Wish I could go. Haven't seen a healthy scrap sinze Zeitun Ridge. Hey! Hullo! What's this? Lovely woman! Well, I'll be!" It was Mabel Ticknor, followed by the six men I was watching for, Yussuf Dakmar looking sulky and discouraged in their midst, almost like a prisoner, and the other five wearing palpably innocent expressions. "Lord!" remarked the officer nearest me. "That gang's got the wind up! Look at the color of their gills! Booked through, I'll bet you, and been listening to tales all night!" The gang drew abreast just as another officer gave tongue to his opinion. They couldn't help hearing what he said; he had one of those voices that can carry on conversation in a boiler foundry. "There's more in this than meets the eye! She's not a nurse. She don't walk like a missionary. I heard her buy a ticket for Aleppo. Can you imagine a lone, good-looking woman going to Aleppo by that train unless she had a laissez passe from the French? She's wearing French heels. I'll bet she's carrying secret information. Look! D'you see those two Arabs in the train?" He pointed out Grim and Jeremy, who were leaning from a window. "They tipped her off to get into the compartment next ahead of them. D'you see? There she goes. She was for getting into the coach ahead. They called her back." Almost all the other cars were empty except that one, but, whether because humans are like sheep and herd together instinctively when afraid, or because the train crew ordered it, all six compartments of the middle first-class car were now occupied, with Mabel Ticknor alone in the front one. Nevertheless, Yussuf Dakmar and four of his companions started to climb in by the rear door. The sixth man lingered within earshot of the officers, presumably to pick up further suggestions. So I got in at the front end and met them halfway down the corridor. "Plenty of room in the car behind," I said abruptly. They were five to one, but Yussuf Dakmar was in front, and he merely got in the way of the wolves behind him. The sixth man, who had lingered near the officers, now entered by the front end as I had done and called out that there was plenty of room in the front compartment. "There's only a woman in here," he said in Arabic. And he set the example by taking the seat opposite to Mabel. It would have been easy enough to get him out again, of course. Not even the polyglot train crew would have allowed Arabs to trespass without her invitation. The trouble was that Jeremy, Grim, Narayan Singh and I all rushed to her rescue at the same minute, which let the cat out of the bag. It was Doctor Ticknor's statement in Jerusalem about not wanting to see any of us alive again if we failed to bring his wife back safe that turned the trick and caused even Grim to lose his head for a moment. When a Sikh, two obvious Arabs and an American all rush to a woman's assistance before she calls for help, there is evidence of collusion somewhere which you could hardly expect a trained spy to overlook or fail to draw conclusions from. It was all over in a minute. The rascal left the compartment, muttering to himself in Arabic sotto voce. I caught one word; but he looked so diabolically pleased with himself that it didn't really need that to stir me into action. I take twelves in boots, with a rather broad toe, and he stopped the full heft of the hardest kick I could let loose. It put him out of action for half a day, and remains one of my pleasantest memories. His companions had to gather him up and help him pulley-hauley fashion into the car ahead, while an officious ticket-taker demanded my name and address. I found in my wallet the card of a U.S. senator and gave him that, whereat he apologized profoundly and addressed me as "Colonel"--a title with which he continued to flatter me all the rest of the journey except once, when he changed it to "Admiral" by mistake. Grim went back into our compartment and laughed; and none of the essays I have read on laughter--not even the famous dissertation by Josh Billings--throw light on how to describe the tantalizing manner of it. He laughs several different ways: heartily at times, as men of my temperament mostly do; boisterously on occasion, after Jeremy's fashion; now and then cryptically, using laughter as a mask; then he owns a smile that suggests nothing more nor less than kindness based on understanding of human nature. But that other is a devil of a laugh, mostly made of chuckles that seem to bubble off a Hell-brew of disillusionment, and you get the impression that he is laughing at himself--cynically laying bare the vanity and fallibility of his own mental processes--and forecasting self-discipline. There is no mirth in it, although there is amusement; no anger, although immeasurable scorn. I should say it's a good safe laugh to indulge in, for I think it is based on ability to see himself and his own mistakes more clearly than anybody else can, and there is no note of defeat in it. But it is full of a cruel irony that brings to mind a vision of one of those old medieval flagellant priests reviewing his sins before thrashing his own body with a wire whip. "So that ends that," he said at last, with the gesture of a man who sweeps the pieces from a board, to set them up anew and start again. "Luckily we're not the only fools in Asia. Those six rascals know now that Mabel and we are one party." "Pooh!" sneered Jeremy. "What can the devils do?" "Not much this side of the border at Deraa," Grim answered. "After Deraa pretty well what they're minded. They could have us pinched on some trumped-up charge, in which case we'd be searched, Mabel included. No. We've played too long on the defensive. Deraa is the danger-point. The telegraph line is cut there, and all messages going north or south have to be carried by hand across the border. The French have an agent there who censors everything. He's the boy we've got to fool. If they appeal to him this train will go on without us. "Ramsden, you and Narayan Singh go and sit with Mabel in her compartment. Jeremy, you go forward and bring Yussuf Dakmar back here to me; we'll let him have that fake letter just before we reach Deraa, taking care somehow to let the other five know he has it. They won't discover it's a fake until after leaving Deraa--" "Why not?" I interrupted. "What's to prevent their opening it at once?" "Two good reasons: for one, we'll have Narayan Singh keep a careful eye on them, and they'll keep it hidden as long as he snoops around; for another, they'll be delighted not to have to let the French agent at Deraa into the secret, because of the higher price they hope to get by holding on. They'll smuggle it over the border and not open it until they feel safe." "Yes, but when they do look at it ..." said I. "We'll be over the border, and they can't send telegrams to anywhere." "Why not?" "An Arab government precaution. If station agents all along the line were allowed to send telegrams every seditious upstart would take advantage of it and they'd have more trouble than they've got now. But I warn you fellows, after Deraa--somewhere between the border and Damascus--there'll be a fight. The minute they discover that the letter is a fake they'll come for the real one like cats after a canary." "Let 'em come!" smiled Jeremy, but Grim shook his head. "I've been making that mistake too long," he answered. "No defensive tactics after we leave Deraa! We'll start the trouble ourselves. You watch, after Deraa the train crew will play cards in the caboose and leave Allah to care for the passengers." "There's only one thing troubles me," said Jeremy. "What's that?" "Narayan Singh got Yussuf Dakmar's shirt night before last. I've had it in for Yussuf ever since we Anzacs went hungry on account of him. Anyone who scuppers him has got me to beat to him. He's my meat, and I give you all notice!" It isn't good to stand between an Anzac and the punishment he thinks an enemy deserves. "All the same," Grim answered, smiling, "I'll bet you don't get him, Jeremy." "I'll bet you. How much?" "Mind you, when the game begins, you have a free hand," Grim went on. "All right," answered Jeremy, who loves freak bets, ''if I get him you quit the Army soon as this job's done, and join up with Rammy and me: if I don't I'll stay and help you on the next job." "That's a bet," said Grim promptly. So Jeremy went forward to play at being traitor, while Narayan Singh and I kept Mabel company. She fired questions at us right and left for twenty minutes, which we had to answer in detail instead of straining our cars to catch what Grim and Jeremy might be saying to Yussuf Dakmar in the next compartment. Whatever they did say, they managed to prolong the interview until within ten minutes of Deraa, when the Syrian returned to his companions smiling smugly and Narayan Singh strode after him, to stand in the corridor and by ostentatiously watching them prevent their examining the letter. Grim and Jeremy, all grins, joined us at once in Mabel's compartment. "Did you see the devil smirk as he went off with it?" asked Jeremy. "Golly, he thinks we're fools! The theory is that we two had betrayed you, Rammy, and swapped the letter against his bare promise to pay us in Damascus. He chucked in a little blackmail about sicking his mates on to murder us if we didn't come across, and I tell you we fairly love him! Lordy, here's Deraa! If they open the thing before the train leaves, Grim says the lot of us are to bolt back across the border, send Mabel home to her husband, and continue the journey by camel. That right, Grim?" Grim nodded. It was Mabel who objected. "I'm going to see this through," she answered. "Guess again, boys! My hair's gone gray. You owe me a real adventure now, and I won't give up the letter till you've paid!" We had one first-class scare when the train drew up in the squalid station, where the branch line to Haifa meets the main Hedjaz railway and the two together touch a mean town at a tangent; for a French officer in uniform boarded the train and stalked down the corridors staring hard at everyone. He asked me for a passport, which was sheer bluff, so I asked him in turn for his own authority. He smiled and produced a rubber stamp, saying that if I wished to visit Beirut or Aleppo I must get a vise from him. "Je m'em bien garderai!" I answered. "I'm going to see my aunt at Damascus." "And this lady? Is she your wife?" I laughed aloud--couldn't help it. All the Old Testament stories keep forcing themselves on your memory in that land, and the legend of Abraham trying to pass his wife off as his sister and the three-cornered drama that came of it cropped up as fresh as yesterday. There was no need that I could see to repeat the patriarch's mistake, any more than there was reasonable basis for the Frenchman's impertinence. "Is that your business?" I asked him. "Because," he went on, smiling meanly, "you speak with an American accent. It is against the law to carry gold across the border, and Americans have to submit to personal search, because they always carry it." "Show me your authority!" I retorted angrily. "Oh, as for that, there is a customs official here who has full authority. He is a Syrian. It occurred to me that you might prefer to be searched by a European." "Call his bluff!" Grim whispered behind his sleeve, but I intended to do that, anyway. "Bring along your Syrian," said I, and off he went to do it, treating me to a backward glance over his shoulder that conveyed more than words could have done. "He'll bluff sky-high," said Grim, "but keep on calling him." "I've been searched at six frontiers," said Mabel. "If it's a Syrian I don't much mind; you boys all come along, and he'll behave himself. They're much worse in France and Italy. Hadn't one of you better take the letter, though? No! I was forgetting already! I won't part with it. I'll take my chance with the Syrian; he'll only ask me to empty my pockets and prove that I haven't a bag full of gold under my skirt. Sit tight, all, here he comes!" The Frenchman returned with a smiling, olive-complexioned Syrian in tow --a round-faced fellow with blue jaws as dark as his serge uniform. The Frenchman stood aside and the Syrian announced rather awkwardly that regulations compelled him to submit Mabel and me to the inconvenience of search. "For what?" said I. "For gold," he answered. "It is against the law to smuggle it across the border." "I've only one gold coin," I said, showing him a U.S. twenty-dollar piece, and his yellow eyes shone at sight of it. "If it will save trouble you may have it." I put it into his open palm with the Frenchman looking on, and it was immediately clear that that particular Syrian official was no longer amenable to international intrigue. He was bought and sold--oozy with gratitude--incapable of anything but wild enthusiasm for the U.S.A. for several hours to come. "I have searched them!" said he to the French officer. "They have no gold, and they are all right." The French have faults like the rest of us, but they are quicker than most men to recognize logic. The man with crimson pants and sabre grinned cynically, shrugged his shoulders, and passed on to annoy somebody easier. CHAPTER XII "Start something before they're ready for it!" Just before the train started, a handsome fellow with short black beard trimmed into a point and wearing a well-cut European blue serge suit, but none the less obviously an Arab, came to the door of our compartment and stared steadily at Grim. He stood like a fighting man, as if every muscle of his body was under command, and the suggestion was strengthened by what might be a bullet scar over one eye. If that fellow had asked me for a loan on the spot, or for help against his enemies, he would have received both or either. Moreover, if he had never paid me back I would still believe in him, and would bet on him again. However, after one swift glance at him, Grim took no notice until the train was under way--not even then in fact, until the man in blue serge spoke first. "Oh, Jimgrim!" he said suddenly in a voice like a tenor bell. "Come in, Hadad," Grim answered, hardly glancing at him. "Make yourself at home." He tossed a valise into the rack, and I gave up the corner seat so that he might sit facing Grim, he acknowledging the courtesy with a smile like the whicker of a sword-blade, wasting no time on foolish protest. He knew what he wanted--knew enough to take it when invited--understood me, and expected me to understand him--a first-class fellow. He sat leaning a little forward, his back not touching the cushion, with the palms of both hands resting on his knees and strong fingers motionless. He eyed Mabel Ticknor, not exactly nervously but with caution. "Any news?" asked Grim. "Jimgrim, the world is full of it!" he answered in English with a laugh. "But who are these?" "My friends." "Your intimate friends?" Grim nodded. "The lady as well?" Grim nodded again. "That is very strong recommendation, Jimgrim!" Grim introduced us, giving Jeremy's name as Jmil Ras. "Hah! I have heard of you," said Hadad, staring at him. "The Australian who wandered all over Arabia? I am probably the only Arab who knew what you really were. Do you recall that time at Wady Hafiz when a local priest denounced you and a Sheik in a yellow kuffiyi told the crowd that he knew you for a prophet? I am the same Sheik. I liked your pluck. I often wondered what became of you." "Put it here!" said Jeremy, and they shook hands. For twenty minutes after that Hadad and Jeremy swapped reminiscences in quick staccato time. It was like two Gatling guns playing a duet, and the score was about equally intelligible to anyone unfamiliar with Arabia's hinterland--which is to say to all except about one person in ten million. It was most of it Greek to me, but Grim listened like an operator to the ticking of the Morse code. It was Hadad who cut it short; Jeremy would have talked all the way to Damascus. "And so, Jimgrim, do the kites foregather? Or are we a forlorn hope? Do we go to bury Feisul or to crown him king?" "How much do you know?" Grim answered. "Hah! More than you, my friend! I come from Europe--London--Paris-- Rome. I stopped off in Deraa to listen a while, where the tide of rumour flows back and forth across the border. The English are in favour of Feisul, and would help him if they could. The French are against him and would rather have him a dead saint than a living nuisance. The most disturbing rumour I have heard was here in Deraa, to the effect that Feisul sent a letter to Jerusalem calling on all Moslems to rise and massacre the Jews. That does not sound like Feisul, but the French agent in Deraa assured me that he will have the original letter in his hands within a day or two." Grim smiled over at Mabel. "You might show him the letter?" he suggested. So Mabel dug down into the mysteries beneath her shirtwaist and produced the document wrapped in a medical bandage of oiled silk. Hadad unwrapped it, read it carefully, and handed it to Grim. "Are you deceived by that?" he asked. "Does Feisul speak like that, or write like that? Since when has he turned coward that he should sign his name with a number?" "What do you make of it?" asked Grim. "Hah! It is as plain as the ink on the paper. It is intended for use against Feisul, first by making the British suspicious of him, second by providing the French with an excuse to attack him, third by convicting him of treachery, for which he can be jailed or executed after he is caught. What do you propose to do with it, Jimgrim?" "I'm going to show it to Feisul." "Good! I, too, am on my way to see Feisul. Perhaps the two of us together can convince him what is best." "If we two first agree," Grim answered with a dry smile. "Do you agree that two and two make four? This is just as simple, Jimgrim. Feisul cannot contend with the French. The financiers have spread their net for Syria, Feisul has no artillery worth speaking of-- no gas--no masks against gas, and the French have plenty of everything except money. Syria has been undermined by propaganda and corruption. Let Feisul go to British territory and thence to Europe, where his friends may have a chance to work for him. The British will give him Mesopotamia, and after that it will be up to us Arabs to prove we are a nation. That is my argument. Are we agreed?" "If that's your plan, Hadad, I'm with you!" Grim answered. "Then I also am with you! Let us shake hands." "Shwai shwai!" (Go slow!) said Grim. "Better join up with me in Damascus. There are six men in the car ahead who'll try to murder us all presently. They've got a letter that they think is that one. The minute they find out we've fooled them there'll be ructions." "I am good at ructions!" Hadad answered. "My friend Narayan Singh is forward watching them," said Grim. "What they'll probably try when they make the discovery will be to have the lot of us arrested at some wayside station. I propose to forestall them." "I am good at forestalling!" said Hadad. "Then don't you forestall me!" laughed Jeremy. "The fellow with a face like a pig's stern is Yussuf Dakmar, and he's my special preserve." "I am a good Moslem. I refuse to lay hand on pig," said Hadad, smiling. We discussed Feisul and the Arab cause. "Oh, if we had Lawrence with us!" exclaimed Hadad excitedly at last. "A little, little man--hardly any larger than Mrs. Ticknor--but a David against Goliath! And would you believe it?--there is an idiotic rumour that Lawrence has returned and is hiding in Damascus! The French are really disturbed about it. They have cabled their Foreign Office and received an official denial of the rumour; but official denials carry no weight nowadays. Out of ten Frenchmen in Syria, five believe that Lawrence is with Feisul and if they can catch him he will get short shrift. But, oh, Jimgrim--oh, if it were true! Wallahi!" Grim didn't answer, but I saw him look long at Jeremy, and then for about thirty seconds steadily at Mabel Ticknor. After that he stared out of the window for a long time, not even moving his head when a crowd of Bedouins galloped to within fifty yards of the train and volleyed at it from horseback "merely out of devilment," as Hadad hastened to assure us. We were winding up the Lebanon Valley by that time. Carpets of flowers; green grass; waterfalls; a thatched hut to the twenty square miles, with a scattering of mean black tents between; every stone building in ruins; goats where fat kine ought to be; and a more or less modern railway screeching across the landscape, short of fuel and oil. That's Lebanon. We grew depressed. Then silent. Our meditations were interrupted by the sudden arrival of Narayan Singh in the door of the compartment, grinning full of news. "They have opened the letter, sahib! They accuse Yussuf Dakmar of deceiving them. They threaten him with death. Shall I interfere?" "Any sign of the train crew?" Grim asked. "Nay, they are gambling in the brake-van." Grim looked sharply at Hadad. "What authority have you got?" "None. I am a personal friend of Feisul, that is all." "Well, we'll pretend you've power to arrest them. Ramsden, you've suddenly missed your letter. You've accused Jeremy of stealing it. He has confessed to selling it to Yussuf Dakmar. Go forward in a rage and demand the letter back. Start something before they're ready for it! We'll be just behind you." "Leave Yussuf Dakmar to me!" insisted Jeremy. "I pay the debt of an Anzac division!" I hope I've never hurt a man who didn't deserve it, or who wasn't fit to fight; but I have to admit that Grim didn't need to repeat the invitation. I started forward in a hurry, and Jeremy elbowed Narayan Singh aside in order to follow next, Australians being notoriously unlady-like performers when anybody's hat is in the ring. By the time I reached the car ahead the train had entered a wild gorge circle by one of those astonishing hairpin curves with which engineers defeat Nature. The panting engine slowed almost to a snail's pace, having only a scant fuel ration with which to negotiate curve and grade combined. To our right there was a nearly sheer drop of four hundred feet, with a stream at the bottom boiling among limestone boulders. But there was no time to study scenery. From the middle compartment of the car there came yells for help and the peculiar noise of thump and scuffle that can't be mistaken. Men fight in various ways, Lord knows, and the worst are the said-to-be civilized; but from Nome to Cape Town and all the way from China to Peru the veriest tenderfoot can tell in the dark the difference between fight and horseplay. I reached the door of the compartment in time to see three of them (two bleeding from knife-wounds in the face) force Yussuf Dakmar backward toward the window, the whole lot stabbing frantically as they milled and swayed. The fifth man was holding on to the scrimmage with his left hand and reaching round with his right, trying to stick a knife into Yussuf Dakmar's ribs without endangering his own hide. But the sixth man was the rascal I had kicked. He had no room--perhaps no inclination--to get into the scrimmage; so he saw me first, and he needed no spur to his enmity. With a movement as quick as a cat's and presence of mind that accounted for his being leader of the gang, he seized the fifth man by the neck and spun him round to call his attention; and the two came for me together like devils out of a spring-trap. Now the narrow door of a compartment on a train isn't any kind of easy place to fight in, but I vow and declare that Jeremy and I both did our best for Yussuf Dakmar. That's a remarkable thing if you come to think of it. As a dirty murderer--thief--liar--traitor--spy, he hadn't much claim on our affections and Jeremy cherished a war-grudge against him on top of it all. What is it that makes us side with the bottom dog regardless of pros and cons? It was a nasty mix-up, because they used knives and we relied on hands and fists. I've used a pick-handle on occasion and a gun when I've had to, but speaking generally it seems to me to demean a white man to use weapons in a row like that, and I find that most fellows who have walked the earth much agree with me. We tried to go in like a typhoon, shock-troop style, but it didn't work. Another man let go of Yussuf Dakmar, who was growing weak and too short of wind to yell, and in a moment there were five of us struggling on the floor between the seats, one man under me with my forearm across his throat and another alongside me, stabbing savagely at a leather valise under the impression that he was carving up my ribs. On top of that mess Narayan Singh pounced like a tiger, wrenching at arms and legs until I struggled to my feet again--only to be thrust aside by Jeremy as he rose and rushed at Yussuf Dakmar's two assailants. But with all his speed Jeremy was a tenth of a tick too late. The wretch was already helpless, and I dare say they broke his back as they leaned their combined weight on him and forced him backward and head-first through the window. Jeremy made a grab for his foot, but missed it, and a knife-blade already wet with Yussuf Dakmar's blood whipped out and stung him in the thigh. That, of course, was sheer ignorance. You should never sting an Australian. Kill him or let him alone. Better yet, make friends with him or surrender; but, above all, do nothing by halves. They're a race of whole-hoggers, equally ready to force their only shirt on you or fight you to a finish. So Jeremy finished the business at the window. He took a neck in each hand and cracked their skulls together until the whack-whack-whack of it was like the exhaust of a Ford with loose piston rings; and when they fell from his grip, unconscious, he came to my rescue. Believe me, I needed it. They were as strong and lithe as wildcats, those Syrians, and fully awake to the advantage that the narrow door gave them. One man struggled with Narayan Singh and kept him busy with his bulk so wedged across the opening that Grim and Hadad were as good as demobilized out in the corridor; and the other two tackled me like a pair of butchers hacking at a maddened bull. I landed with my fists, but each time at the cost of a flesh-wound; and though I got one knife-hand by the wrist and hung on, wrenching and screwing to throw the fellow off his feet, the other man's right was free and the eighteen-inch Erzeram dagger that he held danced this and that way for an opening underneath my guard. Jeremy's left fist landed under the peak of his jaw exactly at the moment when he stiffened to launch his thrust. He fell as if pole-axed and the blade missed my stomach by six inches, but the combined force of thrust and blow was great enough to drive the weapon into the wooden partition, where it stayed until I pulled it out to keep as a souvenir. There wasn't much trouble after that. Grim and Hadad came in and we tore strips from the Syrians' clothing to tie their hands and feet with. Hadad went to the rear of the train, climbing along the footboard of the third-class cars to the caboose to throw some sort of bluff to the conductor, who came forward--called me "Colonel" and Hadad "Excellency" --looked our prisoners over--recognized no friends--and said that everything was "quite all right." He said he knew exactly what to do; but we left Narayan Singh on watch, lest that knowledge should prove too original which, however, it turned out not to be. It was bromidian--as old as history. Narayan Singh came back and told us. "Lo, sahib; he went through their clothes as an ape for fleas, I watching. And when he had all their valuables he laid them on the footboard, and then, as we passed some Bedouin tents, he kicked them off. But he seems an honest fellow, for he gave them back some small change to buy food with, should any be obtainable." After that he stood flashing his white teeth for half an hour watching Mabel bandage Jeremy and me, for it always amuses a Sikh to watch a white man eat punishment. Sikhs are a fine race--but curious-- distinctly curious and given to unusual amusement. When Mabel had finished with me at last I stuck a needle into him, and he laughed, accepting the stab as a compliment. A strange thing is how men settle down after excitement. Birds do the same thing. A hawk swoops down on a hedgerow; there is a great flutter, followed by sudden silence. A minute later the chattering begins again, without any reference to one of their number being torn in the plunderer's beak. And so we; even Grim loosened up and gossiped about Feisul and the already ancient days when Feisul was the up-to-date Saladin leading Arab hosts to victory. But there was an even stranger circumstance than that. We weren't the only people in the train; our car, for instance, was fairly well occupied by Armenians, Arabs, and folk whose vague nationality came under the general heading of Levantine. The car ahead where the fight took place, though not crowded, wasn't vacant, and there were others in the car behind. Yet not one of them made a move to interfere. They minded their own business, which proves, I think, that manners are based mainly on discretion. As the train gasped slowly up the grade and rolled bumpily at last along the fertile, neglected Syrian highland, all the Armenians on the train removed their hats and substituted the red tarboosh, preferring the headgear of a convert rather than be the target of every Bedouin with a rifle in his hand. The whole journey was a mix-up of things to wonder at--not least of them the matter-of-fact confidence with which the train proceeded along a single track, whose condition left you wondering at each bump whether the next wouldn't be the journey's violent end. There were lamps, but no oil for light when evening came. Once, when we bumped over a shaky culvert and a bushel or two of coal-dust fell from the rusty tender, the engineer stopped the train and his assistant went back with a shovel and piece of sacking to gather up the precious stuff. There was nothing but squalid villages and ruins, goats and an occasional rare camel to be seen through the window--not a tree anywhere, the German General Staff having attended to that job thoroughly. There is honey in the country and it's plentiful as well as good, because bees are not easy property to raid and make away with; but the milk is from goats, and as for overflowing, I would hate to have to punish the dugs of a score of the brutes to get a jugful for dinner. Syria's wealth is of the past and the future. Long before it grew too dark to watch the landscape we were wholly converted to Grim's argument that Syria was no place for a man of Feisul's calibre. The Arab owners of the land are plundered to the bone; the men with money are foreigners, whose only care is for a government that will favour this religion and that breed. To set up a kingdom there would be like preaching a new religion in Hester Street; you could hand out text, soup and blankets, but you'd need a whale's supply of faith to carry on, and the offertories wouldn't begin to meet expenses. Until that journey finally convinced me, I had been wondering all the while in the back of my head whether Grim wasn't intending an impertinence. It hasn't been my province hitherto to give advice to kings; for one thing, they haven't asked me for it. If I were asked, I think I'd take the problem pretty seriously and hesitate before suggesting to a man on whom the hope of fifty million people rests that he'd better pull up stakes and eat crow in exile for the present. I'd naturally hate to be a king, but if I were one I don't think quitting would look good, and I think I'd feel like kicking the fellow who suggested it. But the view from the train, and Grim's talk with Hadad put me in a mood in which Syria didn't seem good enough for a soap-box politician, let alone a man of Feisul's fame and character. And when at last a few lights in a cluster down the track proclaimed that we were drawing near Damascus, I was ready to advise everybody, Feisul included, to get out in a hurry while a chance remained. CHAPTER VIII "Bismillah! What a mercy that I met you!" While the fireman scraped the iron floor for his last two shovelfuls of coal-dust and the train wheezed wearily into the dark station, Grim began to busy himself in mysterious ways. Part of his own costume consisted of a short, curved scimitar attached to an embroidered belt-- the sort of thing that Arabs wear for ornament rather than use. He took it off and, groping in the dark, helped Mabel put it on, without a word of explanation. Then, instead of putting on his own Moslem over-cloak he threw that over her shoulders and, digging down into his bag for a spare head-dress, snatched her hat off and bound on the white kerchief in its place with the usual double, gold-covered cord of camel-hair. Then came my friend the train conductor and addressed me as Colonel, offering to carry out the bags. The moment he had grabbed his load and gone Grim broke silence: "Call her Colonel and me Grim. Don't forget how!" We became aware of faces under helmets peering through the window- officers of Feisul's army on the watch for unwelcome visitors. From behind them came the conductor's voice again, airing his English: "Any more bags inside there, Colonel?" "Get out quick, Jeremy, and make a fuss about the Colonel coming!" ordered Grim. Jeremy suddenly became the arch-efficient servitor, establishing importance for his chief, and never a newly made millionaire or modern demagog had such skillful advertisement. The Shereefian officers stood back at a respectful distance, ready to salute when the personage should deign to alight. "What shall be done with the memsahib's hat?" demanded Narayan Singh. You could only see the whites of his eyes, but he shook something in his right hand. "Eat it!" Grim answered. "Heavens! That's my best hat!" objected Mabel. "Give it here. I'll carry it under the cloak." "Get rid of it!" Grim ordered; and Narayan Singh strode off to contribute yellow Leghorn straw and poppies to the engine furnace. I gave him ten piastres to fee the engineer, and five for the fireman, so you might say that was high-priced fuel. "What kind of bunk are you throwing this time?" I asked Grim. He didn't answer, but gave orders to Mabel in short, crisp syllables. "You're Colonel Lawrence. Answer no questions. If anyone salutes, just move your hand and bow your head a bit. You're just his height. Look straight in front of you and take long strides. Bend your head forward a little; there, that's it." "I'm scared!" announced Mabel, by way of asking for more particulars. She wasn't scared in the least. "Piffle!" Grim answered. "Remember you're Lawrence, that's all. They'd give you Damascus if you asked for it. Follow Jeremy, and leave the rest to us." I don't doubt that Grim had been turning over the whole plan in his mind for hours past, but when I taxed him with it afterward his reply was characteristic: "If we'd rehearsed it, Mabel and Hadad would both have been self-conscious. The game is to study your man--or woman, as the case may be--and sometimes drill 'em, sometimes spring it on 'em, according to circumstances. The only rule is to study people; there are no two quite alike." Hadad was surprised into silence, too thoughtful a man to do anything except hold his tongue until the next move should throw more light on the situation. He followed us out of the car, saying nothing; and being recognized by the light of one dim lantern as an intimate friend of Feisul, he accomplished all that Grim could have asked of him. He was known to have been in Europe until recently. Rumours about Lawrence had been tossed from mouth to mouth for days past, and here was somebody who looked like Lawrence in the dark, followed by Grim and Hadad and addressed as "Colonel." Why shouldn't those three Shereefian officers jump to conclusions, salute like automatons and grin like loyal men who have surprised a secret and won't tell anyone but their bosom friends? It was all over Damascus within the hour that Lawrence had come from England to stand by Feisul in the last ditch. The secret was kept perfectly! We let Mabel walk ahead of us, and there was no trouble at the customs barrier, where normally every piastre that could be wrung from protesting passengers were mulcted to support a starving treasury; for the officers strode behind us, and trade signs to the customs clerk, who immediately swore at everyone in sight and sent all his minions to yell for the best cabs in Damascus. Narayan Singh distributed largesse to about a hundred touts and hangers-on and we splashed off toward the hotel in two open landaus, through streets six inches deep in water except at the cross-gutters, where the horses jumped for fear of losing soundings. Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, were in flood as usual at that time of year, and the scavenging street curs had to swim from one garbage heap to the next. There was a gorgeous battle going on opposite the hotel door, where half a dozen white-ivoried mongrels with their backs to a heap of kitchen leavings held a ford against a dozen others, each beast that made good his passage joining with the defenders to fight off the rest. I stood on the hotel steps and watched the war for several minutes, while Grim went in with the others and registered as "Rupert Ramsden of Chicago, U.S.A., and party." The flood, and darkness owing to the lack of fuel, were all in our favour, for such folk as were abroad were hardly of the sort whose gossip would carry weight; nevertheless, we hadn't been in the hotel twenty minutes before an agent of the bank put in his appearance, speaking French volubly. Seeing my name on the register, he made the mistake of confining his attention to me, which enabled Grim to get Mabel safely away into a big room on the second floor. The Frenchman (if he was one--he had a Hebrew nose) made bold to corner me on a seat near the dining-room door. He was nervous rather than affable--a little pompous, as behooved the representative of money power--and evidently used to having his impertinences answered humbly. "You are from the South? Did you have a good journey? Was the train attacked? Did you hear any interesting rumors on the way?" Those were all preliminary questions, thrown out at random to break ice. As he sat down beside me you could feel the next one coming just as easily as see that he wasn't interested in the answers to the first. "You are here on business? What business?" "Private business," said I, with an eye on Jeremy just coming down the stairs. "You talk Arabic?" He nodded, eyeing me keenly. "That man is my servant and knows my affairs. I'm too tired to talk after the journey. Suppose you ask him." So Jeremy came and sat beside us, and threw the cow's husband around as blithely as he juggles billiard balls. I wasn't supposed to understand what he was saying. "The big effendi is a prizefighter, who has heard there is money to be made at Feisul's court. At least, that is what he says. Between you and me, I think he is a spy for the French Government, because when he engaged me in Jerusalem he gave me a fist-full of paper francs with which to send a telegram to Paris. What was in the telegram? I don't know; it was a mass of figures, and I mixed them up on purpose, being an honest fellow averse to spy's work. Oh, I've kept an eye on him, believe me! Ever since he killed a Syrian in the train I've had my doubts of him. Mashallah, what a murderous disposition the fellow has! Kill a man as soon as look at him--indeed he would. Are you a prince in these parts?" "A banker." "Bismillah! What a mercy that I met you! I overheard him say that he will visit the bank tomorrow morning to cash a draft for fifty thousand francs. I'd examine the draft carefully if I were you. It wouldn't surprise me to learn it was stolen or forged. Is there any other bank that he could go to?" "No, only mine; the others have suspended business on account of the crisis." "Then, in the name of Allah don't forget me! You ought to give me a thousand francs for the information. I am a poor man, but honest. At what time shall I come for the money in the morning? Perhaps you could give me a little on account at once, for my wages are due tonight and I'm not at all certain of getting them." "Well, see me in the morning," said the banker. He got up and left us at once, hardly troubling to excuse himself; and Grim heard him tell the hotel proprietor that our whole party would be locked up in jail before midnight. That rumour went the rounds like wild-fire, so that we were given a wide berth and had a table all to ourselves in the darkest corner of the big dim dining-room. There were more than a hundred people eating dinner, and Narayan Singh, Hadad and I were the only ones in western clothes. Every seat at the other tables was occupied by some Syrian dignitary in flowing robes-- rows and rows of stately looking notables, scant of speech and noisy at their food. Many of them seemed hardly to know the use of knife and fork, but they could all look as dignified as owls, even when crowding in spaghetti with their fingers. We provided them with a sensation before the second course was finished. A fine-looking Syrian officer in khaki, with the usual cloth flap behind his helmet that forms a compromise between western smartness and eastern comfort, strode into the room and bore down on us. He invited us out into the corridor with an air that suggested we would better not refuse, and we filed out after him in an atmosphere of frigid disapproval. Mabel was honestly scared half out of her wits now. Not even the smiles of the hotel proprietor in the doorway reassured her, nor his deep bow as she passed. She was even more scared, if that were possible, when two officers, obviously of high rank, came forward in the hall to greet her, and one addressed her in Arabic as Colonel Lawrence. Luckily one oil lamp per wall was doing duty in place of electric light, or there might have been an awkward incident. She had presence of mind enough to disguise her alarm by a fit of coughing, bending nearly double and covering the lower part of her face with the ends of the headdress folded over. The officers had no time to waste and gave their message to Grim instead. "The Emir Feisul is astonished, Jimgrim, that Colonel Lawrence and you should visit Damascus without claiming his hospitality. We have two autos waiting to take you to the palace." Well, the luggage didn't amount to much; Narayan Singh brought that down in a jiffy; and when I went to settle with the hotel-keeper one of the Syrian officers interfered. "These are guests of the Emir Feisul," he announced. "Send the bill to me." We were piled into the waiting autos. Mabel, Grim and I rode in the first one, with the Syrian officers up beside the driver; Jeremy, Narayan Singh and Hadad followed; and we went through the dark streets like sea-monsters splashing over shoals, unseen I think--certainly unrecognized. The streets were almost deserted and I didn't catch sight of one armed man, which was a thing to marvel at when you consider that fifty thousand or so were supposed to be concentrated in the neighbourhood, with conscription working full-blast and the foreign consuls solely occupied in procuring exemption for their nationals. It wasn't my first visit to a reigning prince, for if you travel much in India you're bound to come in contact with numbers of them; so I naturally formed a mental picture of what was in store for us, made up from a mixture of memories of Gwalior, Baroda, Bikanir, Hyderabad, Poona and Baghdad of the Arabian-Nights. It just as naturally vanished in presence of the quiet, latter-day dignity of the real thing. The palace turned out to be a villa on the outskirts of the city, no bigger and hardly more pretentious than a well-to-do commuter's place at Bronxville or Mount Vernon. There was a short semi-circular drive in front, with one sentry and one small lantern burning at each gate; but their khaki uniforms and puttees didn't disguise the fact that the sentries were dark, dyed-in-wool Arabs from the desert country, and though they presented arms, they did it as men who make concessions without pretending to admire such foolishness. I wouldn't have given ten cents for an unescorted stranger's chance of getting by them, whatever his nationality. Surely there was never less formality in a king's house since the world began. We were ushered straight into a narrow, rather ordinary hall, and through that into a sitting-room about twenty feet square. The light was from oil lamps hanging by brass chains from the curved beams; but the only other Oriental suggestions were the cushioned seats in each corner, small octagonal tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and a mighty good Persian carpet. Narayan Singh and Jeremy, supposedly being servants, offered to stay in the hall, but were told that Feisul wouldn't approve of that. "Whatever they shouldn't hear can be said in another room," was the explanation. So we all sat down together on one of the corner seats, and were kept waiting about sixty seconds until Feisul entered by a door in the far corner. And when he came he took your breath away. It always prejudices me against a man to be told that he is dignified and stately. Those adjectives smack of too much self-esteem and of a claim to be made of different clay from most of us. He was both, yet he wasn't either. And he didn't look like a priest, although if ever integrity and righteousness shone from a man, with their effect heightened by the severely simple Arab robes, I swear that man was he. Just about Jeremy's height and build--rather tall and thin that is--with a slight stoop forward from the shoulders due to thoughtfulness and camel-riding and a genuine intention not to hold his head too high, he looked like a shepherd in a Bible picture, only with good humour added, that brought him forward out of a world of dreams on to the same plane with you, face to face--understanding meeting understanding--man to man. I wish I could describe his smile as he entered, believing he was coming to meet Lawrence, but it can't be done. Maybe you can imagine it if you bear in mind that this man was captain of a cause as good as lost, hedged about by treason and well aware of it; and that Colonel Lawrence was the one man in the world who had proved himself capable of bridging the division between East and West and making possible the Arab dream of independence. But unhappily it's easier to record unpleasant things. He knew at the first glance--even before she drew back the kuffiyi--that Mabel wasn't Lawrence, and I've never seen a man more disappointed in all my wanderings. The smile didn't vanish; he had too much pluck and self-control for that; but you might say that iron entered into it, as if for a second he was mocking destiny, willing to face all odds alone since he couldn't have his friend. And he threw off disappointment like a man--dismissed it as a rock sheds water, coming forward briskly to shake hands with Grim and bowing as Grim introduced us. "At least here are two good friends," he said in Arabic, sitting down between Grim and Hadad. "Tell me what this means, and why you deceived us about Lawrence." "We've something to show you," Grim answered. "Mrs. Ticknor brought it; otherwise it might have been seen by the wrong people." Feisul took the hint and dismissed the Syrian officers, calling them by their first names as he gave them "leave to go." Then Mabel produced the letter and Feisul read it, crossing one thin leg over the other and leaning back easily. But he sat forward again and laughed bitterly when he had read it twice over. "I didn't write this. I never saw it before, or heard of it," he said simply. "I know that," said Grim. "But we thought you'd better look at it." Feisul laid the letter across his knee and paused to light a cigarette. I thought he was going to do what nine men out of ten in a tight place would certainly have done; but he blew out the match, and went on smoking. "You mean your government has seen the thing, and sent you to confront me with it?" It was Grim's turn to laugh, and he was jubilant without a trace of bitterness. "No. The chief and I have risked our jobs by not reporting it. This visit is strictly unofficial." Feisul handed the letter back to him, and it was Grim who struck a match and burned it, after tearing off the seal for a memento. "You know what it means, of course?" Grim trod the ash into the carpet. "If the French could have come by that letter in Jerusalem, they'd have Dreyfussed you--put you on trial for your life on trumped-up evidence. They'd send a sworn copy of it to the British to keep them from taking your part." "I am grateful to you for burning it," Feisul answered. He didn't look helpless, hopeless, or bewildered, but dumb and clinging on; like a man who holds an insecure footing against a hurricane. "It means that the men all about you are traitors--" Grim went on. "Not all of them," Feisul interrupted. "But many of them," answered Grim. "Your Arabs are loyal hot-heads; some of your Syrians are dogs whom anyone can hire." It was straight speaking. From a major in foreign service, uninvited, to a king, it sounded near the knuckle. Feisul took it quite pleasantly. "I know one from the other, Jimgrim." Grim got up and took a chair opposite Feisul. He was all worked up and sweating at self-mastery, hotter under the collar than I had ever seen him. "It means," he went on, with a hand on each knee and his strange eyes fixed steadily on Feisul's, "that the French are ready to attack you. It means they're sure of capturing your person--and bent on seeing your finish. They'll give you a drumhead court martial and make excuses afterward." "Inshallah," Feisul answered, meaning "If Allah permits it." "That is exactly the right word!" Grim exploded; and Lord, he was hard put to it to keep excitement within bounds. I could see his neck trembling, and there were little beads of sweat on his temple. It was Grim at last without the mask on. "Allah marks the destiny of all of us. Do you suppose we're here for nothing--at this time?" Feisul smiled. "I am glad to see you," he said simply. "Are you planning to fight the French?" Grim asked him suddenly, in the sort of way that a man at close quarters lets rip an upper-cut. "I must fight or yield. They have sent an ultimatum, but delayed it so as not to permit me time to answer. It has expired already. They are probably advancing." "And you intend to sit here and wait for them?" "I shall be at the front." "You know you haven't a chance!" "My advisers think that my presence at the front will encourage our men sufficiently to win the day." "Have you a charm against mustard gas?" "That is our weakness. No, we have no masks." "And the wind setting up from the sea at this time of year! Your army is going straight into a trap, and you along with it. Half of the men who advise you to go to the front will fight like lions against a net, and the other half will sell you to the French! Your fifty thousand men will melt like butter in the sun and your Arab cause will be left without a leader!" Feisul pondered that for about a minute, leaning back and watching Grim's face. "We held a council of war, Jimgrim," he said at last. "It was the unanimous opinion of the staff that we ought to fight and the cabinet upheld them. I couldn't cancel the order if I wished. What would you think of a king who left his army in the lurch?" "Nobody will ever accuse you of cowardice," Grim answered. "You're a proven brave man if ever there was one. The point is, do you want all your bravery and hard work for the Arab cause to go for nothing? Do you want the prospect of Arab independence to go up in smoke on a gas-swept battlefield?" "It would break my heart," said Feisul, "although one heart hardly matters." "It would break more hearts than yours," Grim retorted. "There are millions looking to you for leadership. Leave me out of it. Leave Lawrence out of it, and all the other non-Moslems who have done their bit for you. Leave most of these Syrians out of it; for they're simply politicians making use of you--a mess of breeds and creeds so mixed and corrupted that they don't know which end up they stand! If the Syrians had guts they'd have rallied so hard to you long ago that no outsider would have had a chance." "What do you mean? What are you proposing?" Feisul asked quietly. "Baghdad is your place, not Damascus!" "But here I am in Damascus," Feisul retorted; and for the first time there was a note of impatience in his voice. "I came here at the request of the Allies, on the strength of their promises. I did not ask to be king. I would rather not be. Let any man be ruler whom the Arabs choose, and I will work for him loyally. But the Arabs chose me and the Allies consented. It was only after they had won their war with our help that the French began raising objections and, the British deserted me. It is too late to talk of Baghdad now." "It isn't! It's too soon!" Grim answered, bringing down a clenched fist on his knee, and Feisul laughed in spite of himself. "You talk like a prophet, Jimgrim, but let me tell you something. It is mainly a question of money after all. The British paid us a subsidy until they withdrew from Syria. They did their best for us even then, for they left behind guns, ammunition, wagons and supplies. When the French seized the ports they promised to continue the subsidy, because they are collecting the customs dues and we have no other revenue worth mentioning. But rather than send us money the French have told our people not to pay taxes; so our treasury is empty. Nevertheless, we contrived by one means and another. We arranged a bank credit, and ordered supplies from abroad. The supplies have reached Beirut, but the French have ordered the bank to cancel the credit, and until we pay for the supplies they are withheld." "Any gas masks among the supplies you ordered?" Grim asked him; and Feisul nodded. "That banker has played fast and loose with us until the last minute. Relying on our undertaking not to molest foreigners he has resided in Damascus, making promises one day and breaking them the next, keeping his funds in Beirut and his agency here, draining money out of the country all the while." "Why didn't you arrest him?" "We gave our word to the French that he should have complete protection and immunity. It seemed a good thing to us to have such an influential banker here; he has international connections. As recently as yesterday, twenty minutes before that ultimatum came, he was in this room assuring me that he would be able to solve the credit difficulty within a day or two." "Would you like to send for him now?" suggested Grim. "I doubt if he would come." "Well, have him fetched!" Feisul shook his head. "If other people break their promises, that is no reason why we should break ours. If we can defeat the French and force them to make other terms, then we will expel him from Syria. I leave at midnight, Jimgrim." "To defeat the French? You go to your Waterloo! You're in check with only one move possible, and I'm here to make you realize it. You're a man after my own heart, Feisul, but you and your Arabs are children at dealing with these foreign exploiters! "They can beat you at every game but honesty. And listen: If you did defeat the French--if you drove them into the sea tomorrow, they'd get away with all the money in Beirut and you'd still be at the mercy of foreign capitalists! Instead of an independent Arab kingdom here you'd have a mixture of peoples and religions all plotting against one another and you, with capitulations and foreign consuls getting in the way, and bond-holding bankers sitting on top of it all like the Old Man of the Sea in the story of Sindbad the Sailor! "Leave that to the French! Let them have all Syria to stew in! Go to England where your friends are. Let the politicians alone. Meet real folk and talk with them. Tell them the truth; for they don't know it! Talk with the men and women who haven't got political jobs to lose--with the fellows who did the fighting--with the men and women who have votes. They'll believe you. They've given up believing politicians, and they're learning how to twist the politicians' tails. You'll find yourself in Baghdad within a year or two, with all Mesopotamia to make a garden of and none but Arabs to deal with. That's your field!" Feisul smiled with the air of a man who recognizes but is unconvinced. "There are always things that might have been," he answered. "As it is, I cannot desert the army." "We'll save what we can of the army," Grim answered. "Your Syrians will save their own skins; it's only the Arabs we've got to look out for--a line of retreat for the Arab regiments, and another for you. It's not too late, and you know I'm right! Come on; let's get busy and do it!" Feisul's smile was all affection and approval, but he shook his head. "If what you say is true, I should only have the same problem in Mesopotamia--foreign financiers," he answered. "That's exactly where you're wrong!" Grim retorted triumphantly. He stood up, and pointed at Jeremy. "Here's a man who owns a gold-mine. It lies between Mesopotamia and your father's kingdom of the Hedjaz, and its exact whereabouts is a secret. He's here tonight to make you a present of the mine! And here's another man,"--he pointed at me--"a mining expert, who'll tell you what the thing's worth. It's yours, if you'll agree to abandon Syria and lay a course for Baghdad!" CHAPTER XIV "You'll be a virgin Victim!" Feisul was interested; he couldn't help being. And he was utterly convinced of Grim's sincerity. But he wasn't moved from his purpose, and not even Jeremy's account of the gold-mine, or my professional opinion of its value, had the least effect toward cancelling the plans he had in mind. He was deeply affected by the offer, but that was all. "Good heavens, man!" Grim exploded suddenly. "Surely you won't throw the whole world into war again! You know what it will mean if the French kill or imprison you. There isn't a Moslem of all the millions in Asia who won't swear vengeance against the West--you know that! A direct descendant of Mohammed, and the first outstanding, conquering Moslem since Saladin--" "The Allies should have thought of that before they broke promises," said Feisul. "Never mind them. Damn them!" answered Grim. "It's up to you! The future of civilization is in your lap this minute! Can't you see that if you lose you'll be a martyr, and Islam will rise to avenge you?" "Inshallah," said Feisul, nodding. "But that if you let pride go by the board, and seem to run away, there'll be a breathing spell? Asia would wonder for a few months, and do nothing, until it began to dawn on them that you had acted wisely and had a better plan in view." "I am not proud, except of my nation," Feisul answered. "I would not let pride interfere with policy. But it is too late to talk of this." "Which is better?" Grin demanded. "A martyr, the very mention of whose name means war, or a living power for peace under a temporary cloud?" "I am afraid I am a poor host. Forgive me," Feisul answered. "Dinner has been waiting all this while, and you have a lady with you. This is disgraceful." He rose and led the way into another room, closing the discussion. We ate an ordinary meal in an ordinary dining room, Feisul presiding and talking trivialities with Mabel and Hadad. There was an occasional boisterous interlude by Jeremy, but even he with his tales of unknown Arabia couldn't lift the load of depression. Grim and I sat silent through the meal. I experienced the sensation that you get when an expedition proves a failure and you've got to go home again with nothing done--all dreary emptiness; but Grim was hatching something, as you could tell by the far-away expression and the glowering light in his eyes. He looked about ready for murder. Narayan Singh's face all through the meal was a picture--delight and pride at dining with a king, amazement at his karma that had brought a sepoy of the line to hear such confidences first hand, chagrin over Grim's apparent failure and desire to be inconspicuous controlled his expression in turn. Once or twice he tried to make conversation with me, but I was in no mood for it, being a grouchy old bear on occasion without decent manners. Feisul excused himself the minute the meal was over, saying he had a conference to attend, and we all went back into the sitting-room, where Grim took the chair he occupied before and marshalled us into a row on the seat in front of him. He was back again in form--electric--and self-controlled. "Have you folk got the hang of this?" he asked. "Do you realize what it means if Feisul goes out and gets scuppered?" We thought we did, even if we didn't. I don't suppose anyone except the few who, like Grim, have made a life-study of the problem of Islam in all its bearings could quite have grasped it. Mabel had a viewpoint that served Grim's purpose as well as any at the moment. "That man's too good, and much too good-looking to be wasted!" she said emphatically. "D'you suppose that if Colonel Lawrence were really here--" "Half a minute," said Grim, "and I'll come to that. How about you, Hadad? How far would you go to save Feisul from this Waterloo?" "I would go a long way," he answered cautiously. "What do you intend?" "To appear near the firing-line, for one thing, with somebody who looks like Colonel Lawrence, and somebody else who looks enough like Feisul in one of Feisul's cars, and give the French a run for it in one direction while Feisul escapes in the other." "Wallahi! But what if Feisul won't go?" "He'll get helped! Did you ever hear what they did to Napoleon at Waterloo? Seized his bridle and galloped away with him." "You mean I'm to act Lawrence again?" asked Mabel, looking deathly white. Grim nodded. "Who's cast for Feisul?" Jeremy inquired. "You are. You're the only trained stage-actor in the bunch. You're his height--not unlike his figure--" "I resemble him as much as a kangaroo looks like an ostrich!" laughed Jeremy. "You're talking wild, Jim. What have you had to drink?" "How about you, Ramsden? Will you see this through?" Jeremy shook his head at me. I believe he thought for the moment that Grim had gone mad. He hadn't the experience of Grim that I had, and consequently not the same confidence in Grim's ability to dream, catch the essence of the dream, pin it down and make a fact of it. "I'll go the limit," said I. "Well, I'll be damned" laughed Jeremy. "All right; same here. I stake a gold-mine and Rammy raises me. Fetch your crown and sceptre and I'll play king to Jim's ace in a royal straight flush. Mabel's queen. Hadad's a knave. He looks it! Keep smiling, Hadad, old top, and I'll let you forgive me. Rammy's the ten-spot--tentative--tenacious--ten aces up his sleeve--and packs a ten-ton wallop when you get him going. What's Narayan Singh? The deuce?" "The joker," answered Grim. "Are you in on this?" "Sahib, there was no need to ask. What your honor finds good enough-- your honor's order--" "Orders have nothing to do with it. We're not in British territory. This in unofficial. I've no right to give you orders," said Grim. "You're free to refuse. I'm likely to lose my job over this and so are you if you take part in it." Narayan Singh grinned hugely. "Hah! A sepoy's position is a smaller stake than a major's commission or a gold-mine, but I likewise have a life to lose, and I play too!" Grim nodded curtly. It was no time for returning compliments. "How about you, Mabel? We can manage this without you, and you've a husband to think of--" "If he were here he'd hate it, but he'd give permission." "All right. Now, Hadad. What about it?" "Am I to obey you absolutely, not knowing what the--" Grim interrupted him: "The proposal's fair. Either you withdraw now and hold your tongue, or come in with us. If you're in I'll tell the details; if not, there's no need." "Wallahi! What a sword-blade you are, Jimgrim! If I say 'yes,' I risk my future on your backgammon board; if I say 'no,' my life is worth a millieme, for you will tell that Sikh you call the 'joker' to attend to me!" "Not so," Grim answered. "If you don't like the plan, I'll trust you to fall out and keep the secret." "Oh, in that case," answered Hadad, hesitating. "Since you put it that way... well, it is lose all or perhaps win something--half-measures are no good--the alternative is ruin of the Arab cause--it is a forlorn hope--well, one throw of the dice, eh?--and all our fortunes on the table!--one little mistake and helas--finish! Never mind. Yes, I will play too. I will play this to the end with you." "So we're all set," remarked Grim with a sigh of relief. Instantly he threw his shoulders back and began to set his pieces for the game. And you know, there's a world of difference between the captain of a side who doesn't worry until the game begins and Grim's sort, who do their worrying beforehand and then play, and make the whole side play for every ounce that's in them. "Mabel, you're Lawrence. Keep silent, be shy, avoid encounters--act like a man who's not supposed to be here, but who came to help Feisul contrary to express commands laid on him by the Foreign Office. Get that? Lawrence is a shy man, anyway--hates publicity, rank, anything that calls attention to himself. The more shy you are, the easier you'll get away with it. Feisul must help pretend you're Lawrence. The presence of Lawrence would add to his prestige incalculably, and I think he'll see that, but if not, never mind, we'll manage. Any questions? Quick!" You can't ask questions when you're given that sort of opportunity. The right ones don't occur to you and the others seem absurd. Grim knew that, of course, but when you're dealing with a woman there's just one chance in a hundred that she may think of something vital that hasn't occurred to anybody else. Most women aren't practical; but it's the impractical things that happen. "Suppose we're captured by the French?" she suggested. "That's what's going to happen," he answered. "When they've got you, then you're Mrs. Mabel Ticknor, who never saw Lawrence and wouldn't recognize him if you did." "They'll ask why I'm wearing man's clothes, and masquerading as an Arab." "Well, you're a woman, aren't you? You answer with another question-- ask them just how safe a woman would be! They may claim that their Algerians are baby-lambs, but they can't blame you for not believing it! Anything else?" She shook her head, and he turned on Hadad. "Hadad, lose no opportunity of whispering that Lawrence is with Feisul. Add that Lawrence doesn't want his presence known. Hunt out two or three loyal Arabs on the staff and tell them the plan is to kidnap Feisul and carry him to safety across the border; but don't do it too soon; wait until the debacle begins, and then persuade a few of them-- old Ali, for instance, and Osman--choose the old guard--you and they bolt with him to Haifa. The Syrians have been thoroughly undermined by propaganda; gas will do the rest, and as soon as the Arabs see the Syrians run they'll listen to reason. They know you, and know you're on the level. Do you understand? Will you do that?" "I will try. I see many a chance of spilling before this cup comes to the drinking, Jimgrim!" "Then carry it carefully!" Grim answered. "Ramsden, take that car you came in. Find that banker. He's the boy who has bought Feisul's staff, or I'm much mistaken. Bring him here." "Suppose he won't come?" "Bring him. Take Jeremy with you. Try diplomacy first. Tell him that a plot to kidnap Feisul has been discovered at the last minute, but give him to understand that no suspicion rests on him. Get him, if you can, to send a message to the French General Staff, warning them to watch for Feisul and two civilians and Lawrence in an auto. After that bring him if you have to put him in a sack." "What's his name, and where does he live?" "Adolphe Rene. Everybody knows his house. Jeremy, look as unlike Feisul as you can until the time comes, but study the part and be ready to jump into his clothes. Narayan Singh, stay with me. You and I will do the dirty work. Get busy, Ramsden." Circumstances work clock-fashion, wheel fitting into wheel, when those tides that Shakespeare spoke of are at flood. Disregarding all the theory and argument about human will as opposed to cosmic law I say this, without any care at all who contradicts me: That whoever is near the hub of happenings is the agent of Universal Law, and can no more help himself than can the watch that tells the hour. The men who believe that they make history should really make a thoughtful fellow laugh. "The moving finger writes, and having writ moves on"; the old tentmaker Omar knew the truth of it. You could almost hear the balance-wheel of Progress click as the door opened before Grim had finished speaking, and a staff officer appeared to invite him to be present at Feisul's conference. Grim asked at once for the auto for me (I couldn't have had it otherwise), and a moment later Jeremy and I were scooting into darkness through narrow streets and driving rain, with the hubs of the wheels awash in places and "shipping it green" over the floor when we dipped and pitched over a cross-street gutter. The Arab driver knew the way, from which I take it he had a compass in his head as well as a charm against accidents and a spirit of recklessness that put faith in worn-out springs. There wasn't room for more than one set of wheels at a time in most of the streets we tore through, but a camel tried to share one fairway with us and had the worst of it; he cannoned off into an alley 'himd end first, and we could hear him bellowing with rage a block away. And our manner of stopping was like our progress, prompt. The brake- bands went on with a shriek and Jeremy and I pitched forward as the car brought up against the kerb in front of an enormous door, whose brass knocker shone like gold in the rays of our headlights. We told the Arab to wait for us and stepped knee-deep into a pool invisible, stumbled and nearly fell over a great stone set to bridge the flood between street and door, then proceeded to use the knocker importunately, thunderously, angrily, as men with wet feet and bruised toes likely will, whatever the custom of the country. We went on knocking, taking turns, until the door opened at last and the banker's servant peered at us with a candle in his hand, demanding to know in the name of the thousand and one devils whom Solomon boiled in oil what impudent scavengers were making all that noise. But the banker himself was in the background, thinking perhaps that the French had come already, on the lookout over the servant's shoulder for a glimpse of a kepi. So we put our shoulders to the door, thrust by the servant, and walked in. "Take care! I have a pistol in my hand!" said the banker's voice. "Three shots for a shilling at me then!" retorted Jeremy. "Who are you?" "Tell that shivering fool to bring the candle, and you'll see!" "Oh, you, is it! I told you to come in the morning. I can't see you now." "Can't see me, eh? Come in here and peel your eyes, cocky! Sit down and look at us. There, take a pew. Wonder where I learned such good English? Well, I used to shine the toenails of the Prince o' Wales, and you have to pass a Civil Service examination before they give you that good job. I talk any language except French and Jewish, but this master of mine turns out to be a Jew who talks French, and not a prizefighter after all. "What did I tell you this evening? Said he was a spy for the French, didn't I? I tell you, I'm a dependable man. What I say you can bet on till you've lost all your money. Here he is, spying to beat the promised-landers--just had tea with Feisul and learned all the inside facts--offered me a pound to come and find you, but I charged him two and got the money in advance. "You ought to pay me a commission, too, and then I'll get married if there's an honest woman left in Damascus. If either of you want my advice, you won't believe a word the other says, but I expect you're both too wilful to be guided. Anyhow, you'll have to talk in front of me, because my master is afraid of being murdered; he isn't afraid of ghosts or bad smells, but the sight of a long knife turns his heart to water and sets him to praying so loud that you can't get a word in edgewise. Go on, both of you--yalla! Talk!" Does it begin to be obvious why kings used to employ court jesters? The modern cabinets should have them--men like Jeremy (though they'd be hard to find) to break the crust of situations. Suspicion weakens in the presence of incongruity. "This fellow seems less than half-witted," I said, "but he's shrewd, and I've found him useful. Unfortunately he has picked up a lot of information, so we'll have to keep an eye on him. My business is to communicate with the French General Staff and I'm told you know how to manage it." "Huh-huh? Who told you that?" "Those who gave me my instructions. If you don't know who they are without my telling you, you're the wrong man and I'll not waste time with you." "Let us suppose that I know then. Proceed." "Your name was given to me as that of a man who can be trusted to take necessary action in the interests of ... er ... you understand?" "Uh-huh!" "The plot for Feisul to be kidnapped by some Syrian members of his staff has been discovered at the last minute," I said, looking hard at him; and he winced palpably. "Mon Dieu! You mean--" "That it is not too late to save the situation. You have not been accused of connection with it. I came here in pursuance of a different plan to kidnap him--a sort of reserve plan, to be employed in case other means should fail. All arrangements are in working order except the one item of communicating with the French General Staff. I require you to accompany me for that purpose, and to send off to them immediately a message at my dictation." "Tschaa! Suppose you show me your authority?" "Certainly!" I answered. Realizing that he wasn't in immediate danger of life he had returned his own pistol to his pocket. So I showed him the muzzle of mine, and he divined without a sermon on the subject that it would go off and shoot accurately unless he showed discretion. He didn't offer to move when Jeremy's agile fingers found his pocket and flicked out the mother-of- pearl-handled, rim-fire thing with which he had previously kept his courage warm. "I was told not to trust you too far," I explained. "I was warned in advance that you might question my credentials. You are said to be jealous of interference. As a precaution against miscarriage of this plan through jealousy on your part, I was ordered to oblige you to obey me." "And if I refuse?" "Your widow will then be the individual most concerned. Be good enough to take pen and paper, and write a letter to my dictation." Jeremy went to the door, which was partly open, made sure that the servant was out of earshot, and slammed it tight. Rene the banker went to his escritoire, took paper, and shook his fountain pen. "How shall I commence the letter?" he asked me with a dry, sly smile. He thought he had me there. There are doubtless proper forms of address that serve to establish the genuineness of letters written by a spy. "Commence half-way down the page," I answered. "We'll insert the address afterwards. Write in French:" "I shall accompany the Emir Feisul and Colonel Lawrence to the front tonight, former plan having miscarried. When Syrian retreat begins look out for automobile containing Feisul and Lawrence, which may be recognized easily as it will also contain myself and another civilian in plain clothes. At the psychological moment a white flag will be shown from it, waved perhaps surreptitiously by one of the civilians. In the event of breakdown of the automobile a horsed vehicle will be used and the same signal will apply. For the sake of myself and the other civilian, please instruct all officers to keep a sharp lookout and protect the party from being fired on." "There," I said, "sign that and address it." He hesitated. He couldn't doubt that his own arrangements with traitors on the staff to kidnap Feisul had gone amiss, else how should I be aware of them at all--I, who had only arrived that evening in Damascus? But it puzzled him to know why I should make him write the letter, or, since his plan must have failed, why I should let him share in the kidnapping. He smelt the obvious rat. Why didn't I sign the letter myself, and get all the credit afterward, as any other spy would do? "You sign it," he said, pushing the letter toward me; and I got one of those sudden inspirations that there is no explaining--the right idea for handling fox Rene the banker. "So you're afraid to sign that, are you? All right; give it here, I'll sign it; pass me your pen. But you'll come along with me tonight, my lad, and make your explanations to the French in the morning!" Looking back, I can see how the accusation worked, although it was an arrow shot at a venture. His greasy, sly, fox face with its touch of bold impudence betrayed him for a man who would habitually hedge his bets. Feisul's safe-conduct had protected him from official interference, but it had needed more than that to preserve him from unofficial murder, and beyond a doubt he had betrayed the French in minor ways whenever that course looked profitable. Now in a crisis he had small choice but to establish himself as loyal to the stronger side. He hurriedly wrote a number at the bottom of the letter, and another followed by three capitals and three more figures at the top. "Seal it up and send it--quick!" I ordered him. He obeyed and Jeremy called the servant. "Summon Francois," said the banker, and the servant disappeared again. Francois must remain a mystery. He was insoluble. Dressed in a pair of baggy Turkish pants, with a red sash round his middle, knotted loosely over a woollen jersey that had wide horizontal black and yellow strips, with a grey woollen shawl over the lot, and a new tarboosh a size or two too small for him perched at an angle on his head, he stood shifting from one bare foot to the other and moved a toothless gap in his lower face in what was presumably a smile. He had no nose that you could recognize, although there were two blow- holes in place of nostrils with a hideous long scar above them. One ear was missing. He had no eyebrows. But the remaining ear was pointed at the top like a satyr's, and his little beady eyes were as black as a bird's and inhumanly bright. The banker spoke to him in the voice you would use to a rather spoilt child when obedience was all-important, using Arabic with a few French words thrown in. "Ah, here is Francois. Good Francois! Francois, mon brave, here is a letter, eh? You know where to take it--eh? Ha-ha! Francois knows, doesn't he! Francois doesn't talk; he tells nobody; he's wise, is Francois! He runs, eh? He runs through the rain and the night; and he hides so that nobody can see him; and he delivers the letter; and somebody gives Francois money and tobacco and a little rum; and Francois comes running back to the nice little, dark little hole where he sleeps. Plenty to eat, eh, Francois? Nice soft food that needs no chewing! Nothing to do but run with a letter now and then, eh? A brave fellow is Francois--a clever fellow--a trustworthy fellow--a dependable, willing fellow, always ready to please! Ready to go? "Well, there's the letter; be careful with it, and run-run-run like a good boy! A whole bottle of rum when you come back--think of it! A whole bottle of nice brown rum to yourself in that nice little room where your bed is! There, goodbye!" The creature addressed as Francois vanished, with a snort and a sort of squeal that may have been meant for speech. "That is the best messenger in Syria," said Rene. "He is priceless--incorruptible, silent, and as sure as Destiny! The French General Staff will have that letter before dawn. Now--what next?" "You come with me," I answered. He felt better now that the message was on its way; second thought convinced him of my connection with the French. There is no more profitless delusion than to suppose that a country's secret agents are always its own nationals. They are almost always not. If the French used only Frenchmen, Germany used none but Germans, Great Britain only Englishmen, and so on, it might be prettier and easier for the police, but intelligence departments would starve. So there was nothing about an obvious American doing spy-work for the French that should stick in his craw; and that being so, the more cheerfully he aided me the better it would likely be for him. So he called for the servant again, and proved himself a good campaigner by superintending the packing of a big basket with provisions--bread and butter, cold chicken, wine, olives, and hot coffee in a thermos bottle. "The French will be in Damascus by noon tomorrow," he said. "Ha-ha! Those French and their hungry Algerians! We do well to take a good provision with us--enough for two days at least. We shall enter with them, I suppose, or at least behind them, and of course my house here will receive consideration; but--ha-ha!--how many chickens do you believe will be purchasable in Damascus one hour after the first Algerians get here? Eh? Put in another chicken, Hassan, mon brave. Eh bien, oui--pack the basket full; put in more of everything!" At last he got into an overcoat lined with fox-pelt, for the night air was chilly and an overcoat is less trouble than blankets if you expect to spend a night on the move. We hove the huge basket into the waiting auto, slammed the front door of the house behind us, piled into the back seat and were off. "I shall be glad when this business is over," said Rene, with a sigh of satisfaction. "I am a banker by profession. For me the ebb and flow of trade, with its certainties and its discretions. But what would you? Trade must be prepared for; doors that will not open must be forced; those who stand in the way must be thrust aside. This Feisul is an impossible fellow. He is a hypocrite, I tell you--one of those praters about righteousness who won't understand that the church and the mosque are the places for that sort of thing. Eh? You follow me? But tell me, what has been done to Daulch, Hattin and Aubek? Were they backed against a wall and shot? Who betrayed them? Too bad that such a plan should fail, for it was perfect." "Far from perfect," I answered; for that one piece of strategy I have by heart--the way to make a man tell all he knows is to pretend to superior knowledge. "Heh? How could you improve on it? Three members of the staff to order sauve-qui-peut unexpectedly, seize Feisul, and deliver him dead or alive? What is better than that? But what has been done to the three?" "Nothing," I answered. "Just like him! just like him! I tell you, that man Feisul would rather be a martyr than succeed at his proper business." We reached the palace just as Feisul was leaving it. Several members of his staff were hard on his heels in the porch and our party was behind them again, with Mabel last of all. There was a line of waiting autos nearly long enough to fill the drive, but an utter absence of military fuss, and no shouting or hurry. It looked in the dark more like a funeral than the departure of a king to join his army at the front. I remained in the car with the banker and sent Jeremy to report our doings to Grim. Presently I could see him standing under the porch lamp with a hand on Grim's shoulder, and I leaned out over the auto door to watch; but Rene the banker leaned back, snuggled up in his overcoat, liking neither to be seen nor to get his skin wet. I expected to see the three staff officers Daulch, Hattin and Aubek arrested there and then; but nothing happened, except that Feisul suddenly drove away with Mabel and Grim in the same car with him. There followed a rush for the other cars, and the whole line started forward, Jeremy jumping in as our car passed the porch. "Daulch, Hattin and Aubek are at the front," he said, and began humming to himself. "At the front?" demanded Rene, sitting upright suddenly. "At the front, you say? When did they leave for the front?" "This evening," answered Jeremy. You couldn't see his face in the dark, but I think he was chuckling. "Strange!" said the banker. "Yet you say they have been betrayed--their plan is known--yet they left for the front this evening?" It was pitch-dark inside the car, for the rain swished down in torrents and Jeremy fastened the flaps after he got in. Rene's change of expression was a thing that you could feel, not see. He kept perfect silence for about two minutes, while the car skidded and bumped at the rear of the procession. Then: "You tell me that Feisul knows, and yet..." "Oh, I didn't tell you that," laughed Jeremy. "It was this other man who said so. I never deceived anyone; I'm an honest fellow, I am. Remember, I warned you against him when we talked in the hotel; you can't blame me. I told you he was up to mischief. I advised you to keep a careful eye on him and to look twice at his paper! Wallah! You must be a lamb in foxskin. My master is a wolf in a woolly overcoat! Wait till you've seen him eat that chicken that you brought, and then you'll know what kind of a man he is! "You see, you should have given me money when I asked you for it. I'm a fellow with a price, I am. Whoever pays my price gets his money's worth. If you'd had the sense to pay me more than this man does, I'd have helped you trick him instead of helping him trick you; but he gave me my wages before dinner and you gave me nothing, so here you are, and I wouldn't like to be keeping your pair of trousers warm! I tell you, this Ramsden effendi is an awful fellow, who will stick at nothing, and I'm worse because I'm honest and do what I'm paid to do!" I took the precaution of putting my arm around Rene, for it was likely that he had another weapon hidden somewhere, and the obvious thing for him to do was to shoot the two of us and make a bolt for it. For a second I thought I felt his hand moving; but it was Jeremy's, searching all his pockets and feeling for hidden steel. So I pulled out a cigar and lit a match. Of course, anyone's face looks ghastly by that sort of sudden light; but Rene's was a picture of hate, rage, baffled cunning and fear, such as I had never seen; his eyes looked like an animal's at bay, and the way his lips parted from his teeth conveyed the impression that he was searching his mind wildly for a desperate remedy that would ruin all concerned except himself. But it was only a stale old recourse that he had. In a man's extremity he turns by instinct to his own tin gods for help, and you may read his whole heart and religion then. "Very well; very well," he said, as if he were on the rack, speaking hurriedly to get it over with. "I make the sacrifice. You will find my money in an inner vest pocket underneath my vest. It is a life's savings. Take it, and let me go. It is not much--only a little--I am not a rich man--I had hoped to be, but it would mean a fortune to you no doubt. Take it and be merciful; give me back the smaller packet of the two, keep the larger, and let me go." Out of curiosity I reached inside his vest and pulled out both packets. Jeremy struck a match. The smaller packet contained a draft on Paris for a quarter of a million francs. The larger held nothing but correspondence. I returned them to him. "Listen!" I said. "I've never yet murdered a man, so if you provide me with another excuse for murdering you, you'll be a virgin victim. Keep that in mind!" CHAPTER XV "Catch the Alfies napping and kick hell out of 'em!" You're no doubt familiar with the fact that the accounts given by two men who have witnessed a battle from the same angle will differ widely, not only in minor detail but in fundamentals; so you won't look to me for confirmation of any one of the countless stories that have seen the light of print, pretending to explain how the French won Damascus so easily and unexpectedly. I was only on the inside, looking outward as it were; the fellows on the outside, looking in, would naturally give a different explanation. Then you must bear in mind that this is a day of "official" accounts that would make a limping dog of Ananias. When the General Staff of an invading army controls all the wires and all lines of communication you may believe what they choose to tell you, if you wish. But you don't have to, as they say in Maine. And I admit that all I saw was from a curtained auto as we swayed and bumped over broken roads, with an occasional interlude when Jeremy and I got out to lend our shoulders and help the Arab driver heave the car out of a slough. My clearest memory is of that Arab--silent, stolid, staring like an owl straight forward most of the time--but a perfect marvel in emergencies, when he would suddenly spring to life, swear a living streak of brimstone blasphemy in high falsetto, and perform a driver's miracle. By two hours after midnight we were running on four flat tires; and I've got the name of the maker of those wheels for future reference and use. One spring broke, but we went forward sailor-fashion, with a jury- rig of chain and rope, after getting more gas from some Christian monks, who swore they hadn't any and wept when one of Feisul's officers demonstrated that they had. You couldn't see any monastery; I don't even know that there was one--nothing but lean faces with tonsured tops that nodded in unison and lied fearfully. The gunfire began to be heavy about that time, although nothing like the thousand-throated bedlam of Flanders. As neither side could see the other and neither had any ranges marked, my guess is that the French were advertising their advance--doing a little propaganda that was cheap for all concerned except the tax-payers. And the Syrian army was shooting back crazily, sending over long shots on the off chance, more to encourage themselves than for any other reason. The sensation was rather like riding in an ambulance away from the battle instead of toward it, for you couldn't see anything and you had a sense of helpless detachment from it all, as if a power you couldn't control were carrying you away from a familiar destiny to one that you couldn't imagine. It wasn't so much like a dream as like a different, real existence that you couldn't understand because it bore no kind of relation to anything in the past. Anyhow, we bumped and blundered on until dawn came, streaked with wonderful rolling mist, and gave a glimpse at intervals of a wide plain sloping toward the west, with long lines of infantry and here and there guns extended across it in parallels drawn north and south. The rifle firing started ten minutes after dawn, and it was all over in less than half an hour; but I can't describe exactly how the finish came, because the wind was toward us and the morning mist blew along in blanketing white masses that only allowed you a momentary glimpse and then shut off the view. We were about a mile behind the firing-line and I couldn't see Feisul's car or any of the others. For the moment there was just one clear line of vision, straight from where I sat to the nearest infantry. I could see about fifty yards of the line and perhaps that many men; and they were blazing away furiously over a low earthwork, although I couldn't see a sign of the French. There was hardly any artillery firing at that time. Suddenly without any obvious reason the men whose backs I was watching broke and ran. The mist obscured them instantly and the line of vision shifted, so that bit by bit I saw I dare say a mile of the firing line. The whole lot were running for their lives and, look where I would, there wasn't a sign of a Frenchman anywhere. I should say it took about ten minutes for the first of them to reach the dirt road, where our autos stood hub-deep in mud, and by that time we had shoved and pulley-hauled them into movement, our engines making as much row as a nest of machine-guns as they struggled against the strain. We didn't want to be swamped under that tide of fugitives. But they took no notice of us. They had thrown away their weapons and were running for home with eyes distended and nothing in mind but to put distance between there and the enemy. I jumped out of the car and seized one man. "What are you running from? What has happened?" I demanded, holding him harder the more he struggled. "Poison gas!" he gasped, and I let him go. I thought I caught a whiff of the darned stuff then, but that may have been imagination. "Poison gas!" I said, returning to the car, and Rene made a fine exhibition of himself, smothering his head under the foxlined overcoat and screaming. He got right down on the floor of the car and lay there huddled and gasping--which may have been a sensible precaution; I don't know. There was no time just then to bother with him. The flukey morning breeze shifted several points. The mist curled suddenly and began to flow diagonally across our line of cars instead of toward us, and from one moment to the next you could see straight along the road for maybe a mile or more. There was a sight worth seeing-- Feisul's cavalry in full rout--running away from ghosts by the look of it--their formation hardly yet broken, horse and man racing with the wind and a scattering of unhorsed fugitives streaming behind like a comet's tail. According to Grim, who should know, that cavalry division was the kingpin of Feisul's plan. He had intended to lead a raid in person, swooping down the French flank to their rear; but the three staff traitors, Daulch, Hattin and Aubck, sent forward the previous evening to place the division and hold it ready, had simply tipped the French off to the whole plan and at the critical moment of Feisul's arrival on the scene had ordered the sauve-qui-peut. I don't believe the French used more than a can or two of gas. I don't believe they had more than a few cans of it so far advanced. But the sauve-qui-peut might have been useless without Feisul's capture, for he was just the man to rally a routed army and snatch victory out of a defeat. Nobody knew better than Feisul the weakness of the French communications, and the work of those three traitors was only half done when the cavalry took to its heels. The one man who could possibly save the day had to be bagged and handed over. I didn't realize all that, of course, in the twinkling of an eye, as they say you do in a climax. Maybe I've never faced a climax. I'm no psychologist and not at all given to review of sudden situations in the abstract. There was a fight, or a riot, or something like it going on near the head of our line of autos. The first two or three had come to a standstill; several in the middle of the line were trying to wheel outward and bolt for it behind the fleeing cavalry, and those at the tail end were blocked by one that had broken down. Of course everybody was yelling at the top of his lungs and the hurrying shreds of blown mist further confounded the confusion. So Jeremy and I ran forward, plunging through the mud and knocking over whoever blocked our way. It was rather fun--like the football field at school. But one man--a Syrian officer--stood near the last of the forward cars with the evident purpose of standing off interference. He took careful aim at me with a revolver, fired point-blank, and missed. I forgot all about my own pistol and went for him with a laugh and a yell of sheer exhilaration. There's an eighth of a ton of me, mostly bone and muscle, so it isn't a sinecure to have to stop my fist when the rest of the bulk is under way behind it. I landed so hard on his nose, and with such tremendous impetus, that he hadn't enough initial stability to take the impact and bring me up on my feet. He went down like a ninepin, I on top of him, laughing with mud in my teeth, and Jeremy landed on top of the two of us, holding the skirts of his cloak in both hands as he jumped. Jeremy picked up the fellow's revolver and threw it out of sight, and the two of us ran on again--too late by now to help in the emergency, but in time for the next event. Grim had managed everything, although he was bleeding, and smiling serenely through the blood. Hadad was there, not smiling at all, but bleached white with excitement; he had brought a number of Arab officers with him, six or seven of whom were standing on the running- board of the front car and all arguing with Feisul, who sat back with his feet and hands tied, guarded by Narayan Singh. At Grim's feet--dead, with bullets through their heads--were three Syrian staff officers. They were the traitors Daulch, Hattin and Aubek. Grim's pistol was in his right hand and had been used. There had been a first-class fight, all over in two minutes; for the traitors hadn't arrived on the scene without assistants. Unfortunately for them, Hadad had turned up at the same moment with his loyalists. Narayan Singh had jumped from the car behind and seized Feisul, thrown him to the floor out of the path of bullets, and tied his arms. It was actually Mabel, hardly realizing what she was doing but obeying the Sikh's orders yelled in her ear as he struggled to keep his wiry prisoner down, who tied the king's feet, using her Arab girdle. Feisul, of course, was all for dying at the head of a remnant of his men. That would be the first impulse of any decent leader in like circumstance. But his loyal friends, eager to die with him if they must, but unwilling to die at all if there were an alternative, were overwhelming him with streams of words and promises. Suddenly two of them jumped into the car and began to untie his arms and feet. Grim, looking swiftly to right and left, saw Jeremy and pounced on him so fiercely that an onlooker might have guessed another fight to the death was under way. Too excited to say what he had in mind, he tugged at Jeremy's clothes. "I get you, Jim--I get you!" Jeremy laughed gaily, and in ten seconds had stripped himself down to his underwear. Hadad must have been discussing details of the plan with Grim along the road; for he got busy at the same time, persuading Feisul to part with his garments--not that his consent really mattered at the moment; they were pulled off him by half a dozen hands at once, and Jeremy had the best of that bargain all right, for in addition to silk headdress and a fine black Arab full-dress coat, there was linen of a sort you can't buy--better stuff than bishops wear and clean, which Jeremy's own wasn't. The time it takes to read this gives a totally false impression of the speed. The whole thing took place, I should say, within two minutes from the time when I punched that Syrian's nose until Mabel and Narayan Singh stood beside me watching Hadad, two more Arabs and Feisul drive away, with a second car crowded full of loyalists in close attendance. By that time Jeremy was dressed in Feisul's clothes; and though he didn't look a bit like Feisul from a yard away, in the mist at ten yards, provided you were looking for Feisul, you'd have taken your Bible oath he was the man; for he had the gesture and mannerism copied to perfection. However, standing there wasn't going to increase the real Feisul's chance of escaping. The sooner we got caught, the quicker the French would discover that our man had given them the slip. Our business was to give the French a long chase in the wrong direction, and those bogged autos weren't ideal for the purpose. But they were the only means in sight just then, and we had to bear in mind that message I had made Rene send, warning the French to look out for an auto with a white flag and two civilians together with Feisul and Lawrence. So we picked out the two best that remained, pitched Rene and his basket of provisions into the front one with Mabel and Jeremy, piled Narayan Singh in after them to take my place as the second civilian, and started them off straight forward, Grim and I following in a second car after I had paid our former Arab driver handsomely and sent him off grinning to give a lift to as many runaways as the car would hold. We learned afterward that the rascal made a fortune, charging as much as fifty pounds sterling for the trip halfway back to Damascus, at which point the car collapsed. They say he carried eleven officers that far, bought two wives with the proceeds and escaped all the way to a village near Mecca, where his home was. You know how bewildering and tricky those early mists are when they start to roll up before the wind. We had hardly got going when the whole mass seemed to shift in one great cloud, covering the fleeing troops and incidentally Feisul, but leaving us in our two autos high and dry, as it were, in full view of the French. And they were advancing by that time. I couldn't see more than a division of them that we would have to reckon with--nearly all Algerians--and they looked dead-weary. I guess they had forced the pace in advance of the main body in order to take advantage of the treason of Feisul's officers. They came slouching forward with their rifles at the trail and a screen of skirmishers thrown out a quarter of a mile or so ahead. There were cavalry and guns far off on their right, evidently trying to work around to the flank of the fleeing array, but those were much too far away to trouble us and were going in the wrong direction. Rolling banks of mist shut off the farther view to westward and there was no guessing where the main French force might be, and for all I know it hadn't started from the coast yet. Fortune came to our rescue with one riderless horse, a splendid Arab gelding tied by the bridle to the wheel of a water-cart and left behind in the stampede. Jeremy appropriated it, riding Arab fashion with short stirrups, and I wouldn't have blamed Feisul's own brother for falsely identifying him at ten yards. He was born mischievous and he caricatured Feisul on horseback as if he were acting for the movies. I guess the French officers had good glasses with them, for Jeremy had hardly mounted when the advancing Algerians opened a hot fire on us. The whole division surely wouldn't have blazed away, with machine-guns and all, at two cars and a man on horseback unless someone had passed the word along that Feisul was in full view. So Grim and I abandoned our car, driver and all, and jumped into Jeremy's place. It wasn't more than two hundred yards to the top of a gentle rise, over which we disappeared from view; and just as we bumped over it I wrenched out the white tablecloth in which Rene's chicken and stuff was wrapped and waved it violently. Then, Lord, what a sight! Below us, sheltered between two flanking hillocks, was about a division of Feisul's Arab infantry, packing up sulkily, preparing to follow the retreat. It was a safe bet the French didn't know they were there, and I dare say the same thought occurred to every one of us the same instant. Mabel thought of it. I know I did. But Jeremy voiced it first, heeling his horse up beside us. "What do you say, Jim? I bet you I can rally that gang. Shall I lead 'em and lick hell out of the Algies?" But Grim shook his head. "You might, but the game is to pull the plug properly. Get this lot on the run. The less fighting, the less risk of drasticism when the French get to Damascus. Chase 'em off home!" So Jeremy did it; and that, I believe, accounts for a story that got in the newspapers about Feisul trying to spring a surprise on the French at the last minute. Some French officers in armored cars came over the brow of the hill in pursuit of us--three cars, three officers, three machine-guns, and about a dozen men. One car quit on the hill-top, so I suppose it broke down, but its occupants must have seen Jeremy careering up and down the line encouraging those sulky Arabs to get a move on, and I suppose they told tales afterwards to a newspaper correspondent at the base. Anyhow, the two pursuing armored cars didn't dare come near enough to be dangerous until we had followed the retreating Arab regiments for about a mile, and the Algerians appeared over the hill-top, coming very slowly. A long-range rifle-fire commenced, the Arabs returning it scrappily as they retreated; and we made believe there were other regiments to be shepherded, steering a northward course downhill toward broken ground that couldn't have suited our purpose better. By the way those armored cars came after us, keeping their distance, it was clear enough that they suspected an ambush. So we had a clear start and led them a dance in and out among boulders and the branches of a watercourse, Jeremy galloping ahead to spy a course out. Whenever they came in view we acted a little piece for them, making Rene wave the white cloth while I protected him and held off Mabel and Grim, who went through the motions of trying to brain me with pistol butts. Two or three times they opened fire, more by way of forcing a surrender, I think, than with any intention of hitting us; they wanted to take Feisul alive. It was like a game of fox and geese, and with Jeremy scouting ahead we could have kept them dodging us for hours if we hadn't run out of gas. Then we abandoned the car and took refuge in a cave that stank as if it had been a tomb for generations. The French drew up their cars fifty yards away with machine-guns covering the cave mouth; and after we were sure they weren't going to squirt a stream of lead at us, I went out with the tablecloth to negotiate terms. I didn't want to go, but Grim seemed to think they'd understand my French. Of course, there wasn't anything really to argue about, but I played for time, because every minute was of value to the real Feisul, speeding on his way to British territory. The French officer who did the talking for his side--a little squat, pale, pug-faced fellow, who gave the impression of having risen from the ranks without learning polite manners on the way, agreed to accept our surrender and spare our lives for the time being; and by that time the smell in the cave had nearly overcome our party, so they all marched out. And Lord! The French captain was spiteful when he discovered that Jeremy wasn't Feisul after all. He swore like a wet cat, accused Mabel of being a spy, took away our basket of provisions, and I think would have shot Jeremy out of hand if Jeremy hadn't started clowning and made the other Frenchmen laugh. Laughter and murder no more mix than oil and water. He did what he called a harem dance for them, misusing his stomach outrageously, and the incongruity of that by a descendant of the Prophet took all the sting out of the situation. But they burned our abandoned car in sheer ill temper before crowding us into their own. And they shot the good horse. The joy-ride that followed was rather like the kind they give pigs on the way to the sausage shop--hurried and not intended to be mirthful. "What's the use of losing tempers?" I asked Captain Jacques Daudet, who had captured us. He sat on my knees, with his pistol pressed against my chest. "Why not regard the whole thing as a joke? You've done your best and nobody can blame you. Besides, what can possibly happen? What do you suppose they'll do to us?" He shrugged his shoulders and his little cold blue eyes met mine. "You will all be shot, of course," he answered. "After that..." He shrugged his shoulders again. But he cast no gloom; for Jeremy kept the lot of us, French too, excepting Daudet, in roars of laughter for ten miles until we reached temporary headquarters, where a born gentleman in a peaked red cap with gold on it sat on a camp-stool directing things. He recognized Grim at the first glance and knew him for an American in British service. He looked Grim in the eye and smiled. We told our story in turns, interrupting one another and being interrupted by Rene. The officer turned on the banker savagely, ordered him sent to the rear, and smiled at Grim again. Then he picked up the banker's belongings, including the two packages, and tossed them after him with an air of utter contempt. Whereat he smiled at all of us. "And you are quite sure that the Emir Feisul has escaped?" he asked. "Well, there are those whom the news will annoy, which is too bad, but can't be helped. For myself, I cannot say that I shall shed tears. Madame..." He looked straight at Mabel. "Major..." He met Grim's eyes and smiled. "Messieurs ..." It was my turn, and Narayan Singh's; his steady stare was good and made you feel like shaking hands with him. "Monsieur Scapin (Clown)..." That was meant for Jeremy, and they both laughed. "You have been adroit, but do you think I could depend on your discretion?" We did our best to look discreet. "You see, Madame et Messieurs, this is not warfare. We desire to accomplish a definite object with as little unpleasantness as possible. I shall regret the necessity of sending you to Beirut, but that is for your safety. An additional and very sound precaution which you yourselves might take would be to preserve complete silence regarding the events of the last two days. Subject to that condition, you will be given facilities for leaving Beirut by sea in any direction you may wish. Do we understand one another? Good! Now, let me see whether I have your names correctly." He carefully wrote them down all wrong, described us as noncombatants, who should be allowed to leave the country, warned Jeremy that in a king's clothes he looked too "intriguing," provided plain clothes for him, returned our belongings (except the basket of provisions, which he kept) and sent us off in an ambulance on the first leg of the journey to Beirut, whence we got away in a coastwise steamer within the week. "Not all the French are swabs!" said Jeremy grievously as we took our leave of him. Grim agreed. "Not all of 'em. Let's see--there was the Marne, the Aisne, the Somme, Verdun..." The End 
12248	----	[Illustration: NEHEMIAH'S MIDNIGHT SURVEY.] THE KING'S CUP-BEARER By MRS. O.F. WALTON Author of 'Christie's Old Organ,' 'A Peep Behind the Scenes,' 'Elisha, the Man of Abd-Meholah' CONTENTS. * * * * * CHAP. I. THE CITY OF LILIES II. THE KING'S TABLE III. THE GOOD HAND IV. TO EVERY MAN HIS WORK V. THE SWORD AND THE TROWEL VI. THE WORLD'S BIBLE VII. TRUE TO HIS POST VIII. THE PAIDAGOGOS IX. THE SECRET OF STRENGTH X. THE EIGHTY-FOUR SEALS XI. THE BRAVE VOLUNTEERS XII. THE HOLY CITY XIII. HAVING NO ROOT XIV. STRONG MEASURES XV. THE OLDEST SIN XVI. GOD'S REMEMBRANCE [Illustration: PLAN OF THE PALACE AT PERSEPOLIS.] THE KING'S CUP-BEARER * * * * * CHAPTER I. The City of Lilies. The great Rab-shakeh, magnificently attired in all the brilliancy of Oriental costume, is walking towards the city gate. Above him stretches the deep blue sky of the East, about and around him stream the warm rays of the sun. It is the month of December, yet no cold biting wind meets him, and he needs no warm wraps to shield him from the frost or snow. The city through which the Rab-shakeh walks is very beautiful; it is the capital of the kingdom of Persia. Its name is Shushan, the City of Lilies, and it is so called from the fields of sweet-scented iris flowers which surround it. It is built on a sunny plain, through which flow two rivers,--the Choaspes and the Ulai; he sees them both sparkling in the sunshine, as they wind through the green plain, sometimes flowing quite close to each other, at one time so near that only two and a half miles lie between them, then wandering farther away only to return again, as if drawn together by some subtle attraction. Then, in the distance, beyond the plain and beyond the rivers, the great Rab-shakeh sees mountains, for a high mountain range, about twenty-five miles from the city, bounds the eastern horizon. He has good reason to love those high mountains, which rise many thousands of feet above the plain, for even in the hottest weather, when the heat in Shushan would otherwise be unbearable, he can always enjoy the cooling breezes which come from the everlasting snow-fields on the top of that mountain range, and which blow refreshingly over the sultry plain beneath. The City of Lilies is a very ancient place. It was probably built long before the time of Abraham. We read in Gen. xiv. of a certain Chedorlaomer, King of Elam, who gathered together a number of neighbouring kings, and by means of their assistance invaded Palestine, and took Lot prisoner. This Chedorlaomer probably lived by these very rivers, the Choaspes and the Ulai, and Shushan was the capital city of the old kingdom of Elam over which he ruled. Later on the City of Lilies was taken by the Babylonians. They had their own capital city, the mighty Babylon, on the Euphrates. But although it was not the capital, still Shushan was a very important place in that first great world-empire. We find Daniel, the prime minister, staying in the palace of Shushan, to which he had been sent to transact business for the King of Babylon, and it was during his visit to the City of Lilies that God sent him one of his most famous visions. In his dream he thought he was standing by the river Ulai, the very river he could see from the palace window, and before that river stood the ram with the two horns and the strong he-goat, by means of which God drew out before his eyes a picture of the future history of the world. But the great Babylonian empire did not last long. Cyrus the Persian took Babylon, Belshazzar was slain, the great Assyrian power passed away, and the second great world-empire, the Persian empire, was built upon its ruins. What city did the Persian kings make their capital? Not Babylon, with its mighty walls and massive gates, but Shushan, the City of Lilies. They chose it as their chief city for three reasons; it was nearer to their old home, Persia, it was cooler than Babylon because of the neighbouring mountains, and lastly, and above all, it had the best water in the world. The water of the river Choaspes was so much esteemed for its freshness, its clearness, and its salubrity, that the Persian kings would drink no other; they had it carried with them wherever they went; even when they undertook long warlike expeditions, the water of the Choaspes was considered a necessary provision for the journey. The City of Lilies, in the days of the Rab-shakeh, was a perfect fairy-land of beauty, surrounded as it was by fruit-gardens and corn-fields; the white houses standing out from amongst dark palm trees, and the high walls encircled by groves of citron and lemon trees. As the Rab-shakeh walks along the air is scented with their blossoms, and with the sweet fragrance of the countless Shushan lilies, growing beside the margin of the sparkling rivers. Above him, in the midst of the city, stands his lordly home. It may well be a magnificent place, for it is the palace of the greatest king in the world, the mighty King of Persia. The palace in which the Rab-shakeh lives is not the old palace in which Daniel stayed when he visited Shushan; it is quite a new building, built only forty years before by the great Ahasuerus, the husband of Queen Esther. It was to celebrate the opening of this gigantic palace that the enormous and magnificent feast of which we read in Esther i., was given by the Persian monarch, who was its founder. This new palace was built on a high platform of stone and brick, and the view from its windows of the green plain, of the shining rivers, of the gardens filled with fruit trees and flowers, and of the snow-clad mountains in the distance, was magnificent in the extreme. In the centre of the palace was a large hall filled with pillars, one of the finest buildings in the world, and round this hall were built the grand reception rooms of the king. The ruins of Shushan, the City of Lilies, were discovered by Sir Fenwick Williams in the year 1851, and the bases of the very pillars which supported the roof of the great Rab-shakeh's splendid home may be seen this very day on the plain between the two rivers. But who was this Rab-shakeh, and how came he to live in the most glorious palace in the world? He was a Jew, a foreigner, a descendant of those Jews whom Nebuchadnezzar took captive, and carried into Assyria. Yet, although one of an alien race, we find him in one of the highest offices of the Persian court, namely, the office of Rab-shakeh. This word Rab, so often found in the Bible, is a Chaldean word which means Master. Thus, in the New Testament, we find the Jewish teachers often addressed by the title Rabbi, Master. But the title Rab was also used in speaking of the highest officials in an Eastern court. Three such titles we find in the Bible: Jer. xxxix. 13. RAB-SARIS, Master of the Eunuchs. Jer. xxxix. 13. RAB-MAG, Master of the Magi. 2 Kings xviii. 17. RAB-SHAKEH, Master of the Cup-bearers. This last office, that of Rab-shakeh, was a very important and responsible one. It was the duty of the man who held it to take charge of the king's wine, to ensure that no poison was put into it, and to present it in a jewelled cup to the king at the royal banquets. It was a position of great trust and power; great trust, because the king's life rested in the cup-bearer's keeping; great power, because whilst the Persian monarchs, believing that familiarity breeds contempt, kept themselves secluded from the public gaze, and admitted very few to their august presence, the cup-bearer had access at all times to the king, and had the opportunity of speaking to him which was denied to others. Strange that a Jew, one of a captive race, should be chosen to fill so important a post. But King Artaxerxes knew his man. He felt he could trust him fully, and he was not disappointed in his confidence, for the great Rab-shakeh served a higher Master than the King of Persia, he was a faithful servant of the God of Heaven. The Rab-shakeh's name was Nehemiah, a name chosen by his parents, not as a fancy name or as a family name, but chosen for the same reason which usually influenced Jewish parents in the selection of names for their children, because of its beautiful meaning. Nehemiah meant _The Lord my Comforter_. What a sweet thought for Hachaliah and his wife as they called their boy in from play, or as they put him in his little bed and took leave of him for the night, '_The Lord is my Comforter_.' Life in sunny Shushan was surely no brighter than life in our more clouded land; they had their times of sorrow as well as their times of joy, they had their temptations, their cares, their anxieties, and their trials, just as we have. How blessed for them in one and all of these to be reminded where true comfort was to be found, so that they might turn to God in every time of grief with the name of their little son on their lips, 'The Lord is my Comforter.' What do _we_ know of Nehemiah? Can we say from our heart, 'The Lord is _my_ Comforter?' I take Him my every sorrow, I tell Him my every trouble. He understands it, and He understands me, and He comforts me as no other can. The Lord is indeed my Comforter. So the little Nehemiah had grown up an ever-present reminder in his parents' home of the comfort of God. How many children Hachaliah had we are not told, but Nehemiah had certainly one brother, Hanani. There had been some years before this a parting in Hachaliah's family. Hanani, Nehemiah's brother, had left Shushan for a distant land. Twelve years had passed since all the Jews in Shushan had been roused by the news that Ezra the scribe was going from Babylon to Jerusalem, and that he was calling upon all who loved the home of their forefathers to go with him, and to help him in the work he had undertaken. Bad news had been brought to Babylon of the state of matters in Palestine; those who had returned with Zerubbabel were not prospering, either in their souls or their bodies, and Ezra, shocked by what he had heard, determined to go to Jerusalem that he might reform the abuses which had arisen there, and do all in his power to rouse the people to a sense of their duty. A brave company had set forth with him. Eight thousand Jews had been ready to leave comfort, luxury, and affluence behind, that they might go to the desolate city, and endeavour to stir up its people to energy and life. One of the 8,000 who went with Ezra was Nehemiah's brother, Hanani. It is possible that Nehemiah himself was at that time too young to go; it is also probable that Hachaliah, the father, having been born and brought up in Shushan, was hard to move. So Hanani set forth alone, and the brothers were parted. Twelve long years, and in all probability no news had reached the family in Shushan of the absent Hanani. A journey of five months lay between them and Jerusalem; and in those days, when all the conveniences we enjoy were unknown, they would not only never expect to meet again, but they would also never anticipate the pleasure of even hearing any news of each other, or of holding the slightest communication. But as the Rab-shakeh walks to the gate of Shushan, on the day on which the story opens, he spies a caravan of travellers coming along the northern road. They have evidently come a long way, for they are tired, exhausted, and travel-stained. The mules walk slowly and heavily under their burdens, the skin of the travellers is burnt and cracked by the hot sun of the desert, their clothes are faded and covered with dust, their sandals are full of holes. Where can the caravan have come from? Nehemiah finds to his astonishment that it has come from Jerusalem, the city of cities, as he had been taught to believe it, and, to his still greater surprise, he finds amongst the travellers his long-lost brother Hanani. What had brought Hanani back from Jerusalem we are not told; he may have wished once more to see his old father Hachaliah; but we can well imagine the joy with which he would be welcomed by all, and not the least by his brother Nehemiah. As they walk together through Shushan to the palace, the Rab-shakeh asks anxiously after Jerusalem. Has Ezra's work been successful? How are matters progressing? Are the people more in earnest? Is Jerusalem thriving? But the travellers have a dismal tale to tell. Affairs in the Holy City are about as bad as it was possible for them to be. Neh. i. 3: 'They said unto me, The remnant that are left of the captivity there in the province are in great affliction and reproach: the wall of Jerusalem also is broken down, and the gates thereof are burned with fire.' In other words, things are just where they were twelve years ago; the people are miserable and depressed, beset with countless troubles; the city itself is still an utter ruin, just as Nebuchadnezzar left it. The temple, it is true, is built at last, but nothing more is done; the walls lie just as they were when the city was taken,--a mass of ruins; the gates are nowhere to be seen, only a few blackened stones mark the place where they used to stand. The Rab-shakeh's heart is very heavy as he goes to his rooms in the royal palace. What terrible news he has heard! Jerusalem is still, after all Ezra's efforts to restore it, a desolate ruined city. Nehemiah is full of sorrow, sick at heart, overwhelmed with disappointment and trouble. But he remembers his own name and its warning, Nehemiah, _The Lord is my Comforter_. At once, without a moment's delay, he goes to his Comforter. He weeps, he mourns, he fasts, and he pours out all his sorrow to God. As a child runs to his mother, and pours into her ear his grief or his disappointment, so Nehemiah hastens to his God. We walk through a splendid conservatory, the pride and glory of a nobleman's garden; we admire the flowers of all shades of colour; rare blossoms from all parts of the world, ferns of every variety, palms, and grasses, and mosses, and all manner of natural beauties meet our eye at every turn. What is that plant standing in a conspicuous place in the conservatory? It is a beautiful azalea, covered with hundreds of pure white blossoms. But there is so much else to see in that conservatory that we scarcely notice it as we pass by. Nor are we at all surprised to see it there; it is just the very place in which we should look for such a plant. Nor are we astonished to find it so flourishing and so full of bloom, for we know that everything in that conservatory is calculated to improve its growth, the atmosphere is just what it should be, not too dry or too damp, it has exactly the right soil, the proper amount of light, the most carefully regulated heat; it has in fact everything which it ought to have to make it a flourishing and beautiful plant. Accordingly we are not surprised to find it full of bloom and beauty. But suppose, on the other hand, that walking through the slums of London we see a similar sight. In one of the closest, most filthy courts we see, in a garret window, a white azalea full of flowers, pure as the untrodden snow. Now indeed we are surprised to see it, for it is in the most unlikely place; there is nothing to favour its growth, the air is foul, the light is dim, everything is against it, yet there it stands, a marvel of beauty! And we look at it and say, 'Wonderful!' Surely we have even now seen the white azalea in the garret. For where should we expect to find a man of God? Dwelling in the holy temple in Jerusalem, surrounded by everything to remind him of God breathing in the very atmosphere of religion, with godly people all around him, with everything to help him to be holy and pure, no one would be astonished to find a man of God in such a place as that. But here is Nehemiah the Rab-shakeh, living in a heathen palace, in the midst of a wicked court, surrounded by drunkenness, sensuality, and all that is vile and impure, breathing in the very atmosphere of sin, yet we find him a plant of the Lord, pure as the azalea, a man of faith, a man of prayer, a holy man of God. With everything against him, with nothing to favour his growth in holiness, he is a flourishing plant in the garden of the Lord. So it ever is. The plants of God's grace often thrive in very unlikely places. There was a holy Joseph in the court of Pharaoh, a faithful Obadiah in the house of wicked Jezebel, a righteous Daniel in Babylon, and saints even in Caesar's household. Are we ever tempted to say, I cannot serve the Master faithfully? If I were in another position, if my home life were favourable to my becoming decided for Christ, if I had different companions, different occupation, different surroundings, then indeed I would grow in grace, and bring forth the fruit of a holy life. But as I am, and where I am, it is a simple impossibility; I can never, under existing circumstances, live near to God, or be what I often long to be, a true Christian. What does the Master say as He hears words like these? 'My grace is sufficient for thee.' 'As thy day so shall thy strength be.' Even in most unlikely and unfruitful soil God can make His plants to grow and flourish. Where I am, and as I am, and with exactly the same surroundings as I now possess, God can bless me, and give me grace to serve and to glorify Him. If I do not become a flourishing plant, it is not my position that is to blame, it is because I will not seek that grace which the Lord is ready to give me. 'Ye have not, because ye ask not. Ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full.' CHAPTER II. The King's Table. It was midnight in London, in the year 1665. The houses were closed and barred, but strange lurid fires were lighted in every street, a stifling odour of burning pitch and sulphur filled the air, and from time to time came the heavy rumble of wheels, as a terrible cart, with its awful load, passed by in the darkness of the night. With the cart came a cry; so loud, so clear, so piercing, that it could be heard in all the closed houses of the street. 'Bring out your dead, bring out your dead!' Then, one door after another was hurriedly opened, and from the plague-stricken houses one body after another was brought out, and was thrown hastily into that awful dead cart. _Bring out your dead_! what a solemn, terribly solemn cry! How it must have filled with awe and dread all who heard it! And if that call were repeated, if the holy angels of God were to go through the length and breadth of our land, and, stopping before each house, were to cry to those within, 'Bring out your dead, bring out your dead,' not your dead bodies, but your dead souls; bring out all in your house who are not alive unto God, who are dead in trespasses and sins, how many would have to be carried out of our houses? Should we ourselves be left behind? Are we alive or dead? The angels have not yet come to sever the dead from the living, but the time for that great separation is drawing daily nearer, when the Son of man shall send forth His angels, and they shall gather out of His kingdom all things that offend; all the loathsomeness of death, and decay, and impurity shall be collected by angel hands, and, we read, they shall cast them, not into a vast pit such as was dug in London in the time of the plague, but into a furnace of fire, there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth. Surely, then, it is worth while to find out whether our soul is alive or dead. What test then shall we use? How shall we settle the matter clearly and definitely? There is one thing, and one thing only, which proves that a man has life. A man apparently drowned is brought out of the water. He does not speak, or see, or move, or feel. He is rubbed and warmed, but no sign of life can be perceived. Can we therefore conclude that the man is dead? Nay, we will put him to the test. Bring a feather, hold it before his mouth, watch it carefully, does it move? A crowd of anxious bystanders gather round to see. Soon a cry of joy is heard, the feather moves. The man lives, for he _breathes_, and the breath in him is the unmistakable sign of life. How then shall I know if my soul lives? Does it breathe? That is the all-important question. But what is the breath of the soul? The breath of the soul is prayer. As the old hymn says-- 'Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, The Christian's native air.' Saul of Tarsus, with all his outward religion, was a dead soul, till the Lord met him and gave him life. What then is the first thing we find Saul doing? 'Behold he prayeth.' As soon as he is alive, he breathes, he prays. Here then is the test for us to apply to our own souls. Do I know anything of real prayer? Do I love to hold communion with my God? Am I ever lifting up my heart to Him? If I live in the atmosphere of prayer, then I am alive unto God; if, on the other hand, I feel prayer a weariness, and know not what it is for my heart to hold unseen intercourse with my Lord, then indeed I am dead in sin, having no breath, and I have consequently no life. Nehemiah, the great Rab-shakeh, was a living soul, for he loved to pray. No sooner had he heard the sad news about Jerusalem, than he went to his private apartments in the palace, and began to plead with God. He feels that all the trouble that has come upon his nation has been richly deserved, so he begins with a humble confession of sin. 'Let Thine ear now be attentive, and Thine eyes open, that Thou mayest hear the prayer of Thy servant, which I pray before Thee now, day and night, for the children of Israel Thy servants, and confess the sins of the children of Israel, which we have sinned against Thee.' And then, coming nearer home, he adds, 'both I and my father's house have sinned.' Was it some special sin which he confessed before God then? Can his sin, and the sin of his father's house, have been the refusing twelve years ago to leave home and comforts behind them, and to return with Ezra to Jerusalem? Then Nehemiah pleads God's promises to His people in time past, and ends by definitely stating his own special need and request (Neh. i. 8-11). By day and by night Nehemiah prays, and nearly four months go by before he does anything further. The next step was not an easy one. He had determined to speak to the great Persian monarch--to bring before him the desolate condition of Jerusalem, and to ask for leave of absence from the court at Shushan, in order that he might go to Jerusalem, and do all in his power to restore it to something of its former grandeur. It is not surprising that Nehemiah dreaded this next step. The Persian kings had a great objection to being asked a favour. Xerxes, the husband of Queen Esther, when on his way to Greece with his enormous army, passed through Lydia in Asia Minor. Here he was feasted and entertained by a rich man named Pythius, who also gave him a large sum of money for the expense of the war, and furnished five sons for the army. After this Pythius thought he might venture to ask a favour of the Persian monarch, so he requested that his eldest son might be allowed to leave his regiment, in order that he might stay at home to be the comfort and support of his aged father. But, instead of granting this very natural request, Xerxes was so much enraged at having been asked a favour, that he commanded the eldest son to be killed and cut in two, and then caused his entire army to file between the pieces of the body. Artaxerxes, the king whom Nehemiah served, was considered one of the gentlest of Persian monarchs, and yet even he was guilty of acts of savage cruelty, of which we cannot read without a shudder. For example, when he came to the throne, he found in the palace a certain eunuch named Mithridates, who had been concerned in his father's murder. He condemned this man to be put to death in the most horrible and cruel way. He was laid on his back in a kind of horse-trough, and strongly fastened to the four corners of it. Then another trough was put over him, leaving only his head and hands and feet uncovered, for which purpose holes were made in the upper trough. Then his face was smeared with honey, and he was placed in the scorching rays of the sun. Hundreds of flies settled on his face, and he lay there in agony for many long days. Food was given him from time to time, but he was never moved or uncovered, and it was more than a fortnight before death released him from his sufferings. It was the very king who had put one of his subjects to this death of awful torment before whom Nehemiah had to appear, and of whom he had to make a request. No wonder, then, that he dreaded the interview, and that he felt that he needed many months of prayer to make him ready for it. It was in the month Chisleu (December) that Hanani had arrived, it was not until Nisan (April) that he made up his mind to speak to the king. Before leaving his room that morning, he knelt down, and put himself and his cause in the Lord's hands, Neh. i. 11. Then, attired in his official dress, the Rab-shakeh sets forth for the state apartments of the palace. The central building of that magnificent pile in which the king held court was very fine and imposing, as may be seen to-day from the extensive ruins of Shushan. In the centre of it was the Great Hall of Pillars, 200 feet square. In this hall were no less than thirty-six pillars, arranged in six rows, and all sixty feet high. Round this grand hall were the beautiful reception rooms of the king, and these were carefully arranged, in order to ensure perpetual coolness even in the hottest weather. There was no room on the hot south side of the palace, but on the west was the morning room, in which all the morning entertainments were held, whilst the evening banqueting hall was on the eastern side. By this arrangement the direct rays of the sun were never felt by those within the palace. Then, on the cool northern side was the grand throne room, in which the king sat in state, and through which a whole army of soldiers, or an immense body of courtiers, could file without the slightest confusion, entering and leaving the room by stone staircases placed opposite each other. The steps were only four inches in depth and sixteen feet wide, and were so built that horsemen could easily mount or descend them. Into one of the grand halls of the palace Nehemiah the cup-bearer enters. The pavement is of coloured marble, red, white, and blue; curtains of blue and white, the Persian royal colours, drape the windows and are hanging in graceful festoons from the pillars; the fresh morning breeze is blowing from the snow-clad mountains, and is laden with the scent of lemons and oranges, and of the Shushan lilies and Persian roses in the palace gardens. There is the royal table, covered with golden dishes and cups, and spread with every dainty that the world could produce. There is the king, a tall, graceful man, but with one strange deformity--with hands so long that when he stood upright they touched his knees, from which he had received the nickname of Longimanus, the long-handed. He is dressed in a long loose robe of purple silk, with wide sleeves, and round his waist is a broad golden girdle. His tunic or under-garment is purple and white, his trousers are bright crimson, his shoes are yellow, and have long pointed toes. On his head is a curious high cap with a band of blue spotted with white. He is moreover covered with ornaments: he has gold earrings, a gold chain, gold bracelets, and a long golden sceptre with a golden ball as its crown. The king is sitting on a throne, in shape like a high-backed chair with a footstool before it. The chair stands on lion's feet, and the stool on bull's feet, and both are made of gold. By the king's side sits the queen; her name was Damaspia, but we know little more of her in history, except that she died on the same day as her husband. Behind the king and queen are the fan-bearers, and fly-flappers, and parasol-bearers, who are in constant attendance on their royal majesties, and around are the great officers of the household. Fifteen thousand people ate the king's food in that palace every day, but the king always dined alone. It was very rarely that even the queen or the royal children were allowed to sit at the king's table, which is probably the reason why Nehemiah mentions the fact that the queen was sitting by him. Perhaps he hailed the circumstance as a proof that the king was in good humour that day, and would therefore be more likely to listen to his petition. But no one who was not closely related to the king was allowed to sit at the royal table, even the most privileged courtiers sat on the floor and ate at his feet. The feast has begun, and it is time for the Rab-shakeh to present the wine to the king. He takes the jewelled cup from the table in the king's presence, he carefully washes it, then he fills it with a specially rare wine, named the wine of Helbon, which was kept only for the king's use. This wine was made from a very fine growth of grapes, at a place in the Lebanon not far from Damascus, named Helbon. Then Nehemiah pours a little wine into his left hand and drinks it, and then, lightly holding the cup between the tips of his fingers and thumbs, he gracefully presents it to the great monarch. Artaxerxes glances at his cup-bearer as he rises from his knees, and at once notices something remarkable in his face. Nehemiah is pale and anxious and troubled; his whole face tells of the struggle going on within, and the king cannot fail to perceive it. Turning to the Rab-shakeh he asks: 'Why is thy countenance sad, seeing thou art not sick? this is nothing else but sorrow of heart.' 'Then,' says Nehemiah, 'I was very sore afraid.' It is no wonder that he was alarmed, for it was actually a crime, proscribed by law, for any one to look sad or depressed in the presence of a Persian king. However heavy might be his heart, however sorrowful his spirit, he must cross the threshold of the palace with a smiling face, and show no signs in the king's presence of the trouble within. But Nehemiah's face has betrayed him. What will the king do? Will he dismiss him from office? Will he degrade him from his high position? Will he punish him for his breach of court etiquette? Or can it be that this is a heaven-sent opportunity in which he may make his request? He answers at once: 'Let the king live for ever: why should not my countenance be sad, when the city, the place of my fathers' sepulchres, lieth waste, and the gates thereof are consumed with fire?' And the king, quite understanding from Nehemiah's speech that he wants something from him, asks immediately: 'For what dost thou make request?' Oh, what a critical moment! How much depends on Nehemiah's answer to this unexpected question! What shall he say? What dare he propose? The whole future of Jerusalem may hang on his answer to the king's question. There is a moment's pause, but only a moment's, and then Nehemiah's answer is given. Only a moment, and yet great things have been done in that short time. 'I prayed,' says the Rab-shakeh, 'to the God of Heaven.' Did he then rush away to his own apartment to pray? Did he kneel down in the midst of the banqueting hall and call upon his God? No, he spoke no word aloud, he did not even close his eyes. The king saw nothing, knew nothing of what was going on; yet a mighty transaction took place in that short time between the silent man, who still stood holding the cup in his hands, and the King of Heaven. We are not told what the prayer was, perhaps it was only, 'Lord, help me.' But quick as lightning the answer came. His fear fled, wisdom was given him to answer, and his heart's desire was granted. How often we hear the complaint, 'I cannot pray long prayers, like the good people I read of in books. I lead a busy active life, and when work is done my body is weary and exhausted, and I find it impossible to pray for any length of time, and sometimes I fear that because I cannot offer long prayers I cannot therefore be the Lord's.' But surely it is not long prayers that the Lord requires. Most of the Bible prayers are short prayers, the Lord's pattern-prayer is one of the shortest. It is the heathen who think they will be heard for their much speaking. Nehemiah's was a true prayer, and an answered prayer, yet it was but a moment in length. Nor are uttered words necessary to prayer. The followers of Baal cried aloud, thinking their much shouting would reach the ear of their god, but Nehemiah speaks not, does not even whisper, and his prayer is heard in heaven. Surely now-a-days, when there are some who seem to think that much noise, that loud shouting, that the uplifted voice must needs pierce the sky, it is well for us to be reminded that God heeds no language, hears no voice, but the language of the soul, the voice of the innermost heart. Nor is posture a necessary part of prayer. Some choose to pray standing, others prefer to kneel. It is not the posture of body God looks at, but the posture of the heart. Reverence there must be, but such reverence as comes from the inner sanctuary of the soul, and which only finds outward expression in the body. Nehemiah stood with the jewelled cup in his hands, yet Nehemiah's prayer was heard. So we see that heartfelt prayer--prayer which is prayer indeed--may be short, silent, and offered in a strange place and at a strange time, and yet be heard and answered by God. Let us try to grasp the full comfort of this thought, for we live in a world of surprises. We rise in the morning, not knowing what the day may bring forth. We are walking on a road with many turnings, and we never know what may meet us at the next step! All of a sudden we find ourselves face to face with an unexpected perplexity. What shall we do? What course shall we take? Here is the little prayer made ready for our use-- Lord, guide me. Then, at the next turn, comes a sudden temptation. Unjust, cruel words are spoken, and we feel we must give an angry reply. Let us stop one moment before we answer, and in that moment put up the short prayer-- Lord, help me. Or a sudden danger, bodily or spiritual, stares us in the face. At once we may lift up the heart and cry-- Lord, save me. There is no need to kneel down, no need to speak aloud, no need to move from our place. In the office, the workshop, the schoolroom, the place of business, the railway carriage, the street, wherever we may be and in whatever company, the short silent prayer may be sent up to the God of heaven. Thank God, no such prayer is ever unanswered! CHAPTER III. The Good Hand. The mighty universe, the great empire of the King of kings, who shall give us even a faint idea of its size? It has been calculated that about 100,000,000 stars can be seen from our world by means of a telescope. Yet who can grasp such a number as that? Which of us can picture in his mind 100,000,000 objects? Let us suppose that instead of 100,000,000 stars we have the same number of oranges; let us arrange our oranges in imagination on a long string, which shall pass through the centre of each of them. How long will our string have to be if it is to hold the 100,000,000 oranges? It will have to be no less than 6,000 miles long, and our 100,000,000 oranges will stretch in a straight line from England to China. One hundred million stars, and of all these God is King. But these are but as a speck compared with His vast universe. Each telescope that is invented, which enables us to see a little further into space, discovers more and more worlds unseen before. Who can even guess how many still lie beyond, unseen, unnoticed, unheard of? The regions of space are endless, as God their Maker is endless. And all these countless worlds are under the eye of the King of kings. He rules all, watches all, guides all. Can I, then, believe that He will have time to take notice of my tiny affairs? Can He care if I am sick, worried, or poor, or depressed? Surely I must be ready to say with the Psalmist-- 'When I consider Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars which Thou hast ordained, what is man, that Thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that Thou visitest him?' Yet that quaint old saying of John Flavel the Puritan is right, 'The man who watches for Providence will never want a Providence to watch.' In other words, he who trusts his concerns to a higher power, he who puts his cause in the Lord's hands, will never be disappointed. The God who rules the universe will not forget to attend to him, but will watch him, and guide him, and help him, as tenderly as if he was the only being in that universe. St. Augustine used to say, 'Lord, when I look upon mine own life, it seems Thou hast led me so carefully and tenderly, Thou canst have attended to none else; but when I see how wonderfully Thou hast led the world and art leading it, I am amazed that Thou hast had time to attend to such as I.' How much more must we wonder at God's loving care, when we look beyond this tiny world to the countless millions of worlds in the universe! Nehemiah was watching for Providence. He had taken his case to God, he had trusted all to Him, and Nehemiah did not want a Providence to watch; the God in whom he had put his confidence did not disappoint him. 'Let me go that I may rebuild Jerusalem,' says the cup-bearer; and the great Persian king does not refuse his request, but (prompted, it may be, by the queen who was sitting by him) he asks: 'For how long shall thy journey be? and when wilt thou return?' 'And I set him a time.' How long a time we are not told. Nehemiah did not return to Persia for twelve years; but it is probable that he asked for a shorter leave of absence, and that this was extended later on, in order to enable him to finish his work. Cheered and encouraged by the king's manner, feeling sure that God is with him and is prospering him, Nehemiah asks another favour of the king. The Persian empire at that time was of such vast extent, that it reached from the river Indus to the Mediterranean, and the Euphrates was looked upon as naturally dividing it into two parts, east and west. Nehemiah asks, ch. ii. 7, for letters to the governors of the western division of the empire, that they may be instructed to help him and forward him on his way. He asks, ver. 8, for something more. There is a certain man named Asaph, who has charge of the king's forest or park (see margin of R.V.). The real word which Nehemiah used was paradise--the king's paradise. The derivation of the word is from the Persian words Pairi, round about, and Deza, a wall. Up and down their empire, in various places, the Persian kings had these paradises--parks or pleasure grounds--surrounded and shut off from the neighbouring country by a high fence or wall. These paradises were places of beauty and loveliness, where the king and his friends might meet and walk together, and enjoy each other's society. Is not this the Lord's own picture of the place He went to prepare for His people? Did He not say to the thief on the cross, 'To-day thou shalt be with Me in Paradise?' It was a new name taken by our Lord from these paradises of the Persian kings, and given by Him to that new place which He went to prepare for His people, even the Garden of the Lord, the pleasure ground of the King of kings, the place to which His people go when they die. There they enjoy His company, and see His face, and walk with Him and talk to Him, waiting for that glorious day when they shall pass from the garden of the King into the palace itself. We are not told where this particular paradise was, of which Asaph was the keeper, but probably it was the place which the kings of Judah had always made their pleasure ground. This was at Etam, about seven miles from Jerusalem, where Solomon had fine gardens, and had made large lakes of water, fed by a hidden and sealed spring. Solomon himself twice used the word paradise of his gardens, and these are the only places in which the word occurs in the Old Testament, except in Neh. ii. 8. Solomon says, Eccles. ii. 5, 'I made me gardens and paradises.' In Cant. iv. 13 he speaks of 'a paradise of pomegranates, with precious fruits.' For three purposes Nehemiah wanted wood from Asaph's paradise, and asked the king to give him an order for it, that he might deliver to the keeper. He wanted it (1) for the gates of the palace of the house. _The_ house means the temple, and the palace should be translated the castle. It was a tower which stood at the north-west corner of the temple platform, and commanded and protected the temple courts. (2) He required wood for the gates of the wall, and (3) for 'the house that I shall enter into,' i.e. for my own dwelling-house. All is granted--the royal secretaries are called, and are bidden to write the required instructions to the governors beyond the river, and to Asaph, the bailiff of the forest. Nehemiah takes no credit to himself that all has gone so prosperously, he does not praise his own courage, or wisdom, or tact in making the request, he knows it is a direct answer to a direct prayer, he recognises the fact that it is God's doing, and not his. 'The king granted me, according to the good hand of my God upon me.' That was Ezra's motto, quoted by him again and again (Ezra vii. 6, 9, 28; viii. 18, 22, 31). In all his deliverances, in every one of his mercies, he had seen the good hand of his God, and he had taken those words, 'The good hand of my God upon me,' as the keynote of his praise, and as the motto of his life. But Nehemiah had in all probability never even seen Ezra, yet here we find him quoting Ezra's favourite saying. Can it be that Hanani, his brother, who had been one of Ezra's companions, had repeated it to him? Can it be that in order to cheer and encourage his brother when he undertook the difficult task of speaking to the king, he told him how Ezra was always repeating these words, and how he found them a sure refuge in time of need? If so, how gladly would Nehemiah hasten to his brother when his duties in the palace were completed, to tell him that Ezra's motto has held good again, for 'the king granted me, according to the good hand of my God upon me.' 'The good hand of my God.' What blessed words! Let trouble come, or temptation come, or death itself come, I will not fear. The good hand of my God is over me. None can pluck me from that hand. 'All my times are in Thy hand, O Lord,' and are safe there from even the fear of danger. Oh, how blessed to be one so sheltered, so shielded, underneath the good hand of my God! But the same hand is against them that do evil. I must either be in the hand, or have the hand raised against me! Which shall it be? All is ready now, the preparations are ended, and Nehemiah, accompanied by his brother Hanani, and by a royal escort of soldiers, sets forth on his long journey. Jerusalem, the City of David--how often he had dreamt of it, how earnestly he had longed to see it! Now, at last, his desire is to be granted. The travellers could not sing, as they rode slowly over the scorching desert, 'Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem,' for the gates of the city were burned with fire, and only a blackened space showed where each had stood, but they may have joined together in that other psalm, which was probably written about this time, Psalm cii. 'Thou shalt arise, and have mercy upon Zion: for the time to favour her, yea, the set time, is come. 'For Thy servants take pleasure in her stones, and it pitieth them to see her in the dust.' There is no misadventure on the journey, they travel safely under the care of the king's guard; but surely Nehemiah saw a dark cloud on the horizon as he handed in his letters to the governors beyond the river. One of these was Sanballat, the satrap or governor of Samaria. His name was an Assyro-Babylonian one, so that he was probably descended from one of the Babylonian families settled in Samaria, and it signifies 'The Moon God gives life.' His native place was Horonaim in Moab, and Sanballat was by nation a descendant of Lot. With the Samaritan governor was his secretary Tobiah, the servant or the feud slave, a man also descended from Lot, for he was an Ammonite, and standing evidently very high in Sanballat's favour. It was probably Tobiah who read Artaxerxes' letter to his master, and very black and gloomy were both their faces as they heard the news it contained. At the court of Sanballat was a friend of his, Geshem the Arabian, the head or chief of a tribe of Arabs, which we find, from the ancient Assyrian monuments recently discovered, had been planted in Samaria by Sargon, King of Assyria. This man Geshem was therefore a Bedouin, a descendant of Esau. These three, Sanballat, Tobiah, and Geshem, cannot conceal their disgust that anyone has been sent from Persia to look after the welfare of Jerusalem. So far they have trampled the Jews under foot as much as possible, and the Jews have been powerless to resist them. But now here is a man come direct from the court at Shushan, with letters from their royal master in his hand, and with orders to rebuild and fortify Jerusalem. From that moment Sanballat and his friends became Nehemiah's bitter enemies, determined to thwart and to oppose him to the utmost of their power. At length the wearisome journey is over, and Nehemiah arrives in Jerusalem. He tells no one why he has come; but, worn out with the fatigue he has undergone, he goes quietly to the house of a friend, probably to that of his brother Hanani, and for three days he rests there. Then, on the third night after his arrival, when all Jerusalem is asleep, he rises, mounts a mule or donkey, and, with a few faithful followers, steals out to explore for himself the extent of the ruin, to see how things really were, what was the state of the walls, and how much had to be done to put them into good repair. Stealing out of the city on the south side, at the spot on which in better days the Valley Gate had stood, a gate which was so called because it opened into the Valley of Hinnom, he turned into the ravine, and went eastward. No doubt there was a moon, and by its quiet light he could see the heaps of rubbish, and the work of the fire which had destroyed the gates 150 years ago. How sad and forsaken it all looked in the moonlight, as he turned '_towards_ the Dragon's well' (see Revised Version). The site of this Dragon's Well is very uncertain, but it is generally identified with Upper Gihon. It is sometimes confounded with the Virgin's Fount, called by the Arabs the Mother of Steps, because there are twenty-seven steps leading down to it, and the descent is very steep. This is the only spring near Jerusalem, and its water is carried by an underground passage to the Pool of Siloam. It is an intermittent spring, suddenly rising and as suddenly falling, at irregular intervals. Two explorers, Dr. Robinson and Mr. Smith, were just about to measure the water, when they found it suddenly rising; in less than five minutes it had risen a foot, in ten minutes more it had ceased to flow, and had sunk to its former level. The common people believed in olden time, and believe still, that a dragon lies within the fountain, concealed from view; that when he is awake he stops the water from flowing, but that he finds it impossible to keep awake always, and when he falls asleep the water flows. How eagerly those with Nehemiah would point out each object to him! We can picture Hanani walking by his side, showing him all the different objects, to himself so familiar, to Nehemiah so well known by name, but so strange by sight. Coming down the Valley of Hinnom they reach the Dung Gate, the gate outside which lay piles of rubbish and offal, swept out of the city, and all collected together by this gate and left to rot in the valley. Here he examines in the moonlight the masses of fallen stonework, the small portions of wall still standing, and the gap where the gate used to stand before it was burnt. Then on he went until he came to the Gate of the Fountain, opposite the King's Pool, or Pool of Siloam, which watered the king's garden. But at this south-east corner the rubbish was so great that the mule he was riding on could not proceed. Pile upon pile of stone, heap upon heap of broken fragments of what had once been so magnificent, lay so thickly massed together that it was of no use attempting to ride further. So Nehemiah dismounted, and probably leaving his mule with some of his companions by the Gate of the Fountain, he went on foot a little further. Going up the Kedron valley he examined the eastern wall, which was in much better condition than the rest; and then, turning to the west, he came back to the rest of the party and returned with them to the Valley Gate. Now Nehemiah has seen the work before him, and has realised that it is both vast and difficult. He is ready now to put his scheme before the people of Jerusalem. He finds the city governed by no single man, but by a kind of town council. He now summons a meeting of these rulers, and he also invites the nobles and the working men to be present. Then he makes his appeal: 'Ye see the distress that we are in, how Jerusalem lieth waste, and the gates thereof are burned with fire: come, and let us build up the wall of Jerusalem, that we be no more a reproach.' Then, to cheer them on to make the effort, he tells them how God has helped him up to that point; he tells them what the good hand has done for him already in opening the king's heart and the king's purse. What response does he meet with? As one man that large assembly rises and joins in the cry, 'Let us rise up and build.' Happy Nehemiah to find such ready help, to find those he speaks to willing at once to fall in with his scheme, and to aid him in his work. It is to be feared that had he lived in our more cautious and calculating days, Nehemiah would have had many a bucket of cold water thrown on him and his plan. One would have risen and would have said, 'The work is too hard, the heaps of rubbish are too great, it is impossible to undertake such a task. Look at the south-east corner, who will ever be able to clear away the heaps that have accumulated there?' Another would have been sure to grumble at the expense, would have asked how they, poor down-trodden Jews as they were, could ever afford to give time or money to such a vast undertaking? A third would have risen with a long face, and would have asked, 'What will Sanballat say if we rebuild the wall? What will Tobiah do? What will Geshem whisper? Now indeed we have no open rupture with the governors, but who can tell what the result of our taking action in this matter will be? Surely it is better to let well alone.' A fourth would have given as his opinion, that what had served for 150 years would surely last their time. True, Jerusalem was forlorn and defenceless, but they had grown accustomed to it now. It struck Nehemiah, of course, coming as he did fresh from the glories of Shushan, but they had become used to it, and he would soon do the same. There was no need surely to make a disturbance about it or to run into any risk about it. A fifth would have suggested, with some warmth, that surely old inhabitants of the city were better judges of its requirements than a stranger, and that it was for the town council to propose such a scheme if they saw the necessity for it, and not for a new-comer who had been less than a week in Jerusalem. These, and countless other objections, might have been raised, had the meeting been called in our lukewarm days. But the Jerusalem committee did not act thus, they did not fill Nehemiah's way with difficulties and his soul with discouragement. A plain bit of work lay before him and before them; he was ready to lead, and they were ready to follow. 'Let us rise and build,' they cry. And 'they strengthened their hands for this good work.' Let us take heed that we, as servants of Christ, follow their example. Let us never be seen with the bucket of cold water, ready to throw on the efforts of others for good. As 'iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.' Let us ever be ready with the word of encouragement, with the helpful hand, with the cheering spirit of hope. There is work for us amongst the ruins of God's fair world, and the labourers are few. Let us then rise and build, each of us in earnest, each of us encouraging his brother, each of us looking beyond the discouragements of earth to the Master's 'Well done good and faithful servant.' CHAPTER IV. To Every Man his Work. Once a year, in the University of Cambridge, there is a grand day called Commemoration Day. On that day, in the middle of the service, in each college chapel a list of honours is read out, a list containing the names of all those who, in times gone by, gave money or help to that college. The bodies of those whose names are read have many of them crumbled to dust long centuries ago, but their names are remembered still, remembered for what they have done; and that they may never be forgotten, they are publicly read aloud, year by year, on the great Commemoration Day. Let us now take up God's honour list, and see who are entered upon it. We shall find it filled with the names of those who have been dead more than 2000 years, but whose names are not forgotten; they stand out fair and clear in the Book of God, all are entered on the great list of honours, and are remembered for what they have done. Where shall we find God's great honour list? It is the list of all those who responded to Nehemiah's appeal, and who rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem. In Neh. iii. we have a list of their names, not one is omitted. There those names have stood for 2000 years; there they will stand to the end of time. Brave men, noble men were those Jews, who, as soon as the scheme was laid before them, cried, 'Let us arise and build;' and who not only responded by word of mouth, but who at once set to work to do what they had promised. Let us take a walk round the walls of Jerusalem and watch the builders at work. We will begin where they began, ver. 1, at the Sheep Gate on the east side of the city. As we stand by the gate we see beneath us the Kedron valley, and beyond it the slopes of the Mount of Olives. Close by us, but inside the city, is the sheep-market, where the sheep and lambs are sold to those who wish to sacrifice in the temple, and near this market is the pool where the sheep are washed before being led up into the temple courts. This is the pool mentioned in John v. 2, where in later times lay the impotent man waiting to be healed. Who are these who are busily engaged repairing the Sheep Gate and the wall beyond it; they are the priests, who have left their work in the temple courts close by, and who, with their loins girded and their long white tunics turned up, are leading, as it was right they should, the van of Nehemiah's effort. Heading these priests, and superintending their work, is Eliashib the high priest. The meaning of his name is _God restores_, a grand name for the man who began the restoration of the Holy City. This Eliashib was the grandson of the high priest Jeshua, who had returned with Zerubbabel. He is honourably mentioned by Nehemiah as leading the way in this work; but, sad to say, though he earnestly built the wall round the city, Eliashib was afterward the one who let sin come within those very walls. The priests are building from the Sheep Gate as far as the two towers, Meah and Hananeel, which stood at the north-east corner of the city. We pass on, and next we see a number of men building; we notice at once, by their dress, that they are not priests, so we ask them where they come from. We find they are men of Jericho, the city of palm trees, fourteen miles away in the Jordan valley. They are the descendants of the 345 men of Jericho who returned with the first detachment of Jews in the time of Cyrus. This piece of the wall has been allotted to them because it faces their own city Jericho; they are building at the very spot from which the road started that led from Jerusalem to Jericho. Passing the Jericho men we come to a bit of the wall where one solitary man is working. His name is Zaccur. He can only have a small piece of the wall allotted to him, for we are close now upon the Fish Gate, where other builders are at work, the sons of Hassenaah. Possibly this Zaccur was a man of no importance, for we never hear of him again; probably his share of the work was only a small one, yet it was well and faithfully done, and his name stands fast in God's honour list, and will stand there while the world shall last. We have come now to the Fish Gate, on the north side of the city. Close by us is the fish-market, for through that gate comes all the fish sold in Jerusalem. Men of Tyre are there with baskets of fish from the Mediterranean, and Galilean fishermen with fish from the great inland sea, on which in later times the apostles toiled for their daily bread. Three men, who were probably well-known citizens, are repairing the three next pieces of the wall, their names are Meremoth, Meshullam, and Zadok. We will notice one of these three men, Meshullam, for we shall hear more of him presently. If Meshullam's name is honourably mentioned here as one of the builders of Jerusalem, we shall find it very differently mentioned as we go on with Nehemiah's story. Passing these three men, we come to a part of the wall which is being built by the inhabitants of Tekoa, a small village not far from Jerusalem, whence came the wise woman whom Joab sent to King David. What is the matter at this part of the wall? The work does not get on as it should. They seem to have no leaders, these people of Tekoa, and to have a long stretch of wall, and but few hands to build it. We ask how this is, and we find that some in Tekoa have shirked the work (ver. 5): 'Their nobles put not their necks to the work of their Lord.' They have been like oxen, too idle to draw the plough, which have pulled their necks from under the yoke, and have stubbornly refused to go forward. So have these nobles of Tekoa stood aloof, too proud to work side by side with the common people of the village, or too idle to join in anything which requires continuous effort; they have left their poorer neighbours to bear the burden alone, and to do it or not as they please. We are now passing the Old Gate, on the north of the city, the Damascus Gate of modern days, from which goes the great northern road to Samaria and Galilee. The men of Gibeon and Mizpah, whose villages lay near together, we find next on the wall, working side by side as neighbours should, and building the part of the wall which faced their own homes, two villages standing on the hills about five miles from the northern gate. Coming round the city we find ourselves passing the Gate of Ephraim and the Broad Wall. Here we see no workmen, for that part of the wall does not need repairing. Uzziah, King of Judah, had built a strong piece of wall here, about 200 yards long, and the Chaldeans had not been able to destroy it with the rest of the city. This wall was twice the thickness of the rest, and was always called the Broad Wall. Near this wall we find men of two different trades working, goldsmiths and apothecaries. Trades in the East are almost always hereditary, passing down from father to son for many generations. Thus these goldsmiths and apothecaries were joined together in family guilds or unions, and came forward together to the work. The apothecaries were the spice makers, important persons in the East, where spices are so largely used in cooking, and where so many sweet-smelling and aromatic spices are employed in embalming the dead. Then, passing on, we see the tower which protected the furnaces or brick kilns, in which the bricks were made which had been used in rebuilding the houses of the city. So unsettled was the country, that it is supposed it was found necessary to erect a tower for the defence of these brick-makers, who were often at work by night as well as by day. Close to the furnace tower we see a strange sight, and one which is well worthy of our notice. This part of the wall deserves our earnest attention, for here are actually young ladies engaged in the work, standing, trowel in hand, toiling away side by side with the other workmen. Who are these girls? They are the daughters of Shallum, the ruler of the half part of Jerusalem (ver. 12) (or rather of the country round Jerusalem). Shallum was evidently a wealthy and influential man, but he did not withdraw from the work, like the nobles of Tekoa, and so anxious are his daughters that the Lord's work should be done, that here we find them toiling away by their father's side. God noticed the effort made by these young ladies of Jerusalem, and did not forget to notice them in His great honour list. Passing on, we come to the part of the wall which Nehemiah had examined in his moonlight ride. We see the Valley Gate, the Dung Gate, and the Gate of the Fountain, opposite the Pool of Siloam. This part of the city has suffered much from Nebuchadnezzar's work of destruction, and the work of rebuilding it is therefore very heavy. But close to the south-east corner, at the place where Nehemiah's mule stumbled and was unable to proceed, the builders have a stiff piece of work indeed. The piles of rubbish are so many and so deep, there is so much to be cleared away before they can commence building, that we find accordingly the piece given to each man to repair is not great, and that many hands are making the labour light. We notice, too, that most of those who are working in this part of the city are repairing that bit of the wall which is immediately opposite their own houses. No less than six times we are told that the builder's own house was close to the part of the wall he built. One man we cannot help watching as we turn round towards the eastern wall. His name is Baruch, and there is something about him which attracts our attention at once. He works as if he were working for his life, he does not lose a moment; whoever is absent, Baruch is always at his post; whoever is idle, Baruch is ever hard at work, early in the morning and late at night, when the hot sun is scorching the city and when the night dews are falling, Baruch is always busy, toiling away on the wall with all his might and main. Ver. 20 tells us he 'earnestly repaired.' The word means to be hot, to be on fire with zeal and energy. He 'earnestly repaired the _other_ piece,' or as it would be better translated '_another_ piece.' Having finished his own portion, in another part of the wall, Baruch has come to the rescue at the south-east corner, where the rubbish is deepest and the work is hardest. Baruch therefore receives the mark of distinction on God's list of honour. Round the corner, on the eastern wall, one builder we cannot pass without notice, for he is an old white-headed man. His name is Shemaiah the son of Shechaniah. We find this man mentioned in 1 Chron. iii. 22 as a descendant of King David. His son Hattush had returned with Ezra, twelve years before; now here is the old man himself, determined not to let his white hairs prevent him from helping on the good work (ver 29). He builds by the gate which was his charge, the Golden Gate, at the east of the temple court and facing the Mount of Olives. The last piece of the wall is being done by the goldsmiths and the merchants; and now, as we pass them, we find ourselves again at the Sheep Gate, at the very spot from which we started in our walk round the city. Listen to the ring of the trowels, hearken to the shouts of the workmen, as they call to one another and cheer each other on in the work. From morning till night, day after day, the trowels are kept busy, and the work goes on, and already, as we watch, we begin to see the gaps filled up and the ruin of many years repaired. It was the work of the Lord, a grand work, a glorious work, which those builders of Nehemiah were doing, and God noticed and marked, and put on His list of honour every one who joined in it. Times have changed, manners have altered, kingdoms have passed away, since the eastern sun streamed upon Nehemiah's workmen, but there is still work to be done for the Lord. The Master's workshop is still open, and the Master's eye is still fixed on the workers, and He still enters the name of each in a register, His great list of honour, kept not in earth, but in heaven. Is my name then on God's honour list? Am I working for Him? Am I to be found at my post, faithfully carrying out the work He has given me to do? Looking at the walls of Jerusalem, surely the Lord would have us learn three great lessons. (1) _Who_ should work. (2) _Where_ they should work. (3) _How_ they should work. _Who should work_? What say the walls of Jerusalem? Everyone without exception. Do we not see people of all classes at work--rich men and poor men, people of all occupations, priests, goldsmiths and apothecaries, and merchants? men of all ages, the young and strong, and the old and white-headed? those from all parts of the country--men of Jericho, and Gibeon, and Mizpah, side by side with inhabitants of Jerusalem? people of both sexes, men and women? The goldsmith did not say, 'I don't understand building, therefore I cannot help.' The apothecary did not object that it was not his trade, so he must leave it to the bricklayers and masons. Old Shemaiah did not say, 'Surely an old white-headed man like myself cannot be expected to do anything.' The men of Jericho did not complain that they were fourteen miles from their home, and that therefore it would be inconvenient for them to help. The daughters of Shallum did not say, 'We are women, and therefore there is nothing for us to do.' But all came forward, heartily, willingly, cheerfully, to do the work of their Lord. There is only one exception, only one blot on the page, only one dark spot on the register. The nobles of Tekoa, for 2000 years their names have stood, enrolled as the shirkers in God's grand work. Who then are to work for God? Every one of us, whoever we are, whatever is our occupation, whatever our place of residence, whatever our age, whatever our sex, the motto in God's great workshop remains the same--'_To every one his work_,' his own particular work, to be done by him, and by no one else. _Where then shall we work_? Imitate Nehemiah's builders; those living in the city built each the piece of wall before his own door, those living outside built the part of the wall facing their own village, whilst the priests built the piece nearest to the temple. Let us then, as God's workers, begin at home, working from a centre outwards; our own heart first, surely there is plenty of work to do there; then our own family, our own household, our own street, our own congregation, our own city, our own country, letting the circle ever widen and widen, till it reacheth to the furthest corner of God's great workshop, to the uttermost parts of the earth. _How then shall we work_? Like Baruch, the son of Zabbai, hot with zeal, on fire with earnestness and energy. Baruch did not saunter round the walls to watch how the other builders were getting on; he stuck to his post. Baruch did not work well one day and lie in bed the next, he persevered steadily and patiently. Baruch did not work as if he were trying to make the job last as long as possible, idly pretending to work, but dreaming all the time, but he worked on bravely, earnestly, unceasingly, till the work was done. So let us work while it is called to-day, for the night cometh when no man can work. It was no easy work those Jerusalem builders had. Outdoor work in the East is always hard and heavy; it is no light matter to stand for hours in the scorching sun without a particle of shade, toiling on at heavy and unaccustomed work. But the builders bravely endured, and were stedfast in the work, and they have their reward. Their names stand on God's honour list, not even the most insignificant amongst them is omitted. Workers for God, does the work seem hard? Are the difficulties great? Are you weary and faint as you keep at your post? Does the hot sun of temptation often tempt you to throw up the work? Think of Nehemiah's builders. Hold on, cheer up, work well and bravely, remembering that the reward is sure. We read of certain people who lived at Philippi whose names were written in heaven. Who were these? (Phil. iv. 3.) St. Paul tells us; they were his fellow-labourers, the workers of God in that city. No human hand, no hand of angel or archangel, enters the names on that register, for it is the Lamb's book of life. None but the Lamb can open it, none but He can write in it, none but He will read its contents in the ears of the assembled universe. What an honour, what a wonderful joy, what a glorious reward it will be to each faithful worker, as he hears his own name read from the list! Surely it will well repay him for all he has undergone in the working days of earth. CHAPTER V. The Sword and the Trowel. The sea is calm and quiet, blue as the sky above it, not a wave, not a ripple is to be seen; it is smooth as polished silver, shining like a mirror, and peaceful as the still lake amongst the mountains. On the sea is a boat, floating along as quietly and as gently as on a river. The man in the boat is having an easy time, as he rows out to sea, almost without an effort. But what is that in the far distance? It is a black cloud, rising from the sea. In a little time the wind begins to moan and sigh, white lines are seen on the distant water, a storm is coming, and coming both swiftly and surely. The man in the boat at once rouses himself and prepares for action; it was an easy thing to go forward when all was still, he will find it a very different matter to meet the rising storm. So found Nehemiah the governor. Up to this time all had gone smoothly and easily, the king had granted his request fully and freely, Asaph had given him the wood from the royal paradise, the committee, composed of the leading men in Jerusalem, had at once fallen in with his scheme, the people, great and small, men and women, old and young, had responded to his appeal, the walls were being rebuilt, the trowels were busy, the rubbish was being cleared away, and all was bright, cheerful, and encouraging. As Nehemiah walks round the city directing the builders, dressed, as a Persian governor, in a flowing robe, a soft cap, and with a gold chain round his neck, he feels his work both easy and pleasant. It is always a light task to direct and superintend those who have a mind to work, and Nehemiah for some time went peacefully on his way, as the man in his boat rowed easily along in the still, untroubled water. But what is that dark cloud rising north of Jerusalem? What is that moaning, muttering sound in the far distance? Can it be a storm coming, a terrible storm of opposition and difficulty? Surely it is, for we see Nehemiah rousing himself, and preparing to row his frail boat through troubled waters. Signs of the approaching storm had indeed been seen by him, before the first stone had been placed on the city wall. No sooner had he revealed his plans to the people of Jerusalem, no sooner had they responded, 'We will arise and build,' than something had occurred which might well make Nehemiah feel uncomfortable. A messenger had appeared at the northern gate, bearing in his hand a letter, written on parchment, and addressed to the Tirshatha, or governor. Nehemiah opened the roll, and found it contained an insulting message from Sanballat, the governor of Samaria, a message which was evidently expressed in very scornful and unpleasant words. The upshot of the letter was this (ii. 19): 'What is this thing that ye do? will ye rebel against the king?' Do you, Nehemiah, intend to fortify Jerusalem, and then set up the standard of rebellion against Persia? Our master, the king, may be deceived by you, but I, Sanballat, see through your hypocrisy and your wicked designs. Nehemiah's answer was clear and to the point. Three things he would have Sanballat know: (1) We have higher authority than that of man for what we do. 'The God of heaven, He will prosper us.' (2) We intend to go on with our work in spite of anything you may say or do. 'We His servants will arise and build.' (3) It is no business or concern of yours. You, Sanballat, have nothing whatever to do with it. 'Ye have no portion, nor right, nor memorial, in Jerusalem.' Be content then, Sanballat, to manage your own province of Samaria, and to leave Jerusalem and the Jews to me and to their God. No answer came back to Nehemiah's letter, and perhaps he and his companions fondly dreamed that this was an end to the matter, that the storm had blown over, and that Sanballat, when he saw that they were determined, and that they did not heed his threats or his ridicule, would in the future let them alone. But one day, quite suddenly, the clouds returned, and the storm rose. The work is progressing splendidly. The priests and the merchants, and the goldsmiths and the apothecaries, the daughters of Shallum, earnest Baruch, and white-headed Shemaiah, are all at their post, when suddenly, as they look up, they see an unexpected sight. A great crowd of Samaritans is gathered together outside the northern wall, and is standing still, staring at them, and watching their every movement as they build the wall. Sanballat the governor is there, Tobiah the secretary stands by his side, his chief counsellors have come with him, as have also the officers of his army. Dark and thick the storm is gathering, and surely the builders feel it, for the trowels cease their cheery ringing sound, and all are listening, waiting and wondering what will come next. The silence is broken by a loud scornful voice, loud enough to be heard down the line of workers, and by Nehemiah as he stands among them. He knows that voice well; it is the voice of Sanballat the governor. In scoffing disagreeable words he is speaking to his companions, but he is talking about the builders, and is talking for their benefit too, that they may feel the full sting of his sarcastic words. 'What do these feeble Jews?' A poor weak, miserable down-trodden set of men; what can _they_ do? 'Will they fortify themselves?' Do they fondly dream they will ever finish their work, and fortify their city? And how long will it take to build walls like these? Do they think it will be done directly? 'Will they sacrifice? Will they make an end in a day?' Do they expect to offer the sacrifice at the commencement of their work, and then the very same day to finish it? Why, they have not even the necessary materials. Where will they get their stone from? Are they going to do what is impossible, to make good, solid building-stone out of the heaps of rubbish, the crumbling burnt masses which are all that remain of the old walls? 'Will they revive the stones out of the heaps of the rubbish which are burned?' Then when Sanballat had done speaking, there follows the loud coarse sneer of Secretary Tobiah. Why if a fox (or jackal) tries to get over their miserable wall, even his light foot will break it down. 'Even that which they build, if a fox go up, he shall even break down their stone wall.' We can picture to ourselves the burst of laughter with which this speech would be hailed by the bystanders, the officers and courtiers of Sanballat. What does Nehemiah answer? How does he reply to this cruel ridicule, these sharp, cutting, insolent words, that provoking laughter? If we study Nehemiah's character, we shall find that he was a man of quick feelings and of a sensitive nature. He was not one of those men who are so thick-skinned that hard speeches are not felt by them. He was moreover a man of great power and spirit. He must have felt much inclined to give Tobiah the bitter retort he so richly deserved, or to call upon his men to drive Sanballat and his party from the walls. But Nehemiah speaks not. He does not utter a single word to Sanballat or to his friends. He remembers that this is God's work, not his; and he therefore complains to God, not man: 'Hear, O our God; for we are despised: and turn their reproach upon their own head, and give them for a prey in the land of captivity.' Then, quietly and steadily, as if nothing had happened, he takes up his work again, and the people follow his example; they take no notice of the jeering company below, but they build on in silence, all the quicker and the more carefully for the scoffs of their enemies. Sanballat and Tobiah soon tire of laughter and mockery, when they see it is of no avail; they move off discomfited, and the work goes on as before. Satan, the great enemy of souls, is the same to-day as he was in Nehemiah's time. He never lets a good work alone; he never permits Christ's servants to row in smooth water, but immediately he sees work done for the Master, at once he stirs up the storm of opposition. The young man who is careless about eternity, who is living simply to please self, has an easy time; he will not come across even a ripple of opposition, his sea will be smooth as glass. But let that young man be aroused, be awakened, be converted to God, let the good work of grace be begun in his soul, and at once Satan will stir up the storm of difficulty and opposition. Very often it begins, just as Nehemiah's storm began, in laughter. It has been said that laughter hurts no one. That statement might be true if we were all body, but inasmuch as we have a spirit within us, it is not true that laughter cannot hurt. Surely it stings, and cuts, and wounds the sensitive soul, just as heavy blows sting, and cut, and wound the body. Satan knows this, and he makes full use of the knowledge. The man who sets out for heaven will scarcely fail, before he has gone many steps, to come across a Sanballat. He will have his taunt and jest all ready. 'What is this I hear of you? Have you turned a saint? I suppose you are too good for your old companions now; you are going to set the whole world to rights.' Or, if the words are unspoken, Sanballat has the shrug of the shoulders, and the scornful gesture, which are just as hard to bear. Nor must the man who has his face heavenwards be surprised if he hears Tobiah's sneer. 'Ah, wait a bit,' says Tobiah; 'let us see if it will last. Even a fox will throw down that wall; the very first thing that comes to vex him, the very first temptation, however small, will be sufficient to overturn the wall of good resolutions, and his religious professions will lie low in the dust, and will be shown to be nothing but rubbish.' It is well to be prepared for Sanballat and Tobiah, for any day we may come across them. How shall we answer them? Let us follow in Nehemiah's footsteps, let us turn from man to God. He hears the taunt, even as it is spoken, and He says to each of His tried, tempted children: 'For My Name's sake, canst thou not bear that taunt, That cruel word? Is not the sorrow small, the burden light, Borne for thy Lord? For My Name's sake, I see it, know it all, 'Tis hard for thee, But I have loved thee so, my child, canst thou Bear this for Me?' Sanballat and Tobiah have moved away from the walls of Jerusalem, and the work goes on prospering; the gaps are being filled up, and already the wall is half its intended height (iv. 6), for the people had a mind to work, and much can be done in a short time when that is the case. Not a word more has, for some time, been heard of Sanballat, and perhaps the builders fancied and hoped they had seen the last of their enemies, when one day, suddenly, dreadful news is brought into the city. Sanballat and his friends, having failed to stop the work by laughter and mockery, are going to take stronger measures, and have agreed to resort to force. Dark secret plots are being formed to gather an army together, and to come suddenly upon the defenceless builders and kill them at their work. All the surrounding nations are invited to join Sanballat in his enterprise. Not only the Samaritans in the north, but the men of Ashdod from the west, the Arabians from the south, and the Ammonites from the east, are gathering together against Jerusalem. Psalm lxxxiii. is supposed by many to have been written at this time, and describes the great storm as it arose, and threatened to destroy the defenceless city (Psalm lxxxiii. 1-8). Poor Nehemiah! he sees the raging of the waters, and he feels that the little boat needs a careful hand at the helm. He has a double receipt against this new opposition--a receipt which may be summed up in the two words which the Master has given us as our watch-word--Watch and pray. 'Nevertheless we made our prayer unto our God, and set a watch against them day and night.' But the billows rose higher. Three mighty waves came sweeping on, and threatened to swamp Nehemiah's frail vessel. (1) The builders grew discouraged and tired. The cry was raised inside the city, 'We had better give up attempting to work, the rubbish is too deep, it will never be cleared away, the men who are carrying it away are worn out, we cannot build the wall, it is of no use to try any longer.' Ver. 10: 'And Judah said, The strength of the bearers of burdens is decayed, and there is much rubbish; so that we are not able to build the wall.' (2) News was brought in from all sides, that any day, any night, at any moment, a sudden attack might be expected, for their enemies were boasting loudly to all they met that they were confident of taking the builders by surprise. Ver. 11: 'And our adversaries said, They shall not know, neither see, till we come in the midst among them, and slay them, and cause the work to cease.' And not only was there discouragement inside the city and threatened danger without, but the number of hands was lessened upon the city wall, for (3) men arrived from different parts of the country, saying that it was absolutely necessary that their brethren who had come up to work on the wall should at once return home. They were needed to guard their families and their homes from the approaching foe. Ten times over Nehemiah received deputations of this kind (ver. 12); and the spirits of the builders sank lower and lower. But Nehemiah, like a true leader, rises to the occasion, and does not allow himself to be cast down. He did not make light of the difficulties he saw around him, but he manfully faced them, and in the hour of trial his people did not desert him. One day, ver. 14, looking towards the north, Nehemiah suddenly saw the enemy coming. But all was ready; the weapons were laid where they could be taken up in a moment. No sooner is the alarm given than the work ceases, and the whole company of builders is changed into an army of soldiers, and swords, and spears, and bows are to be seen on the walls instead of trowels and hammers. Nehemiah had carefully arranged the position which each man was to occupy; he drew up his soldiers after their families, probably giving to each family the part of the wall nearest to their own house, that they might feel that they were fighting for their homes, their wives, and their children. Then when all were put in readiness Nehemiah called upon them to be brave in the defence of their city, and not to fear the foe. 'Be not ye afraid of them: remember the Lord, which is great and terrible, and fight for your brethren, your sons, and your daughters, your wives, and your houses.' The enemy approaches; but instead of taking Jerusalem by surprise, as they had boasted they would, they find they are expected, and will meet with a warm reception if they advance farther. They are afraid to make the attempt; God guards the faithful city, and Sanballat and his allied forces withdraw discomfited. No sooner has the enemy beaten a retreat than the work begins again. 'We returned all of us to the wall, every one unto his work.' But, from that time, the sword and the trowel must never be parted. Each builder worked with a sword hanging by his side; each porter held a hod in one hand, and a weapon in the other. They were always on the alert, ever ready for action. Nehemiah had brought with him from Shushan a large following of faithful servants or slaves; on these he could thoroughly rely. He divided them into two parties, half worked at the building, filling up the gaps left by those who had returned home; the rest stood behind them, guarding the weapons, the shields, and the spears, and the bows, and the swords which were laid ready for immediate use. By Nehemiah's side stood a trumpeter, ready to blow an alarm at the first sight or sound of the enemy. For, says Nehemiah, 'I said unto the nobles, and to the rulers, and to the rest of the people, The work is great and large, and we are separated upon the wall, one far from another. In what place therefore ye hear the sound of the trumpet, resort ye thither unto us: our God shall fight for us.' So the work and the watching went on all day long, and when the sun set over the Mediterranean, and the stars came out in the quiet sky, and darkness made the work impossible, still the watching went on as before. Those who had laboured at the building all day lay down and slept, whilst others kept guard on the wall. The workmen who lived outside the walls were requested by Nehemiah to stay in the city all night, in order to increase the strength of their force. As for the governor himself and the little body of faithful servants, they gave themselves hardly any rest, either by night or by day. They were almost always on duty, not one of them even undressed all that long time of watching; if they laid down to sleep, they laid in their clothes, ready at any moment for the attack of the enemy (chap. iv. 28). Thus, day by day, the work grew and the walls rose higher, strong lines of defence once more encircled the city, and the prayer of the captives in Babylon, offered so earnestly and amongst many tears, was already receiving an abundant answer. 'Do good in Thy good pleasure to Zion, build Thou the walls of Jerusalem.' The scene changes. Nehemiah and his workmen fade away; the walls of Jerusalem become dim and obscure, and, in their place, we see coming out, as in a dissolving view, other figures and another landscape. We see the Master, Christ Jesus, standing in the midst of His countless labourers and workmen, the great company of His faithful servants. We notice that each one is working busily at the special work the Master has given him to do, we see that this work is very varied, no two labourers have exactly the same task. But in one respect we notice that all the Master's servants are alike, they all carry a sword, for it is not possible for any one to be a worker for Christ without also being at the same time a soldier. Nor is it difficult to see the reason of this, for, if we serve Christ, we are certain to meet with opposition. The mighty hosts of hell will come against us, to hinder and to oppose us. Let us, then, be prepared for their attack. Let us set a watch against them. Satan and his forces always watch for our weakest point. Let us find out what that point is. What is the weak part of our defences? Is it selfishness? Is it pride? Is it prayerlessness? Is it temper? Is it an unkind spirit? Whatever it is by which we are most easily led astray, that is our weak spot, and there we ought to set a double watch. David had his weak spot, and he knew it: unguarded, hasty words were ever coming out of his mouth, but he found out the weak point in his defences, and there he set a strong and powerful guard. He called upon God Himself to keep out the enemy at that weak place: 'Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth. Keep the door of my lips.' Let us not only watch, but let us ever be ready to fight. Never let us lay down the sword of the Spirit, or the shield of faith. Never for a moment let us put off our armour, for we never know when the next attack may come. The unguarded moment is the moment for which Satan always watches, and which he knows only too well how to use. Above all, let us pray, for the watching and the fighting will be of no avail unless we ask and obtain strength from on high. 'Our God shall fight for us,' cried Nehemiah to his discouraged men. But they had prayed day and night for the help which bore them safely through. 'Ye have not, because ye ask not. Ask, and ye shall receive.' 'Christian, seek not here repose, Cast thy dreams of ease away, Thou art in the midst of foes, Therefore, Watch and pray. Gird thy heavenly armour on, Wear it ever night and day, Near thee lurks the evil one, Therefore, Watch and pray. CHAPTER VI. The World's Bible. A great cry, a piercing cry, raised by hundreds of voices, a cry which resounds through the streets of the city, and which is echoed by the surrounding hills. What can be the matter? What can be the cause of this mournful wail? There was a great cry in Egypt on that awful night, when there was not a house in which there was not one dead. That was the great cry of terror. Esau raised a great cry when he found that he had lost his father's blessing, the great cry of disappointment. There arose a great cry in the council chamber of Jerusalem, when the Apostle Paul stood before his judges,--the cry of conflicting opinion. But the great cry which is sounding in our ears now is no cry of terror or of disappointment, and the men who join in it are all of one mind; yet the cry is none the less bitter or heartrending. As we listen to it, we can distinguish the shrill voices of women mingled with the deeper ones of men, and we notice also, that, although the cry is one of sorrow and distress, there is a deep undertone of anger and complaining. Who are crying, and what is the cause of their distress? Who are crying? An excited mob of men and women, standing in the streets of Jerusalem. Look at them well, surely we know some of their faces. Is it possible, can it be, that we recognize some of those whom we saw working so happily and cheerfully on the walls? What a change, what a terrible change in their faces! What is the cause of their distress? What can have happened to move them so deeply? Have the Samaritans returned to attack the city? Are the walls on which they have spent so much labour overturned and laid low in the dust? No, all without is peaceful, there is no sound of war in the streets, and the hills around stand out brightly in the sunshine, and are untrodden by the foot of any foe. The trouble is at home this time, and as poor Nehemiah listens to the dismal noise, and as he tries to still the shrill cries, that his voice may be heard, and as he watches the people rocking to and fro, as Easterns do when moved by sorrow, he may well feel downcast and disappointed, for a city divided against itself cannot stand, and as Nehemiah listens to the cry, he clearly sees that, at that moment, Jerusalem, the city he loves best on earth, is indeed a divided city. Who then were these citizens of Jerusalem, these men and these women, who raised the great cry? They were the poorer classes of the city; it was a cry of the poor against the rich, a cry like that which was raised all over France at the time of the French Revolution, a cry for bread. Nehemiah listens carefully to the cry and complaints of the people, and as he does so he feels sure they are not raised without cause. There is undoubtedly great and distressing poverty in the city, and he finds that this may be traced to three principal causes. (1) The King of Persia had only allowed the returned captives a very small tract of country to live in. The rest of the land was filled up by the Samaritans, the Arabians, the Edomites and other nations who had settled in Palestine whilst the rightful owners were in Babylon. Consequently, as their families increased, the Jews found this narrow strip of country was not sufficient to maintain them, and, as is always the case, over-population and over-crowding was followed by great poverty. (2) Then there had evidently been a severe famine, which had made matters worse, for there had been numbers of mouths to feed and barely anything to feed them on. No country is more subject to famine than Palestine, for the harvest there is entirely dependent on the rainfall. There are but few springs, there is no river but the Jordan, and that runs in a deep ravine; the whole fertility of the country hangs on the amount of rain that falls in autumn and winter. No rain means no corn, no corn means starvation, and the people know it well. Nowhere on earth are there such fervent prayers for rain, prayers which are offered by Turk, Jew, and Christian alike, as there are in Palestine to this very day, if the rainy season is passing away and a sufficient quantity of rain has not fallen. (3) Then Nehemiah found there was a third cause of distress. Every year, in addition to earning money to keep his wife and children alive, the poor man had to be ready for a visitor, and this visitor never received a very hearty welcome. Once a year there arrived at his door an official sent by the King of Persia. He was the tax-collector, sent to collect the tribute which had to be paid yearly to their master, the great sovereign at Shushan. Whatever else went unpaid, that tribute must be paid; whatever other debts they incurred, that sum must be paid in full, and paid at once. Over-population, famine, tribute, it was no wonder that the people were so poor. But the great cry in the streets of Jerusalem was not merely a cry of suffering and distress; it was an angry complaining cry; it was the cry of those who felt that others were to blame for their sorrows. As Nehemiah walks amongst the weeping crowds, and as he talks to the people one by one, he finds that there are no less than three sets of complainants. (1) There are the utterly poor people, those who have no private means whatever, but who are entirely dependent on the work of their hands and on the wages they get for that work. These come to Nehemiah and pour out their sorrowful tale. 'We,' they say, 'have large families, for 'We, our sons, and our daughters, are many.' But 'Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them,' so runs the Psalm, and are not children a heritage and gift that cometh of the Lord? Yet when the quiver is _more_ than full (for a quiver only held four arrows), and when bread is scarce and work bad, it needs faith to trust the children which the Lord has given to His care, and to feel sure that He who sent them will send the bread to feed them. 'Now,' say these overburdened parents to Nehemiah, 'we cannot let our children starve. We have been building this wall and earning nothing, but we have had to eat all these weeks; we have been obliged to take up corn for our families lest they should die, and the consequence is we have run very heavily into debt' (ver. 2). That was the first class of complainants. (2) But amongst the weepers Nehemiah found a second class, those who had once been somewhat better off, and had, in happier days, owned a little property, and had some means of their own, but who, at the time of the late famine, had got into difficulties. 'I,' said one, 'had a little farm in a village near Jerusalem.' 'I,' said another, 'was the owner of a nice little vineyard or oliveyard on the hill side,' 'I,' said a third, 'built a house in the city on my return from captivity, and hoped to leave it to my children.' 'But so terrible was our distress in the famine,' say these men, 'that we were obliged to borrow money of our neighbours the rich Jews in Jerusalem. They were willing to lend the money, but they required security for it, and we were compelled to pledge or mortgage our little property to these men, and now times are still bad, and we see no hope whatever that we shall be able to buy our little possessions back again' (ver. 3). (3) But the shrillest cries of all came from the third class of complainants. These were men who, up to a certain point, resembled the second class. They had once possessed a little property, but in the time of famine they had parted with their lands, their houses, and their vineyards like the rest. But the story of the third class did not end here, these had since then got into still worse difficulties. The tax-collector had come round to collect the tribute for Artaxerxes, and he had demanded immediate payment. They had, however, nothing to give him. What could they do? They were obliged once more to borrow money of their rich neighbours, who lent it to them at the rate of 12 per cent, (one eighth part of the money to be paid monthly). And what pledge, what security did these nobles require for their money? The poor people had already lost their houses and their vineyards, there was nothing left to them but their children, and actually the son or the daughter was pledged or mortgaged to the rich money-lender. If the heavy interest is not paid, at any moment the child may be seized, and carried off to the noble's house to be brought up as a slave. 'Nay,' cry some of the mothers in the crowd, 'our case is worst of all; some of our daughters have been taken as slaves already, and we have no power to redeem them. Yet we love our children just as much as these rich people love theirs, they are just as dear to us as theirs are to them' (ver. 5). 'And then,' says Nehemiah,'when I had heard their cry and listened to their tale, I was very angry.' But surely it was wrong of Nehemiah to be angry. Is not anger a bad thing? Is it not one of the works of the devil, which we are bidden to lay aside? Yet what says St. Paul? 'Be ye angry, and sin not.' So it is possible to be angry, and yet to be sinless. And we read, Mark iii. 5, that, in the synagogue at Capernaum, the Lord Jesus looked round on the hard-hearted Pharisees with anger; and in Him was no sin. Nehemiah was very angry, yet Nehemiah sinned not in being so, for it was anger at sin, anger at the wrongdoing which was bringing disgrace on his nation, anger at the conduct which was offending God and doing harm to God's cause. It was righteous anger against the cruelty and selfishness of those who, in those hard times, had profited from the poverty and distress of their poor fellow countrymen. For some time Nehemiah did nothing, but he carefully turned the matter over in his mind. He says, 'I consulted with myself,' or as it is in the margin, 'My heart consulted in me.' We can picture him pacing up and down, saying again and again, What shall I do? What is the wisest course to take? How can this great evil be stopped? Doubtless, too, he took this trouble, as he had taken all his other anxieties and cares, and laid it before the God of heaven. Then he sends for the nobles and all those who had oppressed the people, and he gives them very plainly his mind on the matter: 'I rebuked the nobles, and the rulers, and said unto them, Ye exact usury, every one of his brother.' And thereby they had broken the law, for no Jew was allowed to take interest, or increase, of another Jew, much less to exact usury: see Exod. xxii. 25; Ezek. xviii. 8, 17. The Hebrew was to look upon every other Hebrew as his brother, and to treat him as such. There was to be brotherly love in time of misfortune, such love as would prevent the receiving of increase from the one who was in trouble. With regard to the mortgaging of land, it does not seem that these rich men had actually broken the law, such pledges were allowed, provided that the property mortgaged was returned in the year of jubilee. But, whilst they had not broken the letter of the law, these Jews had certainly acted in a hard, self-seeking way, showing no sympathy whatever for the sorrows of those around them. How different was this from the generous conduct of Nehemiah himself! All the time of his government he drew no taxes or contributions from the people over whom he ruled, as other governors did, and as his predecessors in Jerusalem had done. Eastern governors in those days, like Turkish governors now, were accustomed to farm their provinces. That is to say, the king allowed them no salary, but he put the taxation of the people in their hands. A certain fixed sum was to be sent to him every year from the province; and whatever the governor could grind or squeeze out of the people, over and above this stated amount, went into his own pocket and formed his salary. Jerusalem now-a-days rings with many a cry of distress caused by the unjust means used by the pacha to increase his stipend by putting fresh burdens on the people. The former Jewish governors had made as much as forty shekels a day, or £1,800 a year out of the people in their province. But when Nehemiah came to Jerusalem, he found the people so poverty-stricken and oppressed that he would not take a single penny for himself. It is probable that his salary as cup-bearer had been continued, and on this he lived and kept his household going all the time of his government. Not only so; not only did Nehemiah pay all his private expenses, but he kept open house for the people of Jerusalem; every day 150 of the rulers and chief men dined with him, besides all the visitors to Jerusalem, Jews from other countries, strangers from foreign nations who were staying but a short time in the city, all of whom were invited to the governor's house, and sat down at the governor's table. Nehemiah himself gives us his daily bill of fare, ver. 18. 1 ox. 6 fat sheep. Fowls without number. A fresh supply of wine of all kinds stored in every tenth day. It was no small expense to have above 150 men to dinner daily, yet for all this Nehemiah took not a penny from his province, so touched was he to the heart by the poverty of the people. Not only so, but all the time the walls were being built he toiled away, and allowed all his household servants to work both night and day, and yet looked for no payment or compensation, ver. 16. Then besides all this, Nehemiah had been most generous in the time of the famine; he had supplied the poor people with money and with corn, and yet he had firmly refused to allow them to pledge or mortgage their lands, much less their children, ver. 10. And Nehemiah tells us the secret of his consistent conduct; he tells us why he differed so much from the governors who went before him. A strong power held him back from sin. 'So did not I, because of the fear of God.' Thus Nehemiah had a right to speak, for he practised what he preached. But in spite of this, his private appeal to the nobles appears to have been in vain. They seem to have given no answer, to have taken no notice of his appeal, and to have given him no reason to think that they intended to change their conduct. So he set a great assembly against them. He called a monster meeting of all the inhabitants of Jerusalem, rich and poor, for he felt that if their conduct was publicly exposed and condemned, they might possibly be ashamed to continue it. Nehemiah's speech at the meeting was very much to the point. He first tried to shame the nobles by reminding them that whilst he, ever since his return, had been spending his money in buying back those Jews who had been sold into slavery to the heathen round, they on the other hand had actually been doing the very opposite, bringing their fellow citizens into slavery to themselves. Was this right, or fair, or just? The argument told, no one could answer it, there was dead silence, ver. 8. Now, says Nehemiah, consider: 'Ought ye not to walk in the fear of our God?' Ought ye not to be careful in your conduct, kind, and just, and generous in your dealing? And why? 'Because of the reproach of the heathen our enemies.' Because you Jews are God's people, and all these heathen round will judge your God by what you are. You make a profession of religion, you claim to have high motives; but if they see you grasping, greedy, hard, like themselves, what will they think of your religion? Surely they will say, 'These Jews are no better than ourselves, their religion cannot be worth much.' Now, says Nehemiah, remembering all this, bearing in mind the disgrace you are bringing upon the name of Jew, I call upon you at once to give up this practice of mortgaging and pledge-taking. Not only so, but I bid you restore at once the vineyards and the oliveyards, the fields and the houses, you have taken from these poor people. I bid you also return the interest they have paid you (the eighth part of the money), and I call upon you, in every way you can, to undo the evil you have done already, and for the future to do unto others as you would they should do to you, vers. 10, 11. Nehemiah's earnest words prevailed, 'Then said they, We will restore them.' This promise was followed by a very curious act on the part of Nehemiah. 'I shook my lap.' The lap is what the Latins called the _sinus_, a fold in the bosom of the tunic, which was used as a pocket. Eastern-like, Nehemiah used a sign to show what will happen to any man who shall break the promise he had just made. God will cast him forth as a homeless wanderer, emptied of all his possessions, all his ill-gotten wealth. He shall be void or empty, just as Nehemiah's pocket was void or empty, ver. 13. 'And all the congregation said, Amen.' Then, instead of the great cry of distress, was heard the great shout of joy, for They 'praised the Lord.' And the promise was not one of those promises made to be broken, for 'The people did according to this promise.' It has been well said that Christians are the only Bible that men of the world read. In other words, those who will not read the Bible themselves, judge the religion of Christ simply by the Christians they happen to come across. This is not a fair way of judging; it surely cannot be right to condemn Christianity itself, because some of those who profess it are not what they ought to be. Let us picture to ourselves an island in the Pacific Ocean, where no European has ever been seen. A large ship is wrecked not far from this island, and three men are able to make their escape in a boat, and to land upon its shore. The men belong to three different nations--one is a Frenchman, another is a German, and the third is an Englishman. The people of the island receive them most kindly, warm them, and feed them, and shelter them, and do all they can for them till a ship shall come to take them away. What return do the three men make for their kindness? The Frenchman is grateful, and willing to make himself useful in any way he can: he amuses the children and helps in the work of the house, and does all he can to make return for the hospitality he is receiving. The German is very clever with his fingers, and spends his time in teaching the natives to make many things which they had not been able to do before; he becomes indeed so helpful to them that they dread the day coming when he will have to leave them. But the Englishman is a man of low tastes and bad morals. He spends his time in drinking the spirit he finds on the island, in quarrelling with the inhabitants, and in ill-treating their children; there is not a soul on the island who does not rejoice when the ship bears him away, never to return. Soon after this, news is brought that a small colony from Europe is anxious to settle on that island, and to trade with the inhabitants. The commercial advantages of this step are laid before the natives, and leave is asked for the party of traders to land. One question, and one question only, is asked by the inhabitants. Of what nation are these colonists? The answer is brought back, They are English. At once the whole island is up in arms. They shall not land, they cry, we will not hear of it; we know what English people are, we have had plenty of the English. Had they been French or Germans we would have given them a hearty welcome, but we never wish to see an Englishman again. But surely that was not fair, it was not right to judge a whole nation by one bad specimen. Nor is it right to judge the followers of Christ in that way. I know a man, says one, who is hard and grasping and self-seeking, and that man makes a religious profession, therefore I will have nothing to do with religion. I know a Christian who is bad-tempered; I know a Christian who is not particular about truth; I know a Christian out of whose mouth come bitter, unkind words; I know a Christian who is unpleasant in his manner; I know a Christian with whom I should be sorry to do business; I know a Christian who is always mournful and miserable. These are your Christians, are they? Then do not ask me to be one; I have no opinion of any of them. Yet, after all, the man who speaks thus draws an unfair conclusion. Because I find in my bag of gold one bad half-sovereign, or even two or three bad ones, am I therefore to throw all the rest away? And because one Christian, or several Christians, disgrace their Master, and act inconsistently, am I therefore to condemn Christianity itself? Am I therefore to cut off my own soul from all hope of safety? But, remembering this, bearing in mind that many eyes are on us, that our conduct is being read, our ways watched, our actions weighed, our motives sifted, Christian friends, let us walk carefully. Do not let us bring disgrace on our Master, do not let us hinder others and be a stumbling-block[1] in their way; do not let us give the world a wrong idea of Christ. We are not half awake, we are not half careful enough; let us walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise. Let us, whenever we have been tempted to any inconsistency, be able to take up Nehemiah's brave noble words, 'So did not I, because of the fear of God.' I could not get into a temper, I could not be hard or grasping, I could not do that piece of sharp practice, I could not stoop to that deceit, I could not disgrace my Master, because in my heart was a principle holding me back from sin, the fear of the Lord. I feared to grieve the One who loved me, and that fear kept me safe. 'So did not I, because of the fear of God.' [Transcribers note 1: stumbling-black corrected to stumbling-block.] CHAPTER VII. True to his Post. Lot's wife was changed into a pillar of salt; and if that pillar still remained, we should see her to-day standing in exactly the same attitude in which she was standing when death suddenly came upon her. About a hundred years ago, a baker in the south of Italy sunk a well in his garden; and whilst doing so he suddenly came upon a buried city, a city which had been lost to the world for 1800 years. The underground city was no empty place; it was peopled with the dead, and these were found in the very attitude and position in which death had overtaken them, standing, sitting, lying, just as they had been on that awful day when Mount Vesuvius sent out terrible showers of ashes, destroying them all. Very various were the positions of the dead in that buried city. Many were in the streets, in the attitude of running, trying to make their escape from the city gate; others were in deep vaults whither they had gone for safety, crouching, in their fear of what might fall upon them; others were on staircases and flights of stone steps leading to the roof, in the attitude of climbing to a place where they hoped the lava might not bury them. Two men were found by the garden gate of a large and beautiful mansion. One was standing with the key in his hand, a handsome ring on his finger, and a hundred gold and silver coins scattered round him. The other, who was probably his slave, was stretched on the ground, with his hands clutching some silver cups and vases. These men had evidently been suffocated whilst trying to carry off the money and treasure. But one man in that buried city deserves to be remembered to the end of time. Who was he? One Roman soldier, the brave sentinel at the gate. There he had been posted in the morning, and there he had been bidden to remain. And how was he found? Standing at his post, with his hand still grasping his sword, faithful unto death. There, by the city gate; whilst the earth shook and rocked, whilst the sky was black with ashes, whilst showers of stones were falling around him, and whilst hundreds of men, women and children brushed past him as they fled in terror from the city, there he stood, firm and unmoved. Should such a man as I flee? thought the sentinel. And in that same spot, in that post of duty, he was found 1800 years after, faithful to his trust, faithful unto death. Oh, that the Lord's soldiers were more like that brave man in Pompeii! It is so easy to begin a thing, so hard to stick to it; so easy to start on the Christian course, so difficult to persevere; so easy to enlist in the army, so very hard to stand unmoved in the time of danger or trial. Yet what says the Master? He that endureth to the end (and he alone) shall be saved. What says the Captain? chat it is the soldier who is faithful unto death (and no one else) who shall receive the crown of life. Who then amongst us are faithful, true and unmoved? Who amongst us can stand firm in spite of Satan's efforts to lead us aside? Who can hold on, not for a week only, but still faithful as the weeks change into months, and the months into years, faithful unto death? About 100 years before the time of Nehemiah, there lived a wise old Chinaman, the philosopher Confucius. Looking round upon his fellow-men, Confucius said that he noticed that a large proportion of them were 'Copper-kettle-boiling-water men.' The water in a copper kettle, said Confucius, boils very quickly, much more quickly than in an iron kettle; but the worst of it is that it just as quickly cools down, and ceases to boil. So, said Confucius, is it with numbers of my fellow-men: they are one day hot and eager, boiling over with zeal in some particular cause; but the next day they have cooled down, and they take no interest in it whatever. Soon up, soon down, like the water in a copper kettle. Just so is it in the service of God. There are, sad to say, many copper-kettle-boiling-water Christians, hot and earnest in the work of God one moment, but in the next they have cooled down, and are ready to leave the work to take care of itself. But Nehemiah was no copper-kettle-boiling-water man, he comes before us as a man faithful to his post, standing firm to his duty, a man whom no one could draw from his work, or cause to swerve from what he knew to be right. The Samaritans have made a mighty effort to stop Nehemiah's great work, the building of the walls of Jerusalem. They began with ridicule; but the builders took no notice of the shouts of laughter, but built on as before. Then they tried to stop the work by force; but they found the whole company of builders changed, as by a magic wand, into an army of soldiers, ready and waiting for their attack. Now the news reaches them, chap. vi. 1., that the walls are progressing, that the gaps are filled up, the different pieces are joined together, and that nothing now remains but to put up the gates in the various gateways. They feel accordingly that no time is to be lost; they must, in some way or other, put a stop to Nehemiah and his work at once. They determine, therefore, to try a new plan, they will entrap Nehemiah by stratagem and deceit. So they send an invitation to Jerusalem, begging him to meet them in a certain place, that there they may settle their differences by a friendly conference. Sanballat is to be there as the head of the Samaritans, Geshem as the head of the Arabians, and Nehemiah as the head of the Jews; and surely, meeting in a friendly way, and embued with a friendly spirit, nothing will be easier than quietly and peacefully to confer together, and then to arrange matters in a comfortable and satisfactory manner. The place appointed for the meeting is the Plain of Ono--the green, beautiful plain between the Judean hills and the Mediterranean--called elsewhere the Plain of Sharon. There in later days stood Lydda, the place where St. Peter healed Aeneas; there stood Joppa, from which Jonah embarked; there, at the present day, may be seen fields of melons and cucumbers, groves of orange and lemon trees, and fields of waving corn. Nehemiah would have a journey of about thirty miles before he reached the appointed meeting-place. Sanballat's proposal sounded very fine and even very friendly, but it was a trap. His real desire was to tempt Nehemiah from behind the walls of Jerusalem, to entice him to a safe distance from his brave friends and companions, and then to have him secretly assassinated. Who then would ever hear again of the power of Jerusalem? Who then would ever see the gates put in their places? Is Nehemiah moved from his post of duty by Sanballat's message? Does he leave his work at once, and set off for the Plain of Ono? Look at his decided answer. 'I am doing a great work, so that I cannot come down: why should the work cease, whilst I leave it, and come down to you?' God's work would be done better, and with more success, if all His workmen were like Nehemiah. But, alas! many who call themselves workers for God are ready to run off from the work at every call, every invitation, every appeal from the world, the flesh, or the devil. I am doing a great work, but there is that amusement I want to take part in, the work must be left to-day. I am doing a great work; but I do not feel inclined for it just now, I feel idle, or the weather is too cold to go out, or the sun shines so brightly I should like a walk instead, I must leave my work to others to-day. I am doing a great work; but I love my own ease, or pleasure, or convenience, better than I love the work, these must come first and the work must come second. So speak the actions of many so-called workers, and thus it is that so much Christian work is a dead failure. But, says Nehemiah, 'I am doing a great work, so that I cannot come down: why should the work cease, whilst I leave it, and come down to you?' Let us remember his words, let us inwardly digest them, and the very next time that we are tempted to give up work for God and to run off to something else, let us take care to echo them. But Sanballat is determined not to be beaten, he will try again and yet again. Four times over he sends Nehemiah a friendly invitation to a friendly conference, four times over Nehemiah steadily refuses to come. Then, when that plot completely fails, Sanballat loses his temper. One day a messenger arrives at the gate of Jerusalem with an insult in his hand. The insult is in the form of a piece of parchment; it is a letter from Sanballat, an 'open letter,' ver. 5. Letters in the East are not put into envelopes, but are rolled up like a map, then the ends are flattened and pasted together. The Persians make up their letters in a roll about six inches long, and then gum a piece of paper round them, and put a seal on the outside. But in writing to persons of distinction, not only is the letter gummed together, but it is tied up in several places with coloured ribbon, and then enclosed in a bag or purse. To send a letter to such a man as Nehemiah, not only untied and unenclosed, but actually not even having the ends pasted together, was a tremendous insult, and Nehemiah, who had been accustomed to the strict etiquette of the Persian court, knew this well. But Sanballat probably sent this open letter not only with the intention of insulting Nehemiah, but also in order that every one whom the messenger came across might read it, and that the Jews in Jerusalem and its neighbourhood might be frightened by its contents, and might therefore be inclined to forward his plans. The letter contained a piece of gossip. 'It is reported among the heathen, and Gashmu saith it.' So the letter began, and then there followed the scandal, the gossip about Nehemiah. People's tongues were busy 2,000 years ago, just as people's tongues are busy now, and the gossips of those days, like the gossips of to-day, were not particular about truth. What was the gossip which Gashmu had started against Nehemiah? It was this: Jerusalem is being built, we all see that, says Gashmu. But now, what is at the bottom of this business? Hush! says Gashmu, do not tell any one, and I will tell you a secret. You would never believe it, you would never guess it; but what do you think? As soon as those walls are built and those gates are finished, you will hear news. There is going to be a king in Jerusalem, and his name is Nehemiah. As soon as ever he has a strong city in which to defend himself, he is going to rebel against Persia. Nay, he has already paid people inside Jerusalem to pretend to be prophets, and to say to the people: 'There is a king in Judah.' That is the gossip, says Sanballat, that is going the round of all the gossips' tongues in the land. And now what will be the result? If the King of Persia hears of it, and it is sure to reach his ears sooner or later, it will go badly with you, Nehemiah. The best thing you can do is to consent to meet me, and we will talk the matter over and see what can be done to prevent this report reaching Persia. 'Come now therefore, and let us take counsel together.' Nehemiah has stood firm under ridicule; he has been unmoved by force or deceitful friendships; will he be frightened from his duty by gossip? No, he cares not what they say, nor who says it. He simply sends Sanballat word that there is not a vestige of truth in the report, nor does he intend to take any notice of it. 'There are no such things done as thou sayest, but thou feignest them out of thine own heart.' Over the entrance to one of our old English castles these words are carved in the stonework:-- THEY SAY. WHAT DO THEY SAY? LET THEM SAY. These words are well worth our remembering. It is not pleasant to be talked about, especially if the words spoken about us are untrue, but it will be a wonderful thing if any of us escape the gossip's tongue. _They say_, and they always will _say_, to the end of time; people will talk, and their talk will chiefly be of their neighbours. _What do they say?_ Do you answer like the Psalmist, 'They lay to my charge things I knew not?' They speak unkindly, untruly, unfairly. Never mind, _Let them say._ You cannot stop their mouths, but you can hinder yourself from taking notice of their words. Let them say, for they will have their say out, but they will end it all the sooner if you take no notice of it. Let us try for the future to be thick-skinned, and when Gashmu's tongue is whispering, and whenever some busybody like Sanballat repeats Gashmu's words to us, let us act as Nehemiah did. Let us take no notice of the repeated tittle-tattle. Yet, although we may practically ignore the gossiping tongue, if we are naturally sensitive and highly strung we cannot help feeling some sting from the unkind or untrue speech. Poor Nehemiah, unmoved though he was by the gossip, yet feels it necessary to remember the meaning of his name, and to turn from Sanballat's letter to 'the Lord my Comforter.' 'O God, strengthen my hands.' So he cries from the depths of his soul, and so he was comforted. Sanballat now feels that he is attempting an impossibility. It is of no use trying himself to move Nehemiah, for Nehemiah is thoroughly on his guard against him. If he reaches him at all, he must do so through others, whom Nehemiah does not suspect. So, by means of his gold, Sanballat tempts some of the Jerusalem Jews over to his side. There is a woman living in Jerusalem named Noadiah, and she (to her shame be it spoken) is bribed by Sanballat to give herself out as a prophetess, and to be the bearer of messages to Nehemiah, pretending that those messages were sent to him by God. Nor is Noadiah the only one who is bribed by the Samaritan governor to pretend the gift of prophecy. One day, Nehemiah is sent for to the house of one of these people who profess to be able to prophesy. He is a young man of the name of Shemaiah, whose family had returned from Babylon with Zerubbabel, but who had never been able to prove their Jewish descent (vii. 61, 62, 64). This young man professes to be very fond of Nehemiah, and begs him to come to see him. Nehemiah does so, and finds him shut up, his doors barred and bolted, his house barricaded like a fortress. He admits Nehemiah, and seems, as he does so, to be in a great state of fear and terror. Then he whispers a dreadful secret in his ear. He tells Nehemiah that his life is in immediate danger, that there is a plot set on foot by Sanballat to murder him that very night, and that this plot has been revealed to him by God. He tells him that he feels his own life, as one of Nehemiah's best friends, is also in danger, and therefore he proposes that they shall go together after dark to the temple courts, and, passing through these, enter into the sanctuary itself, the Holy Place, in which stood the altar of incense, the golden candlestick, and the table of showbread. There, having carefully closed the folding doors of fir-wood, they may hide till daybreak, and those who were coming to assassinate Nehemiah will seek him in vain. Shemaiah gives this advice as a direct message from God, but Nehemiah saw through it. He felt sure God could not have sent that message, for God cannot contradict His own Word. And what said the Word? It was clearly laid down in the law of Moses that no man, unless he was a priest, might enter the Holy Place; if he attempted to do so, death would be the penalty. 'The stranger that cometh nigh shall be put to death.' So Nehemiah bravely answers: 'Should such a man as I flee? and who is there, that, being as I am, would go into the temple to save his life? I will not go in.' Who is there, that, being as I am--that is, being a layman, not a priest--as I am, could go into the temple and live? for that is the better translation. In other words, if I, Nehemiah, who am not a priest, should break the clear command of God, by crossing the threshold of the temple, instead of saving my life I should lose it. I will not go in. So failed this dastardly plot to get Nehemiah to sin, in order that his God might desert him. The sentinel stood unmoved at his post, Nehemiah goes on steadily with his work. Should such a man as I flee? And in fifty-two days after its commencement, in less than two months, the wall was finished, vi. 15. With a huge army, with hundreds of horses, and with twenty elephants, Pyrrhus, King of Epirus, crossed over from Greece to Italy to conquer the Romans. No elephants had ever before been seen in Italy; and when the two armies met, and the huge animals advanced with their dark trunks curling and snorting, and their ponderous feet shaking the earth, the horses in the Roman army were so terrified that they refused to move, and Pyrrhus won an easy victory. After the battle was over Pyrrhus walked amongst the dead, and looked at the bodies of his slain foes. As he did so, one fact struck him very forcibly, and it was this, the Romans did not know how to run away. Not one had turned and fled from the field of battle. The wounds were all in front, not one was wounded in the back. 'Ah,' said Pyrrhus, 'with such soldiers as that the whole world would belong to me.' Soldiers of Christ, let us be brave for the Master. Let the language of the heart of each in the Lord's army be that of Nehemiah, 'Should such a man as I flee?' Nay, I will not flee, I will not desert my post, I will stand my ground, bravely, consistently, perseveringly, unto death. CHAPTER VIII. The Paidagogos. The Tarpeian Rock was the place where Roman criminals who had been guilty of the crime of treason were executed. They were thrown headlong from this rock into the valley below, and perished at its base. The rock took its name from a woman named Tarpeia, who has ever been a disgrace to her sex, and whose name was hated in Rome, for she was a traitress to her country. For a long time the war had raged between the Romans and the Sabines. The Romans were at last compelled to shut themselves up in their strong fortress, which the Sabines attempted to take, but in vain. So steep were the rocks on which it stood, so strong were the walls, that the Sabines must have given up their attempt in despair, had it not been for the treachery of Tarpeia, the governor's daughter. She looked down from the fortress into the Sabine host, and she noticed that, whilst with their right arms the Sabines held their swords, on their left arms were hung massive golden bracelets, such as Tarpeia had never beheld before. One day, leaning over the precipice, she managed to whisper into the ear of a Sabine soldier her treacherous plan. She was willing in the dead of night to unlock the gate of the fortress, and to admit the Sabines, provided that they promised on their part to give her what they carried on their left arms. Tarpeia's proposition was agreed to, and that night the governor's daughter stole the keys of the fortress from her father's room, and admitted the enemy. But the Sabines had too much right feeling to let her treachery go unpunished. She stood by the gate, hoping to receive the bracelets, but each Sabine soldier, as he entered, threw at her head his massive iron shield, which he also carried on his left arm, until she was crushed to the ground, and buried beneath a mass of metal. They had fulfilled their promise, but in a way the treacherous Tarpeia did not expect. When she was quite dead, they took up her body, and threw it over the rock which ever after bore her name, as a warning to traitors. Treachery within the camp, those in league with the enemy in the very midst of the citadel, those who whilst pretending to be friends are secretly conspiring to hinder and annoy. Surely such a state of things is enough to move any man's heart. Who could help feeling it bitterly? David could not. Listen to his heartrending cry-- 'For it is not an open enemy, that hath done me this dishonour; for then I could have borne it. Neither was it mine adversary that did magnify himself against me; for then I would have hid myself from him. But it was even thou, my companion, my guide, and mine own familiar friend.' Nehemiah could not help feeling it. He had borne patiently ridicule, force, deceit from without; whatever of harm or mischief Sanballat did, he could not help, nor was he surprised at it. But when the trouble came nearer home, when he found that in Jerusalem itself, amongst those whom he had loved and for whom he had sacrificed so much, there were actually to be found traitors, then indeed Nehemiah's soul was stirred to its very depths. He discovered to his horror that letters, secret, treacherous letters, were constantly passing from Tobiah the secretary to some of his so-called friends in Jerusalem. Nay more, he discovered that these letters were diligently answered, and that a quick correspondence was being kept up by Tobiah on the one side and these treacherous Jews on the other. Worse still, Nehemiah found that many of those round him were acting as spies, watching all he did, taking note of every single thing that went on in Jerusalem, and then writing it down for Tobiah's benefit. And in spite of this, these Jews had the audacity and the bad taste when they met Nehemiah in the street, or sat at his table, or came across him in business, to harp constantly upon one string--the goodness, and perfections, and excellences of dear Tobiah. 'They reported his good deeds to me, and uttered my words to him.' Nor was this communication with the secretary at all easy to break off, for he was connected by marriage with some of the first families in Jerusalem. Tobiah himself had obtained a Jewish girl for his wife, the daughter of one of Nehemiah's helpers--Shechaniah, the son of Arah. Not only so, but Meshullam, one of the wealthiest men in the city, one of the most earnest builders on the wall, one who had worked so diligently that he had actually repaired two portions (chap. iii. 4, 30), one who must have been either a priest or a Levite, for we read of his having a chamber in the temple, this man, Meshullam, so well spoken of, and so much esteemed in Jerusalem, had actually forgotten himself so far as to let his daughter marry the son of the secretary, Tobiah. We cannot excuse Meshullam by suggesting that his daughter may have been spoilt or wilful, and may have married in spite of her father's displeasure, for, in the East, marriages are entirely arranged by the parents, and Meshullam's daughter probably had no choice in the matter. Seeing then that there are enemies without, and half-hearted friends within, Nehemiah feels it necessary, so soon as the walls are finished and the gates set up, to do all he can to make Jerusalem secure and strong. Solomon had appointed 212 Levites to be porters or gate-keepers, to guard the entrances to the temple. Ever since his time there had been an armed body of Levites, kept always at hand, to guard the treasures of the temple, and to keep watch at the gates. From these Nehemiah selects the keepers for his new gates. Surely these Levites will be faithful, and they have had some experience in watching, inasmuch as they have for so long acted as temple police. Nehemiah's next step was to appoint two men to superintend these guards, and to be responsible to him for the safety of the city. At any moment he might be recalled to Persia, at any moment he might have to leave his important work in Jerusalem, that he might stand again as cup-bearer behind the king's chair. He felt that he must therefore appoint deputies to guard the city for him, so that all might not hang upon the fact of his presence in the city. Whom did Nehemiah choose for this post of enormous trust? One was his brother Hanani, the very one who had come to see him in Persia. Why, he would never have even thought of doing this great work, if it had not been for Hanani; and he felt he could thoroughly trust him, and rely upon him entirely. His other choice was Hananiah, the ruler of the palace or the fort, which was a tower, standing in the temple courts on the spot on which, in Roman days, stood the Tower of Antonia. Nehemiah tells us exactly why he made choice of the man Hananiah. 'He was a faithful man, and feared God above many.' He was a faithful man, thoroughly trustworthy and reliable. He feared God above many, and therefore Nehemiah knew that he would be kept safe and free from sin. 'So did not I,' he had said of himself, 'because of the fear of God; that fear held me back from sin,' and he felt sure it would be the same with Hananiah. He feared God, and therefore he could be depended upon. These two rulers, Hanani and Hananiah, planned out the defence of the city. They divided the wall amongst all the men in Jerusalem, holding each man responsible for the safety of that part of the wall which lay nearest to his own house. Then, by Nehemiah's orders, they saw that the guards took care that the gates were not only carefully closed every night, but that they were kept closed till the sun was hot, that is, till some hours after sunrise. These orders were most necessary, seeing that there were traitors inside the gates as well as enemies without. It was the sixth month of the Jewish year when the walls were finished. Then came Tisri, the seventh month, the greatest and grandest of the months. The Jews say that God made the world in the month Tisri, and in it they have no less than two feasts and one great fast. On the first day of the month Tisri was held the Feast of Trumpets, or the day of blowing. On that day trumpets or horns were blown all day long in Jerusalem; on the house-tops, and from the courts and gardens, as well as from the temple. Obedient to the voice of the trumpets, at early dawn the people all gathered together, and stood by the water-gate, in a large open space suitable for such a gathering. This gate is supposed to have been somewhere at the south-east of the temple courts, and to have taken its name from the fact that through it the temple servants, the Nethinims and the Gibeonites, carried water from the dragon well into the city. Here a huge pulpit had been erected, not such a pulpit as we find in our churches, but such an one as is to be seen in the synagogues of Jerusalem, a pulpit as large as a small room, and capable of holding a large number of persons. The pulpit by the water-gate was a raised platform, made for the purpose. In it stood Ezra the scribe, and beside him stood thirteen of the chief men of Jerusalem. Meshullam was there; but one man was conspicuous by his absence. Eliashib, the high priest, who should surely have been found taking a principal part in the solemn service of the day, was nowhere to be seen. Before the great pulpit was gathered together an enormous crowd, men, women, and children, all those who were old enough to understand anything having been brought there, that they might listen to all that went on. It was early in the morning, soon after sunrise, when the great company met together. The blowing of the trumpets ceased, and there was brought out by a Levite an old roll of parchment. What was it? It was the Book of the Law, the Bible of Nehemiah's day, consisting of the five books of Moses. Slowly and reverently Ezra unrolled the law in the sight of all the people; and they, sitting below, watched him, and as soon as the book was opened they stood up, to show their respect and their reverence for the Word of God. Then the reading began, and the ears of all the people were attentive to the book of the law. For no less than six hours Ezra read on, from early morning until midday, yet still the people stood, still the people listened attentively. There was no stir in the crowd, no one asked what time it was, there was no shuffling of feet, no yawning, no fidgeting; in earnest, fixed attention the people listened. As Ezra read, a body of Levites went about amongst the crowd, translating what he said. So long had the people lived in captivity that some of them had forgotten the old Hebrew, or had been brought up from children to talk the Chaldean tongue. Thus many of Ezra's words and phrases were quite unintelligible to them. So the Levites acted as interpreters; and besides explaining the words, they also opened out the meaning of what was read. 'The Levites caused the people to understand the law: and the people stood in their place. So they read in the book in the law of God distinctly, and gave the sense, and caused them to understand the reading.' And at the end of six hours there came tears--there was not a dry eye in the crowd--men and women alike wept like children. There was Ezra in his pulpit, his voice faltering as he read, and there were the people below, sobbing as they heard the words. What was the matter? What had filled them with grief? St. Paul tells us the secret of their tears (Rom. iii. 20). 'By the law is the knowledge of sin.' You draw a line. How shall you know if it be straight or not? Lay the ruler beside it, and you will soon find out its crookedness. You build a wall. How shall you tell if it be perpendicular? Bring the plumb-line, put it against it, and you will soon find out where the wall bulges. You take up a drawing of wood, and hill, and tree; how shall you know if it be correctly sketched? Put beside it the master's copy, look from one to another, and you will soon discover the mistakes and imperfections of the pupil. Take the perfect law of God, lay it beside your own life, as these people did, you will find out exactly what they found. You will find that you are a sinner, that you have left undone what ought to have been done, that you have done what ought not to have been done, and that you yourself are full of sin. 'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy mind, with all thy soul, and with all thy strength.' Have you done that? No! Then you are not like the copy. 'Ye shall diligently keep the commandments of the Lord thy God.' Have you done that? No! Then you are not like the copy. So felt the company at the water-gate, as they listened to the word that day. And with the knowledge came tears, bitter, sorrowful tears, as they thought of the past. Each man, woman, and child amongst them was ready to cry out 'Red like crimson, deep as scarlet, Scarlet of the deepest dye, Are the manifold transgressions, That upon my conscience lie. God alone can count their number, God alone can look within, O the sinfulness of sinning, O the guilt of every sin!' Some years ago there lived in Jerusalem a Scripture reader. He was an Austrian Jew, and he worked amongst the large Jewish population in Jerusalem. That man had been brought up to a very curious occupation. For years he had maintained himself in a very strange way. His business was this--to take children to school every morning, and to bring them home again in the evening. Each morning he called at the various houses, he led the children out, he carried the little ones, some on his back and some in his arms, he chastised with a stick those who were inclined to play truant, and he landed them all safely at the school-door. St. Paul, when he went to the Rabbi's school in Tarsus, was taken there by just such a man as that, a man who was paid by his parents to drive him to school regularly, and to see that he arrived there in good time. This man was called in his day a Paidagogos, or Boy-driver. Years afterwards, when the apostle was writing to the Galatians, he remembered his old Paidagogos, and he used him as an illustration. He said, in his epistle, that that boy-driver was like the law of God; just what the Paidagogos had done for him, that also the Word of God had done. That man had driven him to the school of the Rabbi, the law of God had driven him to the school of Christ. 'The law was our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ.' The word schoolmaster does not mean the man who teaches, but it is this very word Paidagogos or Boy-driver. How, then, does the law of God drive us to Christ? Because it makes us feel that we need saving, that we are sinners and cannot help ourselves, that if ever we are to see the inside of the golden gates of heaven, it must be by learning in the school of Christ, by learning to know Him as our Saviour, our atonement, our all in all. Lord, save me, or I perish, for I cannot save myself! All my righteousness is as filthy rags, I myself am full of sin. There is no hope for me except in Thee! So the Law is our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ. CHAPTER IX. The Secret of Strength. Who was the strongest person who ever lived? Surely there is no difficulty in answering that question, surely there has never been anyone to compare with Samson in wonderful feats of strength! Did he not alone and unaided rend a young lion in two, as easily as if it had been a kid? Did he not lift the massive iron gates of Gaza from their hinges, carry them on his back for forty miles, and climb with them to the top of a high hill? Did he not overthrow an enormous building by simply leaning on the huge stone pillars that held it up? We see trials of strength and feats of strength nowadays, we may have seen a man who could with one blow of the sword cut a sheep in two, we may have seen another who, by the mere power of his fist, could snap an iron chain, yet what modern Samson, strong and powerful and mighty above his fellows though he may be, can equal or rival the old Samson of Bible story. Yet after all are we right in calling Samson the strongest man? It all depends upon the kind of strength of which we are speaking. If we mean bodily strength, mere physical force, then undoubtedly Samson was the strongest man. But is bodily strength the only kind of force or power a man can possess? Is it the chief kind of strength? What is one name that we give to physical power; do we not call it _brute force_? Why do we call it this? Because it is force which we have in common with the brutes, nay, it is strength in which the brutes can surpass us. Take the strongest man who ever lived, give him the most powerful limbs, the strongest back, the greatest strength of muscle, what is that man compared with an elephant? The mighty elephant has more power in one limb than the man has in his whole body. Bodily strength is then, after all, a kind of strength that is worth comparatively little, and of which we have small cause to boast, for even an animal can easily surpass us in it. A stronger man than Samson, where shall we find him? Come to the Senate House in Cambridge, look at that man hard at work on the examination papers. Look at him well, for you will see that man's name at the head of the list when it comes out. Look at his broad forehead, his quick eager eye, his earnest face. That man is the strongest man in England: strong, not in bodily strength, he would do but little on the football field, nor could he win a single prize in athletic sports; he is a thin, slight, fragile man, but he is strong in mind, powerful and mighty in brain. That man's memory is simply perfect, his powers of reasoning are faultless, his grasp of a subject is enormous, he is a giant in intellect. Here then we have another kind of strength, mental strength; and inasmuch as the mind is vastly superior to the body, and inasmuch as power of mind is a power which the animals so far from rivalling man, possess only in a very limited degree, we shall be ready to admit that the student is stronger than Samson, because he is strong in a superior kind of strength. But there is a stronger than he, and it is a woman. She is weak and delicate, and has certainly no bodily strength; she knows very little, for she is a poor, simple country girl; she has no mental strength, but she is stronger than Samson, stronger than the Cambridge student, because she is endued with a strength far superior to bodily or mental strength--she is strong in soul. A great crowd of people was gathered on the shore that day in the county of Wigton in Scotland. There lay the wooded hills and the heathery moors, and the quiet sea dividing them like a peaceful lake. Two prisoners, carefully guarded, were brought down to the shore, one was an old woman with white hair, the other was a young and beautiful girl. Two stakes were driven into the sand, one close to the approaching sea, the other much nearer to the shore. The old woman was tied to the stake nearest to the sea, and the young girl to the other. The tide was out when they were taken there, but they were told that, unless they would deny the Master whom they loved, unless they would renounce the truth of God, there they must remain, until the high tide had covered them, and life was extinct. The old woman was questioned by her murderers. Would she renounce her Lord? Never; she could not deny the faith of Christ. So they left her to her fate, and the sea rose. Silently, quietly, stealthily it crept on, till her arms, her shoulders, her neck were covered, and then soon after the wave came which carried her into the presence of her Lord. Then they pleaded with the girl, they tried to make her change, they used every argument likely to move her, but all in vain. She was strong in soul, strong and mighty, so strong that death itself could not make her flinch. Still the sea crept on, still the water rose, and still they tried to make her deny her Lord. But, strong in spirit, the girl held bravely on. Higher and higher came that ever-encroaching water, and soon her head was covered, and she thought her sorrows were ended, but her tormentors brought her out of the water, rubbed and warmed her, and brought her to life again, only to put the question to her once more. Would she deny her Master? No; again she refused to do so, and was dragged back, wet and dripping as she was, once more to be chained to the stake, and to lay down her life a second time. But the Lord was with her, and she was faithful to the end. That girl was strong in soul, strong in the highest, noblest form of strength; she could say No when tempted to do wrong, she was faithful when sorely tried. But Samson was weak as water, he had no strength of soul; a woman's pretty face, a woman's coaxing word, was quite sufficient to overthrow all the strength of soul he possessed. He could resist no temptation that came across his path; he was an easy prey to the tempter. Oh! that we were all strong, strong in this highest, grandest form of strength, mighty giants in spirit! But do you say, How can I obtain this strength, by what means can I acquire it? I feel I need it. I am often led astray; I listen to the voice of the tempter, I give way to my besetting sin. I want to break off from it, but I cannot; I want to leave the companions who are leading me wrong, but I have not the strength to do it. How can I become strong? Here, in the story of Nehemiah, we find the answer. Let us come again to the water-gate, at the south-east of the city. There is the huge pulpit of wood, there is Ezra with the roll in his hand, there are the people, sobbing as if their hearts would break. But 'blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted' It is for sin that their hearts are broken, they feel they have left undone so much that ought to have been done, they have done so much that they ought not to have done, that they are crushed with sorrow, and the tears will come. But hush, who are these passing amongst the weeping crowd? There is Nehemiah the Tirshatha, or governor, there is Ezra the scribe, and they are followed by a company of Levites. They call to the people to stop crying, and to rejoice. Is not our God a God of mercy? Is there not forgiveness with Him? If sin is confessed and forsaken, will He not pardon it? Dry your tears then, and, instead of crying, rejoice. Be merry and glad that God is willing to forgive, nay, that He has forgiven you. Cheer up, for this day is holy unto the Lord; it is a feast day, the joyous Feast of Trumpets. Mourn not, nor weep. Do not imagine that God likes you to be miserable; He wants you to be happy. You have owned your sin, you have repented of your sin; now let your hearts be filled with the joy that come from a sense of sin forgiven. Go home now, and keep the feast. Eat and drink of the best you have, eat the fat and drink the sweet, the new sweet wine made from this year's grapes. Go home and enjoy yourselves to the full; but do not forget those who are worse off than yourselves, remember those poor people who have suffered so much from the late famine, who have paid their last penny to the tax-collector, who have lost their all in these hard times. Let them enjoy themselves too to-day. Eat the fat and drink the sweet, but do not forget to send portions to them for whom nothing is prepared. Remember the empty cupboards, and the bare tables, and the houses where the fat and the sweet are nowhere to be seen. What a word for us at the time of our joyous Christmas feast! God loves us to be happy. He likes us to rejoice; He does not want us to go about with long faces and melancholy looks. A long-faced Christian is a Christian who brings disgrace on his Master. Then as we meet, year by year, round the happy Christmas table, and sit down to our Christmas dinner, let us remember that God loves us to be happy; but let us also remember that in the midst of all our joy He would have us unselfish. He would have us send portions to them for whom nothing is prepared. Is there no one whom we can cheer? Is there no desolate home into which we can bring a ray of light? Is there no sorrowful heart to which we can bring comfort? And what about the portions? Is there no poor relative, or neighbour, or friend, with whom we can share the good things that have fallen to our lot? Our own Christmas dinner will taste all the better if we have helped some one else to happiness or comfort, our own festal rejoicing will be tenfold more full of merriment and real joy, if we have helped to spread the festal joy into dark and gloomy places. 'Go your way, eat the fat, and drink the sweet, and send portions unto them for whom nothing is prepared: for this day is holy unto our Lord: neither be ye sorry; for the joy of the Lord is your strength.' Yes, there we have the secret of strength, of the highest kind of strength, of strength of soul. The joy of the Lord, that joy which comes from knowing our sin is pardoned. Can I say-- 'O happy day, O happy day When Jesus washed my sins away?' Then I have spiritual strength, for the joy of the Lord is my strength. He has forgiven me, He has washed me from my sins in His own blood; how can I grieve Him? How can I pain Him by yielding to temptation? How can I ever risk losing the joy of my heart by going contrary to His will? I am joyful because I am forgiven, and I am strong because I am joyful. Here then is the highest kind of strength, and it is a strength within the reach of all. Bodily strength some of us can never attain. We are born with weakly bodies, we have grown up delicate and frail, we could no more transform ourselves into strong, powerful men, than we could make ourselves into elephants. There was a man who lived in Greece long before Hezekiah, who was determined to make his nation the strongest nation on earth; he was resolved that it should consist of mighty giants in strength, and that not one delicate or weak man should be found amongst them. But what did Lycurgus find himself obliged to do in order to secure his end? He was compelled to have every infant carefully examined as soon as it was born, and if a child had the least appearance of delicacy, he took it from its mother, and sent it to some lonely cave on the hill-side, where it was left to die of cold and hunger. He found that it was not possible to turn a puny delicate child into a strong man. Bodily strength then is beyond the reach of many men; weak they were born, weak they live, and weak they will die, nothing will alter or improve them. Nor can strength of mind be attained by many. They were born with no power of memory, no aptitude for learning, no gift for study; you may teach them, and labour with them, and they may work hard themselves, but no application can instil into them what was not born in them; they came into the world with second-rate intellects, and they will die with the same. But, thank God, the highest form of strength, strength of soul is, in this respect, not like strength of body or strength of mind. No one is born with it, we are all by nature weak as water, an easy prey for Satan; but there is not one of us who may not acquire this spiritual power. If we will take the lost sinner's place, and claim the lost sinner's Saviour, we shall be filled by that Saviour with joy, joy because sin is forgiven, and with the joy will come the strength of soul. In Greece, in that city in which all the weakly babies were murdered, those children who were spared and who were pronounced to be strong, were looked upon from that time as belonging not to their parents but to the state, and they were trained and brought up with this one object in view, to make them strong and powerful men. They were taught to bear cold, wearing the same clothing in winter as in summer; they were trained to bear fatigue, being accustomed to walk barefoot for miles; they were practised in wrestling, in racing, in throwing heavy weights, in carrying burdens, in anything and everything which was calculated to make the strength that was in them grow and increase. And it was wonderful how, by means of practice, the strength did grow. We are told of one man, who in the public games carried a full grown ox for a mile, and we are told that he accomplished this by gradually accustoming himself to the weight. He began when the ox was a tiny calf to carry it a mile every day, and the increase of weight was so gradual that he did not feel it; his arms became used to the weight, and as the ox grew bigger, he at the same time grew stronger. Strength of body then grows and increases in proportion to our use of it. So, too, does strength of mind. Here is a boy, born with good abilities and with an intelligent mind. Take that child, and shut him off from every possibility of using his mind; never teach him anything, never allow him to look at a book or a picture, keep him shut off from everything that might tend to open his mind, tell him nothing, bring him up as a mere animal, and soon he will lose all his powers of mind, and become an imbecile. But, on the other hand, teach him, train him, educate him, let his mind have full scope and exercise, and his mental powers will grow and increase a hundred-fold, for strength of mind, like strength of body, grows with the using. Just so is it with strength of soul. Every temptation you overcome makes you stronger, every lust you subdue, every battle of soul you fight, every inclination to evil you resist, makes you stronger. 'From strength to strength' is the motto of the Christian. So let us press forward. 'Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto _a perfect man_' (or as R.V. has it, a _full-grown man_) 'unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.' Now we are but children in spiritual strength, then we shall be giants in power, full-grown men, with full powers and energy and strength, ready to work for the Master through eternity. CHAPTER X. The Eighty-four Seals. Merrily the Christmas bells were chiming in the old city of York, on Christmas morning in the year 1890, speaking gaily and joyfully of the Christmas feast, when suddenly there came a change. The merry peal ceased, and was followed by the quiet sorrowful sound which always speaks of mourning and death, a muffled peal. News had reached the ringers that the Archbishop of York, who had been known and respected in the city for more than twenty-eight years, had gone home to God. And as we ate our Christmas dinner that day, as we gathered round the table to eat the fat and drink the sweet, the solemn voice of Old Peter, the great minster bell, was heard tolling for the departed soul. Truly in the midst of life we are in death, in the midst of joy there comes sorrow, in the midst of festivity we are plunged into mourning. 'Shadow and shine is life, little Annie, Flower and thorn.' So the poet makes the old grandmother sum up her life's story. And it is just the same in our religious life. One day the joy of the Lord makes us strong, the next the sense of sin weighs us to the ground; one moment we are ready to overflow with thanksgiving, the next we are down in the dust mourning and weeping. Just such a change as this, a change from the gay to the solemn, from joy to mourning, from feasting to fasting, comes before us in the Book of Nehemiah. Look at Jerusalem, as we visit it in imagination to-day, and take a bird's-eye view of the city. The whole place is mad with joy. They are keeping the gayest, the merriest, the prettiest feast in the whole year, the Feast of Tabernacles. It was a saying amongst the Jews, that unless a man had been present at the Feast of Tabernacles he did not know what joy was. And in Nehemiah's time this feast was kept more fully and with more rejoicing than it had been kept for a thousand years; no one had ever witnessed such a Feast of Tabernacles since the days of Joshua. The city was a mass of green booths, made with branches of olive, pine, myrtle, and palm; and in these the people lived, and ate, and slept for eight days; whilst the whole city was lighted up, and glad music was constantly heard, and the people feasted, and laughed, and made merry. It was the 22nd day of the month Tisri when the Feast of Tabernacles was ended, and only two days afterwards there came a remarkable change. Look at Jerusalem again, you would hardly know it to be the same place. The green booths are all gone, they have been carefully cleared away. There is not a branch, or a banner, or a bit of decoration to be seen. The bright holiday dresses, the gay blue, and red, and yellow, and lilac robes, the smart, many-coloured turbans have all been laid by; there is not a sign of one of them. We see instead an extraordinary company of men, women and children making their way to the open space by the water gate. They are covered with rough coarse sackcloth, a material made of black goats' hair and used for making sacks. Every one of the company is dressed in this rough material; not only so, but the robe of each is made like a sack in shape, so that they look like a crowd of moving sacks, and on their heads are sprinkled earth and dust and ashes. The rejoicing has turned into mourning, the feast into a fast. A great sense of sin has come over the people; they feel their need of forgiveness, and they are come to seek it. The meeting seems to have assembled about nine o'clock, the time of the morning sacrifice. For a quarter of the day, for three hours, they read the law of God, for three hours more they fell prostrate on the ground, and confessed their sin. Their prayers were led by Levites, standing on high scaffoldings where everyone could see them, where all could hear them as they cried with a loud voice to God. Then just at the time of the evening sacrifice, at three o'clock in the afternoon, the Levites called to the kneeling multitude and bade them rise, 'Stand up and bless the Lord your God for ever and ever: and blessed be Thy glorious name, which is exalted above all blessing and praise.' Then the Levites went through the history of God's wonderful goodness to His people, to Abraham in Egypt, in the wilderness, in the land of Canaan; everywhere, and at all times He had been good to them, again and again He had delivered them. But they--what had they done? 'Thou hast done right, but we have done wickedly. Neither have our kings, our princes, our priests, nor our fathers kept Thy law, nor hearkened unto Thy commandments.... For they have not served Thee.' Therefore, as a natural consequence and result, 'Behold, we are servants this day.' They would not serve God, they would not be His servants, so they had been made to serve someone else; they had, as a punishment for their sin, been made servants to the King of Persia. And what was the result? 'The land that Thou gavest unto our fathers to eat the fruit thereof and the good thereof, behold, we are servants in it. And it yieldeth much increase unto the kings whom Thou hast set over us because of our sins.' The amount of tribute paid by Judea to Persia is not known; but the province of Syria, in which Judea was included, paid £90,000 a year. 'Also they have dominion over our bodies.' They can force us against our will to be either soldiers or sailors, and can make us fight their battles for them. They have dominion 'over our cattle.' They can seize our cattle at their pleasure, for their own use or the use of their armies. 'And we are in great distress.' Yes, our sin has indeed brought its punishment; and feeling this, realizing this very deeply, we have gathered together to do what we intend to do this day, to make a solemn agreement, a covenant with God. We intend to promise to have done with sin, and for the future to serve and glorify God. Then a long roll of parchment was brought out, on which the covenant was written, and one by one all the leading men in Jerusalem came forward and put their seals to it, as a sign that they intended to keep it. In the East it is always the seal that authenticates a document. In Babylon the documents were often sealed with half-a-dozen seals or more. These were impressed on moist clay, and then the clay was baked, and the seals were each fastened to the parchment by a separate string. In this way any number of seals could be attached. We are given in Neh. x. the names of those who sealed, honoured names, for they made a brave and noble stand. First of all comes the name of Nehemiah, the governor, setting a good example to the rest. He is followed by Zidkijah, or Zadok, the secretary. Then come the names of eighty-two others, heads of families, all well-known men in Jerusalem. Each one fastened his seal to the roll of parchment containing the solemn covenant. No less than eighty-four seals were attached to it. What then were the articles of the covenant? What did those who sealed promise? First of all, they bound themselves (x. 29) to walk in God's law, and to observe and do all the commandments. What need after that to enter a single other article in the covenant? If a man walks in God's law he cannot go wrong; if he keeps all God's commandments, what more can be required? But they were wise men who drew up that solemn covenant. They knew and understood the human heart. Is it not a fact, that whilst we are all ready to own that we are sinners in a general sense, we are slow to own that we are guilty of any particular sin? We do not mind confessing that we are miserable sinners, but we should indignantly deny being selfish or idle, or unforgiving, or proud, or bad-tempered. So those who wrote the parchment felt it best to go more into detail, and to put down certain things in which they felt they had done wrong in the past, but in which they meant to do better in the time to come. (1) They promised that they would not in future marry heathen people, that they would not give their daughters to heathen men, or let their sons choose heathen wives. (2) They engaged to keep the Sabbath, and not to buy and sell on the holy day; and they promised that if the heathen people round came to the city gates with baskets of fruit, or vegetables, or fish on the Sabbath, they would refuse to buy. (3) They stated that for the future they would keep every seventh year as a year of Sabbath. The Sabbath year had in times past been a great blessing to the land. The one work and occupation of the Jews was agriculture, farming of all kinds. Every seventh year God commanded that all work was to stop; there was to be a year's universal holiday, that the nation might have rest and leisure to think of higher things. Yet they did not starve in the Sabbath year, for God gave them double crops in the sixth year, enough to cover all their wants until the crops of the eighth year were ripe. All that grew of itself during the seventh year, all the self-sown grain that sprang up, all the fruit that came on the olives, and the vines, and the fig-trees, was left for the poor people to gather; they went out and helped themselves, and comfort was brought to many a sad home, and cupboards which were often empty during the six ordinary years were kept well filled in the Sabbath year. But this command of God had been neglected by the Jews; it needed more faith and trust than they had possessed, and they had let it slip. Now, however, they promise once more to observe the Sabbath year. The rest of the covenant concerned the amount to be contributed for the service of God. They agreed to pay one-third of a shekel each year towards the temple service, and to bring by turn the wood required for the sacrifices, beside giving God, regularly and conscientiously, the first-fruits of all they had. This was the solemn covenant to which were fastened so many seals, this was the agreement by which they bound themselves to the service of God. As they went home, and shook the dust off their heads, and took off their sacks, they went home pledged to obey and to love their God. Which of us will follow their example? Who will bind himself to God? Who will put his seal to the document, and promise to serve and obey the Master who died for him? Will you? Is it not right, is it not wise to pull up at times and to look at our life, at what it has been, and at what it might have been? What about prayer? Has it been always earnest, heartfelt, true? What about our Bible reading? Has it been as regular, as profitable as it might have been? Do we not feel we have come short in the past, and that we should like to do better in the time to come? What about sin, that besetting sin of ours, so often indulged in, so little fought against? Are we going on like this for ever, beaten by sin, overcome and defeated? Should we not like to leave the old careless days behind, and for the future to fight manfully against the world, the flesh, and the devil? What about work for God? Have we done all that we could for His service? Have we given Him the tenth of our money? Have we consecrated to Him our time and our talents? Do we not feel we should like to do more for the Master in time to come? It is a good plan to get alone and quiet for a time, and taking a piece of paper, to write down all we feel has been wrong in the past, all we mean to do in the future. Then let us sign our name to it, put the date at the bottom, fold it carefully up, put it away, let no one see it but God, it is a covenant between us and Him. He will give us grace to keep it if we only ask Him. Will you try this plan this very night? Then you will open your eyes to-morrow morning with the recollection, 'I am the Lord's; I have given myself to Him; I am His now by my own agreement; I am pledged to His service.' Lord, make me faithful, keep me humble, keep me prayerful, give me grace and courage and strength! For 'better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay.' CHAPTER XI. The Brave Volunteers. 'Jerusalem, my happy home, Name ever dear to me.' So we sing, and it is the echo of the song that went up from the heart of many a Jew in olden time. We all love our native land, our dear old England, yet none of us love it as the Jews loved Jerusalem. We have only to open the Book of Psalms to see how dear the city of their fathers was to the heart of the Jews. 'Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised in the city of our God, in the mountain of His holiness. Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is Mount Zion, on the sides of the north, the city of the great King,' Psalm xlviii. 1, 2. 'Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem. Jerusalem is builded as a city that is compact together. Whither the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord. Pray for the peace of Jerusalem; they shall prosper that love thee. Peace be within thy walls, and prosperity within thy palaces,' Psalm cxxii. 2-4, 6, 7. These are just samples of countless expressions of love and devotion for Jerusalem, their happy home. And all the time of the captivity in Babylon the Jews were longing to be once more in Jerusalem! Oh, to see the city of cities again; oh, to tread once more the streets of the holy Jerusalem! They could not even think of their far-off home without tears. 'By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy,' Psalm cxxxvii. 1, 5, 6. Yet, strange to say, although the Jews were longing for the Holy City all the time they were in captivity, when they did return to their native land, and it was possible once more to live in Jerusalem, they seem to have preferred any other place before it. It was the most difficult thing to get any of them to consent to take up their abode in the capital. Nehemiah found himself face to face with this difficulty when he had finished the repairs of the city. The rubbish was cleared away, the walls were built, the gates were set up, the fortresses were strengthened, but the city itself was nowhere. Here and there houses were scattered about, here and there was a group of buildings, but inside the walls were many great empty spaces, large pieces of unoccupied ground. The walls had been set up on the old sites, and were about four miles in circumference. It was a large space to fill, and, as Nehemiah looked round, he saw that whilst the city was imposing from without, it was a bare, miserable place inside. 'The city was large and great; but the people were few therein, and the houses were not builded.' Not only so, not only was the city unsightly, but there were not enough inhabitants to protect the walls. In case of an attack, what would be done? Four miles of wall was a long space to guard and defend, how could more hands be secured? It was absolutely necessary that Jerusalem should have a larger population. Yet Nehemiah found that no one wished to move from the country places round, and to come into Jerusalem. Every town, every village in Judea was more popular than the capital. They had rather live in sultry Jericho than on the mountain heights of Jerusalem; they preferred stony Bethel to the vine-clad hills of the City of God; they had rather live in the tiny insignificant village of Anathoth than in the capital itself. Why was this? Why had the Jews of Nehemiah's day such an objection to living in Jerusalem? Why, after longing for Jerusalem all the time of the captivity, did they shrink from it on their return? The reason was this. Jerusalem had become the point of danger. All round the returned captives were enemies. The Samaritans, the Moabites, the Ammonites, the Edomites, and a host of others were ready at any moment to pounce down upon the Jews. In case of an attack from their united forces, what would be the mark at which all these enemies would aim? What place would have to bear the whole force of the attack? Jerusalem itself. They would pass by Jericho, Bethel, and Anathoth, as places beneath their notice, but they would all make for Jerusalem. To live in the capital was consequently to live in constant danger and in constant fear. So it is not to be wondered at that they avoided it, and that they settled down in the villages and left the capital to take care of itself. Nehemiah sees that steps must be taken to put a stop to this state of things. In order to bring about the end he had in view, he first took a census of the whole nation, and then he required each town and district to send a tenth of its people to live in Jerusalem. But of whom was the tenth to consist? How should the number of those who were to migrate to the capital be chosen? It was done by lot; they drew lots who were to go and who were to stay. This was probably done in the usual Jewish way, by means of pebbles. The people of a village would be divided into tens, then a bag would be brought out containing nine dark-coloured pebbles and one white one. The ten men would all draw from the bag, and the man who drew the white pebble would be the one who was to remove to Jerusalem. By this means the capital would be provided with about 20,000 inhabitants, and would be in a condition to defend itself from attack. No doubt there was much grumbling, and there were many groans and complaints when the lots were drawn, and those who drew the white stone found they must give up their little farms, their pretty country houses, the homes they had learnt to love so well and which they had built for themselves and their children, the vineyards which their own hands had planted, the olive yards and fig groves of which they had been so proud, and which had been so profitable to them, that they must give up all these which had been so dear to them and move at once into the city in which they would be in constant danger. But there were certain brave volunteers. Besides those on whom the lot fell, a certain number came forward and offered to go of their own free will and choice to live in the capital. They would break up their country homes, and for love of their country and love of Jerusalem would move into the Holy City. The post of danger was the post which most needed them, and they were not afraid to go to it. Brave, noble men and women, no wonder that we read that blessings were called down upon them by the rest of their countrymen. 'And the people blessed all the men that willingly offered themselves to dwell at Jerusalem,' Neh. xi. 2. But those brave Jews, who are mentioned here with so much honour, are not the only ones who of their own free will and choice have gone with open eyes to the point of danger. Fourteen thousand pounds arrived in the course of a few days at a certain house in London, the office of the Church Missionary Society. One person sent £5,000 with no name, only a day or two afterwards another sent a second £5,000, whilst £4,000 was contributed in smaller sums. For what purpose was this immense sum of money sent? It was forwarded to the Society in consequence of a very famous letter which appeared in the _Daily Telegraph_ of November 15, 1876. This letter was written by Dr. Stanley, the great African traveller. It told of a new country he had discovered in the heart of Africa, a country inhabited by a nation clothed and living in houses, and reigned over by a king of some intelligence named Mtesa. Dr. Stanley had talked to this man, he had shown him his Bible, and told him something of Christianity, and in this letter in the _Daily Telegraph_ Dr. Stanley stated that King Mtesa was ready and willing to receive Christian teachers, if any were prepared to go out to his kingdom of Uganda. The result of that letter was, that in a few days no less than £14,000 was sent to the Church Missionary Society, in order that they might have the means to establish a mission by the shores of the Victoria Nyanza. A committee meeting was accordingly held, and the Society declared themselves ready to take up the work. The money was forthcoming, but a great difficulty stared them in the face. Where were the men? Who would be found willing to go to such a place as the heart of Africa? The climate was most trying and dangerous for Europeans, the food was bad and scanty, and, worst of all, the country was so unsafe that all who went must go with their life in their hands, feeling that at any moment they might be attacked and murdered by the natives. Would any offer for such a post of danger? Would any be found willing to volunteer for the work, would any be ready to leave their safe, comfortable homes in England to take up their abode in Uganda? Yes, men were found who willingly offered themselves for the work. Eight noble men at once came forward. A young naval officer, Lieutenant Smith; a clergyman from Manchester, Mr. Wilson; an Irish architect, Mr. O'Neill; a Scotch engineer, Mr. Mackay; a doctor from Edinburgh, Dr. Smith; a railway contractor's engineer, Mr. Clark, and two working men, a blacksmith and a builder. 'And the people blessed all the men that willingly offered themselves to dwell' in Uganda. A meeting was held in the Church Missionary Society's house, to bid them farewell and to pray for a blessing on their work. Then each of the eight volunteers was asked to say a few words to the friends who were taking leave of them. Mr. Mackay, the young engineer, was the last to speak. Looking round on those who were sending him out, he said: 'There is one thing which my brethren have not said, and which I want to say. I want to remind the Committee that within six months they will probably hear that one of us is dead.' There was a great silence in the room as he spoke these startling words. 'Yes,' he went on, 'is it at all likely that eight Englishmen should start for Central Africa and all be alive six months after? One of us at least--it may be I--will surely fall before that. But what I want to say is this, when the news comes do not be cast down, but send some one else immediately to take the vacant place.' Mr. Mackay was not wrong. One of the eight, the builder, died as soon as he landed in Africa. The seven others set off for the interior to find the country of King Mtesa. Two of these, Mackay the engineer, and Robertson the blacksmith, were taken so ill with fever that they were compelled to go back to the coast. It was a long wearisome journey, of from four to five months, from the coast to Victoria Nyanza; for a little way they were able to go in a boat which they had brought with them from England, but after a short distance they were obliged to leave the river, and, taking their boat to pieces, to carry it with them through the tangled forest. When they arrived at a place named Mpwapwa, it seemed such a good field for missionary labour that one of their number, Mr. Clark, was left to begin missionary work there, whilst the rest pressed forward to Uganda. The great lake at last came in sight, and they were cheered by the sight of its blue waters. But, when they arrived on its shores, the naval officer and the doctor were both very ill; for thirty-one days they had been carried by the porters, being quite unable to walk, and only a few months after their arrival at the south end of the lake the young doctor died. He was worn to a skeleton, and suffered terribly. The three who remained buried him by the side of the lake, and put a heap of stones over his grave. On a slab of limestone they carved-- 'JOHN SMITH, M.B. EDN., C.M.S. DIED MAY 11, 1877, AGED 25 YEARS.' Now, only the clergyman, the architect, and the naval officer were left to carry on the work. But that very same year, in December, a quarrel broke out between two tribes living at the south of the lake. A man named Songoro, who had been friendly to the missionaries, fled to them for protection. They were at once surrounded by a party of the natives, and, on refusing to give up Songoro to his enemies, Lieutenant Smith and Mr. O'Neill, together with all the men who were with them, were murdered on December 7. Only two days before, Lieutenant Smith had written a letter to a friend in England, in which were these words: 'One feels very near to heaven here, for who knows what a day may bring forth?' Only one of the five who had arrived at the lake was now left, Mr. Wilson, the clergyman. But, thank God, man after man has offered himself to fill up the vacant places. Some have fallen, some still remain, labouring on. The people blessed the men who willingly offered themselves for the post of danger. Should we not bless them too? Should we not day by day call down blessings on the brave noble missionaries? Should we not pray for them, that strength and courage may be given them? Should we not help them all we can? Let our daily prayer be: 'Lord, bless them all! Thy workers in the field, Where'er they be; Prosper them, Lord, and bless Their work for Thee-- Lord, bless them all. Lord, bless them all! Give them Thy smile to-day, Cheer each faint heart, More of Thy grace, more strength, Saviour, impart; Lord, bless them all!' The post of danger is the post of honour, and at that post of honour Mr. Mackay, the engineer, died, February 8, 1890. For thirteen years he had bravely held on to his work. He had never had a holiday, he had never come home to see his friends. The Secretary of the Church Missionary Society wrote at last, urging him to come to England for rest and change. His answer to this letter arrived ten days after the sorrowful telegram which told of his death. He said, 'But what is this you write; come home? Surely now, in our terrible dearth of workers, it is not the time for any one to desert his post. Send us only our first twenty men, and I may be tempted to come to help you to find the second twenty.' So he was faithful unto death. The _people_ blessed the men who willingly offered themselves, and surely _God_ blessed them too, for 'God loveth a cheerful giver.' He who gives to God grudgingly, or because he feels obliged to do so, had better never give at all, for God will not receive the offering. The money must be willingly given, the service must be cheerfully rendered, the post of danger must be readily occupied, or God will have nothing to do with it. The only giver whose gifts He can receive is the cheerful giver, the one who willingly offers himself. To be comfortable is the great aim of our lives and our hearts by nature. But sometimes God calls us to be uncomfortable, to leave the cosy home, the bright fireside, the comparative luxury, and to go forth to the post of danger, or difficulty, or trial. God grant that we may be amongst the number of those who go forth with a smiling face amongst the people who willingly offer themselves! CHAPTER XII. The Holy City. In the time of the terrible siege of Jerusalem, when the Roman armies surrounded the city, when famine was killing the Jews by hundreds, and when every day the enemy seemed more likely to take the city, a strange thing happened. Some priests were watching, as was their custom, in the temple courts at dead of night. They had passed through the Beautiful Gate, crossed the Court of the Women, and had ascended the steps leading into the inner court, which was close to the Temple itself. Suddenly they stopped, for the earth shook beneath them, whilst overhead came a noise as of the rushing of many wings, and a multitude of voices was heard saying, again and again, the solemn words, 'Let us depart, let us depart.' The angels of God were leaving the doomed city to its fate. For centuries Jerusalem had been known as the Holy City. Why was it so called? Not because of its inhabitants, for, instead of being holy, many of them were sunk in wickedness and impurity. Jerusalem was called the Holy City simply because of one inhabitant; it was the dwelling-place of God, and His presence there made it what no other city of the earth was, the Holy City. 'In Salem also is His tabernacle, and His dwelling, place in Zion,' Psalm lxxvi. 2. 'Blessed be the Lord out of Zion, which dwelleth at Jerusalem,' Psalm cxxxv. 21. So wrote the Psalmist, and he was right. God had chosen Jerusalem as His home on earth, His abiding-place, His dwelling; and so long as _He_ remained there, Jerusalem and all its surroundings was holy. The mountain on which it stood was the Holy Mountain; the city itself was the Holy City; the courts of the temple were the Holy Place, the temple itself was the Most Holy Place, whilst the inner sanctuary, in which God's glory appeared, was the Holy of Holies. But at the time of the siege of Jerusalem, God was leaving the city, it was no longer to be His dwelling-place, and consequently it was no longer to be called the Holy City. And therefore it was that the holy angels cried aloud to one another, Let us depart, for it is a holy city no longer, God has deserted it; it is His no more. But in Nehemiah's day, Jerusalem, in spite of her sins, was still the Holy City. We find her twice called so in his book, Neh. xi. 1, 18, and inasmuch as it was the Holy City, God's home on earth, His special property, His constant dwelling-place, Nehemiah felt it was only right that, as soon as the city was finished, as soon as all within its walls was set in order, the city and all it contained should be dedicated to the service of that God to whom it belonged. Accordingly, as we visit Jerusalem in thought, we find the people busily preparing for a great and glorious day; they are going, by means of a grand and imposing ceremonial, to dedicate the city to God. It is nearly thirteen years since the walls were finished and the gates set up. Why then did not Nehemiah hold the service of dedication before? Why did he allow so long a time to elapse before he summoned the people to put the finishing touch to their work by laying it at the feet of their King? The Tirshatha had probably two good reasons for the delay. In the first place, there was much to do inside the city after the walls and gates were finished; the city itself had to be rebuilt, strengthened, and put into order. Then he probably dare not attempt such a grand celebration without special leave from Persia. If he made a great demonstration of any kind, it would be easy for the Samaritans to put their own construction upon it, and to write off at once to Persia to accuse him of setting up the standard of rebellion. It was, therefore, advisable to obtain direct permission for such a step from Artaxerxes himself. Now the city is in order, the necessary precautions have been taken, and Nehemiah feels that there is nothing to hinder the holding of the solemn ceremonial of the dedication of the Holy City to God. Who are these men who are arriving by companies at all the different gates of Jerusalem? They are the Levites, coming up from all parts of the country to the service of dedication. They are carrying with them various musical instruments--cymbals, trumpets, psalteries and harps--old instruments used by King David, and some of them evidently invented by him and bearing his name, for we find them called, in xii. 36: 'The musical instruments of David, the man of God.' These are to be used in the grand service which is about to take place. Many new musical instruments had been invented since the time of David, and the Jews of the captivity had seen and used these in Babylon and Shushan. We read, in the Book of Daniel, of the cornet, the flute, the sackbut, the dulcimer; all these instruments were familiar to the Jews of Nehemiah's day. But we do not find one of these newly invented instruments in use at this grand service. They cling to the old instruments, used in the first temple, dear to their hearts as being connected with King David, and as having been used by their fathers before them, ver. 27. Not only the musicians, but the singers are called together from the valleys round Jerusalem, in which the temple choir had chosen to live, in order that they might go up by turn to lead the temple singing, xii. 29. When all who were to take part in the service had assembled, there was a great sprinkling. The priests and the Levites purified themselves, and purified the people, and the gates, and the wall. A red heifer (see Num. xix.) was led by one of the priests outside the city. There she was killed, her blood was caught in a basin, and was sprinkled seven times before the temple. Then her flesh was burnt outside the city, and the ashes were carefully collected and mixed with water. This water was put into a number of basins, and the priests and Levites went with it up and down the city, sprinkling it first on themselves, then on the men, women and children in the city, and afterwards on the wall, and the gates, and all that was to be dedicated to God. All were to be made pure before they could be used in God's service. The Great Master cannot use dirty vessels; they are not fit for His use, they cannot do His work. If you want God to use you in His service, you must first be sprinkled, made pure from all defilement of sin. Until this has been done you cannot do one single thing to please God; until you have been cleansed, it is impossible for you to work for God. How, then, can we be cleansed? How can we be made vessels meet for the Master's use, fit for the service of God? Thank God, we have a better way of cleansing than by washing in the ashes of a heifer. 'For if the ashes of an heifer, sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth to the purifying of the flesh: how much more shall the blood of Christ, who, through the Eternal Spirit offered Himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead works _to serve the living God?_' Heb. ix. 13, 14. The blood must be sprinkled, the conscience must be purged, then begins the service of the living God; all works before that are dead, works of no avail, utterly worthless and good for nothing, in the Master's estimation. When all was ready and the purification was complete, the great company of the musicians met in the temple courts. The blast of the priests' trumpets was heard on one side, and on the other the sweet melodious songs of the white-robed minstrels. When all were in order they marched to the Valley Gate, on the western side of the city. Here Nehemiah divided them into two companies, in order that they might make the circuit of the city, walking in gay procession on the top of the new walls. One company was to go north and the other south, walking round the city until they met on the other side; whilst all the people stood below, watching the progress of the two processions, each of which was formed of singers, nobles and priests, who were dressed in white and flowing robes. It must have been a grand and imposing sight, as the bright Eastern sun streamed on the dazzling white of their fine linen, and made their instruments glitter and shine. Then there was the sound of glorious music, which seemed to encircle the city in a wave of rejoicing and song. Everyone made merry that day, and no wonder; it was a day to be remembered. The order of each procession was as follows. First and foremost went a band of musicians with their various instruments. Then followed a small company of princes, the finest men in the nation, arrayed in all the brilliance of Eastern costume, and bringing up the rear were seven priests, bearing trumpets. Each procession had a leader, Nehemiah conducted one, and Ezra the scribe the other. Ezra's procession proceeded southward, and then eastward. They passed the Dung Gate, whence was swept out the refuse of the city. Then they came to the Fountain Gate, opposite to the Pool of Siloam, and here they descended by steps in the Tower of Siloam. They probably came down in order that they might dedicate the buildings over the Pool of Siloam and the Dragon Well, and then they climbed to the top of the wall again, by the steps that went up to that part of Jerusalem called the City of David. From thence Ezra's procession moved on to the eastern wall, where they were to meet the other party. Nehemiah's company, on leaving the Valley Gate, turned northward, passed the Tower of the Furnaces, went across the Broad Wall, which was almost the only piece of the old wall still standing, passed the Gate of Ephraim, the Old Gate, the Tower of Hananeel, the Tower of Meah, the Sheep Gate, and so down to the temple, and the gate named the Prison Gate, because it opened upon a street leading to the court of the prison. Then, somewhere near the Water Gate, the two processions met, and marched together into the court of the temple, the two bands now joining together in a united glorious strain, whilst the two companies of singers formed again one enormous united choir, and filled the temple courts with their harmonious song. 'So stood the two companies of them that gave thanks in the house of God,' xii. 40. Not a voice was silent, there was no idle person in the choir. Headed by their choir-master they did their utmost to praise the Lord. 'The singers sang loud, with Jezrahiah their overseer.' Nor were the musical people the only ones who showed their joy that happy day. For, as the priests offered great sacrifices, the rejoicing was both universal and tremendous. 'For God had made them rejoice with great joy.' Not the men alone, but the wives and the children, so that 'The joy of Jerusalem was heard even afar off.' Women's tears, how often we read of them in the Bible! Rachel weeps over her children and will not be comforted, Hagar lifts up her voice and weeps over her son, Naomi weeps as she comes back to her desolate home, Hannah weeps as she kneels in the tabernacle court, the widow weeps as she follows her only son to the grave, and the company of women weep as Jesus of Nazareth is led out to the cross. So many women's tears, so very few women's smiles; so much mourning and lamentation, so very little happiness and rejoicing. But, on this day of dedication, the wives were as merry and glad as the husbands, and even the children took part in the general joy. It is interesting to notice that the Book of Psalms was the national song-book of the Jewish nation, a large number of the Psalms having been composed for special occasions, in order to commemorate certain memorable days in the history of the nation. One Psalm, namely Psalm cxlvii., was probably composed in the time of Nehemiah, in order that it might be sung at the dedication of the walls. Ver. 1: 'Praise ye the Lord: for it is good to sing praises unto our God; for it is pleasant; and praise is comely. Ver. 2: 'The Lord doth build up Jerusalem: He gathereth together the outcasts of Israel.' Ver. 12: 'Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem; praise thy God, O Zion. Ver. 13: 'For He hath strengthened the bars of thy gates; He hath blessed thy children within thee.' There follows in the Psalm a curious mention of snow and ice. The dedication of the city took place late in the year, and probably Jerusalem was white with snow as the singers in their white robes went round the walls, the snow being a glorious emblem of the purification which had just taken place. White as snow,--white in the blood. Vers. 16-18: 'He giveth snow like wool: He scattereth the hoar frost like ashes. He casteth forth His ice like morsels: who can stand before His cold? He sendeth out His word, and melteth them. He causeth His wind to blow, and the waters flow.' Surely as the people rejoiced on the day that the city was finished, they must have remembered the words of old Daniel the prophet, written whilst they were in captivity, a hundred years before this time. For what had Daniel declared? He had foretold that his nation should return from captivity, and that Jerusalem should be restored. 'The street shalt be built again, and the wall, even in troublous times.' Nehemiah's work was evidently revealed to Daniel, and he was also told something about Sanballat, and Tobiah, and the other troublers of the Jews. Then, says Daniel, as soon as the command goes forth to build Jerusalem, then can you begin to reckon the time to the coming of the Messiah, only a limited and stated time must then elapse before the Christ, the Saviour of Israel, shall appear (Dan. ix. 25). No wonder then that the joy of Jerusalem was heard afar off that day, as they thought of the good days that were coming. The word of the living God had come true, the street was built, the wall was built, now they had only to wait for the fulfilment of the rest of the prophecy, for the coming of their own Messiah and King. We should all like to have stood in Jerusalem on that joyous dedication day, and watched the glorious procession entering the temple on Mount Zion. But we shall see one day a far grander procession than that. The leader of that procession will ride on a white horse. His eyes will be as a flame of fire, on His head will be many crowns, His name will be King of kings and Lord of lords. He will be followed in the procession by the armies of heaven, on white horses, clothed in fine linen, clean and white (Rev. xix.) Coming down to earth, His feet shall stand in that day on the Mount of Olives, which is before Jerusalem on the east, and then passing through the Golden Gate, the King and His followers will enter Jerusalem. Then again Jerusalem will become the Holy City, for from that day the name of the city shall be 'The Lord is there,' Ezek. xlviii. 35. So soon as the Lord, who deserted Jerusalem, returns to her, she must become once more the Holy City. Even upon the bells of the horses and the vessels of the temple shall then be inscribed, Holiness to the Lord; all dedicated to Him and to His service. Then indeed shall the glad cry go up: 'Awake, awake; put on thy strength, O Zion, put on thy beautiful garments, O Jerusalem, the holy city: for henceforth there shall no more come into thee the uncircumcised and the unclean.' Then again, in that glad day, the joy of Jerusalem shall be heard afar off, for God Himself will call upon all to rejoice with her. 'Rejoice ye with Jerusalem, and be glad with her, all ye that love her: rejoice for joy with her, all ye that mourn for her,' Isa. lxvi. 10. And the King Himself will lead the rejoicing: 'And I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and joy in My people: and the voice of weeping shall no more be heard in her, nor the voice of crying,' Isa. lxv. 19. Shall we indeed take part in that grand procession? Shall we stand with the King of Glory on Olivet? Shall we pass within the gate into the city? It all depends upon whether we are sprinkled, made pure, washed white in the blood of the Lamb. Only those who were purified could take part in Nehemiah's procession; only sprinkled ones, cleansed by Christ, will be allowed to join in the song of rejoicing, when the Lord comes to reign in Jerusalem gloriously. If we are indeed His redeemed ones, let us keep the blessed hope of that day ever before us. Let it cheer us as we are tossed to and fro on the waves of this troublesome world. 'Courage! oh, have courage, For soon His feet shall stand Upon the Mount of Olives, In the glorious Promised Land; For the Prince of Peace is coming, With pomp and royal state, To pass, with all His followers, Within the Golden Gate. Courage! oh, have courage! For the time it is not long, E'en now across the mountains Comes a distant sound of song; The dreary night is closing, 'Tis near the break of day, And thy King, the King of Glory, Will soon be on His way.' CHAPTER XIII. Having no Root. The sky is brilliant and cloudless, the snow-clad mountains stand out clear in the distance, the air is laden with the scent of orange and lemon groves, and the sweet fragrance of thousands of lilies. Nehemiah the Tirshatha is once more in Shushan; his feet are treading again, as in days gone by, the streets of the capital of Persia. It is thirteen years since he left the City of Lilies with his brother Hanani, in order that he might go to Jerusalem, and do his utmost to improve the ruined and desolate city. He has returned with his work accomplished. The walls are built, the gates are set up, the bare spaces in the city have been built over, the whole place has been strongly fortified, the people have been brought back to their allegiance to God, and, as the topstone of his work, he has seen, just before his departure for Persia, the city and all it contained dedicated to the service of the Great King. Very glad, very thankful is Nehemiah, as he enters once more the glorious palace on the top of the hill, and stands before his master Artaxerxes, the long-handed, to give in his report of all he has done since the king gave him leave to return to his native land. Nehemiah finds himself once more surrounded by luxury and refinement and beauty. What is Jerusalem compared with Shushan? Surely, now his work is accomplished, he will settle down to a life of ease in Persia, where he may dwell free from fear or anxiety or care, eating the dainties from the king's table, and partaking of all the pleasures of an Eastern court. After the rough life he has led during the last thirteen years, after the perils he has undergone, and the difficulties he has surmounted, he may surely retire, now that his work has been so happily accomplished, and spend the remainder of his life in peace and comfort. But no; Nehemiah's heart was in Jerusalem, he preferred Jerusalem above his chief joy. All the time he had been absent he had been hungering for news, and receiving none; there were no posts across the vast deserts, nor did he live in these luxurious days when the heartache of anxiety may be relieved and set at rest by a telegram. What had been going on in his absence? Were the Samaritans quiet, or had Sanballat and Tobiah taken the opportunity afforded by his absence, and invaded Jerusalem? And the people; how were they? Were they keeping the solemn covenant which had been sealed in his presence? Were they continuing to serve and obey the Heavenly King? All this, and much more, Nehemiah longed to hear. He is therefore only too thankful when, after spending a year in Persia, Artaxerxes gives him leave to return as governor of Jerusalem. 'In the two and thirtieth year of Artaxerxes, King of Babylon, came I unto the king, and after certain days obtained I leave of the king. 'After certain days.' This is a common expression in the Bible for a year. The same Hebrew word is translated a whole year in many other passages, _e.g._ Lev. xxv. 29, Num. ix. 22. Thus we may safely conclude that a year was the length of time that Nehemiah was absent from Jerusalem. As soon as he had received the king's permission, Nehemiah left the lovely City of Lilies behind, and set out once more across the desert for Jerusalem. Probably no one there knew when he was coming, or whether he was coming at all. When Nehemiah left the city he possibly had no idea that he would be allowed to return, but expected that his royal master would again require his services as Rab-shakeh in the palace of Shushan; nor was it likely that any news had reached the city of the permission given him to return. Suddenly, one day, a small cavalcade of camels, mules, and donkeys arrived at the northern gate, and the news spread through the city that Nehemiah the governor had returned. Was this intelligence received with unmixed joy and thankfulness, or were there some in the city to whom it came as anything but pleasant tidings? No sooner has the governor arrived than he begins to look round the city, to see and to inquire how all has been going on in his absence. He goes up to the temple, and no sooner has he entered the gate leading into the outer court, than he notices that the whole appearance of the place is changed. The temple enclosure looks empty and deserted; a few priests in their white robes are moving about, but where is the company of Levites who used to wait upon them, and help them in their work? Nehemiah had left no less than 284 Levites in the temple, now he cannot see one of them. And, not only does he miss those Levites, whose duty it was to attend upon the priests, but he misses also the temple singers; the sons of Asaph and their companions are nowhere to be seen. The temple choir has entirely disappeared, and the services have accordingly languished. As Nehemiah looks round the whole place appears to him quiet, empty, and dismal. Nothing seems to be going on, all is apparently at a standstill. Nehemiah feels sure that something is wrong, and the further he goes into the temple area the more convinced he is that he is not mistaken. Passing through the Beautiful Gate, he crosses the Court of the Women, and ascends the steps into the Court of Israel, where stands the temple itself. Into the temple Nehemiah cannot pass, for none but the priests may enter the Holy Place and Holy of Holies. But round the temple building there had been erected an out-building or lean-to which surrounded the temple on three sides, and which was made up of three stories, each containing a number of rooms, some smaller, some larger. Just such an out-building as this had been made by Solomon in the first temple (1 Kings vi. 5-10), and the builders of the new temple had copied the idea, and had put up a similar lean-to against the outer walls. In these rooms or chambers were kept all the stores belonging to the temple. The corn, and wine, and oil belonging to the priests and Levites; the first-fruits and free-will offerings brought by the people for the temple service; and the meat-offerings, which were cakes made of fine flour, salt, and oil. One of these cakes was offered twice a day, at the morning and evening sacrifice, besides on many other occasions, and with several other sacrifices; so that it was necessary to have a number of them always ready for use. In these chambers was also stored the frankincense, of which a large quantity was used every day, for a handful of it was burnt on the altar of incense both morning and night. This frankincense was very costly; it was brought on camels' backs from Arabia, where it was obtained by making incisions in the bark of a tree which grew in no other country. Out of these incisions oozed the gummy juice of the tree, and from this was made the frankincense. It was very rare, and could only be obtained occasionally, and therefore it was important to store it carefully in the temple. Nehemiah wonders if the stores of the temple are in good condition, and he throws open the door of one of the chambers, to see if its contents are plentiful and well-stored. As he does so, he starts back in dismay. The whole place is altered, utterly and completely transformed. The small rooms have all been thrown into one vast chamber, the partition walls have been removed, the corn, the wine, the oil, the frankincense, and all the other stores are nowhere to be seen, they have all been cleared away; the vessels in use in the temple, the knives for cutting up the sacrifices, the censers for incense, the priests' robes and other garments have all disappeared. There is not one single thing to be found which ought to have been found there, and this chamber of the temple, instead of being a useful and necessary store-house, has become more like one of the grand reception rooms of the King of Persia, a luxurious drawing-room, fit for the palace of a king. Gay curtains cover the walls, costly furniture is set in order round the large room, the softest of divans, the most comfortable of cushions, the most elaborate ornaments and decorations surround Nehemiah on all sides, as he stands amazed and disconsolate in their midst. Nehemiah calls one of the priests, and inquires the meaning of this extraordinary change in the building. He is told, to his horror, that this grand reception room has actually been made for the use and convenience of Tobiah the secretary. Tobiah the heathen, Tobiah, who had mocked them as they built the walls, and who had done all that was in his power ever since to annoy and to hinder Nehemiah and his helpers. This splendid apartment has actually been made and fitted up, in order that Tobiah may have a grand place in which to dwell, and in which to entertain his friends whenever he chooses to pay a visit to Jerusalem. What an abominable thing is this, which the poor governor has discovered! For was not this Tobiah an Ammonite, a Gentile? and as such Nehemiah knew perfectly well he had no right to set his foot in the Court of the Women, or the Court of Israel; much less then had he the right to enter the temple building. Where is Eliashib the high priest? How is it that he has not put a stop to this proceeding? Nehemiah finds, to his dismay, that Eliashib has actually been the very one who has had this chamber prepared. The very man who was responsible for the temple, and who had, by his office, the right and the power to shut out from the holy building all that was evil, had been the man to introduce Tobiah the heathen, with marked honour, into the temple itself. Eliashib had begun well. Earnestly and heartily he had helped in building the walls; he had actually led the band of workers, and had been the very first to begin to build, chap. iii. 1. But Eliashib had a grandson named Manasseh, and this young man had made what he thought a very good match. Priest though he was, he had married the daughter of Sanballat, the governor of Samaria, a heathen girl, who was rich and possibly good-looking, and whose father was the most powerful man in the country, but who did not fear or own the God of Israel. And the grandfather, so far from forbidding the marriage, seems to have connived at it and sanctioned it. Nay, he seems not only to have allowed himself to be allied with Sanballat the governor, but also with Tobiah the secretary, chap. xiii. 4. In what way he was connected by marriage we are not told, but inasmuch as both Tobiah and his son had married Jewish wives, one or both of these may have been closely related to the high priest, chap. vi. 17, 18. So the friendship with the Samaritans had grown; Eliashib had probably visited Samaria, and had been made much of and royally entertained by Sanballat and his secretary; and in proportion as his friendship with the heathen had grown warm, his love and earnestness in the Lord's service had grown cold. In the latter part of the Book of Nehemiah we never find Eliashib coming forward as a helper in any good work. Ezra stands in the huge pulpit to read the law of God, thirteen of the chief men in Jerusalem stand by him to help him, but Eliashib the high priest, who surely should have been well to the front in that pulpit, is conspicuous by his absence. How could he stand up and read the law to the people, when he knew, and they knew, that he was not keeping it himself? Nehemiah draws up a covenant between the people and their God, in which they promise to obey God and keep His commandments. No less than eighty-four seals are fastened to that document, but not one of those seals bears the name of Eliashib. How could he engage to keep that covenant, one article of which was a promise to have nothing to do with the heathen, when at the very time he was living on the most friendly terms with both Sanballat and Tobiah? Then comes the grand service of dedication, when the city and all it contained was devoted to God. Not a single mention is made of Eliashib in the account of the services of the day. Many priests are mentioned by name, but the high priest, who, we should have expected, would have taken a prominent part in the proceedings, is never heard of throughout. Eliashib's connection with the heathen had made him cold and remiss in the service of God. It is no wonder then that so soon as Nehemiah went away, and the restraint of his presence was removed, Eliashib did worse than ever, and at length actually entertained Tobiah in the temple itself. But poor Nehemiah had not come to the end of his painful discoveries. He inquired next what had become of all the stores of corn and wine belonging to the Levites, all the tithes which the people were accustomed to bring to the temple for their support, and which, in that solemn covenant, they had so faithfully promised to supply. Since these stores have been removed from the place which was built on purpose to receive them, Nehemiah wishes to know what new store-house has been prepared for them. But the governor finds, to his sorrow and dismay, that no sooner was his back turned upon Jerusalem, than the people had ceased to bring their tithes and their contributions for the house of God. It was not surprising then that Nehemiah found the temple so deserted. How could the Levites serve, how could the choir sing unless they were fed? They could not live on air, no food was provided for them; what could they do but take care of themselves? In order to save themselves from utter starvation, they had been driven to leave the temple, and to go to their fields and small farms in the country, which they had been accustomed to cultivate only at such times as they were not engaged in the work of the temple (Num. xxxv. 2). Now they were compelled to resort to these fields, as a means of keeping themselves and their families from beggary. No wonder then that few were found ready to help in the temple services. The first Sabbath after Nehemiah's arrival, he sets out, with an anxious heart, to see how it is kept by his fellow-countrymen. In the solemn covenant the people had promised carefully to observe the day of rest. They have broken their word in the matter of the tithes; have they kept their promise with regard to the Sabbath? Nehemiah, as he walks through the city on the Sabbath day, finds a regular market going on in the streets. He is horrified to find that all manner of fruit and all kinds of food are being bought and sold, as on any other day of the week. Wine, and oil, and merchandise of all kinds is being bargained for, and the streets are filled with the noisy cries and shouts of the sellers and purchasers. Going on to the Fish Gate, Nehemiah finds that a colony of heathen Tyrians have come to live there, in order that they may hold a fish-market close to the gate. The fish was caught by their fellow-countrymen in Tyre and Sidon, and was sent down to Jerusalem slightly salted, in order to preserve it from corruption. Nehemiah finds that these Tyrians are doing a grand traffic in salted fish, especially on the Sabbath day. The Jews loved fish, and always have loved it. How they enjoyed it in Egypt, how they longed for it in the wilderness! 'We remember the fish which we did eat in Egypt freely.' So they sighed, and murmured, as they thought of their lost luxuries. There was nothing a Jew liked so well for his Sabbath dinner as a piece of fish; and, therefore, on the Sabbath, the Tyrians found they did more business than on any other day. As Nehemiah leaves the city by the Fish Gate, he meets donkeys and mules bringing in sheaves of corn, or laden with paniers containing figs, and grapes, and melons; he meets men laden with all kinds of burdens, and women bringing in the country produce that they may sell it in the streets of Jerusalem. Then, passing on into the fields, he notices that work is going on as usual. They are tilling the ground, gathering in the corn, pruning the vines, and standing bare-footed in the winepresses to tread out the juice of the grapes. So the promise about the Sabbath has been kept no better than the other promise; the covenant has been totally disregarded. Turning homewards, Nehemiah discovers that the remaining article of the agreement has also been broken. For, as he passes through the streets, and listens to the children at play, he finds that some of the little ones are talking a language he cannot understand. Here and there he catches a Jewish word, but most of their talk is entirely unintelligible to him. On inquiring into the reason of this, he is told that these children have Jewish fathers but Philistine mothers, and that they are being brought up to talk the language and learn the religion of their heathen parent. They are making for themselves a strange dialect, a mixture of the two languages they have spoken; it is half Jewish, half Philistine. 'Their children spake half in the speech of Ashdod, and could not speak in the Jews' language, but according to the language of each people,' xiii. 24. Poor Nehemiah must have been filled with sorrow and bitter disappointment, as he found Jerusalem and its people in such a disgraceful condition. He had left the holy city like the garden of the Lord, he comes back to find the trail of the serpent all over his paradise. They did so well whilst he was there, they wandered to the right hand and the left so soon as he was parted from them. Nor is Nehemiah the only one who has had this bitter disappointment; many a parent, many a teacher, many a friend can enter into his feelings, for they have gone through the same. The young King Joash 'did that which was right in the sight of the Lord all the days of Jehoiada the priest.' But as soon as the old man was in his grave all was changed, and he did instead that which was evil. And Joash has many followers, those who do well so long as they are under good and holy influence, and who do so badly when that influence is removed. The young man, with the anxious, careful mother, who does so well as long as she lives, and who wanders from the right path as soon as she is taken from him; the young woman, who, whilst living under her parents' roof, sheltered and guarded by wise restrictions from all that would harm her, seems not far from the Kingdom of God, but, who, leaving home and becoming her own mistress, drifts into frivolity and carelessness; the man or woman who, when removed from good and holy influence, falls away from God and goes backwards; all these are followers of Joash, all these cause pain and distress to those who watch over their souls. What is the reason of this sad change? Why is it that some only stand firm so long as they are under the care and influence of others? The Master has answered the question. He tells us the reason. 'These have no root.' Last Christmas we had in our house a large green fir-tree. It reached from the floor to the ceiling, and spread its branches abroad in all directions. It stood well and firmly; it had all the appearance of growing; it held its head erect, and seemed as likely to stand as any of the trees outside in the garden. But our tree only stood for a time. So long as the heavy weights and props which held it up remained, so long as the strings, which were tightly tied to nails in the wall, were uncut; just so long the tree remained upright and unmoved. But the very instant that the props and supports were taken away our tree came down with a crash. What was the reason of its downfall? Why did the trees in the garden stand unsupported, and yet this tree fell so soon as its props were removed? The answer is clear and simple. The trees in the garden had each of them a root, our Christmas tree had no root. Having no root, it was impossible for it to stand alone. There is, alas, plenty of no-root religion now-a-days. We see around us too many whose godliness is dependent on their surroundings and their circumstances. They mean well, they try to do right, but there it ends. They have no root; the heart is unchanged, unconverted, unrenewed. Their religion is merely a surface religion. So they for a time believe, for a time do well, for a time appear to be true Christians, but in time of temptation they fall away. Their 'goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the early dew it goeth away.' If we would stand firm, we must see to it that our religion goes deep enough. I myself must be made new if I am to grow in grace; my heart must be Christ's if I am to stand firm in the faith. 'As ye have therefore received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk ye in Him. Rooted and built up in Him, and established in the faith.' CHAPTER XIV. Strong Measures. What an objection some people have to strong measures! They see around them, amongst those under their influence, a great deal going on which is downright evil. You call upon them to put a stop to it, and to do all in their power to prevent it. But what do they say? They tell you they will go gently and quietly to work; but they do not like to hurt other people's feelings, or to tread upon their prejudices. They have no objection to try gradually, quietly, and gently, to turn the tide of evil into a good and holy channel, but they hate and abominate anything in the shape of strong measures. And yet there are cases where nothing short of strong measures will be of any avail. Here is a man who has a diseased hand. For some time the doctor has been trying gentle remedies: the poultice, the plaster, the fomentation, have all been tried. But now the doctor sees a change in the appearance of the hand. He sees very clearly that mortification is setting in. No poultice, no plaster, no fomentation will be of any avail now, nothing but the knife, nothing but cutting off the limb will save the man's life. What a foolish doctor he would be, who should refuse in such a case to take strong measures! The great reformer, Martin Luther, looked around him, and what did he see? The whole civilized world a slave at the feet of one man, the Pope of Rome, obeying that man as if he were God; believing every word that came from his mouth, following carefully in his footsteps as he led them astray. Luther feels nothing will do but strong measures. He will not go gently and quietly to work in his reform, for he feels that would be of no use; the case is so serious that nothing but a strong and decided step will answer the purpose. His strong step consisted in the making of a bonfire. On December 10, 1520, as the students of the great University at Wittenburg came to the college, they found fastened to the walls a notice inviting them and the professors, and all who liked to come, to meet Martin Luther at the east gate of the college at nine o'clock the following morning. Full of curiosity, they assembled in great numbers to find a bonfire, and Luther standing by it with a paper in his hand. That paper was a letter from the Pope to Luther, telling him that if he did not recant from all he was teaching in less than sixty days, the Pope would give him over to Satan. After reading the letter to the assembled crowd, Luther solemnly threw it into the flames and watched it burn to ashes, that all might see how little he cared for the Pope or his threats. From that time there could be no more peace between Luther and Rome. It was certainly a strong measure, and Luther owns that he had to make a great effort to force himself to take it. He says: 'When I burnt the bull, it was with inward fear and trembling, but I look upon that act with more pleasure than upon any passage of my life.' For Luther felt, and felt rightly, that the glorious Reformation would never have been brought about unless he had used strong measures. Nehemiah was the Martin Luther of his age, the great reformer of his nation, and never did he feel the need of strong measure to be so great, as when he came back to Jerusalem after his absence in Persia. Four glaring evils were staring him in the face. (1) In the temple itself a grand reception room had been prepared for Tobiah the Ammonite. (2) The people had refused to pay tithes or contributions to the temple service, and the Levites had consequently all left the sanctuary. (3) The Sabbath day was desecrated and profaned; trade went on as usual both within and without the city. (4) So common had marriage with heathen people become, that even the very children in the street were chattering in foreign languages. Four evils, all of them very serious and deep-rooted, all calling for instant reformation at his hand. How does Nehemiah go to work? Does he shrink from giving offence, or hurting people's feelings, or calling things by their right names? No, he feels his nation have sinned; the disease of sin is spreading, mortification is setting in, nothing will do but strong measures. The offending members must be cut off, that the whole body may be saved. He begins first with the temple. Going into the inner court, and taking with him a band of his faithful servants, he throws open the door of the great store-chamber and begins his work. Indignantly he bids his servants to clear out all Tobiah's goods, nay, he himself gives a helping hand, and leads them in the work. The grand divans, the elegant cushions, the elaborate mats, the bright-coloured curtains are all dragged out and cast forth outside. And then, when the great chamber is empty he has it thoroughly cleaned and purified and put in order, to receive again the temple vessels and stores. A strong measure certainly, but a very necessary one. If Nehemiah had stopped to think what Tobiah might happen to say the next time he came to Jerusalem, or if he had held back because he was afraid of hurting the feelings of Eliashib the high priest, the sin would never have been stopped, the temple would never have been cleansed. St. Paul tells all those who are Christ's, that they themselves are God's temple. 'Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are.' Ye are the temple of God, you yourself God's dwelling-place. Examine then the secret chambers of your heart. Are any of Tobiah's goods there? Is there any secret sin hidden away in your heart? If so, be your own Nehemiah; cleanse the chamber of your heart, or rather cry unto God to do it for you. 'Cleanse Thou me from secret faults.' This is an all-important matter, for, unless the hidden sin is removed, you will receive no answer to your prayers, and therefore to attempt to pray is useless. 'If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.' Then, too, the Holy Spirit will be grieved and will cease to move you, and without His help you can do nothing; He cannot inhabit that temple in the secret chambers of which is to be found cherished sin. In such a case nothing but strong measures will avail. That sin must be given up, or your soul will be darkened; that chamber must be cleansed, or the holy presence of the Lord cannot remain. Do you say, It is hard to give it up, to clear it out; it has become a second nature to me, and I know not how to rid myself of it? Surely it is worth making the effort, however much pain and suffering it may cause. Amputation, however much agony it may entail, is necessary if mortification has set in. 'If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell. And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.' The first evil has been dealt with and cleared away, Tobiah and his goods have been cast out of the temple. Nehemiah now passes on to the next thing which had so greatly shocked him on his arrival in Jerusalem, namely, the neglect on the part of the people with regard to the payment of what was due from them for the temple service. Again Nehemiah takes strong measures. He calls together the rulers, as the leaders and representatives of the rest, and he gives them very strongly his mind on the subject. No smooth words or gentle hints will do. He tells us, 'I contended some time with them' (that is, I reproved them and argued with them), 'and I said, Why is the house of our God forsaken?' Then, without waiting for a response to his appeal, he sends round to all the Levites and singers, bidding them with all haste to come up to the temple and to take up their work again. And the people, seeing he was determined, and that there was no possibility of his allowing the matter to drop, came also, bringing with them the corn, and the wine, and the oil, with which once more to fill the empty chamber. 'Then brought all Judah the tithe of the corn and the new wine and the oil unto the treasuries.' And, in order to prevent such a thing ever happening again, Nehemiah appointed treasurers to look after the temple stores. Eliashib the high priest had been the store-keeper before, xiii. 4, but he had shown himself unworthy of his office. Four men are accordingly chosen to collect the stores, and afterwards to deal them out to the priests and Levites. One is a priest, one a Levite, one a layman of rank, and the fourth a scribe, ver. 13. Nehemiah tells us why he selected these four men. 'They were counted faithful,' and as faithful men they could be thoroughly depended upon. Now, having set the temple in order, Nehemiah proceeds to fight the battle with regard to the observance of the Sabbath. Again he uses strong measures. He once more speaks strongly and hotly to the nobles, for they had led the van in Sabbath desecration. They liked the freshest fruit and the daintiest dishes for their Sabbath feast, and they had, therefore, encouraged the market-people to go on with their Sabbath trade. Then, as now, there were plenty of people who, for their own self-pleasing, were ready to argue in favour of the loose observance of the fourth commandment. Nehemiah reminds the nobles that the destruction of Jerusalem, the overthrow of that very city which they were taking so much trouble to rebuild, had all been brought about through desecration of the Sabbath day. For what message had Jeremiah brought their fathers? 'If ye will not hearken unto me to hallow the Sabbath day, and not to bear a burden, even entering in at the gates of Jerusalem on the Sabbath day; then will I kindle a fire in the gates thereof, and it shall devour the palaces of Jerusalem, and it shall not be quenched.' God's word had come true. Their fathers, despising the warning, had continued to break the Sabbath, and Nebuchadnezzar had burnt and destroyed the very gates through which the Sabbath burdens had been carried. What safety, then, could they hope for now, how could they expect to keep their new gates from destruction, if they followed in the footsteps of their fathers, and did the very thing that God, by the mouth of Jeremiah, condemned? 'Then I contended with the nobles of Judah, and said unto them, What evil thing is this that ye do, and profane the Sabbath day? Did not your fathers thus, and did not our God bring all this evil upon us, and upon this city? yet ye bring more wrath upon Israel by profaning the Sabbath.' But though Nehemiah began by rebuking the nobles, he did not stop here. He took up the matter with a high hand. He commanded the gate-keepers to shut the gates on Friday evening, about half-an-hour earlier than usual. On other nights they were shut as soon as the sun had set, but now Nehemiah orders them to close the gates on Friday evenings, so soon as the shadows began to lengthen and the day was drawing to a close. They were also, in future, to be kept shut the whole of the Sabbath, so that no mules, or donkeys, or camels, or other beasts of burden, might be able to enter the city on the holy day. The little gate, inside the large gate, by means of which foot-passengers might enter and leave the city, was left open, in order that people living in the country villages round might be able to come into the city to attend the temple services. But at this smaller gate Nehemiah took care to place some of his own trusty servants, and gave them strict instructions to admit no burdens, no parcel, no goods of any kind into the city on the Sabbath day, xiii. 19. Very naturally, the merchants and the salespeople did not like this. They did a good stroke of business on the Sabbath day, and would not lose their large profits without a struggle. Accordingly, what do we find them doing? They were refused admittance into the city, so they set up their stalls outside the walls. If the Jerusalem people could not buy of them, because of that strait-laced, narrow-minded Nehemiah, still the country people who came in to attend the temple services could purchase at their stalls on their way home. They might thus maintain a certain amount of their Sabbath business, and secure at least a portion of their Sabbath gains. Not only so, but surely many Jews from the city itself, as they strolled through the gates on the day of rest, might pass by their stalls, and, in the conveniently loose folds of their robes, many, even of these inhabitants of Jerusalem, might conceal a pomegranate, or a melon, a piece of fish, or a bunch of grapes, a handful of figs, or a freshly-cut cucumber, and might easily escape detection by Nehemiah's servants, standing at the gate. Nehemiah, seeing this state of things, feels that once again strong measures are required. He must make a clean sweep of these traders at once. So, going out to them, he gives them warning that they will be arrested and imprisoned the very next time that they come within sight of the city on the Sabbath day. 'So the merchants and sellers of all kind of ware lodged without Jerusalem once or twice. Then I testified unto them: Why lodge ye about the wall? If ye do so again I will lay hands on you.' That put a stop to it. 'From that time forth came they no more on the Sabbath.' Then, from that day, Nehemiah held the Levites responsible for the strict observance of this rule. His own servants had guarded the gates in the first emergency, now he bids the Levites to take their place, and to do all in their power to enforce and to maintain the sanctity of the holy day. Surely we need a Nehemiah now-a-days, we need some of his strong measures to stop the growing disregard of the Sabbath, which is creeping slowly but surely like a dark shadow over this country of ours. We need a man who will not be afraid of being called strait-laced, or narrow-minded, or peculiar, or Jewish, or Puritanical, but who will speak his mind clearly and decidedly on such an all-important point, and who will not hesitate to use strong measures to put down the Sabbath-breaking and the utter disregard of God's law, which is threatening the ruin of our beloved country. Let each of us ask himself or herself, What am I doing in this matter? How do I keep the Sabbath myself? God asks for the whole day; do I give it to Him, or do I spend the best of its hours in bed? Am I careful not to please myself on the Lord's Day, or do I think it no shame to amuse myself on that day as I choose, by travelling, by light reading, or by any other means that I have within my disposal? Am I anxious to dedicate the day wholly and entirely to God, setting it apart entirely for His service, and looking upon it as a foretaste of the great and eternal Sabbath that is coming? And, if I myself keep and reverence God's Sabbath, do I see that those over whom I have influence are doing the same? Am I anxious that my children, my servants, the visitors who come to see me, all who are in my home on the Lord's Day should do the same? Do I help them by every means in my power? Do I strive that in my home at least God shall have His due? And if in my home the Sabbath is observed, what am I doing with regard to it outside, in my own town, or village, amongst my acquaintances, companions, and friends? Am I doing all I can, using all the influence God has given me, to lead others to reverence and observe the holy day? And my country, dear old England; am I praying day by day that her glory may not depart, that her sun may not go down because of desecration of the Sabbath day? The old promise holds good still; it is true of individuals, of families, and of nations. 'If thou turn away thy foot from the Sabbath, from doing thy pleasure on My holy day; and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honourable; and shalt honour Him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own word: then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord; and I will cause thee to ride upon the high places of the earth.' 'FOR THE MOUTH OF THE LORD HATH SPOKEN IT.' CHAPTER XV. The Oldest Sin. We have all read the adventures of Robinson Crusoe, and we have all pitied the man, alone on a desert island, alone without a friend, without a single companion, never hearing any voice but his own, being able to exchange thoughts with no one, alone, solitary, desolate. Yet after all, in one respect, Robinson Crusoe was to be envied, for he was shut off from one of the greatest temptations which besets us in this world, a temptation which comes across the path of each of us, and from which it is by no means easy to escape. Of that temptation, Robinson Crusoe on his desert island knew nothing. He did not find himself ever tempted to one of the most common of sins. Robinson Crusoe was never tempted to keep bad company, for the simple reason that there was no bad company for him to keep. What curious beings hermits are! they are to be found in China, India, Africa, in various parts of Europe, in fact, all over the world. And in olden time there was many a lonely cave, many a shady retreat on the hill-side, which was inhabited by one of these hermits. Who then were these hermits? They were men who were so much afraid of falling into the snare of keeping bad company, that they refused to keep any company at all, men who so dreaded being led astray by their fellow men, that they shut themselves off from all intercourse with the human race. It was not a right nor a wise thing to do, and these hermits found that sin followed them even to their quiet lonely caves; yet it is scarcely surprising that they dreaded evil companionship, and did all they could to avoid it, seeing as they did how much misery it had brought into the world. For what was the oldest sin? What was the very first sin that entered into this fair earth of ours? Some say it was pride, or selfishness, or hard thoughts of God. But surely it was no other sin than this, the keeping of bad company. There was Eve in the garden. God had provided her with company; He had given her Adam, the holy angels came in and out of that fair paradise; nay more, God Himself was her friend, in the cool of the day He walked with Eve under the trees of the garden, walked and talked with her as a companion and friend. But, in spite of this, Eve got into bad company. She stands, she talks, she entertains Satan, the great enemy of God, against whom she must often have been warned by God and the holy angels. And the consequence was that Eve lost paradise, became a sinner, and brought sin and all its attendant miseries into the world. We should never have had our weary battle with sin if Eve had not kept bad company. Nor was Eve the last of those who have brought trouble on themselves and others by the same sin. If the descendants of Seth had not kept bad company and made friends of Cain's wicked race, the flood would never have swept them away. If Samson had not gone into bad company he would never have lost his strength, and have had to grind blindly and miserably at the mill. If Solomon had not kept bad company idolatry would never have ruined Jerusalem. If Rehoboam had not kept bad company the kingdom of Israel would never have been divided; and again, and again, both in the history of the past and in the story of the present, we see men and women led astray by keeping bad company. We have already seen Nehemiah taking strong measures to put down three of the great glaring evils which he found in Jerusalem on his return. We have now to see him battling with this dreadful curse and snare--bad company. If the other three evils needed strong measures, Nehemiah feels there is a tenfold need to take decided steps in this fourth and all-important matter. For what does he find as he walks through the streets of Jerusalem? He discovers that the inhabitants of the holy city are fast becoming foreigners and heathen. He hears the very children in the street talking a language he cannot understand. So common has marriage with heathen foreigners become, that Nehemiah sees clearly that unless something is done to put a stop to it the next generation will grow up utterly un-Jewish in language, appearance, and dross, and worse still, heathen in their religion, kneeling down to idols of wood and stone, and carrying on in Jerusalem itself all the vile customs and abominations of the heathen. 'If the girls are pretty and nice, and if the men like them, why should not they please themselves?' So the Jerusalem folk had talked in Nehemiah's absence. They quite forgot to what it was all leading. They shut their eyes to the danger of keeping bad company, they thought only of what was pleasant and of what they liked, they quite forgot to ask what was right, and what was the will of God. Nehemiah, as governor of Jerusalem, summons into his presence, and commands to appear before him in his judicial court, every man in Jerusalem who had married a foreign heathen wife. When all were assembled: (1) He contended with them, _i.e._ he rebuked and argued with them, as he had done with the rulers on the question of Sabbath observance. (2) He cursed them, or as it is in the margin 'he reviled them.' Probably he pronounced, as governor of Jerusalem, speaking in the name of God, the judgments of God on those who broke his law. (3) He smote certain of them. That is, he had some of them publicly beaten. Nehemiah called upon the officers of the court to make an example of some of the principal offenders by inflicting corporal punishment upon them. (4) He plucked off their hair, _lit_., He made them bald. The Hebrew word, _marat_, which is used here, means to make smooth, to polish, to peel. The word hair is not expressed in the original. We are surely not to suppose that Nehemiah, with his own hands, either struck these men or made them bald. What he did was simply this. He, as the head magistrate, inflicted a judicial punishment upon them, a double punishment. (1) They were beaten. (2) They were made bald. We read (Matt, xxvii. 26) that Pontius Pilate took our Lord and scourged him; but we surely do not imagine that the Roman governor with his own hands inflicted the scourging, but we understand it to mean that he gave the order for the punishment to the Roman soldiers. Just so, Nehemiah the governor commanded these offending Jews to be beaten and made bald by the officers of the court. One of the most flourishing trades in an Eastern city is the trade of the barber. This may easily be seen by walking through the streets of an Eastern town, and noting the numerous barbers at work, some in their shops, which are open to the street, and others outside on the doorsteps, or in some shady corner. Especially in the evening are these numerous barbers busy; when the work of the rest of the city is drawing to a close the barber's work is at its height. Yet, strange to say, although the barber is so busy, everyone in the East wears a beard; a man in the East would think it a terrible disgrace if he was obliged to be shorn of his beard. The beard is considered a very sacred thing; it is thought a great insult even to touch a man's beard, and if you want to make any man an object of scorn and ridicule, you cannot do so better than by shaving off his beard. This was the way in which the Ammonites insulted David's ambassadors (2 Sam. x. 4, 5). And we read that they stopped at Jericho till their beards were grown, for 'the men were greatly ashamed.' What then is the barber's work? If men in the East wear beards, what is it that keeps him so busy? The barber in the Eastern city shaves not the man's chin, but his head. It is a very natural custom in hot, dusty climates, where the head is always kept covered, both indoors and out of doors. It is also a very ancient custom, for even in the old Egyptian hieroglyphics we find pictures of barbers shaving the head. And we find that in these modern days, Egyptians, Copts, Turks, Arabs, Hindoos, and Chinese, all shave the head. But there is one great exception to this rule. A barber would find no work in a purely Jewish city, for not only do the Jews wear beards, but they also never shave their heads as their Eastern neighbours do. The only ones amongst the Jews who were allowed to have shaven heads were the poor outcast lepers. Hence the shaven head was to them a sign or symbol of uncleanness and of excommunication. They looked upon a man with a bald head very much as we look upon one whose hair is cropped very suspiciously close, and whom we therefore imagine must have been in gaol. Thus it came to pass that 'Bald-head' became a common term of reproach and insult. Elisha, the holy prophet, goes up the hill, wearing a thick turban to protect his head from the sun. Out come a troop of wicked, mocking children. Elisha is not bald, for he is a Jew, nor, even if he had been bald, could these children have seen it, since his head is covered; but they wish to annoy and to insult the holy man, so they cry after him, 'Go up, thou bald head, go up.' They simply use a common term of reproach. To have a bald head was amongst the Jews a sign that a man was cut off from his nation, that he was counted as a Gentile and an outsider, and therefore to call a man 'a bald head' was equivalent to calling him a Gentile dog and an outcast. Now Nehemiah inflicts this very punishment on these Jews who have married heathen wives. He commands them to be made bald, as a sign of shame and disgrace. It was a very significant and appropriate punishment. They had thrown in their lot with the heathen Gentiles, let them then become Gentiles, let them be branded with their mark, let them, by being made bald, be stamped as those who are no longer citizens of Jerusalem, but who have become outcasts and foreigners. Then, when this was done, Nehemiah calls them to him, and makes them take a solemn oath before God, that from that time forth they will never fall into the same sin again: 'I made them swear by God, saying, Ye shall not give your daughters unto their sons, nor take their daughters unto your sons, or for yourselves.' Then he reminds them how dreadful the consequences of the same sin had been to no less a person than their great and glorious King Solomon, the wisest of men, the beloved of his God. Even Solomon had been drawn aside into sin by his love of heathen foreigners, or outlandish women, as Nehemiah calls them, women living outside his own land. If he fell, if he the wisest of men, if he the beloved of his God, was led astray, was it likely that they could walk into the very same trap, and escape being caught and ensnared by it? 'Did not Solomon King of Israel sin by these things? Yet among many nations was there no king like him, who was beloved of his God, and God made him king over all Israel: nevertheless _even him_ did outlandish women cause to sin. Shall we then hearken unto you to do all this great evil, to transgress against our God in marrying strange wives?' Did Nehemiah then break up the marriages which had already taken place, and send the wives away? We are not told that he did. Probably he only insisted, and insisted very strongly, that no more such marriages should take place. For he knew that if the custom was continued it would lead to ruin, shame, and disgrace, and he was therefore perfectly right to take strong measures to put a stop to it. One man he saw fit to make an example of in a still more decided way--one offending member he felt must be cut off. This was Manasseh, the grandson of the high priest, the very one who had been the cause of Tobiah's entrance into the temple, and of the friendly feeling that existed between Eliashib and the Samaritans. Here was Manasseh, a priest, living in the temple itself, dressed in the white robe, and taking part in the service of God, yet all the time having a heathen wife, and allowing heathen ways in his household. Manasseh's wife was actually Sanballat's daughter; and so long as he and she remained in the temple precincts, Nehemiah felt they would never be free from Sanballat's influence. Accordingly we read: 'I chased him from me.' Nehemiah banished him from the temple and from Jerusalem, and Manasseh went away with his wife to her father's grand home in Samaria. No doubt Nehemiah was far from popular in Jerusalem that night. There were many who thought he had been too severe, too narrow, too particular. And doubtless there were many who, if they had dared, would have rebelled against his decision. But Nehemiah had done everything; he had taken all these strong measures, not to please men, but to please God. If the Master praised him, he cared not what others might say of him. 'Lord, what wilt _Thou_ have me to do?' was the constant prayer of Nehemiah's heart; and though the work was oftentimes unpopular and disagreeable, Nehemiah did it both boldly and fearlessly. The wheel of time goes round, and history, which works ever in a circle, constantly repeats itself, and so also does sin. The sin of Nehemiah's days is still to be seen; the same temptation which beset those Jerusalem Jews, besets us even in these more enlightened days. We all love company. There is in us a natural shrinking from being alone and desolate. That feeling is born in us; we inherit it from our first father Adam. 'It is not good for the man to be alone,' said the Lord in His tenderness and His pity. But a choice lies before us, a choice of friends. Our relatives are given us by God, no man can choose who shall be his father, or mother, or brother, or sister. But our friends are of our own choosing, and we do not sufficiently consider that upon that choice may hang our eternity. Heaven with all its brightness, hell with all its darkness and misery, which shall be for me? The answer may hang, it often does hang, on the choice of a friend. For there are only two divisions in this world of ours, only two companies, only two flocks. The kingdom of darkness and the kingdom of light, the Lord's people and those who are none of His, the sheep and the goats. From which division, from which company, from which flock shall I choose my friends? 'Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers, for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?' Especially careful should we be in that nearest and dearest of friendships, in the choice of the one who is to be to us our other self. Would we be made one, would we link ourselves by that firm and sacred tie, whilst knowing all the time that the one who is to be dearer to us than life itself is outside the fold? No blessing can surely rest on such a marriage. Jesus cannot be an invited guest at that marriage feast. For clear and unmistakable is the trumpet call of the great Captain of our salvation: 'Come out from among them, and be ye separate, said the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you, and will be a Father unto you, and ye shall be My sons and daughters, saith the Lord Almighty.' CHAPTER XVI. God's Remembrance. How fond people are of collecting old books, and what a large price old books will fetch! Those who are so fortunate as to obtain possession of a book which is four or five hundred years old may put their own price upon it, for some antiquarian will be sure to purchase it. But how modern, how very far from being ancient, the oldest of our English books, printed in the most primitive black letter, appears, when it is laid side by side with that curious old book which travellers, visiting the little village of Nablus, are shown this very day. Well may the old white-headed man who has charge of that book bring it out with pride, for it is one of the oldest books in the world. The book is in the form of a roll of parchment. It is made of goat skins, twenty-five inches broad, and about fifteen feet long. The skins are neatly joined together, but in many places they have been torn and rather clumsily mended. The roll is kept in a grand silver-gilt case in the form of a cylinder, embossed and engraved. On this case are carved representations of the Tabernacle, of the ark, of the two altars, of the trumpets, and of the various instruments used in sacrifice. A crimson satin cover, on which inscriptions are worked in gold thread, is thrown over this precious book. This old manuscript is written in Hebrew, and is said by the Jews to be the work of a man whose name has already come before us in Nehemiah's story. We saw that Eliashib, the high priest, had a grandson named Manasseh, that Manasseh married the daughter of Sanballat, the Samaritan governor, and that Nehemiah felt very strongly that the temple would never be cleansed, nor God's blessing rest upon them as a nation, so long as one of their own priests had a heathen wife, and was in constant communication with Sanballat. Accordingly he chased Manasseh from him, he made him at once leave the temple and his high position there; and Manasseh, in disgust and indignation, went off to Samaria to his father-in-law, Sanballat, taking his heathen wife and family with him. Now it is that very Manasseh who was, according to the Jews, the writer of the Samaritan Pentateuch, that old copy of the Books of Moses. The Samaritans themselves declare that it is far more ancient; that it was written soon after the Israelites entered the land of Canaan, by the great-grandson of Aaron; whilst some scholars think it is far more modern than some other copies of the Pentateuch which have been discovered; but the Jews pronounce it to have been the work of Manasseh, the grandson of Eliashib, the high priest of Nehemiah's day. Manasseh arrived in Samaria, indignant with Nehemiah, and determined to have his revenge. He and his father-in-law were resolved not to be outdone by the Jews. They in Samaria would build a grand temple, just as the Jews had done in Jerusalem. One hill was as good as another, so they thought; their own Gerizim, with its lovely trees and its sunny slopes, was as fair or fairer than Mount Moriah. So they set to work with all their energy, to build the rival temple on the very hill where 1000 years before, in the time of Joshua, the blessings of the law had been read, whilst the curses were pronounced from the hill on the opposite side of the valley, Mount Ebal. Here then, on Gerizim, the mount of blessing, rose the new temple, which was built with one object in view, that it might outvie in splendour the one in Jerusalem. When it was finished, Manasseh was made the rival high priest, and was able to do what he liked, and to exercise his authority in any way he pleased in his father-in-law's province. Nor was Manasseh the only priest in the Gerizim temple; many other runaway priests joined him, all who were angry with Nehemiah, all who were offended or touchy, all who thought themselves injured in any way, all who had been found fault with for Sabbath-breaking or for any other sin, left Jerusalem for Samaria--chose the temple of Mount Gerizim instead of the holy temple on Mount Moriah. Yet of the Samaritans it is said: 'They feared the Lord, and served their own gods.' It was a half-and-half religion, Judaism and heathenism mixed up together, the worship of God and the worship of idols side by side. Satan, now-a-days, has his modern temple of Gerizim. He does not try to lead nominal Christians to throw up religion altogether, for he sees that it would be of no use to do so. He knows we have a conscience, he knows that conscience is often busy, he knows that we fully believe that some day we must die, and that after death will come the judgment, and he sees therefore that we shall not be satisfied without some kind of religion. So Satan tries to tempt us to the Gerizim temple. Serve God by all means, he cries, but serve the world too. Go to church, say your prayers, have a fair polish of Sunday religion; it is decent, it is respectable, it is what is expected of you. But yet, at the very same time, serve the world, please yourself. Take part in any pleasure that attracts you, live as you please, enjoy yourself to the full. Let the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life have their share in your allegiance. Be half for God, and half for the world. Live partly for the world to come, and partly for this present world. By no means throw overboard religion altogether, but let it have its proper place, let it stand side by side with self-pleasing and worldliness. But what says the Master? 'No man can serve two masters. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.' Let us then choose this day whom we will serve. Shall it be Christ or Satan, Jerusalem or Gerizim, God or the world? For centuries after the time of Nehemiah, these Samaritans continued a source of annoyance to the Jews, tempting all who were disaffected and lawless to come to Gerizim, and vexing and troubling the Jews in every possible way. No one who was travelling up to the rival temple was ever made welcome in Samaria, or treated as he passed through with the slightest show of hospitality. As our Lord and His disciples journeyed up to the feast, we read that they came to a village of the Samaritans, and our Lord sent messengers before Him to engage a lodging, where they might find refreshment and shelter on their way. But we read, 'They did not receive Him, because His face was as though He would go to Jerusalem.' Sometimes they carried this antagonism to such a degree that they would even waylay and murder the temple pilgrims who were on their way through their country, and the poor travellers were compelled to take a much longer route to Jerusalem, crossing the Jordan, and journeying on the eastern side until they came opposite Jericho, and then ascending by the long, winding, difficult road from Jericho to Jerusalem. Once, in order to mortify the Jews, the Samaritans were guilty of a very dreadful insult. The Passover was being kept in Jerusalem, and it was customary in Passover week for the priest to open the temple gates just after midnight. Through these opened gates, in the darkness of the night, stole in some Samaritans, carrying under their robes dead men's bones and bits of dead men's bodies, and these they strewed up and down the cloisters of the temple, to make them defiled and unclean. But perhaps the most trying thing which the Samaritans did was to put a stop to a very old and very favourite custom of the Jews. For a long time those Jews who lived in Jerusalem had been accustomed to let their brethren in Babylon know the very time that the Passover moon rose in Jerusalem, so that they and their absent friends might keep the feast together at the very same time. They did this in a very curious and interesting way. As soon as the watchers on the Mount of Olives saw the moon rising, they lighted a beacon fire, other fires were already prepared on a succession of hilltops, reaching all the way from Jerusalem to Babylon. As soon as the light was seen on Olivet the next fire was lighted, and then the next, and the next, till in a very short time those Jews who sat by the waters of Babylon saw the signal, and joined in the Passover rejoicing with their friends hundreds of miles away in Jerusalem. It showed them that they were not forgotten, and it helped them to join in the prayer and the praise of those who were in their father-land. But the Samaritans annoyed the Jews and spoilt this beautiful old custom, by lighting false fires on other mountains, on wrong days, and at wrong hours, and thus confusing those who were watching by the beacon-fires. After a time, so many mistakes were made by means of these false signals, that the Jews were compelled to give up the system of beacon-fires altogether, and to depend on the slower course of sending messengers. We have now come to the end of Nehemiah's story, and we have, at the very same time, come to the end of the history of the Old Testament. For if all the historical books were arranged chronologically, Nehemiah's book would come the very last in the series. Nothing more is told us in the Book of God of this world's history, until St. Matthew takes up the pen and writes an account of the birth of the expected Messiah. Yet between the Book of Nehemiah and the Gospel of St. Matthew there is an interval of 400 years, years which were full of interest in Jewish history, but of which we are told nothing in the Bible story. There was one prophet who lived in the time of Nehemiah, and whose book is a commentary on the book of Nehemiah. The prophet Malachi was living in Jerusalem at this very time, and if we look at his book we shall see that mention is made of many things of which we are told in the Book of Nehemiah. For instance, if we turn to Mai. iii. 8, 9, 10, we shall find the very words which the prophet spoke to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, at the time when the temple store-house was empty, and when the people had ceased to bring their tithes and offerings, and to give God the due proportion of their possessions. 'Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed Me. But ye say, Wherein have we robbed Thee? In tithes and offerings. Ye are cursed with a curse; for ye have robbed Me, even this whole nation. Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in Mine house.' Thus, if we read the Book of Malachi carefully, we shall find much that throws light on Nehemiah's history; and we can easily imagine how much the prophet's sympathy and help must have cheered and strengthened the great reformer in his trying and difficult work. What became of Nehemiah, the great cup-bearer, the faithful governor of Jerusalem, we do not know. Whether he returned to Persia and took up his old work in the palace, standing behind the king's chair in his office of Rab-shakeh, or whether he remained in Jerusalem, guarding his beloved city from enemies without and from false friends within, we are not told. Whether he died in the prime of life, or whether he lived to a good old age, neither the Bible nor profane history informs us. But although we know nothing of Nehemiah's death, we know much of his life. We have watched him carefully and closely, and there is one thing which we cannot fail to have noticed, and that is that Nehemiah was emphatically a man of prayer. In every trouble, in each anxiety, in all times of danger, he turned to God. Standing behind the king's chair, Nehemiah prayed; in his private room in the Shushan palace, he pleaded for Jerusalem; and all through his rough anxious life as a reformer and a governor, we find him constantly lifting up his heart to God in short earnest prayers. When Tobiah mocked his work, when the Samaritans threatened to attack the city, when the people were inclined to be angry with him for his reforms, when he discovered that there were traitors and hired agents of Sanballat inside the very walls of Jerusalem, when he brought upon himself enmity and hatred because of his faithful dealing in the matter of the temple store-house, when he had to encounter difficulty and opposition in his determination with regard to the observance of the Sabbath, and when he still further incensed the half-hearted Jews by his prompt punishment of those who had taken heathen wives, and by his summary dismissal of Manasseh; in all these times of danger, difficulty, and trial, we find Nehemiah turning to the Lord in prayer. There was one prayer of which he seems to have been especially fond, three times over does Nehemiah ask God to remember him. 'Think upon me, my God, for good,' v. 19. 'Remember me, O my God,' xiii. 14. 'Remember me, O my God, for good,' xiii. 31. Can it be that this prayer was suggested to him by the words of his friend, the prophet Malachi? Can it be, that as he and Nehemiah took sweet counsel together, and spoke together of the Lord they loved, Malachi may have spoken those beautiful words which we find in chap. in. 16, 17, of his prophecy, in order to cheer and encourage his disheartened and unappreciated friend:-- 'They that feared the Lord spake often one to another: and the Lord hearkened, and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before Him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon His name. And they shall be Mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day when I make up My jewels; and I will spare them, as a man spareth his own son that serveth him.' Can we wonder that Nehemiah longed to know that his name was in that book of remembrance of which his friend Malachi spoke, and that he often turned the desire into a prayer, pleading with God, 'Remember _me_, O my God?' It is a very touching prayer. Nehemiah evidently felt that others did not value his work, nay, that Borne even condemned him for it. The people, instead of being grateful to him for his reforms, found fault with him, misunderstood him, and reproached him. But God knew, the Master did not blame him. He saw that all Nehemiah did had been done for His glory and for the good of his nation. And to the Master whom he served Nehemiah appealed. Away from the fault-finding people, he turned to the merciful God. Remember Thou me, O God, for good; others blame me, but it is Thy praise alone that I crave, wipe not _Thou_ out my good deeds, spare _Thou_ me in the greatness of Thy mercy. There is no pride or boasting in this prayer. Is it not the very prayer of the penitent thief, 'Lord, remember me?' Look carefully at the wording of it, and you will notice, as Bishop Wordsworth so beautifully points out, that it is humble in its every detail. Nehemiah does not say, publish to the world my good deeds, but wipe them not out. He does not say, reward me, but remember me. He does not say, remember me for my merit, but according to the greatest of Thy mercies. So Nehemiah passes away from our sight with that prayer on his lips, 'Remember me, O my God, for good.' And was the prayer heard? Was Nehemiah remembered? Did God, has God forgotten His faithful servant? Surely not, for 'The righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance.' Remembered by God, and remembered for ever, entered in the great book of God's remembrance, of which he had so often thought, and of which Malachi had written. The day is coming when we shall see Nehemiah the cup-bearer. In God's great day of reward, when one after another of His faithful servants shall appear before Him, we shall hear the response to Nehemiah's prayer. 'Remember me, O my God,' said Nehemiah, long years ago, as he toiled on, unthanked and unblessed by man. And we shall hear the Lord answer, 'Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.' THE END. 
13468	----	THE NEW JERUSALEM by G. K. CHESTERTON PREFACE This book is only an uncomfortably large note-book; and it has the disadvantages, whether or no it has the advantages, of notes that were taken on the spot. Owing to the unexpected distraction of other duties, the notes were published in a newspaper as they were made on the spot; and are now reproduced in a book as they were published in the newspaper. The only exception refers to the last chapter on Zionism; and even there the book only reverts to the original note-book. A difference of opinion, which divided the writer of the book from the politics of the newspaper, prevented the complete publication of that chapter in that place. I recognise that any expurgated form of it would have falsified the proportions of my attempt to do justice in a very difficult problem; but on re-reading even my own attempt in extenso, I am far from satisfied that the proper proportions are kept. I wrote these first impressions in Palestine, where everybody recognises the Jew as something quite distinct from the Englishman or the European; and where his unpopularity even moved me in the direction of his defence. But I admit it was something of a shock to return to a conventional atmosphere, in which that unpopularity is still actually denied or described as mere persecution. It was more of a shock to realise that this most obscurantist of all types of obscurantism is still sometimes regarded as a sort of liberalism. To talk of the Jews always as the oppressed and never as the oppressors is simply absurd; it is as if men pleaded for reasonable help for exiled French aristocrats or ruined Irish landlords, and forgot that the French and Irish peasants had any wrongs at all. Moreover, the Jews in the West do not seem so much concerned to ask, as I have done however tentatively here, whether a larger and less local colonial development might really transfer the bulk of Israel to a more independent basis, as simply to demand that Jews shall continue to control other nations as well as their own. It might be worth while for England to take risks to settle the Jewish problem; but not to take risks merely to unsettle the Arab problem, and leave the Jewish problem unsolved. For the rest, there must under the circumstances be only too many mistakes; the historical conjectures, for they can be no more, are founded on authorities sufficiently recognised for me to be permitted to trust them; but I have never pretended to the knowledge necessary to check them. I am aware that there are many disputed points; as for instance the connection of Gerard, the fiery Templar, with the English town of Bideford. I am also aware that some are sensitive about the spelling of words; and the very proof-readers will sometimes revolt and turn Mahomet into Mohammed. Upon this point, however, I am unrepentant; for I never could see the point of altering a form with historic and even heroic fame in our own language, for the sake of reproducing by an arrangement of our letters something that is really written in quite different letters, and probably pronounced with quite a different accent. In speaking of the great prophet I am therefore resolved to call him Mahomet; and am prepared, on further provocation, to call him Mahound. G. K. C. CONTENTS CHAPTER I THE WAY OF THE CITIES CHAPTER II THE WAY OF THE DESERT CHAPTER III THE GATES OF THE CITY CHAPTER IV THE PHILOSOPHY OF SIGHT-SEEING CHAPTER V THE STREETS OF THE CITY CHAPTER VI THE GROUPS OF THE CITY CHAPTER VII THE SHADOW OF THE PROBLEM CHAPTER VIII THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DESERT CHAPTER IX THE BATTLE WITH THE DRAGON CHAPTER X THE ENDLESS EMPIRE CHAPTER XI THE MEANING OF THE CRUSADE CHAPTER XII THE FALL OF CHIVALRY CHAPTER XIII THE PROBLEM OF ZIONISM CONCLUSION CHAPTER I THE WAY OF THE CITIES It was in the season of Christmas that I came out of my little garden in that "field of the beeches" between the Chilterns and the Thames, and began to walk backwards through history to the place from which Christmas came. For it is often necessary to walk backwards, as a man on the wrong road goes back to a sign-post to find the right road. The modern man is more like a traveller who has forgotten the name of his destination, and has to go back whence he came, even to find out where he is going. That the world has lost its way few will now deny; and it did seem to me that I found at last a sort of sign-post, of a singular and significant shape, and saw for a moment in my mind the true map of the modern wanderings; but whether I shall be able to say anything of what I saw, this story must show. I had said farewell to all my friends, or all those with my own limited number of legs; and nothing living remained but a dog and a donkey. The reader will learn with surprise that my first feeling of fellowship went out to the dog; I am well aware that I lay open my guard to a lunge of wit. The dog is rather like a donkey, or a small caricature of one, with a large black head and long black ears; but in the mood of the moment there was rather a moral contrast than a pictorial parallel. For the dog did indeed seem to stand for home and everything I was leaving behind me, with reluctance, especially that season of the year. For one thing, he is named after Mr. Winkle, the Christmas guest of Mr. Wardle; and there is indeed something Dickensian in his union of domesticity with exuberance. He jumped about me, barking like a small battery, under the impression that I was going for a walk; but I could not, alas, take him with me on a stroll to Palestine. Incidentally, he would have been out of place; for dogs have not their due honour in the East; and this seemed to sharpen my sense of my own domestic sentinel as a sort of symbol of the West. On the other hand, the East is full of donkeys, often very dignified donkeys; and when I turned my attention to the other grotesque quadruped, with an even larger head and even longer ears, he seemed to take on a deep shade of oriental mystery. I know not why these two absurd creatures tangled themselves up so much in my train of thought, like dragons in an illuminated text; or ramped like gargoyles on either side of the gateway of my adventure. But in truth they were in some sense symbols of the West and the East after all. The dog's very lawlessness is but an extravagance of loyalty; he will go mad with joy three times on the same day, at going out for a walk down the same road. The modern world is full of fantastic forms of animal worship; a religion generally accompanied with human sacrifice. Yet we hear strangely little of the real merits of animals; and one of them surely is this innocence of all boredom; perhaps such simplicity is the absence of sin. I have some sense myself of the sacred duty of surprise; and the need of seeing the old road as a new road. But I cannot claim that whenever I go out for a walk with my family and friends, I rush in front of them volleying vociferous shouts of happiness; or even leap up round them attempting to lick their faces. It is in this power of beginning again with energy upon familiar and homely things that the dog is really the eternal type of the Western civilisation. And the donkey is really as different as is the Eastern civilisation. His very anarchy is a sort of secrecy; his very revolt is a secret. He does not leap up because he wishes to share my walk, but to follow his own way, as lonely as the wild ass of Scripture. My own beast of burden supports the authority of Scripture by being a very wild ass. I have given him the name of Trotsky, because he seldom trots, but either scampers or stands still. He scampers all over the field when it is necessary to catch him, and stands still when it is really urgent to drive him. He also breaks fences, eats vegetables, and fulfills other functions; between delays and destructions he could ruin a really poor man in a day. I wish this fact were more often remembered, in judging whether really poor men have really been cruel to donkeys. But I assure the reader that I am not cruel to my donkey; the cruelty is all the other way. He kicks the people who try to catch him; and again I am haunted by a dim human parallel. For it seems to me that many of us, in just detestation of the dirty trick of cruelty to animals, have really a great deal of patience with animals; more patience, I fear, than many of us have with human beings. Suppose I had to go out and catch my secretary in a field every morning; and suppose my secretary always kicked me by way of beginning the day's work; I wonder whether that day's work would resume its normal course as if nothing had happened. Nothing graver than these grotesque images and groping speculations would come into my conscious mind just then, though at the back of it there was an indescribable sense of regret and parting. All through my wanderings the dog remained in my memory as a Dickensian and domestic emblem of England; and if it is difficult to take a donkey seriously, it ought to be easiest, at least, for a man who is going to Jerusalem. There was a cloud of Christmas weather on the great grey beech-woods and the silver cross of the cross-roads. For the four roads that meet in the market-place of my little town make one of the largest and simplest of such outlines on the map of England; and the shape as it shines on that wooded chart always affects me in a singular fashion. The sight of the cross-roads is in a true sense the sign of the cross. For it is the sign of a truly Christian thing; that sharp combination of liberty and limitation which we call choice. A man is entirely free to choose between right and left, or between right and wrong. As I looked for the last time at the pale roads under the load of cloud, I knew that our civilisation had indeed come to the cross-roads. As the paths grew fainter, fading under the gathering shadow, I felt rather as if it had lost its way in a forest. It was at the time when people were talking about some menace of the end of the world, not apocalyptic but astronomical; and the cloud that covered the little town of Beaconsfield might have fitted in with such a fancy. It faded, however, as I left the place further behind; and in London the weather, though wet, was comparatively clear. It was almost as if Beaconsfield had a domestic day of judgment, and an end of the world all to itself. In a sense Beaconsfield has four ends of the world, for its four corners are named "ends" after the four nearest towns. But I was concerned only with the one called London End; and the very name of it was like a vision of some vain thing at once ultimate and infinite. The very title of London End sounds like the other end of nowhere, or (what is worse) of everywhere. It suggests a sort of derisive riddle; where does London End? As I came up through the vast vague suburbs, it was this sense of London as a shapeless and endless muddle that chiefly filled my mind. I seemed still to carry the cloud with me; and when I looked up, I almost expected to see the chimney-pots as tangled as the trees. And in truth if there was now no material fog, there was any amount of mental and moral fog. The whole industrial world symbolised by London had reached a curious complication and confusion, not easy to parallel in human history. It is not a question of controversies, but rather of cross-purposes. As I went by Charing Cross my eye caught a poster about Labour politics, with something about the threat of Direct Action and a demand for Nationalisation. And quite apart from the merits of the case, it struck me that after all the direct action is very indirect, and the thing demanded is many steps away from the thing desired. It is all part of a sort of tangle, in which terms and things cut across each other. The employers talk about "private enterprise," as if there were anything private about modern enterprise. Its combines are as big as many commonwealths; and things advertised in large letters on the sky cannot plead the shy privileges of privacy. Meanwhile the Labour men talk about the need to "nationalise" the mines or the land, as if it were not the great difficulty in a plutocracy to nationalise the Government, or even to nationalise the nation. The Capitalists praise competition while they create monopoly; the Socialists urge a strike to turn workmen into soldiers and state officials; which is logically a strike against strikes. I merely mention it as an example of the bewildering inconsistency, and for no controversial purpose. My own sympathies are with the Socialists; in so far that there is something to be said for Socialism, and nothing to be said for Capitalism. But the point is that when there is something to be said for one thing, it is now commonly said in support of the opposite thing. Never since the mob called out, "Less bread! More taxes!" in the nonsense story, has there been so truly nonsensical a situation as that in which the strikers demand Government control and the Government denounces its own control as anarchy. The mob howls before the palace gates, "Hateful tyrant, we demand that you assume more despotic powers"; and the tyrant thunders from the balcony, "Vile rebels, do you dare to suggest that my powers should be extended?" There seems to be a little misunderstanding somewhere. In truth everything I saw told me that there was a large misunderstanding everywhere; a misunderstanding amounting to a mess. And as this was the last impression that London left on me, so it was the impression I carried with me about the whole modern problem of Western civilisation, as a riddle to be read or a knot to be untied. To untie it it is necessary to get hold of the right end of it, and especially the other end of it. We must begin at the beginning; we must return to our first origins in history, as we must return to our first principles in philosophy. We must consider how we came to be doing what we do, and even saying what we say. As it is, the very terms we use are either meaningless or something more than meaningless, inconsistent even with themselves. This applies, for instance, to the talk of both sides in that Labour controversy, which I merely took in passing, because it was the current controversy in London when I left. The Capitalists say Bolshevism as one might say Boojum. It is merely a mystical and imaginative word suggesting horror. But it might mean many things; including some just and rational things. On the other hand, there could never be any meaning at all in the phrase "the dictatorship of the proletariat." It is like saying, "the omnipotence of omnibus-conductors." It is fairly obvious that if an omnibus-conductor were omnipotent, he would probably prefer to conduct something else besides an omnibus. Whatever its exponents mean, it is clearly something different from what they say; and even this verbal inconsistency, this mere welter of words, is a sign of the common confusion of thought. It is this sort of thing that made London seem like a limbo of lost words, and possibly of lost wits. And it is here we find the value of what I have called walking backwards through history. It is one of the rare merits of modern mechanical travel that it enables us to compare widely different cities in rapid succession. The stages of my own progress were the chief cities of separate countries; and though more is lost in missing the countries, something is gained in so sharply contrasting the capitals. And again it was one of the advantages of my own progress that it was a progress backwards; that it happened, as I have said, to retrace the course of history to older and older things; to Paris and to Rome and to Egypt, and almost, as it were, to Eden. And finally it is one of the advantages of such a return that it did really begin to clarify the confusion of names and notions in modern society. I first became conscious of this when I went out of the Gare de Lyon and walked along a row of cafes, until I saw again a distant column crowned with a dancing figure; the freedom that danced over the fall of the Bastille. Here at least, I thought, is an origin and a standard, such as I missed in the mere muddle of industrial opportunism. The modern industrial world is not in the least democratic; but it is supposed to be democratic, or supposed to be trying to be democratic. The ninth century, the time of the Norse invasions, was not saintly in the sense of being filled with saints; it was filled with pirates and petty tyrants, and the first feudal anarchy. But sanctity was the only ideal those barbarians had, when they had any at all. And democracy is the only ideal the industrial millions have, when they have any at all. Sanctity was the light of the Dark Ages, or if you will the dream of the Dark Ages. And democracy is the dream of the dark age of industrialism; if it be very much of a dream. It is this which prophets promise to achieve, and politicians pretend to achieve, and poets sometimes desire to achieve, and sometimes only desire to desire. In a word, an equal citizenship is quite the reverse of the reality in the modern world; but it is still the ideal in the modern world. At any rate it has no other ideal. If the figure that has alighted on the column in the Place de la Bastille be indeed the spirit of liberty, it must see a million growths in a modern city to make it wish to fly back again into heaven. But our secular society would not know what goddess to put on the pillar in its place. As I looked at that sculptured goddess on that classical column, my mind went back another historic stage, and I asked myself where this classic and republican ideal came from, and the answer was equally clear. The place from which it had come was the place to which I was going; Rome. And it was not until I had reached Rome that I adequately realised the next great reality that simplified the whole story, and even this particular part of the story. I know nothing more abruptly arresting than that sudden steepness, as of streets scaling the sky, where stands, now cased in tile and brick and stone, that small rock that rose and overshadowed the whole earth; the Capitol. Here in the grey dawn of our history sat the strong Republic that set her foot upon the necks of kings; and it was from here assuredly that the spirit of the Republic flew like an eagle to alight on that far-off pillar in the country of the Gauls. For it ought to be remembered (and it is too often forgotten) that if Paris inherited what may be called the authority of Rome, it is equally true that Rome anticipated all that is sometimes called the anarchy of Paris. The expansion of the Roman Empire was accompanied by a sort of permanent Roman Revolution, fully as furious as the French Revolution. So long as the Roman system was really strong, it was full of riots and mobs and democratic divisions; and any number of Bastilles fell as the temple of the victories rose. But though I had but a hurried glance at such things, there were among them some that further aided the solution of the problem. I saw the larger achievements of the later Romans; and the lesson that was still lacking was plainly there. I saw the Coliseum, a monument of that love of looking on at athletic sports, which is noted as a sign of decadence in the Roman Empire and of energy in the British Empire. I saw the Baths of Caracalla, witnessing to a cult of cleanliness, adduced also to prove the luxury of Ancient Romans and the simplicity of Anglo-Saxons. All it really proves either way is a love of washing on a large scale; which might merely indicate that Caracalla, like other Emperors, was a lunatic. But indeed what such things do indicate, if only indirectly, is something which is here much more important. They indicate not only a sincerity in the public spirit, but a certain smoothness in the public services. In a word, while there were many revolutions, there were no strikes. The citizens were often rebels; but there were men who were not rebels, because they were not citizens. The ancient world forced a number of people to do the work of the world first, before it allowed more privileged people to fight about the government of the world. The truth is trite enough, of course; it is in the single word Slavery, which is not the name of a crime like Simony, but rather of a scheme like Socialism. Sometimes very like Socialism. Only standing idly on one of those grassy mounds under one of those broken arches, I suddenly saw the Labour problem of London, as I could not see it in London. I do not mean that I saw which side was right, or what solution was reliable, or any partisan points or repartees, or any practical details about practical difficulties. I mean that I saw what it was; the thing itself and the whole thing. The Labour problem of to-day stood up quite simply, like a peak at which a man looks back and sees single and solid, though when he was walking over it it was a wilderness of rocks. The Labour problem is the attempt to have the democracy of Paris without the slavery of Rome. Between the Roman Republic and the French Republic something had happened. Whatever else it was, it was the abandonment of the ancient and fundamental human habit of slavery; the numbering of men for necessary labour as the normal foundation of society, even a society in which citizens were free and equal. When the idea of equal citizenship returned to the world, it found that world changed by a much more mysterious version of equality. So that London, handing on the lamp from Paris as well as Rome, is faced with a new problem touching the old practice of getting the work of the world done somehow. We have now to assume not only that all citizens are equal, but that all men are citizens. Capitalism attempted it by combining political equality with economic inequality; it assumed the rich could always hire the poor. But Capitalism seems to me to have collapsed; to be not only a discredited ethic but a bankrupt business. Whether we shall return to pagan slavery, or to small property, or by guilds or otherwise get to work in a new way, is not the question here. The question here was the one I asked myself standing on that green mound beside the yellow river; and the answer to it lay ahead of me, along the road that ran towards the rising sun. What made the difference? What was it that had happened between the rise of the Roman Republic and the rise of the French Republic? Why did the equal citizens of the first take it for granted that there would be slaves? Why did the equal citizens of the second take it for granted that there would not be slaves? How had this immemorial institution disappeared in the interval, so that nobody even dreamed of it or suggested it? How was it that when equality returned, it was no longer the equality of citizens, and had to be the equality of men? The answer is that this equality of men is in more senses than one a mystery. It is a mystery which I pondered as I stood in the corridor of the train going south from Rome. It was at daybreak, and (as it happened) before any one else had risen, that I looked out of the long row of windows across a great landscape grey with olives and still dark against the dawn. The dawn itself looked rather like a row of wonderful windows; a line of low casements unshuttered and shining under the eaves of cloud. There was a curious clarity about the sunrise; as if its sun might be made of glass rather than gold. It was the first time I had seen so closely and covering such a landscape the grey convolutions and hoary foliage of the olive; and all those twisted trees went by like a dance of dragons in a dream. The rocking railway-train and the vanishing railway-line seemed to be going due east, as if disappearing into the sun; and save for the noise of the train there was no sound in all that grey and silver solitude; not even the sound of a bird. Yet the plantations were mostly marked out in private plots and bore every trace of the care of private owners. It is seldom, I confess, that I so catch the world asleep, nor do I know why my answer should have come to me thus when I was myself only half-awake. It is common in such a case to see some new signal or landmark; but in my experience it is rather the things already grown familiar that suddenly grow strange and significant. A million olives must have flashed by before I saw the first olive; the first, so to speak, which really waved the olive branch. For I remembered at last to what land I was going; and I knew the name of the magic which had made all those peasants out of pagan slaves, and has presented to the modern world a new problem of labour and liberty. It was as if I already saw against the clouds of daybreak that mountain which takes its title from the olive: and standing half visible upon it, a figure at which I did not look. _Ex oriente lux_; and I knew what dawn had broken over the ruins of Rome. I have taken but this one text or label, out of a hundred such, the matter of labour and liberty; and thought it worth while to trace it from one blatant and bewildering yellow poster in the London streets to its high places in history. But it is only one example of the way in which a thousand things grouped themselves and fell into perspective as I passed farther and farther from them, and drew near the central origins of civilisation. I do not say that I saw the solution; but I saw the problem. In the litter of journalism and the chatter of politics, it is too much of a puzzle even to be a problem. For instance, a friend of mine described his book, _The Path to Rome_, as a journey through all Europe that the Faith had saved; and I might very well describe my own journey as one through all Europe that the War has saved. The trail of the actual fighting, of course, was awfully apparent everywhere; the plantations of pale crosses seemed to crop up on every side like growing things; and the first French villages through which I passed had heard in the distance, day and night, the guns of the long battle-line, like the breaking of an endless exterior sea of night upon the very borderland of the world. I felt it most as we passed the noble towers of Amiens, so near the high-water mark of the high tide of barbarism, in that night of terror just before the turning of the tide. For the truth which thus grew clearer with travel is rightly represented by the metaphor of the artillery, as the thunder and surf of a sea beyond the world. Whatever else the war was, it was like the resistance of something as solid as land, and sometimes as patient and inert as land, against something as unstable as water, as weak as water; but also as _strong_ as water, as strong as water is in a cataract or a flood. It was the resistance of form to formlessness; that version or vision of it seemed to clarify itself more and more as I went on. It was the defence of that same ancient enclosure in which stood the broken columns of the Roman forum and the column in the Paris square, and of all other such enclosures down to the domestic enclosures of my own dog and donkey. All had the same design, the marking out of a square for the experiment of liberty; of the old civic liberty or the later universal liberty. I knew, to take the domestic metaphor, that the watchdog of the West had again proved too strong for the wild dogs of the Orient. For the foes of such creative limits are chaos and old night, whether they are the Northern barbarism that pitted tribal pride and brutal drill against the civic ideal of Paris, or the Eastern barbarism that brought brigands out of the wilds of Asia to sit on the throne of Byzantium. And as in the other case, what I saw was something simpler and larger than all the disputed details about the war and the peace. A man may think it extraordinary, as I do, that the natural dissolution of the artificial German Empire into smaller states should have actually been prevented by its enemies, when it was already accepted in despair by its friends. For we are now trying hard to hold the Prussian system together, having hammered hard for four mortal years to burst it asunder. Or he may think exactly the opposite; it makes no difference to the larger fact I have in mind. A man may think it simply topsy-turvy, as I do, that we should clear the Turks out of Turkey, but leave them in Constantinople. For that is driving the barbarians from their own rude tillage and pasturage, and giving up to them our own European and Christian city; it is as if the Romans annexed Parthia but surrendered Rome. But he may think exactly the opposite; and the larger and simpler truth will still be there. It was that the weeds and wild things had been everywhere breaking into our boundaries, climbing over the northern wall or crawling through the eastern gate, so that the city would soon have been swallowed in the jungle. And whether the lines had been redrawn logically or loosely, or particular things cleared with consistency or caprice, a line has been drawn somewhere and a clearance has been made somehow. The ancient plan of our city has been saved; a city at least capable of containing citizens. I felt this in the chance relics of the war itself; I felt it twenty times more in those older relics which even the war had never touched at all; I felt the change as much in the changeless East as in the ever-changing West. I felt it when I crossed another great square in Paris to look at a certain statue, which I had last seen hung with crape and such garlands as we give the dead; but on whose plain pedestal nothing now is left but the single word "Strasbourg." I felt it when I saw words merely scribbled with a pencil on a wall in a poor street in Brindisi; _Italia vittoriosa_. But I felt it as much or even more in things infinitely more ancient and remote; in those monuments like mountains that still seem to look down upon all modern things. For these things were more than a trophy that had been raised, they were a palladium that had been rescued. These were the things that had again been saved from chaos, as they were saved at Salamis and Lepanto; and I knew what had saved them or at least in what formation they had been saved. I knew that these scattered splendours of antiquity would hardly have descended to us at all, to be endangered or delivered, if all that pagan world had not crystallised into Christendom. Crossing seas as smooth as pavements inlaid with turquoise and lapis lazuli, and relieved with marble mountains as clear and famous as marble statues, it was easy to feel all that had been pure and radiant even in the long evening of paganism; but that did not make me forget what strong stars had comforted the inevitable night. The historical moral was the same whether these marble outlines were merely "the isles" seen afar off like sunset clouds by the Hebrew prophets, or were felt indeed as Hellas, the great archipelago of arts and arms praised by the Greek poets; the historic heritage of both descended only to the Greek Fathers. In those wild times and places, the thing that preserved both was the only thing that would have permanently preserved either. It was but part of the same story when we passed the hoary hills that held the primeval culture of Crete, and remembered that it may well have been the first home of the Philistines. It mattered the less by now whether the pagans were best represented by Poseidon the deity or by Dagon the demon. It mattered the less what gods had blessed the Greeks in their youth and liberty; for I knew what god had blessed them in their despair. I knew by what sign they had survived the long slavery under Ottoman orientalism; and upon what name they had called in the darkness, when there was no light but the horned moon of Mahound. If the glory of Greece has survived in some sense, I knew why it had ever survived in any sense. Nor did this feeling of our fixed formation fail me when I came to the very gates of Asia and of Africa; when there rose out of the same blue seas the great harbour of Alexandria; where had shone the Pharos like the star of Hellas, and where men had heard from the lips of Hypatia the last words of Plato. I know the Christians tore Hypatia in pieces; but they did not tear Plato in pieces. The wild men that rode behind Omar the Arab would have thought nothing of tearing every page of Plato in pieces. For it is the nature of all this outer nomadic anarchy that it is capable sooner or later of tearing anything and everything in pieces; it has no instinct of preservation or of the permanent needs of men. Where it has passed the ruins remain ruins and are not renewed; where it has been resisted and rolled back, the links of our long history are never lost. As I went forward the vision of our own civilisation, in the form in which it finally found unity, grew clearer and clearer; nor did I ever know it more certainly than when I had left it behind. For the vision was that of a shape appearing and reappearing among shapeless things; and it was a shape I knew. The imagination was forced to rise into altitudes infinitely ancient and dizzy with distance, as if into the cold colours of primeval dawns, or into the upper strata and dead spaces of a daylight older than the sun and moon. But the character of that central clearance still became clearer and clearer. And my memory turned again homewards; and I thought it was like the vision of a man flying from Northolt, over that little market-place beside my own door; who can see nothing below him but a waste as of grey forests, and the pale pattern of a cross. CHAPTER II THE WAY OF THE DESERT It may truly be said, touching the type of culture at least, that Egypt has an Egyptian lower class, a French middle class and an English governing class. Anyhow it is true that the civilisations are stratified in this formation, or superimposed in this order. It is the first impression produced by the darkness and density of the bazaars, the line of the lighted cafes and the blaze of the big hotels. But it contains a much deeper truth in all three cases, and especially in the case of the French influence. It is indeed one of the first examples of what I mean by the divisions of the West becoming clearer in the ancient centres of the East. It is often said that we can only appreciate the work of England in a place like India. In so far as this is true, it is quite equally true that we can only appreciate the work of France in a place like Egypt. But this work is of a peculiar and even paradoxical kind. It is too practical to be prominent, and so universal that it is unnoticed. The French view of the Rights of Man is called visionary; but in practice it is very solid and even prosaic. The French have a unique and successful trick by which French things are not accepted as French. They are accepted as human. However many foreigners played football, they would still consider football an English thing. But they do not consider fencing a French thing, though all the terms of it are still French. If a Frenchman were to label his hostelry an inn or a public house (probably written publicouse) we should think him a victim of rather advanced Anglomania. But when an Englishman calls it an hotel, we feel no special dread of him either as a dangerous foreigner or a dangerous lunatic. We need not recognise less readily the value of this because our own distinction is different; especially as our own distinction is being more distinguished. The spirit of the English is adventure; and it is the essence of adventure that the adventurer does remain different from the strange tribes or strange cities, which he studies because of their strangeness. He does not become like them, as did some of the Germans, or persuade them to become like him, as do most of the French. But whether we like or dislike this French capacity, or merely appreciate it properly in its place, there can be no doubt about the cause of that capacity. The cause is in the spirit that is so often regarded as wildly Utopian and unreal. The cause is in the abstract creed of equality and citizenship; in the possession of a political philosophy that appeals to all men. In truth men have never looked low enough for the success of the French Revolution. They have assumed that it claims to be a sort of divine and distant thing, and therefore have not noticed it in the nearest and most materialistic things. They have watched its wavering in the senate and never seen it walking in the streets; though it can be seen in the streets of Cairo as in the streets of Paris. In Cairo a man thinks it English to go into a tea-shop; but he does not think it French to go into a cafe. And the people who go to the tea-shop, the English officers and officials, are stamped as English and also stamped as official. They are generally genial, they are generally generous, but they have the detachment of a governing group and even a garrison. They cannot be mistaken for human beings. The people going to a cafe are simply human beings going to it because it is a human place. They have forgotten how much is French and how much Egyptian in their civilisation; they simply think of it as civilisation. Now this character of the older French culture must be grasped because it is the clue to many things in the mystery of the modern East. I call it an old culture because as a matter of fact it runs back to the Roman culture. In this respect the Gauls really continue the work of the Romans, in making something official which comes at last to be regarded as ordinary. And the great fundamental fact which is incessantly forgotten and ought to be incessantly remembered, about these cities and provinces of the near East, is that they were once as Roman as Gaul. There is a frivolous and fanciful debate I have often had with a friend, about whether it is better to find one's way or to lose it, to remember the road or to forget it. I am so constituted as to be capable of losing my way in my own village and almost in my own house. And I am prepared to maintain the privilege to be a poetic one. In truth I am prepared to maintain that both attitudes are valuable, and should exist side by side. And so my friend and I walk side by side along the ways of the world, he being full of a rich and humane sentiment, because he remembers passing that way a few hundred times since his childhood; while to me existence is a perpetual fairy-tale, because I have forgotten all about it. The lamp-post which moves him to a tear of reminiscence wrings from me a cry of astonishment; and the wall which to him is as historic as a pyramid is to me as arresting and revolutionary as a barricade. Now in this, I am glad to say, my temperament is very English; and the difference is very typical of the two functions of the English and the French. But in practical politics the French have a certain advantage in knowing where they are, and knowing it is where they have been before. It is in the Roman Empire. The position of the English in Egypt or even in Palestine is something of a paradox. The real English claim is never heard in England and never uttered by Englishmen. We do indeed hear a number of false English claims, and other English claims that are rather irrelevant than false. We hear pompous and hypocritical suggestions, full of that which so often accompanies the sin of pride, the weakness of provinciality. We hear suggestions that the English alone can establish anywhere a reign of law, justice, mercy, purity and all the rest of it. We also hear franker and fairer suggestions that the English have after all (as indeed they have) embarked on a spirited and stirring adventure; and that there has been a real romance in the extending of the British Empire in strange lands. But the real case for these semi-eastern occupations is not that of extending the British Empire in strange lands. Rather it is restoring the Roman Empire in familiar lands. It is not merely breaking out of Europe in the search for something non-European. It would be much truer to call it putting Europe together again after it had been broken. It may almost be said of the Britons, considered as the most western of Europeans, that they have so completely forgotten their own history that they have forgotten even their own rights. At any rate they have forgotten the claims that could reasonably be made for them, but which they never think of making for themselves. They have not the faintest notion, for instance, of why hundreds of years ago an English saint was taken from Egypt, or why an English king was fighting in Palestine. They merely have a vague idea that George of Cappadocia was naturalised much in the same way as George of Hanover. They almost certainly suppose that Coeur de Lion in his wanderings happened to meet the King of Egypt, as Captain Cook might happen to meet the King of the Cannibal Islands. To understand the past connection of England with the near East, it is necessary to understand something that lies behind Europe and even behind the Roman Empire; something that can only be conveyed by the name of the Mediterranean. When people talk, for instance, as if the Crusades were nothing more than an aggressive raid against Islam, they seem to forget in the strangest way that Islam itself was only an aggressive raid against the old and ordered civilisation in these parts. I do not say it in mere hostility to the religion of Mahomet; as will be apparent later, I am fully conscious of many values and virtues in it; but certainly it was Islam that was the invasion and Christendom that was the thing invaded. An Arabian gentleman found riding on the road to Paris or hammering on the gates of Vienna can hardly complain that we have sought him out in his simple tent in the desert. The conqueror of Sicily and Spain cannot reasonably express surprise at being an object of morbid curiosity to the people of Italy and France. In the city of Cairo the stranger feels many of the Moslem merits, but he certainly feels the militaristic character of the Moslem glories. The crown of the city is the citadel, built by the great Saladin but of the spoils of ancient Egyptian architecture; and that fact is in its turn very symbolical. The man was a great conqueror, but he certainly behaved like an invader; he spoiled the Egyptians. He broke the old temples and tombs and built his own out of fragments. Nor is this the only respect in which the citadel of Cairo is set high like a sign in heaven. The sign is also significant because from this superb height the traveller first beholds the desert, out of which the great conquest came. Every one has heard the great story of the Greeks who cried aloud in triumph when they saw the sea afar off; but it is a stranger experience to see the earth afar off. And few of us, strictly speaking, have ever seen the earth at all. In cultivated countries it is always clad, as it were, in green garments. The first sight of the desert is like the sight of a naked giant in the distance. The image is all the more natural because of the particular formation which it takes, at least as it borders upon the fields of Egypt, and as it is seen from the high places of Cairo. Those who have seen the desert only in pictures generally think of it as entirely flat. But this edge of it at least stands up on the horizon, as a line of wrinkled and hollow hills like the scalps of bald men; or worse, of bald women. For it is impossible not to think of such repulsive images, in spite of real sublimity of the call to the imagination. There is something curiously hostile and inhuman about the first appearance of the motionless surges of that dry and dreadful sea. Afterwards, if the traveller has happened to linger here and there in the outposts of the desert, has seen the British camp at Kantara or the graceful French garden town of Ismalia, he comes to take the desert as a background, and sometimes a beautiful background; a mirror of mighty reflections and changing colours almost as strange as the colours of the sea. But when it is first seen abutting, and as it were, advancing, upon the fields and gardens of humanity, then it looks indeed like an enemy, or a long line of enemies; like a line of tawny wild beasts thus halted with their heads lifted. It is the feeling that such vain and sterile sand can yet make itself into something like a mountain range; and the traveller remembers all the tragedies of the desert, when he lifts up his eyes to those accursed hills, from whence no help can come. But this is only a first glimpse from a city set among green fields; and is concerned rather with what the desert has been in its relation to men than with what the desert is in itself. When the mind has grown used to its monotony, a curious change takes place which I have never seen noted or explained by the students of mental science. It may sound strange to say that monotony of its nature becomes novelty. But if any one will try the common experiment of saying some ordinary word such as "moon" or "man" about fifty times, he will find that the expression has become extraordinary by sheer repetition. A man has become a strange animal with a name as queer as that of the gnu; and the moon something monstrous like the moon-calf. Something of this magic of monotony is effected by the monotony of deserts; and the traveller feels as if he had entered into a secret, and was looking at everything from another side. Something of this simplification appears, I think, in the religions of the desert, especially in the religion of Islam. It explains something of the super-human hopes that fill the desert prophets concerning the future; it explains something also about their barbarous indifference to the past. We think of the desert and its stones as old; but in one sense they are unnaturally new. They are unused, and perhaps unusable. They might be the raw material of a world; only they are so raw as to be rejected. It is not easy to define this quality of something primitive, something not mature enough to be fruitful. Indeed there is a hard simplicity about many Eastern things that is as much crude as archaic. A palm-tree is very like a tree drawn by a child--or by a very futurist artist. Even a pyramid is like a mathematical figure drawn by a schoolmaster teaching children; and its very impressiveness is that of an ultimate Platonic abstraction. There is something curiously simple about the shape in which these colossal crystals of the ancient sands have been cast. It is only when we have felt something of this element, not only of simplicity, but of crudity, and even in a sense of novelty, that we can begin to understand both the immensity and the insufficiency of that power that came out of the desert, the great religion of Mahomet. In the red circle of the desert, in the dark and secret place, the prophet discovers the obvious things. I do not say it merely as a sneer, for obvious things are very easily forgotten; and indeed every high civilisation decays by forgetting obvious things. But it is true that in such a solitude men tend to take very simple ideas as if they were entirely new ideas. There is a love of concentration which comes from the lack of comparison. The lonely man looking at the lonely palm-tree does see the elementary truths about the palm-tree; and the elementary truths are very essential. Thus he does see that though the palm-tree may be a very simple design, it was not he who designed it. It may look like a tree drawn by a child, but he is not the child who could draw it. He has not command of that magic slate on which the pictures can come to life, or of that magic green chalk of which the green lines can grow. He sees at once that a power is at work in whose presence he and the palm-tree are alike little children. In other words, he is intelligent enough to believe in God; and the Moslem, the man of the desert, is intelligent enough to believe in God. But his belief is lacking in that humane complexity that comes from comparison. The man looking at the palm-tree does realise the simple fact that God made it; while the man looking at the lamp-post in a large modern city can be persuaded by a hundred sophistical circumlocutions that he made it himself. But the man in the desert cannot compare the palm-tree with the lamp-post, or even with all the other trees which may be better worth looking at than the lamp-post. Hence his religion, though true as far as it goes, has not the variety and vitality of the churches that were designed by men walking in the woods and orchards. I speak here of the Moslem type of religion and not of the oriental type of ornament, which is much older than the Moslem type of religion. But even the oriental type of ornament, admirable as it often is, is to the ornament of a gothic cathedral what a fossil forest is to a forest full of birds. In short, the man of the desert tends to simplify too much, and to take his first truth for the last truth. And as it is with religion so it is with morality. He who believes in the existence of God believes in the equality of man. And it has been one of the merits of the Moslem faith that it felt men as men, and was not incapable of welcoming men of many different races. But here again it was so hard and crude that its very equality was like a desert rather than a field. Its very humanity was inhuman. But though this human sentiment is rather rudimentary it is very real. When a man in the desert meets another man, he is really a man; the proverbial two-legged fowl without feathers. He is an absolute and elementary shape, like the palm-tree or the pyramid. The discoverer does not pause to consider through what gradations he may have been evolved from a camel. When the man is a mere dot in the distance, the other man does not shout at him and ask whether he had a university education, or whether he is quite sure he is purely Teutonic and not Celtic or Iberian. A man is a man; and a man is a very important thing. One thing redeems the Moslem morality which can be set over against a mountain of crimes; a considerable deposit of common sense. And the first fact of common sense is the common bond of men. There is indeed in the Moslem character also a deep and most dangerous potentiality of fanaticism of the menace of which something may be said later. Fanaticism sounds like the flat contrary of common sense; yet curiously enough they are both sides of the same thing. The fanatic of the desert is dangerous precisely because he does take his faith as a fact, and not even as a truth in our more transcendental sense. When he does take up a mystical idea he takes it as he takes the man or the palm-tree; that is, quite literally. When he does distinguish somebody not as a man but as a Moslem, then he divides the Moslem from the non-Moslem exactly as he divides the man from the camel. But even then he recognises the equality of men in the sense of the equality of Moslems. He does not, for instance, complicate his conscience with any sham science about races. In this he has something like an intellectual advantage over the Jew, who is generally so much his intellectual superior; and even in some ways his spiritual superior. The Jew has far more moral imagination and sympathy with the subtler ideals of the soul. For instance, it is said that many Jews disbelieve in a future life; but if they did believe in a future life, it would be something more worthy of the genius of Isaiah and Spinoza. The Moslem Paradise is a very Earthly Paradise. But with all their fine apprehensions, the Jews suffer from one heavy calamity; that of being a Chosen Race. It is the vice of any patriotism or religion depending on race that the individual is himself the thing to be worshipped; the individual is his own ideal, and even his own idol. This fancy was fatal to the Germans; it is fatal to the Anglo-Saxons, whenever any of them forswear the glorious name of Englishmen and Americans to fall into that forlorn description. This is not so when the nation is felt as a noble abstraction, of which the individual is proud in the abstract. A Frenchman is proud of France, and therefore may think himself unworthy of France. But a German is proud of being a German; and he cannot be too unworthy to be a German when he is a German. In short, mere family pride flatters every member of the family; it produced the arrogance of the Germans, and it is capable of producing a much subtler kind of arrogance in the Jews. From this particular sort of self-deception the more savage man of the desert is free. If he is not considering somebody as a Moslem, he will consider him as a man. At the price of something like barbarism, he has at least been saved from ethnology. But here again the obvious is a limit as well as a light to him. It does not permit, for instance, anything fine or subtle in the sentiment of sex. Islam asserts admirably the equality of men; but it is the equality of males. No one can deny that a noble dignity is possible even to the poorest, who has seen the Arabs coming in from the desert to the cities of Palestine or Egypt. No one can deny that men whose rags are dropping off their backs can bear themselves in a way befitting kings or prophets in the great stories of Scripture. No one can be surprised that so many fine artists have delighted to draw such models on the spot, and to make realistic studies for illustrations to the Old and New Testaments. On the road to Cairo one may see twenty groups exactly like that of the Holy Family in the pictures of the Flight into Egypt; with only one difference. The man is riding on the ass. In the East it is the male who is dignified and even ceremonial. Possibly that is why he wears skirts. I pointed out long ago that petticoats, which some regard as a garb of humiliation for women are really regarded as the only garb of magnificence for men, when they wish to be something more than men. They are worn by kings, by priests, and by judges. The male Moslem, especially in his own family, is the king and the priest and the judge. I do not mean merely that he is the master, as many would say of the male in many Western societies, especially simple and self-governing societies. I mean something more; I mean that he has not only the kingdom and the power but the glory, and even as it were the glamour. I mean he has not only the rough leadership that we often give to the man, but the special sort of social beauty and stateliness that we generally expect only of the woman. What we mean when we say that an ambitious man wants to have a fine woman at the head of the dinner-table, that the Moslem world really means when it expects to see a fine man at the head of the house. Even in the street he is the peacock, coloured much more splendidly than the peahen. Even when clad in comparatively sober and partly European costume, as outside the cafes of Cairo and the great cities, he exhibits this indefinable character not merely of dignity but of pomp. It can be traced even in the tarbouch, the minimum of Turkish attire worn by all the commercial classes; the thing more commonly called in England a fez. The fez is not a sort of smoking cap. It is a tower of scarlet often tall enough to be the head-dress of a priest. And it is a hat one cannot take off to a lady. This fact is familiar enough in talk about Moslem and oriental life generally; but I only repeat it in order to refer it back to the same simplification which is the advantage and disadvantage of the philosophy of the desert. Chivalry is not an obvious idea. It is not as plain as a pike-staff or as a palm-tree. It is a delicate balance between the sexes which gives the rarest and most poetic kind of pleasure to those who can strike it. But it is not self-evident to a savage merely because he is also a sane man. It often seems to him as much a part of his own coarse common sense that all the fame and fun should go to the sex that is stronger and less tied, as that all the authority should go to the parents rather than the children. Pity for weakness he can understand; and the Moslem is quite capable of giving royal alms to a cripple or an orphan. But reverence for weakness is to him simply meaningless. It is a mystical idea that is to him no more than a mystery. But the same is true touching what may be called the lighter side of the more civilised sentiment. This hard and literal view of life gives no place for that slight element of a magnanimous sort of play-acting, which has run through all our tales of true lovers in the West. Wherever there is chivalry there is courtesy; and wherever there is courtesy there is comedy. There is no comedy in the desert. Another quite logical and consistent element, in the very logical and consistent creed we call Mahometanism, is the element that we call Vandalism. Since such few and obvious things alone are vital, and since a half-artistic half-antiquarian affection is not one of these things, and cannot be called obvious, it is largely left out. It is very difficult to say in a few well-chosen words exactly what is now the use of the Pyramids. Therefore Saladin, the great Saracen warrior, simply stripped the Pyramids to build a military fortress on the heights of Cairo. It is a little difficult to define exactly what is a man's duty to the Sphinx; and therefore the Mamelukes used it entirely as a target. There was little in them of that double feeling, full of pathos and irony, which divided the hearts of the primitive Christians in presence of the great pagan literature and art. This is not concerned with brutal outbreaks of revenge which may be found on both sides, or with chivalrous caprices of toleration, which may also be found on both sides; it is concerned with the inmost mentality of the two religions, which must be understood in order to do justice to either. The Moslem mind never tended to that mystical mode of "loving yet leaving" with which Augustine cried aloud upon the ancient beauty, or Dante said farewell to Virgil when he left him in the limbo of the pagans. The Moslem traditions, unlike the medieval legends, do not suggest the image of a knight who kissed Venus before he killed her. We see in all the Christian ages this combination which is not a compromise, but rather a complexity made by two contrary enthusiasms; as when the Dark Ages copied out the pagan poems while denying the pagan legends; or when the popes of the Renascence imitated the Greek temples while denying the Greek gods. This high inconsistency is inconsistent with Islam. Islam, as I have said, takes everything literally, and does not know how to play with anything. And the cause of the contrast is the historical cause of which we must be conscious in all studies of this kind. The Christian Church had from a very early date the idea of reconstructing a whole civilisation, and even a complex civilisation. It was the attempt to make a new balance, which differed from the old balance of the stoics of Rome; but which could not afford to lose its balance any more than they. It differed because the old system was one of many religions under one government, while the new was one of many governments under one religion. But the idea of variety in unity remained though it was in a sense reversed. A historical instinct made the men of the new Europe try hard to find a place for everything in the system, however much might be denied to the individual. Christians might lose everything, but Christendom, if possible, must not lose anything. The very nature of Islam, even at its best, was quite different from this. Nobody supposed, even subconsciously, that Mahomet meant to restore ancient Babylon as medievalism vaguely sought to restore ancient Rome. Nobody thought that the builders of the Mosque of Omar had looked at the Pyramids as the builders of St. Peter's might have looked at the Parthenon. Islam began at the beginning; it was content with the idea that it had a great truth; as indeed it had a colossal truth. It was so huge a truth that it was hard to see it was a half-truth. Islam was a movement; that is why it has ceased to move. For a movement can only be a mood. It may be a very necessary movement arising from a very noble mood, but sooner or later it must find its level in a larger philosophy, and be balanced against other things. Islam was a reaction towards simplicity; it was a violent simplification, which turned out to be an over-simplification. Stevenson has somewhere one of his perfectly picked phrases for an empty-minded man; that he has not one thought to rub against another while he waits for a train. The Moslem had one thought, and that a most vital one; the greatness of God which levels all men. But the Moslem had not one thought to rub against another, because he really had not another. It is the friction of two spiritual things, of tradition and invention, or of substance and symbol, from which the mind takes fire. The creeds condemned as complex have something like the secret of sex; they can breed thoughts. An idealistic intellectual remarked recently that there were a great many things in the creed for which he had no use. He might just as well have said that there were a great many things in the _Encyclopedia Britannica_ for which he had no use. It would probably have occurred to him that the work in question was meant for humanity and not for him. But even in the case of the _Encyclopedia_, it will often be found a stimulating exercise to read two articles on two widely different subjects and note where they touch. In fact there is really a great deal to be said for the man in _Pickwick_ who read first about China and then about metaphysics and combined his information. But however this may be in the famous case of Chinese metaphysics, it is this which is chiefly lacking in Arabian metaphysics. They suffer, as I have said of the palm-tree in the desert, from a lack of the vitality that comes from complexity, and of the complexity that comes from comparison. They suffer from having been in a single movement in a single direction; from having begun as a mood and ended rather as a mode, that is a mere custom or fashion. But any modern Christian thus criticising the Moslem movement will do well to criticise himself and his world at the same time. For in truth most modern things are mere movements in the same sense as the Moslem movement. They are at best fashions, in which one thing is exaggerated because it has been neglected. They are at worst mere monomanias, in which everything is neglected that one thing may be exaggerated. Good or bad, they are alike movements which in their nature can only move for a certain distance and then stop. Feminism, for instance, is in its nature a movement, and one that must stop somewhere. But the Suffragettes no more established a philosophy of the sexes by their feminism than the Arabs did by their anti-feminism. A woman can find her home on the hustings even less than in the harem; but such movements do not really attempt to find a final home for anybody or anything. Bolshevism is a movement; and in my opinion a very natural and just movement considered as a revolt against the crude cruelty of Capitalism. But when we find the Bolshevists making a rule that the drama "must encourage the proletarian spirit," it is obvious that those who say so are not only maniacs but, what is more to the point here, are monomaniacs. Imagine having to apply that principle, let us say, to "Charley's Aunt." None of these things seek to establish a complete philosophy such as Aquinas founded on Aristotle. The only two modern men who attempted it were Comte and Herbert Spencer. Spencer, I think, was too small a man to do it at all; and Comte was a great enough man to show how difficult it is to do it in modern times. None of these movements can do anything but move; they have not discovered where to rest. And this fact brings us back to the man of the desert, who moves and does not rest; but who has many superiorities to the restless races of the industrial city. Men who have been in the Manchester movement in 1860 and the Fabian movement in 1880 cannot sneer at a religious mood that lasted for eight hundred years. And those who tolerate the degraded homelessness of the slums cannot despise the much more dignified homelessness of the desert. Nevertheless, the thing is a homelessness and not a home; and there runs through it all the note of the nomad. The Moslem takes literally, as he takes everything, the truth that here we have no abiding city. He can see no meaning in the mysticism of materialism, the sacramental idea that a French poet expressed so nobly, when he said that our earthly city is the body of the city of God. He has no true notion of building a house, or in our Western sense of recognising the kindred points of heaven and home. Even the exception to this rule is an exception at once terrible and touching. There is one house that the Moslem does build like a house and even a home, often with walls and roof and door; as square as a cottage, as solid as a fort. And that is his grave. A Moslem cemetery is literally like a little village. It is a village, as the saying goes, that one would not care to walk through at night. There is something singularly creepy about so strange a street of houses, each with a door that might be opened by a dead man. But in a less fanciful sense, there is about it something profoundly pathetic and human. Here indeed is the sailor home from sea, in the only port he will consent to call his home; here at last the nomad confesses the common need of men. But even about this there broods the presence of the desert and its dry bones of reason. He will accept nothing between a tent and a tomb. The philosophy of the desert can only begin over again. It cannot grow; it cannot have what Protestants call progress and Catholics call development. There is death and hell in the desert when it does begin over again. There is always the possibility that a new prophet will rediscover the old truth; will find again written on the red sands the secret of the obvious. But it will always be the same secret, for which thousands of these simple and serious and splendidly valiant men will die. The highest message of Mahomet is a piece of divine tautology. The very cry that God is God is a repetition of words, like the repetitions of wide sands and rolling skies. The very phrase is like an everlasting echo, that can never cease to say the same sacred word; and when I saw afterwards the mightiest and most magnificent of all the mosques of that land, I found that its inscriptions had the same character of a deliberate and defiant sameness. The ancient Arabic alphabet and script is itself at once so elegant and so exact that it can be used as a fixed ornament, like the egg and dart pattern or the Greek key. It is as if we could make a heraldry of handwriting, or cover a wall-paper with signatures. But the literary style is as recurrent as the decorative style; perhaps that is why it can be used as a decorative style. Phrases are repeated again and again like ornamental stars or flowers. Many modern people, for example, imagine that the Athanasian Creed is full of vain repetitions; but that is because people are too lazy to listen to it, or not lucid enough to understand it. The same terms are used throughout, as they are in a proposition of Euclid. But the steps are all as differentiated and progressive as in a proposition of Euclid. But in the inscriptions of the Mosque whole sentences seem to occur, not like the steps of an argument, but rather like the chorus of a song. This is the impression everywhere produced by this spirit of the sandy wastes; this is the voice of the desert, though the muezzin cries from the high turrets of the city. Indeed one is driven to repeating oneself about the repetition, so overpowering is the impression of the tall horizons of those tremendous plains, brooding upon the soul with all the solemn weight of the self-evident. There is indeed another aspect of the desert, yet more ancient and momentous, of which I may speak; but here I only deal with its effect on this great religion of simplicity. For it is through the atmosphere of that religion that a man makes his way, as so many pilgrims have done, to the goal of this pilgrimage. Also this particular aspect remained the more sharply in my memory because of the suddenness with which I escaped from it. I had not expected the contrast; and it may have coloured all my after experiences. I descended from the desert train at Ludd, which had all the look of a large camp in the desert; appropriately enough perhaps, for it is the traditional birthplace of the soldier St. George. At the moment, however, there was nothing rousing or romantic about its appearance. It was perhaps unusually dreary; for heavy rain had fallen; and the water stood about in what it is easier to call large puddles than anything so poetic as small pools. A motor car sent by friends had halted beside the platform; I got into it with a not unusual vagueness about where I was going; and it wound its way up miry paths to a more rolling stretch of country with patches of cactus here and there. And then with a curious abruptness I became conscious that the whole huge desert had vanished, and I was in a new land. The dark red plains had rolled away like an enormous nightmare; and I found myself in a fresh and exceedingly pleasant dream. I know it will seem fanciful; but for a moment I really felt as if I had come home; or rather to that home behind home for which we are all homesick. The lost memory of it is the life at once of faith and of fairy-tale. Groves glowing with oranges rose behind hedges of grotesque cactus or prickly pear; which really looked like green dragons guarding the golden apples of the Hesperides. On each side of the road were such flowers as I had never seen before under the sun; for indeed they seemed to have the sun in them rather than the sun on them. Clusters and crowds of crimson anemones were of a red not to be symbolised in blood or wine; but rather in the red glass that glows in the window dedicated to a martyr. Only in a wild Eastern tale could one picture a pilgrim or traveller finding such a garden in the desert; and I thought of the oldest tale of all and the garden from which we came. But there was something in it yet more subtle; which there must be in the impression of any earthly paradise. It is vital to such a dream that things familiar should be mixed with things fantastic; as when an actual dream is filled with the faces of old friends. Sparrows, which seem to be the same all over the world, were darting hither and thither among the flowers; and I had the fancy that they were the souls of the town-sparrows of London and the smoky cities, and now gone wherever the good sparrows go. And a little way up the road before me, on the hill between the cactus hedges, I saw a grey donkey trotting; and I could almost have sworn that it was the donkey I had left at home. He was trotting on ahead of me, and the outline of his erect and elfish ears was dark against the sky. He was evidently going somewhere with great determination; and I thought I knew to what appropriate place he was going, and that it was my fate to follow him like a moving omen. I lost sight of him later, for I had to complete the journey by train; but the train followed the same direction, which was up steeper and steeper hills. I began to realise more clearly where I was; and to know that the garden in the desert that had bloomed so suddenly about me had borne for many desert wanderers the name of the promised land. As the rocks rose higher and higher on every side, and hung over us like terrible and tangible clouds, I saw in the dim grass of the slopes below them something I had never seen before. It was a rainbow fallen upon the earth, with no part of it against the sky, but only the grasses and the flowers shining through its fine shades of fiery colour. I thought this also was like an omen; and in such a mood of idle mysticism there fell on me another accident which I was content to count for a third. For when the train stopped at last in the rain, and there was no other vehicle for the last lap of the journey, a very courteous officer, an army surgeon, gave me a seat in an ambulance wagon; and it was under the shield of the red cross that I entered Jerusalem. For suddenly, between a post of the wagon and a wrack of rainy cloud I saw it, uplifted and withdrawn under all the arching heavens of its history, alone with its benediction and its blasphemy, the city that is set upon a hill, and cannot be hid. CHAPTER III THE GATES OF THE CITY The men I met coming from Jerusalem reported all sorts of contradictory impressions; and yet my own impression contradicted them all. Their impressions were doubtless as true as mine; but I describe my own because it is true, and because I think it points to a neglected truth about the real Jerusalem. I need not say I did not expect the real Jerusalem to be the New Jerusalem; a city of charity and peace, any more than a city of chrysolite and pearl. I might more reasonably have expected an austere and ascetic place, oppressed with the weight of its destiny, with no inns except monasteries, and these sealed with the terrible silence of the Trappists; an awful city where men speak by signs in the street. I did not need the numberless jokes about Jerusalem to-day, to warn me against expecting this; anyhow I did not expect it, and certainly I did not find it. But neither did I find what I was much more inclined to expect; something at the other extreme. Many reports had led me to look for a truly cosmopolitan town, that is a truly conquered town. I looked for a place like Cairo, containing indeed old and interesting things, but open on every side to new and vulgar things; full of the touts who seem only created for the tourists and the tourists who seem only created for the touts. There may be more of this in the place than pleases those who would idealise it. But I fancy there is much less of it than is commonly supposed in the reaction from such an ideal. It does not, like Cairo, offer the exciting experience of twenty guides fighting for one traveller; of young Turks drinking American cocktails as a protest against Christian wine. The town is quite inconvenient enough to make it a decent place for pilgrims. Or a stranger might have imagined a place even less Western than Cairo, one of those villages of Palestine described in dusty old books of Biblical research. He might remember drawings like diagrams representing a well or a wine-press, rather a dry well, so to speak, and a wine-press very difficult to associate with wine. These hard colourless outlines never did justice to the colour of the East, but even to give it the colour of the East would not do justice to Jerusalem. If I had anticipated the Bagdad of all our dreams, a maze of bazaars glowing with gorgeous wares, I should have been wrong again. There is quite enough of this vivid and varied colour in Jerusalem, but it is not the first fact that arrests the attention, and certainly not the first that arrested mine. I give my own first impression as a fact, for what it is worth and exactly as it came. I did not expect it, and it was some time before I even understood it. As soon as I was walking inside the walls of Jerusalem, I had an overwhelming impression that I was walking in the town of Rye, where it looks across the flat sea-meadows towards Winchelsea. As I tried to explain this eccentric sentiment to myself, I was conscious of another which at once completed and contradicted it. It was not only like a memory of Rye, it was mixed with a memory of the Mount St. Michael, which stands among the sands of Normandy on the other side of the narrow seas. The first part of the sensation is that the traveller, as he walks the stony streets between the walls, feels that he is inside a fortress. But it is the paradox of such a place that, while he feels in a sense that he is in a prison, he also feels that he is on a precipice. The sense of being uplifted, and set on a high place, comes to him through the smallest cranny, or most accidental crack in rock or stone; it comes to him especially through those long narrow windows in the walls of the old fortifications; those slits in the stone through which the medieval archers used their bows and the medieval artists used their eyes, with even greater success. Those green glimpses of fields far below or of flats far away, which delight us and yet make us dizzy (by being both near and far) when seen through the windows of Memling, can often be seen from the walls of Jerusalem. Then I remembered that in the same strips of medieval landscape could be seen always, here and there, a steep hill crowned with a city of towers. And I knew I had the mystical and double pleasure of seeing such a hill and standing on it. A city that is set upon a hill cannot be hid; but it is more strange when the hill cannot anywhere be hid, even from the citizen in the city. Then indeed I knew that what I saw was Jerusalem of the Crusaders; or at least Jerusalem of the Crusades. It was a medieval town, with walls and gates and a citadel, and built upon a hill to be defended by bowmen. The greater part of the actual walls now standing were built by Moslems late in the Middle Ages; but they are almost exactly like the walls that were being built by the Christians at or before that time. The Crusader Edward, afterwards Edward the First, reared such battlements far away among the rainy hills of Wales. I do not know what elements were originally Gothic or what originally Saracenic. The Crusaders and the Saracens constantly copied each other while they combated each other; indeed it is a fact always to be found in such combats. It is one of the arguments against war that are really human, and therefore are never used by humanitarians. The curse of war is that it does lead to more international imitation; while in peace and freedom men can afford to have national variety. But some things in this country were certainly copied from the Christian invaders, and even if they are not Christian they are in many ways strangely European. The wall and gates which now stand, whatever stood before them and whatever comes after them, carry a memory of those men from the West who came here upon that wild adventure, who climbed this rock and clung to it so perilously from the victory of Godfrey to the victory of Saladin; and that is why this momentary Eastern exile reminded me so strangely of the hill of Rye and of home. I do not forget, of course, that all these visible walls and towers are but the battlements and pinnacles of a buried city, or of many buried cities. I do not forget that such buildings have foundations that are to us almost like fossils; the gigantic fossils of some other geological epoch. Something may be said later of those lost empires whose very masterpieces are to us like petrified monsters. From this height, after long histories unrecorded, fell the forgotten idol of the Jebusites, on that day when David's javelin-men scaled the citadel and carried through it, in darkness behind his coloured curtains, the god whose image had never been made by man. Here was waged that endless war between the graven gods of the plain and the invisible god of the mountain; from here the hosts carrying the sacred fish of the Philistines were driven back to the sea from which their worship came. Those who worshipped on this hill had come out of bondage in Egypt and went into bondage in Babylon; small as was their country, there passed before them almost the whole pageant of the old pagan world. All its strange shapes and strong almost cruel colours remain in the records of their prophets; whose lightest phrase seems heavier than the pyramids of Egypt; and whose very words are like winged bulls walking. All this historic or pre-historic interest may be touched on in its turn; but I am not dealing here with the historic secrets unearthed by the study of the place, but with the historic associations aroused by the sight of it. The traveller is in the position of that famous fantastic who tied his horse to a wayside cross in the snow, and afterward saw it dangling from the church-spire of what had been a buried city. But here the cross does not stand as it does on the top of a spire; but as it does on the top of an Egyptian obelisk in Rome,-- where the priests have put a cross on the top of the heathen monument; for fear it should walk. I entirely sympathise with their sentiment; and I shall try to suggest later why I think that symbol the logical culmination of heathen as well as Christian things. The traveller in the traveller's tale looked up at last and saw, from the streets far below, the spire and cross dominating a Gothic city. If I looked up in a vision and saw it dominating a Babylonian city, that blocked the heavens with monstrous palaces and temples, I should still think it natural that it should dominate. But the point here is that what I saw above ground was rather the Gothic town than the Babylonian; and that it reminded me, if not specially of the cross, at least of the soldiers who took the cross. Nor do I forget the long centuries that have passed over the place since these medieval walls were built, any more than the far more interesting centuries that passed before they were built. But any one taking exception to the description on that ground may well realise, on consideration, that it is an exception that proves the rule. There is something very negative about Turkish rule; and the best and worst of it is in the word neglect. Everything that lived under the vague empire of Constantinople remained in a state of suspended animation like something frozen rather than decayed, like something sleeping rather than dead. It was a sort of Arabian spell, like that which turned princes and princesses into marble statues in the _Arabian Nights_. All that part of the history of the place is a kind of sleep; and that of a sleeper who hardly knows if he has slept an hour or a hundred years. When I first found myself in the Jaffa Gate of Jerusalem, my eye happened to fall on something that might be seen anywhere, but which seemed somehow to have a curious significance there. Most people are conscious of some common object which still strikes them as uncommon; as if it were the first fantastic sketch in the sketch-book of nature. I myself can never overcome the sense of something almost unearthly about grass growing upon human buildings. There is in it a wild and even horrible fancy, as if houses could grow hair. When I saw that green hair on the huge stone blocks of the citadel, though I had seen the same thing on any number of ruins, it came to me like an omen or a vision, a curious vision at once of chaos and of sleep. It is said that the grass will not grow where the Turk sets his foot; but it is the other side of the same truth to say that it would grow anywhere but where it ought to grow. And though in this case it was but an accident and a symbol, it was a very true symbol. We talk of the green banner of the Turk having been planted on this or that citadel; and certainly it was so planted with splendid valour and sensational victory. But this is the green banner that he plants on all his high cities in the end. Therefore my immediate impression of the walls and gates was not contradicted by my consciousness of what came before and what came after that medieval period. It remained primarily a thing of walls and gates; a thing which the modern world does not perhaps understand so well as the medieval world. There is involved in it all that idea of definition which those who do not like it are fond of describing as dogma. A wall is like rule; and the gates are like the exceptions that prove the rule. The man making it has to decide where his rule will run and where his exception shall stand. He cannot have a city that is all gates any more than a house that is all windows; nor is it possible to have a law that consists entirely of liberties. The ancient races and religions that contended for this city agreed with each other in this, when they differed about everything else. It was true of practically all of them that when they built a city they built a citadel. That is, whatever strange thing they may have made, they regarded it as something to be defined and to be defended. And from this standpoint the holy city was a happy city; it had no suburbs. That is to say, there are all sorts of buildings outside the wall; but they are outside the wall. Everybody is conscious of being inside or outside a boundary; but it is the whole character of the true suburbs which grow round our great industrial towns that they grow, as it were, unconsciously and blindly, like grass that covers up a boundary line traced on the earth. This indefinite expansion is controlled neither by the soul of the city from within, nor by the resistance of the lands round about. It destroys at once the dignity of a town and the freedom of a countryside. The citizens are too new and numerous for citizenship; yet they never learn what there is to be learned of the ancient traditions of agriculture. The first sight of the sharp outline of Jerusalem is like a memory of the older types of limitation and liberty. Happy is the city that has a wall; and happier still if it is a precipice. Again, Jerusalem might be called a city of staircases. Many streets are steep and most actually cut into steps. It is, I believe, an element in the controversy about the cave at Bethlehem traditionally connected with the Nativity that the sceptics doubt whether any beasts of burden could have entered a stable that has to be reached by such steps. And indeed to any one in a modern city like London or Liverpool it may well appear odd, like a cab-horse climbing a ladder. But as a matter of fact, if the asses and goats of Jerusalem could not go up and downstairs, they could not go anywhere. However this may be, I mention the matter here merely as adding another touch to that angular profile which is the impression involved here. Strangely enough, there is something that leads up to this impression even in the labyrinth of mountains through which the road winds its way to the city. The hills round Jerusalem are themselves often hewn out in terraces, like a huge stairway. This is mostly for the practical and indeed profitable purpose of vineyards; and serves for a reminder that this ancient seat of civilisation has not lost the tradition of the mercy and the glory of the vine. But in outline such a mountain looks much like the mountain of Purgatory that Dante saw in his vision, lifted in terraces, like titanic steps up to God. And indeed this shape also is symbolic; as symbolic as the pointed profile of the Holy City. For a creed is like a ladder, while an evolution is only like a slope. A spiritual and social evolution is generally a pretty slippery slope; a miry slope where it is very easy to slide down again. Such is something like the sharp and even abrupt impression produced by this mountain city; and especially by its wall with gates like a house with windows. A gate, like a window, is primarily a picture-frame. The pictures that are found within the frame are indeed very various and sometimes very alien. Within this frame-work are indeed to be found things entirely Asiatic, or entirely Moslem, or even entirely nomadic. But Jerusalem itself is not nomadic. Nothing could be less like a mere camp of tents pitched by Arabs. Nothing could be less like the mere chaos of colour in a temporary and tawdry bazaar. The Arabs are there and the colours are there, and they make a glorious picture; but the picture is in a Gothic frame, and is seen so to speak through a Gothic window. And the meaning of all this is the meaning of all windows, and especially of Gothic windows. It is that even light itself is most divine within limits; and that even the shining one is most shining, when he takes upon himself a shape. Such a system of walls and gates, like many other things thought rude and primitive, is really very rationalistic. It turns the town, as it were, into a plan of itself, and even into a guide to itself. This is especially true, as may be suggested in a moment, regarding the direction of the roads leading out of it. But anyhow, a man must decide which way he will leave the city; he cannot merely drift out of the city as he drifts out of the modern cities through a litter of slums. And there is no better way to get a preliminary plan of the city than to follow the wall and fix the gates in the memory. Suppose, for instance, that a man begins in the south with the Zion Gate, which bears the ancient name of Jerusalem. This, to begin with, will sharpen the medieval and even the Western impression first because it is here that he has the strongest sentiment of threading the narrow passages of a great castle; but also because the very name of the gate was given to this south-western hill by Godfrey and Tancred during the period of the Latin kingdom. I believe it is one of the problems of the scholars why the Latin conquerors called this hill the Zion Hill, when the other is obviously the sacred hill. Jerusalem is traditionally divided into four hills, but for practical purposes into two; the lower eastern hill where stood the Temple, and now stands the great Mosque, and the western where is the citadel and the Zion Gate to the south of it. I know nothing of such questions; and I attach no importance to the notion that has crossed my own mind, and which I only mention in passing, for I have no doubt there are a hundred objections to it. But it is known that Zion or Sion was the old name of the place before it was stormed by David; and even afterwards the Jebusites remained on this western hill, and some compromise seems to have been made with them. Is it conceivable, I wonder, that even in the twelfth century there lingered some local memory of what had once been a way of distinguishing Sion of the Jebusites from Salem of the Jews? The Zion Gate, however, is only a starting-point here; if we go south-eastward from it we descend a steep and rocky path, from which can be caught the first and finest vision of what stands on the other hill to the east. The great Mosque of Omar stands up like a peacock, lustrous with mosaics that are like plumes of blue and green. Scholars, I may say here, object to calling it the Mosque of Omar; on the petty and pedantic ground that it is not a mosque and was not built by Omar. But it is my fixed intention to call it the Mosque of Omar, and with ever renewed pertinacity to continue calling it the Mosque of Omar. I possess a special permit from the Grand Mufti to call it the Mosque of Omar. He is the head of the whole Moslem religion, and if he does not know, who does? He told me, in the beautiful French which matches his beautiful manners, that it really is not so ridiculous after all to call the place the Mosque of Omar, since the great Caliph desired and even designed such a building, though he did not build it. I suppose it is rather as if Solomon's Temple had been called David's Temple. Omar was a great man and the Mosque was a great work, and the two were telescoped together by the excellent common sense of vulgar tradition. There could not be a better example of that great truth for all travellers; that popular tradition is never so right as when it is wrong; and that pedantry is never so wrong as when it is right. And as for the other objection, that the Dome of the Rock (to give it its other name) is not actually used as a Mosque, I answer that Westminster Abbey is not used as an Abbey. But modern Englishmen would be much surprised if I were to refer to it as Westminster Church; to say nothing of the many modern Englishmen for whom it would be more suitable to call it Westminster Museum. And for whatever purposes the Moslems may actually use their great and glorious sanctuary, at least they have not allowed it to become the private house of a particular rich man. And that is what we have suffered to happen, if not to Westminster Abbey, at least to Welbeck Abbey. The Mosque of Omar (I repeat firmly) stands on the great eastern plateau in place of the Temple; and the wall that runs round to it on the south side of the city contains only the Dung Gate, on which the fancy need not linger. All along outside this wall the ground falls away into the southern valley; and upon the dreary and stony steep opposite is the place called Acaldama. Wall and valley turn together round the corner of the great temple platform, and confronting the eastern wall, across the ravine, is the mighty wall of the Mount of Olives. On this side there are several gates now blocked up, of which the most famous, the Golden Gate, carries in its very uselessness a testimony to the fallen warriors of the cross. For there is a strange Moslem legend that through this gate, so solemnly sealed up, shall ride the Christian King who shall again rule in Jerusalem. In the middle of the square enclosure rises the great dark Dome of the Rock; and standing near it, a man may see for the first time in the distance, another dome. It lies away to the west, but a little to the north; and it is surmounted, not by a crescent but a cross. Many heroes and holy kings have desired to see this thing, and have not seen it. It is very characteristic of the city, with its medieval medley and huddle of houses, that a man may first see the Church of the Holy Sepulchre which is in the west, by going as far as possible to the east. All the sights are glimpses; and things far can be visible and things near invisible. The traveller comes on the Moslem dome round a corner; and he finds the Christian dome, as it were, behind his own back. But if he goes on round the wall to the north-east corner of the Court of the Temple, he will find the next entrance; the Gate of St. Stephen. On the slope outside, by a strange and suitable coincidence, the loose stones which lie on every side of the mountain city seemed to be heaped higher; and across the valley on the skirts of the Mount of Olives is the great grey olive of Gethsemane. On the northern side the valley turns to an artificial trench, for the ground here is higher; and the next or northern gate bears the name of Herod; though it might well bear the name either of Godfrey or Saladin. For just outside it stands a pine-tree, and beside it a rude bulk of stone; where stood these great captains in turn, before they took Jerusalem. Then the wall runs on till it comes to the great Damascus Gate, graven I know not why with great roses in a style wholly heraldic and occidental, and in no way likely to remind us of the rich roses of Damascus; though their name has passed into our own English tongue and tradition, along with another word for the delicate decoration of the sword. But at the first glance, at any rate, it is hard to believe that the roses on the walls are not the Western roses of York or Lancaster, or that the swords which guarded them were not the straight swords of England or of France. Doubtless a deeper and more solemn memory ought to return immediately to the mind where that gate looks down the great highway; as if one could see, hung over it in the sky for ever, the cloud concealing the sunburst that broods upon the road to Damascus. But I am here only confessing the facts or fancies of my first impression; and again the fancy that came to me first was not of any such alien or awful things. I did not think of damask or damascene or the great Arabian city or even the conversion of St. Paul. I thought of my own little house in Buckinghamshire, and how the edge of the country town where it stands is called Aylesbury End, merely because it is the corner nearest to Aylesbury. That is what I mean by saying that these ancient customs are more rational and even utilitarian than the fashions of modernity. When a street in a new suburb is called Pretoria Avenue, the clerk living there does not set out from his villa with the cheerful hope of finding the road lead him to Pretoria. But the man leaving Aylesbury End does know it would lead him to Aylesbury; and the man going out at the Damascus Gate did know it would lead him to Damascus. And the same is true of the next and last of the old entrances, the Jaffa Gate in the east; but when I saw that I saw something else as well. I have heard that there is a low doorway at the entrance to a famous shrine which is called the Gate of Humility; but indeed in this sense all gates are gates of humility, and especially gates of this kind. Any one who has ever looked at a landscape under an archway will know what I mean, when I say that it sharpens a pleasure with a strange sentiment of privilege. It adds to the grace of distance something that makes it not only a grace but a gift. Such are the visions of remote places that appear in the low gateways of a Gothic town; as if each gateway led into a separate world; and almost as if each dome of sky were a different chamber. But he who walks round the walls of this city in this spirit will come suddenly upon an exception which will surprise him like an earthquake. It looks indeed rather like something done by an earthquake; an earthquake with a half-witted sense of humour. Immediately at the side of one of these humble and human gateways there is a great gap in the wall, with a wide road running through it. There is something of unreason in the sight which affects the eye as well as the reason. It recalls some crazy tale about the great works of the Wise Men of Gotham. It suggests the old joke about the man who made a small hole for the kitten as well as a large hole for the cat. Everybody has read about it by this time; but the immediate impression of it is not merely an effect of reading or even of reasoning. It looks lop-sided; like something done by a one-eyed giant. But it was done by the last prince of the great Prussian imperial system, in what was probably the proudest moment in all his life of pride. What is true has a way of sounding trite; and what is trite has a way of sounding false. We shall now probably weary the world with calling the Germans barbaric, just as we very recently wearied the world with calling them cultured and progressive and scientific. But the thing is true though we say it a thousand times. And any one who wishes to understand the sense in which it is true has only to contemplate that fantasy and fallacy in stone; a gate with an open road beside it. The quality I mean, however, is not merely in that particular contrast; as of a front door standing by itself in an open field. It is also in the origin, the occasion and the whole story of the thing. There is above all this supreme stamp of the barbarian; the sacrifice of the permanent to the temporary. When the walls of the Holy City were overthrown for the glory of the German Emperor, it was hardly even for that everlasting glory which has been the vision and the temptation of great men. It was for the glory of a single day. It was something rather in the nature of a holiday than anything that could be even in the most vainglorious sense a heritage. It did not in the ordinary sense make a monument, or even a trophy. It destroyed a monument to make a procession. We might almost say that it destroyed a trophy to make a triumph. There is the true barbaric touch in this oblivion of what Jerusalem would look like a century after, or a year after, or even the day after. It is this which distinguishes the savage tribe on the march after a victory from the civilised army establishing a government, even if it be a tyranny. Hence the very effect of it, like the effect of the whole Prussian adventure in history, remains something negative and even nihilistic. The Christians made the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Moslems made the Mosque of Omar; but this is what the most scientific culture made at the end of the great century of science. It made an enormous hole. The only positive contribution of the nineteenth century to the spot is an unnaturally ugly clock, at the top of an ornamental tower, or a tower that was meant to be ornamental. It was erected, I believe, to commemorate the reign of Abdul Hamid; and it seems perfectly adapted to its purpose, like one of Sir William Watson's sonnets on the same subject. But this object only adds a touch of triviality to the much more tremendous negative effect of the gap by the gate. That remains a parable as well as a puzzle, under all the changing skies of day and night; with the shadows that gather tinder the narrow Gate of Humility; and beside it, blank as daybreak and abrupt as an abyss, the broad road that has led already to destruction. The gap remains like a gash, a sort of wound in the walls; but it only strengthens by contrast the general sense of their continuity. Save this one angle where the nineteenth century has entered, the vague impression of the thirteenth or fourteenth century rather deepens than dies away. It is supported more than many would suppose even by the figures that appear in the gateways or pass in procession under the walls. The brown Franciscans and the white Dominicans would alone give some colour to a memory of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem; and there are other examples and effects which are less easily imagined in the West. Thus as I look down the street, I see coming out from under an archway a woman wearing a high white head-dress very like those we have all seen in a hundred pictures of tournaments or hunting parties, or the Canterbury Pilgrimage or the Court of Louis XI. She is as white as a woman of the North; and it is not, I think, entirely fanciful to trace a certain freedom and dignity in her movement, which is quite different at least from the shuffling walk of the shrouded Moslem women. She is a woman of Bethlehem, where a tradition, it is said, still claims as a heroic heritage the blood of the Latin knights of the cross. This is, of course, but one aspect of the city; but it is one which may be early noted, yet one which is generally neglected. As I have said, I had expected many things of Jerusalem, but I had not expected this. I had expected to be disappointed with it as a place utterly profaned and fallen below its mission. I had expected to be awed by it; indeed I had expected to be frightened of it, as a place dedicated and even doomed by its mission. But I had never fancied that it would be possible to be fond of it; as one might be fond of a little walled town among the orchards of Normandy or the hop-fields of Kent. And just then there happened a coincidence that was also something like a catastrophe. I was idly watching, as it moved down the narrow street to one of the dark doorways, the head-dress, like a tower of white drapery, belonging to the Christian woman from the place where Christ was born. After she had disappeared into the darkness of the porch I continued to look vaguely at the porch, and thought how easily it might have been a small Gothic gate in some old corner of Rouen, or even Canterbury. In twenty such places in the town one may see the details that appeal to the same associations, so different and so distant. One may see that angular dogtooth ornament that makes the round Norman gateways look like the gaping mouths of sharks. One may see the pointed niches in the walls, shaped like windows and serving somewhat the purpose of brackets, on which were to stand sacred images possibly removed by the Moslems. One may come upon a small court planted with ornamental trees with some monument in the centre, which makes the precise impression of something in a small French town. There are no Gothic spires, but there are numberless Gothic doors and windows; and he who first strikes the place at this angle, as it were, may well feel the Northern element as native and the Eastern element as intrusive. While I was thinking all these things, something happened which in that place was almost a portent. It was very cold; and there were curious colours in the sky. There had been chilly rains from time to time; and the whole air seemed to have taken on something sharper than a chill. It was as if a door had been opened in the northern corner of the heavens; letting in something that changed all the face of the earth. Great grey clouds with haloes of lurid pearl and pale-green were coming up from the plains or the sea and spreading over the towers of the city. In the middle of the moving mass of grey vapours was a splash of paler vapour; a wan white cloud whose white seemed somehow more ominous than gloom. It went over the high citadel like a white wild goose flying; and a few white feathers fell. It was the snow; and it snowed day and night until that Eastern city was sealed up like a village in Norway or Northern Scotland. It rose in the streets till men might almost have been drowned in it like a sea of solid foam. And the people of the place told me there had been no such thing seen in it in all recent records, or perhaps in the records of all its four thousand years. All this came later; but for me at the moment, looking at the scene in so dreamy a fashion, it seemed merely like a dramatic conclusion to my dream. It was but an accident confirming what was but an aspect. But it confirmed it with a strange and almost supernatural completeness. The white light out of the window in the north lay on all the roofs and turrets of the mountain town; for there is an aspect in which snow looks less like frozen water than like solidified light. As the snow accumulated there accumulated also everywhere those fantastic effects of frost which seem to fit in with the fantastic qualities of medieval architecture; and which make an icicle seem like the mere extension of a gargoyle. It was the atmosphere that has led so many romancers to make medieval Paris a mere black and white study of night and snow. Something had redrawn in silver all things from the rude ornament on the old gateways to the wrinkles on the ancient hills of Moab. Fields of white still spotted with green swept down into the valleys between us and the hills; and high above them the Holy City lifted her head into the thunder-clouded heavens, wearing a white head-dress like a daughter of the Crusaders. CHAPTER IV THE PHILOSOPHY OF SIGHT-SEEING Various cultivated critics told me that I should find Jerusalem disappointing; and I fear it will disappoint them that I am not disappointed. Of the city as a city I shall try to say something elsewhere; but the things which these critics have especially in mind are at once more general and more internal. They concern something tawdry, squalid or superstitious about the shrines and those who use them. Now the mistake of critics is not that they criticise the world; it is that they never criticise themselves. They compare the alien with the ideal; but they do not at the same time compare themselves with the ideal; rather they identify themselves with the ideal. I have met a tourist who had seen the great Pyramid, and who told me that the Pyramid looked small. Believe me, the tourist looked much smaller. There is indeed another type of traveller, who is not at all small in the moral mental sense, who will confess such disappointments quite honestly, as a piece of realism about his own sensations. In that case he generally suffers from the defect of most realists; that of not being realistic enough. He does not really think out his own impressions thoroughly; or he would generally find they are not so disappointing after all. A humorous soldier told me that he came from Derbyshire, and that he did not think much of the Pyramid because it was not so tall as the Peak. I pointed out to him that he was really offering the tallest possible tribute to a work of man in comparing it to a mountain; even if he thought it was a rather small mountain. I suggested that it was a rather large tombstone. I appealed to those with whom I debated in that district, as to whether they would not be faintly surprised to find such a monument during their quiet rambles in a country churchyard. I asked whether each one of them, if he had such a tombstone in the family, would not feel it natural, if hardly necessary, to point it out; and that with a certain pride. The same principle of the higher realism applies to those who are disappointed with the sight of the Sphinx. The Sphinx really exceeds expectations because it escapes expectations. Monuments commonly look impressive when they are high and often when they are distant. The Sphinx is really unexpected, because it is found suddenly in a hollow, and unnaturally near. Its face is turned away; and the effect is as creepy as coming into a room apparently empty, and finding somebody as still as the furniture. Or it is as if one found a lion couchant in that hole in the sand; as indeed the buried part of the monster is in the form of a couchant lion. If it was a real lion it would hardly be less arresting merely because it was near; nor could the first emotion of the traveller be adequately described as disappointment. In such cases there is generally some profit in looking at the monument a second time, or even at our own sensations a second time. So I reasoned, striving with wild critics in the wilderness; but the only part of the debate which is relevant here can be expressed in the statement that I do think the Pyramid big, for the deep and simple reason that it is bigger than I am. I delicately suggested to those who were disappointed in the Sphinx that it was just possible that the Sphinx was disappointed in them. The Sphinx has seen Julius Caesar; it has very probably seen St. Francis, when he brought his flaming charity to Egypt; it has certainly looked, in the first high days of the revolutionary victories, on the face of the young Napoleon. Is it not barely possible, I hinted to my friends and fellow-tourists, that after these experiences, it might be a little depressed at the sight of you and me? But as I say, I only reintroduce my remarks in connection with a greater matter than these dead things of the desert; in connection with a tomb to which even the Pyramids are but titanic lumber, and a presence greater than the Sphinx, since it is not only a riddle but an answer. Before I go on to deeper defences of any such cult or culture, I wish first to note a sort of test for the first impressions of an ordinary tourist like myself, to whom much that is really full of an archaic strength may seem merely stiff, or much that really deals with a deep devotional psychology may seem merely distorted. In short I would put myself in the position of the educated Englishman who does quite honestly receive a mere impression of idolatry. Incidentally, I may remark, it is the educated Englishman who is the idolater. It is he who only reverences the place, and does not reverence the reverence for the place. It is he who is supremely concerned about whether a mere object is old or new, or whether a mere ornament is gold or gilt. In other words, it is he who values the visible things rather than the invisible; for no sane man can doubt that invisible things are vivid to the priests and pilgrims of these shrines. In the midst of emotions that have moved the whole world out of its course, girt about with crowds who will die or do murder for a definition, the educated English gentleman in his blindness bows down to wood and stone. For the only thing wrong about that admirable man is that he is blind about himself. No man will really attempt to describe his feelings, when he first stood at the gateway of the grave of Christ. The only record relevant here is that I did not feel the reaction, not to say repulsion, that many seem to have felt about its formal surroundings. Either I was particularly fortunate or others are particularly fastidious. The guide who showed me the Sepulchre was not particularly noisy or profane or palpably mercenary; he was rather more than less sympathetic than the same sort of man who might have shown me Westminster Abbey or Stratford-on-Avon. He was a small, solemn, owlish old man, a Roman Catholic in religion; but so far from deserving the charge of not knowing the Bible, he deserved rather a gentle remonstrance against his assumption that nobody else knew it. If there was anything to smile at, in associations so sacred, it was the elaborate simplicity with which he told the first facts of the Gospel story, as if he were evangelising a savage. Anyhow, he did not talk like a cheap-jack at a stall; but rather like a teacher in an infant school. He made it very clear that Jesus Christ was crucified in case any one should suppose he was beheaded; and often stopped in his narrative to repeat that the hero of these events was Jesus Christ, lest we should fancy it was Nebuchadnezzar or the Duke of Wellington. I do not in the least mind being amused at this; but I have no reason whatever for doubting that he may have been a better man than I. I gave him what I should have given a similar guide in my own country; I parted from him as politely as from one of my own countrymen. I also, of course, gave money, as is the custom, to the various monastic custodians of the shrines; but I see nothing surprising about that. I am not quite so ignorant as not to know that without the monastic brotherhoods, supported by such charity, there would not by this time be anything to see in Jerusalem at all. There was only one class of men whose consistent concern was to watch these things, from the age of heathens and heresies to the age of Turks and tourists; and I am certainly not going to sneer at them for doing no practical work, and then refuse to pay them for the practical work they do. For the rest, even the architectural defacement is overstated, the church was burned down and rebuilt in a bad and modern period; but the older parts, especially the Crusaders' porch, are as grand as the men who made them. The incongruities there are, are those of local colour. In connection, by the way, with what I said about beasts of burden, I mounted a series of steep staircases to the roof of the convent beside the Holy Sepulchre. When I got to the top I found myself in the placid presence of two camels. It would be curious to meet two cows on the roof of a village church. Nevertheless it is the only moral of the chapter interpolated here, that we can meet things quite as curious in our own country. When the critic says that Jerusalem is disappointing he generally means that the popular worship there is weak and degraded, and especially that the religious art is gaudy and grotesque. In so far as there is any kind of truth in this, it is still true that the critic seldom sees the whole truth. What is wrong with the critic is that he does not criticise himself. He does not honestly compare what is weak, in this particular world of ideas, with what is weak in his own world of ideas. I will take an example from my own experience, and in a manner at my own expense. If I have a native heath it is certainly Kensington High Street, off which stands the house of my childhood. I grew up in that thorough-fare which Mr. Max Beerbohm, with his usual easy exactitude of phrase, has described as "dapper, with a leaning to the fine arts." Dapper was never perhaps a descriptive term for myself; but it is quite true that I owe a certain taste for the arts to the sort of people among whom I was brought up. It is also true that such a taste, in various forms and degrees, was fairly common in the world which may be symbolised as Kensington High Street. And whether or no it is a tribute, it is certainly a truth that most people with an artistic turn in Kensington High Street would have been very much shocked, in their sense of propriety, if they had seen the popular shrines of Jerusalem; the sham gold, the garish colours, the fantastic tales and the feverish tumult. But what I want such people to do, and what they never do, is to turn this truth round. I want them to imagine, not a Kensington aesthete walking down David Street to the Holy Sepulchre, but a Greek monk or a Russian pilgrim walking down Kensington High Street to Kensington Gardens. I will not insist here on all the hundred plagues of plutocracy that would really surprise such a Christian peasant; especially that curse of an irreligious society (unknown in religious societies, Moslem as well as Christian) the detestable denial of all dignity to the poor. I am not speaking now of moral but of artistic things; of the concrete arts and crafts used in popular worship. Well, my imaginary pilgrim would walk past Kensington Gardens till his sight was blasted by a prodigy. He would either fall on his knees as before a shrine, or cover his face as from a sacrilege. He would have seen the Albert Memorial. There is nothing so conspicuous in Jerusalem. There is nothing so gilded and gaudy in Jerusalem. Above all, there is nothing in Jerusalem that is on so large a scale and at the same time in so gay and glittering a style. My simple Eastern Christian would almost certainly be driven to cry aloud, "To what superhuman God was this enormous temple erected? I hope it is Christ; but I fear it is Antichrist." Such, he would think, might well be the great and golden image of the Prince of the World, set up in this great open space to receive the heathen prayers and heathen sacrifices of a lost humanity. I fancy he would feel a desire to be at home again amid the humble shrines of Zion. I really cannot imagine _what_ he would feel, if he were told that the gilded idol was neither a god nor a demon, but a petty German prince who had some slight influence in turning us into the tools of Prussia. Now I myself, I cheerfully admit, feel that enormity in Kensington Gardens as something quite natural. I feel it so because I have been brought up, so to speak, under its shadow; and stared at the graven images of Raphael and Shakespeare almost before I knew their names; and long before I saw anything funny in their figures being carved, on a smaller scale, under the feet of Prince Albert. I even took a certain childish pleasure in the gilding of the canopy and spire, as if in the golden palace of what was, to Peter Pan and all children, something of a fairy garden. So do the Christians of Jerusalem take pleasure, and possibly a childish pleasure, in the gilding of a better palace, besides a nobler garden, ornamented with a somewhat worthier aim. But the point is that the people of Kensington, whatever they might think about the Holy Sepulchre, do not think anything at all about the Albert Memorial. They are quite unconscious of how strange a thing it is; and that simply because they are used to it. The religious groups in Jerusalem are also accustomed to their coloured background; and they are surely none the worse if they still feel rather more of the meaning of the colours. It may be said that they retain their childish illusion about _their_ Albert Memorial. I confess I cannot manage to regard Palestine as a place where a special curse was laid on those who can become like little children. And I never could understand why such critics who agree that the kingdom of heaven is for children, should forbid it to be the only sort of kingdom that children would really like; a kingdom with real crowns of gold or even of tinsel. But that is another question, which I shall discuss in another place; the point is for the moment that such people would be quite as much surprised at the place of tinsel in our lives as we are at its place in theirs. If we are critical of the petty things they do to glorify great things, they would find quite as much to criticise (as in Kensington Gardens) in the great things we do to glorify petty things. And if we wonder at the way in which they seem to gild the lily, they would wonder quite as much at the way we gild the weed. There are countless other examples of course of this principle of self-criticism, as the necessary condition of all criticism. It applies quite as much, for instance, to the other great complaint which my Kensington friend would make after the complaint about paltry ornament; the complaint about what is commonly called backsheesh. Here again there is really something to complain of; though much of the fault is not due to Jerusalem, but rather to London and New York. The worst superstition of Jerusalem, like the worst profligacy of Paris, is a thing so much invented for Anglo-Saxons that it might be called an Anglo-Saxon institution. But here again the critic could only really judge fairly if he realised with what abuses at home he ought really to compare this particular abuse abroad. He ought to imagine, for example, the feelings of a religious Russian peasant if he really understood all the highly-coloured advertisements covering High Street Kensington Station. It is really not so repulsive to see the poor asking for money as to see the rich asking for more money. And advertisement is the rich asking for more money. A man would be annoyed if he found himself in a mob of millionaires, all holding out their silk hats for a penny; or all shouting with one voice, "Give me money." Yet advertisement does really assault the eye very much as such a shout would assault the ear. "Budge's Boots are the Best" simply means "Give me money"; "Use Seraphic Soap" simply means "Give me money." It is a complete mistake to suppose that common people make our towns commonplace, with unsightly things like advertisements. Most of those whose wares are thus placarded everywhere are very wealthy gentlemen with coronets and country seats, men who are probably very particular about the artistic adornment of their own homes. They disfigure their towns in order to decorate their houses. To see such men crowding and clamouring for more wealth would really be a more unworthy sight than a scramble of poor guides; yet this is what would be conveyed by all the glare of gaudy advertisement to anybody who saw and understood it for the first time. Yet for us who are familiar with it all that gaudy advertisement fades into a background, just as the gaudy oriental patterns fade into a background for those oriental priests and pilgrims. Just as the innocent Kensington gentleman is wholly unaware that his black top hat is relieved against a background, or encircled as by a halo, of a yellow hoarding about mustard, so is the poor guide sometimes unaware that his small doings are dark against the fainter and more fading gold in which are traced only the humbler haloes of the Twelve Apostles. But all these misunderstandings are merely convenient illustrations and introductions, leading up to the great fact of the main misunderstanding. It is a misunderstanding of the whole history and philosophy of the position; that is the whole of the story and the whole moral of the story. The critic of the Christianity of Jerusalem emphatically manages to miss the point. The lesson he ought to learn from it is one which the Western and modern man needs most, and does not even know that he needs. It is the lesson of constancy. These people may decorate their temples with gold or with tinsel; but their tinsel has lasted longer than our gold. They may build things as costly and ugly as the Albert Memorial; but the thing remains a memorial, a thing of immortal memory. They do not build it for a passing fashion and then forget it, or try hard to forget it. They may paint a picture of a saint as gaudy as any advertisement of a soap; but one saint does not drive out another saint as one soap drives out another soap. They do not forget their recent idolatries, as the educated English are now trying to forget their very recent idolatry of everything German. These Christian bodies have been in Jerusalem for at least fifteen hundred years. Save for a few years after the time of Constantine and a few years after the First Crusade, they have been practically persecuted all the time. At least they have been under heathen masters whose attitude towards Christendom was hatred and whose type of government was despotism. No man living in the West can form the faintest conception of what it must have been to live in the very heart of the East through the long and seemingly everlasting epoch of Moslem power. A man in Jerusalem was in the centre of the Turkish Empire as a man in Rome was in the centre of the Roman Empire. The imperial power of Islam stretched away to the sunrise and the sunset; westward to the mountains of Spain and eastward towards the wall of China. It must have seemed as if the whole earth belonged to Mahomet to those who in this rocky city renewed their hopeless witness to Christ. What we have to ask ourselves is not whether we happen in all respects to agree with them, but whether we in the same condition should even have the courage to agree with ourselves. It is not a question of how much of their religion is superstition, but of how much of our religion is convention; how much is custom and how much a compromise even with custom; how much a thing made facile by the security of our own society or the success of our own state. These are powerful supports; and the enlightened Englishman, from a cathedral town or a suburban chapel, walks these wild Eastern places with a certain sense of assurance and stability. Even after centuries of Turkish supremacy, such a man feels, he would not have descended to such a credulity. He would not be fighting for the Holy Fire or wrangling with beggars in the Holy Sepulchre. He would not be hanging fantastic lamps on a pillar peculiar to the Armenians, or peering into the gilded cage that contains the brown Madonna of the Copts. He would not be the dupe of such degenerate fables; God forbid. He would not be grovelling at such grotesque shrines; no indeed. He would be many hundred yards away, decorously bowing towards a more distant city; where, above the only formal and official open place in Jerusalem, the mighty mosaics of the Mosque of Omar proclaim across the valleys the victory and the glory of Mahomet. That is the real lesson that the enlightened traveller should learn; the lesson about himself. That is the test that should really be put to those who say that the Christianity of Jerusalem is degraded. After a thousand years of Turkish tyranny, the religion of a London fashionable preacher would not be degraded. It would be destroyed. It would not be there at all, to be jeered at by every prosperous tourist out of a _train de luxe_. It is worth while to pause upon the point; for nothing has been so wholly missed in our modern religious ideals as the ideal of tenacity. Fashion is called progress. Every new fashion is called a new faith. Every faith is a faith which offers everything except faithfulness. It was never so necessary to insist that most of the really vital and valuable ideas in the world, including Christianity, would never have survived at all if they had not survived their own death, even in the sense of dying daily. The ideal was out of date almost from the first day; that is why it is eternal; for whatever is dated is doomed. As for our own society, if it proceeds at its present rate of progress and improvement, no trace or memory of it will be left at all. Some think that this would be an improvement in itself. We have come to live morally, as the Japs live literally, in houses of paper. But they are pavilions made of the morning papers, which have to be burned on the appearance of the evening editions. Well, a thousand years hence the Japs may be ruling in Jerusalem; the modern Japs who no longer live in paper houses, but in sweated factories and slums. They and the Chinese (that much more dignified and democratic people) seem to be about the only people of importance who have not yet ruled Jerusalem. But though we may think the Christian chapels as thin as Japanese tea-houses, they will still be Christian; though we may think the sacred lamps as cheap as Chinese lanterns, they will still be burning before a crucified creator of the world. But besides this need of making strange cults the test not of themselves but ourselves, the sights of Jerusalem also illustrate the other suggestion about the philosophy of sight-seeing. It is true, as I have suggested, that after all the Sphinx is larger than I am; and on the same principle the painted saints are saintlier than I am, and the patient pilgrims more constant than I am. But it is also true, as in the lesser matter before mentioned, that even those who think the Sphinx small generally do not notice the small things about it. They do not even discover what is interesting about their own disappointment. And similarly even those who are truly irritated by the unfamiliar fashions of worship in a place like Jerusalem, do not know how to discover what is interesting in the very existence of what is irritating. For instance, they talk of Byzantine decay or barbaric delusion, and they generally go away with an impression that the ritual and symbolism is something dating from the Dark Ages. But if they would really note the details of their surroundings, or even of their sensations, they would observe a rather curious fact about such ornament of such places as the Church of the Holy Sepulchre as may really be counted unworthy of them. They would realise that what they would most instinctively reject as superstitious does not date from what they would regard as the ages of superstition. There really are bad pictures but they are not barbaric pictures; they are florid pictures in the last faded realism of the Renascence. There really is stiff and ungainly decoration, but it is not the harsh or ascetic decoration of a Spanish cloister; it is much more like the pompous yet frivolous decorations of a Parisian hotel. In short, in so far as the shrine has really been defaced it has not been defaced by the Dark Ages, but rather if anything by the Age of Reason. It is the enlightened eighteenth century, which regarded itself as the very noonday of natural culture and common sense, that has really though indirectly laid its disfiguring finger on the dark but dignified Byzantine temple. I do not particularly mind it myself; for in such great matters I do not think taste is the test. But if taste is to be made the test, there is matter for momentary reflection in this fact; for it is another example of the weakness of what may be called fashion. Voltaire, I believe, erected a sort of temple to God in his own garden; and we may be sure that it was in the most exquisite taste of the time. Nothing would have surprised him more than to learn that, fifty years after the success of the French Revolution, almost every freethinker of any artistic taste would think his temple far less artistically admirable than the nearest gargoyle on Notre Dame. Thus it is progress that must be blamed for most of these things: and we ought not to turn away in contempt from something antiquated, but rather recognise with respect and even alarm a sort of permanent man-trap in the idea of being modern. So that the moral of this matter is the same as that of the other; that these things should raise in us, not merely the question of whether we like them, but of whether there is anything very infallible or imperishable about what we like. At least the essentials of these things endure; and if they seem to have remained fixed as effigies, at least they have not faded like fashion-plates. It has seemed worth while to insert here this note on the philosophy of sight-seeing, however dilatory or disproportionate it may seem. For I am particularly and positively convinced that unless these things can somehow or other be seen in the right historical perspective and philosophical proportion, they are not worth seeing at all. And let me say in conclusion that I can not only respect the sincerity, but understand the sentiments, of a man who says they are not worth seeing at all. Sight-seeing is a far more difficult and disputable matter than many seem to suppose; and a man refusing it altogether might be a man of sense and even a man of imagination. It was the great Wordsworth who refused to revisit Yarrow; it was only the small Wordsworth who revisited it after all. I remember the first great sight in my own entrance to the Near East, when I looked by accident out of the train going to Cairo, and saw far away across the luminous flats a faint triangular shape; the Pyramids. I could understand a man who had seen it turning his back and retracing his whole journey to his own country and his own home, saying, "I will go no further; for I have seen afar off the last houses of the kings." I can understand a man who had only seen in the distance Jerusalem sitting on the hill going no further and keeping that vision for ever. It would, of course, be said that it was absurd to come at all, and to see so little. To which I answer that in that sense it is absurd to come at all. It is no more fantastic to turn back for such a fancy than it was to come for a similar fancy. A man cannot eat the Pyramids; he cannot buy or sell the Holy City; there can be no practical aspect either of his coming or going. If he has not come for a poetic mood he has come for nothing; if he has come for such a mood, he is not a fool to obey that mood. The way to be really a fool is to try to be practical about unpractical things. It is to try to collect clouds or preserve moonshine like money. Now there is much to be said for the view that to search for a mood is in its nature moonshine. It may be said that this is especially true in the crowded and commonplace conditions in which most sight-seeing has to be done. It may be said that thirty tourists going together to see a tombstone is really as ridiculous as thirty poets going together to write poems about the nightingale. There would be something rather depressing about a crowd of travellers, walking over hill and dale after the celebrated cloud of Wordsworth; especially if the crowd is like the cloud, and moveth all together if it move at all. A vast mob assembled on Salisbury Plain to listen to Shelley's skylark would probably (after an hour or two) consider it a rather subdued sort of skylarking. It may be argued that it is just as illogical to hope to fix beforehand the elusive effects of the works of man as of the works of nature. It may be called a contradiction in terms to expect the unexpected. It may be counted mere madness to anticipate astonishment, or go in search of a surprise. To all of which there is only one answer; that such anticipation is absurd, and such realisation will be disappointing, that images will seem to be idols and idols will seem to be dolls, unless there be some rudiment of such a habit of mind as I have tried to suggest in this chapter. No great works will seem great, and no wonders of the world will seem wonderful, unless the angle from which they are seen is that of historical humility. One more word may be added of a more practical sort. The place where the most passionate convictions on this planet are concentrated is not one where it will always be wise, even from a political standpoint, to air our plutocratic patronage and our sceptical superiority. Strange scenes have already been enacted round that fane where the Holy Fire bursts forth to declare that Christ is risen; and whether or no we think the thing holy there is no doubt about it being fiery. Whether or no the superior person is right to expect the unexpected, it is possible that something may be revealed to him that he really does not expect. And whatever he may think about the philosophy of sight-seeing, it is not unlikely that he may see some sights. CHAPTER V THE STREETS OF THE CITY When Jerusalem had been half buried in snow for two or three days, I remarked to a friend that I was prepared henceforward to justify all the Christmas cards. The cards that spangle Bethlehem with frost are generally regarded by the learned merely as vulgar lies. At best they are regarded as popular fictions, like that which made the shepherds in the Nativity Play talk a broad dialect of Somerset. In the deepest sense of course this democratic tradition is truer than most history. But even in the cruder and more concrete sense the tradition about the December snow is not quite so false as is suggested. It is not a mere local illusion for Englishmen to picture the Holy Child in a snowstorm, as it would be for the Londoners to picture him in a London fog. There can be snow in Jerusalem, and there might be snow in Bethlehem; and when we penetrate to the idea behind the image, we find it is not only possible but probable. In Palestine, at least in these mountainous parts of Palestine, men have the same general sentiment about the seasons as in the West or the North. Snow is a rarity, but winter is a reality. Whether we regard it as the divine purpose of a mystery or the human purpose of a myth, the purpose of putting such a feast in winter would be just the same in Bethlehem as it would be in Balham. Any one thinking of the Holy Child as born in December would mean by it exactly what we mean by it; that Christ is not merely a summer sun of the prosperous but a winter fire for the unfortunate. In other words, the semi-tropical nature of the place, like its vulgarity and desecration, can be, and are, enormously exaggerated. But it is always hard to correct the exaggeration without exaggerating the correction. It would be absurd seriously to deny that Jerusalem is an Eastern town; but we may say it was Westernised without being modernised. Anyhow, it was medievalised before it was modernised. And in the same way it would be absurd to deny that Jerusalem is a Southern town, in the sense of being normally out of the way of snowstorms, but the truth can be suggested by saying that it has always known the quality of snow, but not the quantity. And the quantity of snow that fell on this occasion would have been something striking and even sensational in Sussex or Kent. And yet another way of putting the proportions of the thing would be to say that Jerusalem has been besieged more often and by more different kinds of people than any town upon the globe; that it has been besieged by Jews and Assyrians, Egyptians and Babylonians, Greeks and Romans, Persians and Saracens, Frenchmen and Englishmen; but perhaps never before in all its agony of ages has it ever really been besieged by winter. In this case it was not only snowed on, it was snowed up. For some days the city was really in a state of siege. If the snow had held for a sufficient number of days it might have been in a state of famine. The railway failed between Jerusalem and the nearest station. The roads were impassable between Jerusalem and the nearest village, or even the nearest suburb. In some places the snow drifted deep enough to bury a man, and in some places, alas, it did actually bury little children; poor little Arabs whose bodies were stiff where they had fallen. Many mules were overwhelmed as if by floods, and countless trees struck down as if by lightning. Even when the snow began at last to melt it only threatened to turn the besieged fortress into a sort of island. A river that men could not ford flowed between Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives. Even a man walking about the ordinary streets could easily step up to his knees or up to his waist. Snow stood about like a new system of natural barricades reared in some new type of revolution. I have already remarked that what struck me most about the city was the city wall; but now a new white wall stood all round the city; and one that neither friend nor foe could pass. But a state of siege, whatever its inconveniences, is exceedingly convenient for a critic and observer of the town. It concentrated all that impression of being something compact and what, with less tragic attendant circumstances, one might call cosy. It fixed the whole picture in a frame even more absolute than the city wall; and it turned the eyes of all spectators inwards. Above all, by its very abnormality it accentuated the normal divisions and differences of the place; and made it more possible to distinguish and describe them like _dramatis personae_. The parts they played in the crisis of the snow were very like the parts they played in the general crisis of the state. And the very cut and colour of the figures, turban and tarbouch, khaki and burnous and gabardine, seemed to stand out more sharply against that blank background of white. The first fact of course was a fact of contrast. When I said that the city struck me in its historic aspect as being at least as much a memory of the Crusaders as of the Saracens, I did not of course mean to deny the incidental contrasts between this Southern civilisation and the civilisation of Europe, especially northern Europe. The immediate difference was obvious enough when the gold and the gaudy vegetation of so comparatively Asiatic a city were struck by this strange blast out of the North. It was a queer spectacle to see a great green palm bowed down under a white load of snow; and it was a stranger and sadder spectacle to see the people accustomed to live under such palm-trees bowed down under such unearthly storms. Yet the very manner in which they bore it is perhaps the first fact to be noted among all the facts that make up the puzzling problem of Jerusalem. Odd as it may sound you can see that the true Orientals are not familiar with snow by the very fact that they accept it. They accept it as we should accept being swallowed by an earthquake; because we do not know the answer to an earthquake. The men from the desert do not know the answer to the snow, it seems to them unanswerable. But Christians fight with snow in a double sense; they fight with snow as they fight with snowballs. A Moslem left to himself would no more play with a snowball than make a toy of a thunderbolt. And this is really a type of the true problem that was raised by the very presence of the English soldier in the street, even if he was only shovelling away the snow. It would be far from a bad thing, I fancy, if the rights and wrongs of these Bible countries could occasionally be translated into Bible language. And I suggest this here, not in the least because it is a religious language, but merely because it is a simple language. It may be a good thing, and in many ways it certainly is a good thing, that the races native to the Near East, to Egypt or Arabia, should come in contact with Western culture; but it will be unfortunate if this only means coming in contact with Western pedantry and even Western hypocrisy. As it is there is only too much danger that the local complaints against the government may be exactly like the official explanations of the government; that is, mere strings of long words with very little meaning involved. In short, if people are to learn to talk English it will be a refreshing finishing touch to their culture if they learn to talk plain English. Of this it would be hard to find a better working model than what may be called scriptural English. It would be a very good thing for everybody concerned if any really unjust or unpopular official were described only in terms taken from the denunciations of Jezebel and Herod. It would especially be a good thing for the official. If it were true it would be appropriate, and if it were untrue it would be absurd. When people are really oppressed, their condition can generally be described in very plain terms connected with very plain things; with bread, with land, with taxes and children and churches. If imperialists and capitalists do thus oppress them, as they most certainly often do, then the condition of those more powerful persons can also be described in few and simple words; such as crime and sin and death and hell. But when complaints are made, as they are sometimes in Palestine and still more in Egypt, in the elaborate and long-winded style of a leading article, the sympathetic European is apt to remember how very little confidence he has ever felt in his own leading articles. If an Arab comes to me and says, "The stranger from across the sea has taxed me, and taken the corn-sheaves from the field of my fathers," I do really feel that he towers over me and my perishing industrial civilisation with a terrible appeal to eternal things. I feel he is a figure more enduring than a statue, like the figure of Naboth or of Nathan. But when that simple son of the desert opens his mouth and says, "The self-determination of proletarian class-conscious solidarity as it functions for international reconstruction," and so on, why then I must confess to the weakness of feeling my sympathies instantly and strangely chilled. I merely feel inclined to tell him that I can talk that sort of pidgin English better than he can. If he modelled himself on the great rebels and revolutionists of the Bible, it would at least be a considerable improvement in his literary style. But as a matter of fact something much more solid is involved than literary style. There is a logic and justice in the distinction, even in the world of ideas. That most people with much more education than the Arab, and therefore much less excuse than the Arab, entirely ignore that distinction, is merely a result of their ignoring ideas, and being satisfied with long words. They like democracy because it is a long word; that is the only thing they do like about it. People are entitled to self-government; that is, to such government as is self-made. They are not necessarily entitled to a special and elaborate machinery that somebody else has made. It is their right to make it for themselves, but it is also their duty to think of it for themselves. Self-government of a simple kind has existed in numberless simple societies, and I shall always think it a horrible responsibility to interfere with it. But representative government, or theoretically representative government, of an exceedingly complicated kind, may exist in certain complicated societies without their being bound to transfer it to others, or even to admire it for themselves. At any rate, for good or evil, they have invented it themselves. And there is a moral distinction, which is perfectly rational and democratic, between such inventions and the self-evident rights which no man can claim to have invented. If the Arab says to me, "I don't care a curse for Europe; I demand bread," the reproach is to me both true and terrible. But if he says, "I don't care a curse for Europe; I demand French cookery, Italian confectionery, English audit ale," and so on, I think he is rather an unreasonable Arab. After all, we invented these things; in _auctore auctoritas_. And of this problem there is a sort of working model in the presence of the snow in Palestine, especially in the light of the old proverb about the impossibility of snow in Egypt. Palestine is wilder, less wealthy and modernised, more religious and therefore more realistic. The issue between the things only a European can do, and the things no European has the right to do, is much sharper and clearer than the confusions of verbosity. On the one hand the things the English can do are more real things, like clearing away the snow; for the very reason that the English are not here, so to speak, building on a French pavement but on the bare rocks of the Eastern wilds, the contact with Islam and Israel is more simple and direct. And on the other side the discontents and revolts are more real. So far from intending to suggest that the Egyptians have no complaints, I am very far from meaning that they have no wrongs. But curiously enough the wrongs seem to me more real than the complaints. The real case against our Egyptian adventure was stated long ago by Randolph Churchill, when he denounced "a bondholder's war"; it is in the whole business of collecting debts due to cosmopolitan finance. But a stranger in Egypt hears little denunciation of cosmopolitan finance, and a great deal of drivel in the way of cosmopolitan idealism. When the Palestinians say that usurers menace their land they mean the land they dig; an old actuality and not a new abstraction. Their revolt may be right or wrong, but it is real; and what applies to their revolt applies to their religion. There may well be doubts about whether Egypt is a nation, but there is no doubt that Jerusalem is a city, and the nations have come to its light. The problem of the snow proved indeed the text for a tale touching the practical politics of the city. The English soldiers cleared the snow away; the Arabs sat down satisfied or stoical with the snow blocking their own doors or loading their own roofs. But the Jews, as the story went, were at length persuaded to clear away the snow in front of them, and then demanded a handsome salary for having recovered the use of their own front doors. The story is not quite fair; and yet it is not so unfair as it seems. Any rational Anti-Semite will agree that such tales, even when they are true, do not always signify an avaricious tradition in Semitism, but sometimes the healthier and more human suggestion of Bolshevism. The Jews do demand high wages, but it is not always because they are in the old sense money-grabbers, but rather in the new sense money-grabbers (as an enemy would put it) men sincerely and bitterly convinced of their right to the surplus of capitalism. There is the same problem in the Jewish colonies in the country districts; in the Jewish explanation of the employment of Arab and Syrian labour. The Jews argue that this occurs, not because they wish to remain idle capitalists, but because they insist on being properly paid proletarians. With all this I shall deal, however, when I treat of the Jewish problem itself. The point for the moment is that the episode of the snow did in a superficial way suggest the parts played by the three parties and the tales told about them. To begin with, it is right to say that the English do a great many things, as they clear away the snow, simply because nobody else would do them. They did save the oriental inhabitants from some of the worst consequences of the calamity. Probably they sometimes save the inhabitants from something which the inhabitants do not regard as a calamity. It is the danger of all such foreign efficiency that it often saves men who do not want to be saved. But they do in many cases do things from which Moslems profit, but which Moslems by themselves would not propose, let alone perform. And this has a general significance even in our first survey, for it suggests a truth easy to abuse, but I think impossible to ignore. I mean that there is something non-political about Moslem morality. Perverse as it may appear, I suspect that most of their political movements result from their non-political morality. They become politicians because they know they are not political; and feel their simple and more or less healthy life is at a disadvantage, in face of the political supremacy of the English and the political subtlety of the Jews. For instance, the tradition of Turkish rule is simply a joke. All the stories about it are jokes, and often very good jokes. My own favourite incident is that which is still commemorated in the English cathedral by an enormous hole in the floor. The Turks dug up the pavement looking for concealed English artillery; because they had been told that the bishop had given his blessing to two canons. The bishop had indeed recently appointed two canons to the service of the Church, but he had not secreted them under the floor of the chancel. There was another agreeable incident when the Turkish authorities, by an impulsive movement of religious toleration, sent for a Greek priest to bury Greek soldiers, and told him to take his choice in a heap of corpses of all creeds and colours. But at once the most curious and the most common touch of comedy is the perpetual social introduction to solid and smiling citizens who have been nearly hanged by the Turks. The fortunate gentleman seems still to be regarding his escape with a broad grin. If you were introduced to a polite Frenchman who had come straight from the guillotine, or to an affable American who had only just vacated the electrical chair, you would feel a faint curiosity about the whole story. If a friend introduced somebody, saying, "My friend Robinson; his sentence has been commuted to penal servitude," or "My Uncle William, just come from Dartmoor Prison," your mind and perhaps your lips would faintly form the syllables "What for?" But evidently, under Turkish rule, being hanged was like being knocked down by a cab; it might happen to anybody. This is a parenthesis, since I am only dealing here with the superficial experience of the streets, especially in the snow. But it will be well to safeguard it by saying that this unpolitical carelessness and comprehensiveness of the indiscriminate Turk had its tragic as well as its comic side. It was by no means everybody that escaped hanging; and there was a tree growing outside the Jaffa Gate at which men might still shudder as they pass it in the sunlight. It was what a modern revolutionary poet has called bitterly the Tree of Man's Making; and what a medieval revolutionary poet called the fruit tree in the orchard of the king. It was the gibbet; and lives have dropped from it like leaves from a tree in autumn. Yet even on the sterner side, we can trace the truth about the Moslem fatalism which seems so alien to political actuality. There was a popular legend or proverb that this terrible tree was in some way bound up with the power of the Turk, and perhaps the Moslem over a great part of the earth. There is nothing more strange about that Moslem fatalism than a certain gloomy magnanimity which can invoke omens and oracles against itself. It is astonishing how often the Turks seem to have accepted a legend or prophecy about their own ultimate failure. De Quincey mentions one of them in the blow that half broke the Palladium of Byzantium. It is said that the Moslems themselves predict the entry of a Christian king of Jerusalem through the Golden Gate. Perhaps that is why they have blocked up the fatal gate; but in any case they dealt in that fashion with the fatal tree. They elaborately bound and riveted it with iron, as if accepting the popular prophecy which declared that so long as it stood the Turkish Empire would stand. It was as if the wicked man of Scripture had daily watered a green bay-tree, to make sure that it should flourish. In the last chapter I have attempted to suggest a background of the battlemented walls with the low gates and narrow windows which seem to relieve the liveliest of the coloured groups against the neutral tints of the North, and how this was intensified when the neutral tints were touched with the positive hue of snow. In the same merely impressionist spirit I would here attempt to sketch some of the externals of the actors in such a scene, though it is hard to do justice to such a picture even in the superficial matter of the picturesque. Indeed it is hard to be sufficiently superficial; for in the East nearly every external is a symbol. The greater part of it is the gorgeous rag-heap of Arabian humanity, and even about that one could lecture on almost every coloured rag. We hear much of the gaudy colours of the East; but the most striking thing about them is that they are delicate colours. It is rare to see a red that is merely like a pillar-box, or a blue that is Reckitt's blue; the red is sure to have the enrichment of tawny wine or blood oranges, and the blue of peacocks or the sea. In short these people are artistic in the sense that used to be called aesthetic; and it is a nameless instinct that preserves these nameless tints. Like all such instincts, it can be blunted by a bullying rationalism; like all such children, these people do not know why they prefer the better, and can therefore be persuaded by sophists that they prefer the worst. But there are other elements emerging from the coloured crowd, which are more significant, and therefore more stubborn. A stranger entirely ignorant of that world would feel something like a chill to the blood when he first saw the black figures of the veiled Moslem women, sinister figures without faces. It is as if in that world every woman were a widow. When he realised that these were not the masked mutes at a very grisly funeral, but merely ladies literally obeying a convention of wearing veils in public, he would probably have a reaction of laughter. He would be disposed to say flippantly that it must be, a dull life, not only for the women but the men; and that a man might well want five wives if he had to marry them before he could even look at them. But he will be wise not to be satisfied with such flippancy, for the complete veiling of the Moslem women of Jerusalem, though not a finer thing than the freedom of the Christian woman of Bethlehem, is almost certainly a finer thing than the more coquettish compromise of the other Moslem women of Cairo. It simply means that the Moslem religion is here more sincerely observed; and this in turn is part of something that a sympathetic person will soon feel in Jerusalem, if he has come from these more commercial cities of the East; a spiritual tone decidedly more delicate and dignified, like the clear air about the mountain city. Whatever the human vices involved, it is not altogether for nothing that this is the holy town of three great religions. When all is said, he will feel that there are some tricks that could not be played, some trades that could not be plied, some shops that could not be opened, within a stone's throw of the Sepulchre. This indefinable seriousness has its own fantasies of fanaticism or formalism; but if these are vices they are not vulgarities. There is no stronger example of this than the real Jews of Jerusalem, especially those from the ghettoes of eastern Europe. They can be immediately picked out by the peculiar wisps of hair worn on each side of the face, like something between curls and whiskers. Sometimes they look strangely effeminate, like some rococo burlesque of the ringlets of an Early Victorian woman. Sometimes they look considerably more like the horns of a devil; and one need not be an Anti-Semite to say that the face is often made to match. But though they may be ugly, or even horrible, they are not vulgar like the Jews at Brighton; they trail behind them too many primeval traditions and laborious loyalties, along with their grand though often greasy robes of bronze or purple velvet. They often wear on their heads that odd turban of fur worn by the Rabbis in the pictures of Rembrandt. And indeed that great name is not irrelevant; for the whole truth at the back of Zionism is in the difference between the picture of a Jew by Rembrandt and a picture of a Jew by Sargent. For Rembrandt the Rabbi was, in a special and double sense, a distinguished figure. He was something distinct from the world of the artist, who drew a Rabbi as he would a Brahmin. But Sargent had to treat his sitters as solid citizens of England or America; and consequently his pictures are direct provocations to a pogrom. But the light that Rembrandt loved falls not irreverently on the strange hairy haloes that can still be seen on the shaven heads of the Jews of Jerusalem. And I should be sorry for any pogrom that brought down any of their grey wisps or whiskers in sorrow to the grave. The whole scene indeed, seriousness apart, might be regarded as a fantasia for barbers; for the different ways of dressing the hair would alone serve as symbols of different races and religions. Thus the Greek priests of the Orthodox Church, bearded and robed in black with black towers upon their heads, have for some strange reason their hair bound up behind like a woman's. In any case they have in their pomp a touch of the bearded bulls of Assyrian sculpture; and this strange fashion of curling if not oiling the Assyrian bull gives the newcomer an indescribable and illogical impression of the unnatural sublimity of archaic art. In the Apocalypse somewhere there is an inspiringly unintelligible allusion to men coming on the earth, whose hair is like the hair of women and their teeth like the teeth of lions. I have never been bitten by an Orthodox clergyman, and cannot say whether his teeth are at all leonine; though I have seen seven of them together enjoying their lunch at an hotel with decorum and dispatch. But the twisting of the hair in the womanish fashion does for us touch that note of the abnormal which the mystic meant to convey in his poetry, and which others feel rather as a recoil into humour. The best and last touch to this topsy-turvydom was given when a lady, observing one of these reverend gentlemen who for some reason did not carry this curious coiffure, exclaimed, in a tone of heartrending surprise and distress, "Oh, he's bobbed his hair!" Here again of course even a superficial glance at the pageant of the street should not be content with its comedy. There is an intellectual interest in the external pomp and air of placid power in these ordinary Orthodox parish priests; especially if we compare them with the comparatively prosaic and jog-trot good nature of the Roman monks, called in this country the Latins. Mingling in the same crowd with these black-robed pontiffs can be seen shaven men in brown habits who seem in comparison to be both busy and obscure. These are the sons of St. Francis, who came to the East with a grand simplicity and thought to finish the Crusades with a smile. The spectator will be wise to accept this first contrast that strikes the eye with an impartial intellectual interest; it has nothing to do with personal character, of course, and many Greek priests are as simple in their tastes as they are charming in their manners; while any Roman priests can find as much ritual as they may happen to want in other aspects of their own religion. But it is broadly true that Roman and Greek Catholicism are contrasted in this way in this country; and the contrast is the flat contrary to all our customary associations in the West. In the East it is Roman Catholicism that stands for much that we associate with Protestantism. It is Roman Catholicism that is by comparison plain and practical and scornful of superstition and concerned for social work. It is Greek Catholicism that is stiff with gold and gorgeous with ceremonial, with its hold on ancient history and its inheritance of imperial tradition. In the cant of our own society, we may say it is the Roman who rationalises and the Greek who Romanises. It is the Roman Catholic who is impatient with Russian and Greek childishness, and perpetually appealing for common sense. It is the Greek who defends such childishness as childlike faith and would rebuke such common sense as common scepticism. I do not speak of the theological tenets or even the deeper emotions involved, but only, as I have said, of contrasts visible even in the street. And the whole difference is sufficiently suggested in two phrases I heard within a few days. A distinguished Anglo-Catholic, who has himself much sympathy with the Greek Orthodox traditions, said to me, "After all, the Romans were the first Puritans." And I heard that a Franciscan, being told that this Englishman and perhaps the English generally were disposed to make an alliance with the Greek Church, had only said by way of comment, "And a good thing too, the Greeks might do something at last." Anyhow the first impression is that the Greek is more gorgeous in black than the Roman in colours. But the Greek of course can also appear in colours, especially in those eternal forms of frozen yet fiery colours which we call jewels. I have seen the Greek Patriarch, that magnificent old gentleman, walking down the street like an emperor in the _Arabian Nights_, hung all over with historic jewels as thick as beads or buttons, with a gigantic cross of solid emeralds that might have been given him by the green genii of the sea, if any of the genii are Christians. These things are toys, but I am entirely in favour of toys; and rubies and emeralds are almost as intoxicating as that sort of lustrous coloured paper they put inside Christmas crackers. This beauty has been best achieved in the North in the glory of coloured glass; and I have seen great Gothic windows in which one could really believe that the robes of martyrs were giant rubies or the starry sky a single enormous sapphire. But the colours of the West are transparent, the colours of the East opaque. I have spoken of the _Arabian Nights_, and there is really a touch of them even in the Christian churches, perhaps increased with a tradition of early Christian secrecy. There are glimpses of gorgeously tiled walls, of blue curtains and green doors and golden inner chambers, that are just like the entrance to an Eastern tale. The Orthodox are at least more oriental in the sense of being more ornamental; more flat and decorative. The Romans are more Western, I might even say more modern, in the sense of having more realism even in their ritualism. The Greek cross is a cross; the Roman cross is a crucifix. But these are deeper matters; I am only trying to suggest a sort of silhouette of the crowd like the similar silhouette of the city, a profile or outline of the heads and hats, like the profile of the towers and spires. The tower that makes the Greek priest look like a walking catafalque is by no means alone among the horns thus fantastically exalted. There is the peaked hood of the Armenian priest, for instance; the stately survival of that strange Monophysite heresy which perpetuated itself in pomp and pride mainly through the sublime accident of the Crusades. That black cone also rises above the crowd with something of the immemorial majesty of a pyramid; and rightly so, for it is typical of the prehistoric poetry by which these places live that some say it is a surviving memory of Ararat and the Ark. Again the high white headgear of the Bethlehem women, or to speak more strictly of the Bethlehem wives, has already been noted in another connection; but it is well to remark it again among the colours of the crowd, because this at least has a significance essential to all criticism of such a crowd. Most travellers from the West regard such an Eastern city far too much as a Moslem city, like the lady whom Mr. Maurice Baring met who travelled all over Russia, and thought all the churches were mosques. But in truth it is very hard to generalise about Jerusalem, precisely because it contains everything, and its contrasts are real contrasts. And anybody who doubts that its Christianity is Christian, a thing fighting for our own culture and morals on the borders of Asia, need only consider the concrete fact of these women of Bethlehem and their costume. There is no need to sneer in any unsympathetic fashion at all the domestic institutions of Islam; the sexes are never quite so stupid as some feminists represent; and I dare say a woman often has her own way in a harem as well as in a household. But the broad difference does remain. And if there be one thing, I think, that can safely be said about all Asia and all oriental tribes, it is this; that if a married woman wears any distinctive mark, it is always meant to prevent her from receiving the admiration or even the notice of strange men. Often it is only made to disguise her; sometimes it is made to disfigure her. It may be the masking of the face as among the Moslems; it may be the shaving of the head as among the Jews; it may, I believe, be the blackening of the teeth and other queer expedients among the people of the Far East. But is never meant to make her look magnificent in public; and the Bethlehem wife is made to look magnificent in public. She not only shows all the beauty of her face; and she is often very beautiful. She also wears a towering erection which is as unmistakably meant to give her consequence as the triple tiara of the Pope. A woman wearing such a crown, and wearing it without a veil, does stand, and can only conceivably stand, for what we call the Western view of women, but should rather call the Christian view of women. This is the sort of dignity which must of necessity come from some vague memory of chivalry. The woman may or may not be, as the legend says, a lineal descendant of a Crusader. But whether or no she is his daughter, she is certainly his heiress. She may be put last among the local figures I have here described, for the special reason that her case has this rather deeper significance. For it is not possible to remain content with the fact that the crowd offers such varied shapes and colours to the eye, when it also offers much deeper divisions and even dilemmas to the intelligence. The black dress of the Moslem woman and the white dress of the Christian woman are in sober truth as different as black and white. They stand for real principles in a real opposition; and the black and white will not easily disappear in the dull grey of our own compromises. The one tradition will defend what it regards as modesty, and the other what it regards as dignity, with passions far deeper than most of our paltry political appetites. Nor do I see how we can deny such a right of defence, even in the case we consider the less enlightened. It is made all the more difficult by the fact that those who consider themselves the pioneers of enlightenment generally also consider themselves the protectors of native races and aboriginal rights. Whatever view we take of the Moslem Arab, we must at least admit that the greater includes the less. It is manifestly absurd to say we have no right to interfere in his country, but have a right to interfere in his home. It is the intense interest of Jerusalem that there can thus be two universes in the same street. Indeed there are ten rather than two; and it is a proverb that the fight is not only between Christian and Moslem, but between Christian and Christian. At this moment, it must be admitted, it is almost entirely a fight of Christian and Moslem allied against Jew. But of that I shall have to speak later; the point for the moment is that the varied colours of the streets are a true symbol of the varied colours of the souls. It is perhaps the only modern place where the war waged between ideas has such a visible and vivid heraldry. And that fact alone may well leave the spectator with one final reflection; for it is a matter in which the modern world may well have to learn something from the motley rabble of this remote Eastern town. It may be an odd thing to suggest that a crowd in Bond Street or Piccadilly should model itself on this masquerade of religions. It would be facile and fascinating to turn it into a satire or an extravaganza. Every good and innocent mind would be gratified with the image of a bowler hat in the precise proportions of the Dome of St. Paul's, and surmounted with a little ball and cross, symbolising the loyalty of some Anglican to his mother church. It might even be pleasing to see the street dominated with a more graceful top-hat modelled on the Eiffel Tower, and signifying the wearer's faith in scientific enterprise, or perhaps in its frequent concomitant of political corruption. These would be fair Western parallels to the head-dresses of Jerusalem; modelled on Mount Ararat or Solomon's Temple, and some may insinuate that we are not very likely ever to meet them in the Strand. A man wearing whiskers is not even compelled to plead some sort of excuse or authority for wearing whiskers, as the Jew can for wearing ringlets; and though the Anglican clergyman may indeed be very loyal to his mother church, there might be considerable hesitation if his mother bade him bind his hair. Nevertheless a more historical view of the London and Jerusalem crowds will show as far from impossible to domesticate such symbols; that some day a lady's jewels might mean something like the sacred jewels of the Patriarch, or a lady's furs mean something like the furred turban of the Rabbi. History indeed will show us that we are not so much superior to them as inferior to ourselves. When the Crusaders came to Palestine, and came riding up that road from Jaffa where the orange plantations glow on either side, they came with motives which may have been mixed and are certainly disputed. There may have been different theories among the Crusaders; there are certainly different theories among the critics of the Crusaders. Many sought God, some gold, some perhaps black magic. But whatever else they were in search of, they were not in search of the picturesque. They were not drawn from a drab civilisation by that mere thirst for colour that draws so many modern artists to the bazaars of the East. In those days there were colours in the West as well as in the East; and a glow in the sunset as well as in the sunrise. Many of the men who rode up that road were dressed to match the most glorious orange garden and to rival the most magnificent oriental king. King Richard cannot have been considered dowdy, even by comparison, when he rode on that high red saddle graven with golden lions, with his great scarlet hat and his vest of silver crescents. That squire of the comparatively unobtrusive household of Joinville, who was clad in scarlet striped with yellow, must surely have been capable (if I may be allowed the expression) of knocking them in the most magnificent Asiatic bazaar. Nor were these external symbols less significant, but rather more significant than the corresponding symbols of the Eastern civilisation. It is true that heraldry began beautifully as an art and afterwards degenerated into a science. But even in being a science it had to possess a significance; and the Western colours were often allegorical where the Eastern were only accidental. To a certain extent this more philosophical ornament was doubtless imitated; and I have remarked elsewhere on the highly heraldic lions which even the Saracens carved over the gate of St. Stephen. But it is the extraordinary and even exasperating fact that it was not imitated as the most meaningless sort of modern vulgarity is imitated. King Richard's great red hat embroidered with beasts and birds has not overshadowed the earth so much as the billycock, which no one has yet thought of embroidering with any such natural and universal imagery. The cockney tourist is not only more likely to set out with the intention of knocking them, but he has actually knocked them; and Orientals are imitating the tweeds of the tourist more than they imitated the stripes of the squire. It is a curious and perhaps melancholy truth that the world is imitating our worst, our weariness and our dingy decline, when it did not imitate our best and the high moment of our morning. Perhaps it is only when civilisation becomes a disease that it becomes an infection. Possibly it is only when it becomes a very virulent disease that it becomes an epidemic. Possibly again that is the meaning both of cosmopolitanism and imperialism. Anyhow the tribes sitting by Afric's sunny fountains did not take up the song when Francis of Assisi stood on the very mountain of the Middle Ages, singing the Canticle of the Sun. When Michael Angelo carved a statue in snow, Eskimos did not copy him, despite their large natural quarries or resources. Laplanders never made a model of the Elgin Marbles, with a frieze of reindeers instead of horses; nor did Hottentots try to paint Mumbo Jumbo as Raphael had painted Madonnas. But many a savage king has worn a top-hat, and the barbarian has sometimes been so debased as to add to it a pair of trousers. Explosive bullets and the brutal factory system numbers of advanced natives are anxious to possess. And it was this reflection, arising out of the mere pleasure of the eye in the parti-coloured crowd before me, that brought back my mind to the chief problem and peril of our position in Palestine, on which I touched earlier in this chapter; the peril which is largely at the back both of the just and of the unjust objections to Zionism. It is the fear that the West, in its modern mercantile mood, will send not its best but its worst. The artisan way of putting it, from the point of view of the Arab, is that it will mean not so much the English merchant as the Jewish money-lender. I shall write elsewhere of better types of Jew and the truths they really represent; but the Jewish money-lender is in a curious and complex sense the representative of this unfortunate paradox. He is not only unpopular both in the East and West, but he is unpopular in the West for being Eastern and in the East for being Western. He is accused in Europe of Asiatic crookedness and secrecy, and in Asia of European vulgarity and bounce. I have said _a propos_ of the Arab that the dignity of the oriental is in his long robe; the merely mercantile Jew is the oriental who has lost his long robe, which leads to a dangerous liveliness in the legs. He bustles and hustles too much; and in Palestine some of the unpopularity even of the better sort of Jew is simply due to his restlessness. But there remains a fear that it will not be a question of the better sort of Jew, or of the better sort of British influence. The same ignominious inversion which reproduces everywhere the factory chimney without the church tower, which spreads a cockney commerce but not a Christian culture, has given many men a vague feeling that the influence of modern civilisation will surround these ragged but coloured groups with something as dreary and discoloured, as unnatural and as desolate as the unfamiliar snow in which they were shivering as I watched them. There seemed a sort of sinister omen in this strange visitation that the north had sent them; in the fact that when the north wind blew at last, it had only scattered on them this silver dust of death. It may be that this more melancholy mood was intensified by that pale landscape and those impassable ways. I do not dislike snow; on the contrary I delight in it; and if it had drifted as deep in my own country against my own door I should have thought it the triumph of Christmas, and a thing as comic as my own dog and donkey. But the people in the coloured rags did dislike it; and the effects of it were not comic but tragic. The news that came in seemed in that little lonely town like the news of a great war, or even of a great defeat. Men fell to regarding it, as they have fallen too much to regarding the war, merely as an unmixed misery, and here the misery was really unmixed. As the snow began to melt corpses were found in it, homes were hopelessly buried, and even the gradual clearing of the roads only brought him stories of the lonely hamlets lost in the hills. It seemed as if a breath of the aimless destruction that wanders in the world had drifted across us; and no task remained for men but the weary rebuilding of ruins and the numbering of the dead. Only as I went out of the Jaffa Gate, a man told me that the tree of the hundred deaths, that was the type of the eternal Caliphate of the Crescent, was cast down and lying broken in the snow. CHAPTER VI THE GROUPS OF THE CITY Palestine is a striped country; that is the first effect of landscape on the eye. It runs in great parallel lines wavering into vast hills and valleys, but preserving the parallel pattern; as if drawn boldly but accurately with gigantic chalks of green and grey and red and yellow. The natural explanation or (to speak less foolishly) the natural process of this is simple enough. The stripes are the strata of the rock, only they are stripped by the great rains, so that everything has to grow on ledges, repeating yet again that terraced character to be seen in the vineyards and the staircase streets of the town. But though the cause is in a sense in the ruinous strength of the rain, the hues are not the dreary hues of ruin. What earth there is is commonly a red clay richer than that of Devon; a red clay of which it would be easy to believe that the giant limbs of the first man were made. What grass there is is not only an enamel of emerald, but is literally crowded with those crimson anemones which might well have called forth the great saying touching Solomon in all his glory. And even what rock there is is coloured with a thousand secondary and tertiary tints, as are the walls and streets of the Holy City which is built from the quarries of these hills. For the old stones of the old Jerusalem are as precious as the precious stones of the New Jerusalem; and at certain moments of morning or of sunset, every pebble might be a pearl. And all these coloured strata rise so high and roll so far that they might be skies rather than slopes. It is as if we looked up at a frozen sunset; or a daybreak fixed for ever with its fleeting bars of cloud. And indeed the fancy is not without a symbolic suggestiveness. This is the land of eternal things; but we tend too much to forget that recurrent things are eternal things. We tend to forget that subtle tones and delicate hues, whether in the hills or the heavens, were to the primitive poets and sages as visible as they are to us; and the strong and simple words in which they describe them do not prove that they did not realise them. When Wordsworth speaks of "the clouds that gather round the setting sun," we assume that he has seen every shadow of colour and every curve of form; but when the Hebrew poet says "He hath made the clouds his chariot"; we do not always realise that he was full of indescribable emotions aroused by indescribable sights. We vaguely assume that the very sky was plainer in primitive times. We feel as if there had been a fashion in sunsets; or as if dawn was always grey in the Stone Age or brown in the Bronze Age. But there is another parable written in those long lines of many-coloured clay and stone. Palestine is in every sense a stratified country. It is not only true in the natural sense, as here where the clay has fallen away and left visible the very ribs of the hills. It is true in the quarries where men dig, in the dead cities where they excavate, and even in the living cities where they still fight and pray. The sorrow of all Palestine is that its divisions in culture, politics and theology are like its divisions in geology. The dividing line is horizontal instead of vertical. The frontier does not run between states but between stratified layers. The Jew did not appear beside the Canaanite but on top of the Canaanite; the Greek not beside the Jew but on top of the Jew; the Moslem not beside the Christian but on top of the Christian. It is not merely a house divided against itself, but one divided across itself. It is a house in which the first floor is fighting the second floor, in which the basement is oppressed from above and attics are besieged from below. There is a great deal of gunpowder in the cellars; and people are by no means comfortable even on the roof. In days of what some call Bolshevism, it may be said that most states are houses in which the kitchen has declared war on the drawing-room. But this will give no notion of the toppling pagoda of political and religious and racial differences, of which the name is Palestine. To explain that it is necessary to give the traveller's first impressions more particularly in their order, and before I return to this view of the society as stratified, I must state the problem more practically as it presents itself while the society still seems fragmentary. We are always told that the Turk kept the peace between the Christian sects. It would be nearer the nerve of vital truth to say that he made the war between the Christian sects. But it would be nearer still to say that the war is something not made by Turks but made up by infidels. The tourist visiting the churches is often incredulous about the tall tales told about them; but he is completely credulous about the tallest of all the tales, the tale that is told against them. He believes in a frantic fraticidal war perpetually waged by Christian against Christian in Jerusalem. It freshens the free sense of adventure to wander through those crooked and cavernous streets, expecting every minute to see the Armenian Patriarch trying to stick a knife into the Greek Patriarch; just as it would add to the romance of London to linger about Lambeth and Westminster in the hope of seeing the Archbishop of Canterbury locked in a deadly grapple with the President of the Wesleyan Conference. And if we return to our homes at evening without having actually seen these things with the eye of flesh, the vision has none the less shone on our path, and led us round many corners with alertness and with hope. But in bald fact religion does not involve perpetual war in the East, any more than patriotism involves perpetual war in the West. What it does involve in both cases is a defensive attitude; a vigilance on the frontiers. There is no war; but there is an armed peace. I have already explained the sense in which I say that the Moslems are unhistoric or even anti-historic. Perhaps it would be near the truth to say that they are prehistoric. They attach themselves to the tremendous truisms which men might have realised before they had any political experience at all; which might have been scratched with primitive knives of flint upon primitive pots of clay. Being simple and sincere, they do not escape the need for legends; I might almost say that, being honest, they do not escape the need for lies. But their mood is not historic, they do not wish to grapple with the past; they do not love its complexities; nor do they understand the enthusiasm for its details and even its doubts. Now in all this the Moslems of a place like Jerusalem are the very opposite of the Christians of Jerusalem. The Christianity of Jerusalem is highly historic, and cannot be understood without historical imagination. And this is not the strong point perhaps of those among us who generally record their impressions of the place. As the educated Englishman does not know the history of England, it would be unreasonable to expect him to know the history of Moab or of Mesopotamia. He receives the impression, in visiting the shrines of Jerusalem, of a number of small sects squabbling about small things. In short, he has before him a tangle of trivialities, which include the Roman Empire in the West and in the East, the Catholic Church in its two great divisions, the Jewish race, the memories of Greece and Egypt, and the whole Mahometan world in Asia and Africa. It may be that he regards these as small things; but I should be glad if he would cast his eye over human history, and tell me what are the large things. The truth is that the things that meet to-day in Jerusalem are by far the greatest things that the world has yet seen. If they are not important nothing on this earth is important, and certainly not the impressions of those who happen to be bored by them. But to understand them it is necessary to have something which is much commoner in Jerusalem than in Oxford or Boston; that sort of living history which we call tradition. For instance, the critic generally begins by dismissing these conflicts with the statement that they are all about small points of theology. I do not admit that theological points are small points. Theology is only thought applied to religion; and those who prefer a thoughtless religion need not be so very disdainful of others with a more rationalistic taste. The old joke that the Greek sects only differed about a single letter is about the lamest and most illogical joke in the world. An atheist and a theist only differ by a single letter; yet theologians are so subtle as to distinguish definitely between the two. But though I do not in any case allow that it is idle to be concerned about theology, as a matter of actual fact these quarrels are not chiefly concerned about theology. They are concerned about history. They are concerned with the things about which the only human sort of history is concerned; great memories of great men, great battles for great ideas, the love of brave people for beautiful places, and the faith by which the dead are alive. It is quite true that with this historic sense men inherit heavy responsibilities and revenges, fury and sorrow and shame. It is also true that without it men die, and nobody even digs their graves. The truth is that these quarrels are rather about patriotism than about religion, in the sense of theology. That is, they are just such heroic passions about the past as we call in the West by the name of nationalism; but they are conditioned by the extraordinarily complicated position of the nations, or what corresponds to the nations. We of the West, if we wish to understand it, must imagine ourselves as left with all our local loves and family memories unchanged, but the places affected by them intermingled and tumbled about by some almost inconceivable convulsion. We must imagine cities and landscapes to have turned on some unseen pivots, or been shifted about by some unseen machinery, so that our nearest was furthest and our remotest enemy our neighbour. We must imagine monuments on the wrong sites, and the antiquities of one county emptied out on top of another. And we must imagine through all this the thin but tough threads of tradition everywhere tangled and yet everywhere unbroken. We must picture a new map made out of the broken fragments of the old map; and yet with every one remembering the old map and ignoring the new. In short we must try to imagine, or rather we must try to hope, that our own memories would be as long and our own loyalties as steady as the memories and loyalties of the little crowd in Jerusalem; and hope, or pray, that we could only be as rigid, as rabid and as bigoted as are these benighted people. Then perhaps we might preserve all our distinctions of truth and falsehood in a chaos of time and space. We have to conceive that the Tomb of Napoleon is in the middle of Stratford-on-Avon, and that the Nelson Column is erected on the field of Bannockburn; that Westminster Abbey has taken wings and flown away to the most romantic situation on the Rhine, and that the wooden "Victory" is stranded, like the Ark on Ararat, on the top of the Hill of Tara; that the pilgrims to the shrine of Lourdes have to look for it in the Island of Runnymede, and that the only existing German statue of Bismarck is to be found in the Pantheon at Paris. This intolerable topsy-turvydom is no exaggeration of the way in which stories cut across each other and sites are imposed on each other in the historic chaos of the Holy City. Now we in the West are very lucky in having our nations normally distributed into their native lands; so that good patriots can talk about themselves without perpetually annoying their neighbours. Some of the pacifists tell us that national frontiers and divisions are evil because they exasperate us to war. It would be far truer to say that national frontiers and divisions keep us at peace. It would be far truer to say that we can always love each other so long as we do not see each other. But the people of Jerusalem are doomed to have difference without division. They are driven to set pillar against pillar in the same temple, while we can set city against city across the plains of the world. While for us a church rises from its foundations as naturally as a flower springs from a flower-bed, they have to bless the soil and curse the stones that stand on it. While the land we love is solid under our feet to the earth's centre, they have to see all they love and hate lying in strata like alternate night and day, as incompatible and as inseparable. Their entanglements are tragic, but they are not trumpery or accidental. Everything has a meaning; they are loyal to great names as men are loyal to great nations; they have differences about which they feel bound to dispute to the death; but in their death they are not divided. Jerusalem is a small town of big things; and the average modern city is a big town full of small things. All the most important and interesting powers in history are here gathered within the area of a quiet village; and if they are not always friends, at least they are necessarily neighbours. This is a point of intellectual interest, and even intensity, that is far too little realised. It is a matter of modern complaint that in a place like Jerusalem the Christian groups do not always regard each other with Christian feelings. It is said that they fight each other; but at least they meet each other. In a great industrial city like London or Liverpool, how often do they even meet each other? In a large town men live in small cliques, which are much narrower than classes; but in this small town they live at least by large contacts, even if they are conflicts. Nor is it really true, in the daily humours of human life, that they are only conflicts. I have heard an eminent English clergyman from Cambridge bargaining for a brass lamp with a Syrian of the Greek Church, and asking the advice of a Franciscan friar who was standing smiling in the same shop. I have met the same representative of the Church of England, at a luncheon party with the wildest Zionist Jews, and with the Grand Mufti, the head of the Moslem religion. Suppose the same Englishman had been, as he might well have been, an eloquent and popular vicar in Chelsea or Hampstead. How often would he have met a Franciscan or a Zionist? Not once in a year. How often would he have met a Moslem or a Greek Syrian? Not once in a lifetime. Even if he were a bigot, he would be bound in Jerusalem to become a more interesting kind of bigot. Even if his opinions were narrow, his experiences would be wide. He is not, as a fact, a bigot, nor, as a fact, are the other people bigots, but at the worst they could not be unconscious bigots. They could not live in such uncorrected complacency as is possible to a larger social set in a larger social system. They could not be quite so ignorant as a broad-minded person in a big suburb. Indeed there is something fine and distinguished about the very delicacy, and even irony, of their diplomatic relations. There is something of chivalry in the courtesy of their armed truce, and it is a great school of manners that includes such differences in morals. This is an aspect of the interest of Jerusalem which can easily be neglected and is not easy to describe. The normal life there is intensely exciting, not because the factions fight, but rather because they do not fight. Of the abnormal crisis when they did fight, and the abnormal motives that made them fight, I shall have something to say later on. But it was true for a great part of the time that what was picturesque and thrilling was not the war but the peace. The sensation of being in this little town is rather like that of being at a great international congress. It is like that moving and glittering social satire, in which diplomatists can join in a waltz who may soon be joining in a war. For the religious and political parties have yet another point in common with separate nations; that even within this narrow space the complicated curve of their frontiers is really more or less fixed, and certainly not particularly fluctuating. Persecution is impossible and conversion is not at all common. The very able Anglo-Catholic leader, to whom I have already referred, uttered to me a paradox that was a very practical truth. He said he felt exasperated with the Christian sects, not for their fanaticism but for their lack of fanaticism. He meant their lack of any fervour and even of any hope, of converting each other to their respective religions. An Armenian may be quite as proud of the Armenian Church as a Frenchman of the French nation, yet he may no more expect to make a Moslem an Armenian than the Frenchman expects to make an Englishman a Frenchman. If, as we are told, the quarrels could be condemned as merely theological, this would certainly be the very reverse of logical. But as I say, we get much nearer to them by calling them national; and the leaders of the great religions feel much more like the ambassadors of great nations. And, as I have also said, that ambassadorial atmosphere can be best expressed on the word irony, sometimes a rather tragic irony. At any tea-party or talk in the street, between the rival leaders, there is a natural tendency to that sort of wit which consists in veiled allusion to a very open secret. Each mail feels that there are heavy forces behind a small point, as the weight of the fencer is behind the point of the rapier. And the point can be yet more pointed because the politics of the city, when I was there, included several men with a taste and talent for such polished intercourse; including especially two men whose experience and culture would have been remarkable in any community in the world; the American Consul and the Military Governor of Jerusalem. If in cataloguing the strata of the society we take first the topmost layer of Western officialism, we might indeed find it not inconvenient to take these two men as representing the chief realities about it. Dr. Glazebrook, the representative of the United States, has the less to do with the internal issues of the country; but his mere presence and history is so strangely picturesque that he might be put among the first reasons for finding the city interesting. He is an old man now, for he actually began life as a soldier in the Southern and Secessionist army, and still keeps alive in every detail, not merely the virtues but the very gestures of the old Southern and Secessionist aristocrat. He afterward became a clergyman of the Episcopalian Church, and served as a chaplain in the Spanish-American war, then, at an age when most men have long retired from the most peaceful occupations, he was sent out by President Wilson to the permanent battlefield of Palestine. The brilliant services he performed there, in the protection of British and American subjects, are here chiefly interesting as throwing a backward light on the unearthly topsy-turvydom of Turkish rule. There appears in his experiences something in such rule which we are perhaps apt to forget in a vision of stately Eastern princes and gallant Eastern warriors, something more tyrannical even than the dull pigheadedness of Prussianism. I mean the most atrocious of all tortures, which is called caprice. It is the thing we feel in the Arabian tales, when no man knows whether the Sultan is good or bad, and he gives the same Vizier a thousand pounds or a thousand lashes. I have heard Dr. Glazebrook describe a whole day of hideous hesitation, in which fugitives for whom he pleaded were allowed four times to embark and four times were brought back again to their prison. There is something there dizzy as well as dark, a whirlpool in the very heart of Asia; and something wilder than our own worst oppressions in the peril of those men who looked up and saw above all the power of Asiatic arms, their hopes hanging on a rocking mind like that of a maniac. The tyrant let them go at last, avowedly out of a simple sentiment for the white hair of the consul, and the strange respect that many Moslems feel for the minister of any religion. Once at least the trembling rock of barbaric rule nearly fell on him and killed him. By a sudden movement of lawlessness the Turkish military authorities sent to him, demanding the English documents left in his custody. He refused to give them up; and he knew what he was doing. In standing firm he was not even standing like Nurse Cavell against organised Prussia under the full criticism of organised Europe. He was rather standing in a den of brigands, most of whom had never heard of the international rules they violated. Finally by another freak of friendliness they left him and his papers alone; but the old man had to wait many days in doubt, not knowing what they would do, since they did not know themselves. I do not know what were his thoughts, or whether they were far from Palestine and all possibilities that tyranny might return and reign for ever. But I have sometimes fancied that, in that ghastly silence, he may have heard again only the guns of Lee and the last battle in the Wilderness. If the mention of the American Consul refers back to the oppression of the past, the mention of the Military Governor brings back all the problems of the present. Here I only sketch these groups as I first found them in the present; and it must be remembered that my present is already past. All this was before the latest change from military to civil government, but the mere name of Colonel Storrs raises a question which is rather misunderstood in relation to that change itself. Many of our journalists, especially at the time of the last and worst of the riots, wrote as if it would be a change from some sort of stiff militarism to a liberal policy akin to parliamentarism. I think this a fallacy, and a fallacy not uncommon in journalism, which is professedly very much up to date, and actually very much behind the times. As a fact it is nearly four years behind the times, for it is thinking in terms of the old small and rigidly professional army. Colonel Storrs is the very last man to be called militaristic in the narrow sense; he is a particularly liberal and enlightened type of the sort of English gentleman who readily served his country in war, but who is rather particularly fitted to serve her in politics or literature. Of course many purely professional soldiers have liberal and artistic tastes; as General Shea, one of the organisers of Palestinian victory, has a fine taste in poetry, or Colonel Popham, then deputy Governor of Jerusalem, an admirable taste in painting. But while it is sometimes forgotten that many soldiers are men, it is now still more strange to forget that most men are soldiers. I fancy there are now few things more representative than the British Army; certainly it is much more representative than the British Parliament. The men I knew, and whom I remember with so much gratitude, working under General Bols at the seat of government on the Mount of Olives, were certainly not narrowed by any military professionalism, and had if anything the mark of quite different professions. One was a very shrewd and humorous lawyer employed on legal problems about enemy property, another was a young schoolmaster, with keen and clear ideas, or rather ideals, about education for all the races in Palestine. These men did not cease to be themselves because they were all dressed in khaki; and if Colonel Storrs recurs first to the memory, it is not because he had become a colonel in the trade of soldiering, but because he is the sort of man who could talk equally about all these other trades and twenty more. Incidentally, and by way of example, he can talk about them in about ten languages. There is a story, which whether or no it be true is very typical, that one of the Zionist leaders made a patriotic speech in Hebrew, and broke off short in his recollection of this partially revived national tongue; whereupon the Governor of Jerusalem finished his Hebrew speech for him--whether to exactly the same effect or not it would be impertinent to inquire. He is a man rather recalling the eighteenth century aristocrat, with his love of wit and classical learning; one of that small group of the governing class that contains his uncle, Harry Cust, and was warmed with the generous culture of George Wyndham. It was a purely mechanical distinction between the military and civil government that would lend to such figures the stiffness of a drumhead court martial. And even those who differed with him accused him in practice, not of militarist lack of sympathy with any of those he ruled, but rather with too imaginative a sympathy with some of them. To know these things, however slightly, and then read the English newspapers afterwards is often amusing enough; but I have only mentioned the matter because there is a real danger in so crude a differentiation. It would be a bad thing if a system military in form but representative in fact gave place to a system representative in form but financial in fact. That is what the Arabs and many of the English fear; and with the mention of that fear we come to the next stratum after the official. It must be remembered that I am not at this stage judging these groups, but merely very rapidly sketching them, like figures and costumes in the street. The group standing nearest to the official is that of the Zionists; who are supposed to have a place at least in our official policy. Among these also I am happy to have friends; and I may venture to call the official head of the Zionists an old friend in a matter quite remote from Zionism. Dr. Eder, the President of the Zionist Commission, is a man for whom I conceived a respect long ago when he protested, as a professional physician, against the subjection of the poor to medical interference to the destruction of all moral independence. He criticised with great effect the proposal of legislators to kidnap anybody else's child whom they chose to suspect of a feeblemindedness they were themselves too feeble-minded to define. It was defended, very characteristically, by a combination of precedent and progress; and we were told that it only extended the principle of the lunacy laws. That is to say, it only extended the principle of the lunacy laws to people whom no sane man would call lunatics. It is as if they were to alter the terms of a quarantine law from "lepers" to "light-haired persons"; and then say blandly that the principle was the same. The humour and human sympathy of a Jewish doctor was very welcome to us when we were accused of being Anti-Semites, and we afterwards asked Dr. Eder for his own views on the Jewish problem. We found he was then a very strong Zionist; and this was long before he had the faintest chance of figuring as a leader of Zionism. And this accident is important; for it stamps the sincerity of the small group of original Zionists, who were in favour of this nationalist ideal when all the international Jewish millionaires were against it. To my mind the most serious point now against it is that the millionaires are for it. But it is enough to note here the reality of the ideal in men like Dr. Eder and Dr. Weizmann, and doubtless many others. The only defect that need be noted, as a mere detail of portraiture, is a certain excessive vigilance and jealousy and pertinacity in the wrong place, which sometimes makes the genuine Zionists unpopular with the English, who themselves suffer unpopularity for supporting them. For though I am called an Anti-Semite, there were really periods of official impatience when I was almost the only Pro-Semite in the company. I went about pointing out what was really to be said for Zionism, to people who were represented by the Arabs as the mere slaves of the Zionists. This group of Arab Anti-Semites may be taken next, but very briefly; for the problem itself belongs to a later page; and the one thing to be said of it here is very simple. I never expected it, and even now I do not fully understand it. But it is the fact that the native Moslems are more Anti-Semitic than the native Christians. Both are more or less so; and have formed a sort of alliance out of the fact. The banner carried by the mob bore the Arabic inscription "Moslems and Christians are brothers." It is as if the little wedge of Zionism had closed up the cracks of the Crusades. Of the Christian crowds in that partnership, and the Christian creeds they are proud to inherit, I have already suggested something; it is only as well to note that I have put them out of their strict order in the stratification of history. It is too often forgotten that in these countries the Christian culture is older than the Moslem culture. I for one regret that the old Pax Romana was broken up by the Arabs; and hold that in the long run there was more life in that Byzantine decline than in that Semitic revival. And I will add what I cannot here develop or defend; that in the long run it is best that the Pax Romana should return; and that the suzerainty of those lands at least will have to be Christian, and neither Moslem nor Jewish. To defend it is to defend a philosophy; but I do hold that there is in that philosophy, for all the talk of its persecutions in the past, a possibility of comprehension and many-sided sympathy which is not in the narrow intensity either of the Moslem or the Jew. Christianity is really the right angle of that triangle, and the other two are very acute angles. But in the meetings that led up to the riots it is the more Moslem part of the mixed crowds that I chiefly remember; which touches the same truth that the Christians are the more potentially tolerant. But many of the Moslem leaders are as dignified and human as many of the Zionist leaders; the Grand Mufti is a man I cannot imagine as either insulting anybody, or being conceivably the object of insult. The Moslem Mayor of Jerusalem was another such figure, belonging also I believe to one of the Arab aristocratic houses (the Grand Mufti is a descendant of Mahomet) and I shall not forget his first appearance at the first of the riotous meetings in which I found myself. I will give it as the first of two final impressions with which I will end this chapter, I fear on a note of almost anarchic noise, the unearthly beating and braying of the Eastern gongs and horns of two fierce desert faiths against each other. I first saw from the balcony of the hotel the crowd of riotors come rolling up the street. In front of them went two fantastic figures turning like teetotums in an endless dance and twirling two crooked and naked scimitars, as the Irish were supposed to twirl shillelaghs. I thought it a delightful way of opening a political meeting; and I wished we could do it at home at the General Election. I wish that instead of the wearisome business of Mr. Bonar Law taking the chair, and Mr. Lloyd George addressing the meeting, Mr. Law and Mr. Lloyd George would only hop and caper in front of a procession, spinning round and round till they were dizzy, and waving and crossing a pair of umbrellas in a thousand invisible patterns. But this political announcement or advertisement, though more intelligent than our own, had, as I could readily believe, another side to it. I was told that it was often a prelude to ordinary festivals, such as weddings; and no doubt it remains from some ancient ritual dance of a religious character. But I could imagine that it might sometimes seem to a more rational taste to have too religious a character. I could imagine that those dancing men might indeed be dancing dervishes, with their heads going round in a more irrational sense than their bodies. I could imagine that at some moments it might suck the soul into what I have called in metaphor the whirlpool of Asia, or the whirlwind of a world whipped like a top with a raging monotony; the cyclone of eternity. That is not the sort of rhythm nor the sort of religion by which I myself should hope to save the soul; but it is intensely interesting to the mind and even the eye, and I went downstairs and wedged myself into the thick and thronging press. It surged through the gap by the gate, where men climbed lamp-posts and roared out speeches, and more especially recited national poems in rich resounding voices; a really moving effect, at least for one who could not understand a word that was said. Feeling had already gone as far as knocking Jews' hats off and other popular sports, but not as yet on any universal and systematic scale; I saw a few of the antiquated Jews with wrinkles and ringlets, peering about here and there; some said as spies or representatives of the Zionists, to take away the Anti-Semitic colour from the meeting. But I think this unlikely; especially as it would have been pretty hard to take it away. It is more likely, I think, that the archaic Jews were really not unamused and perhaps not unsympathetic spectators; for the Zionist problem is complicated by a real quarrel in the Ghetto about Zionism. The old religious Jews do not welcome the new nationalist Jews; it would sometimes be hardly an exaggeration to say that one party stands for the religion without the nation, and the other for the nation without the religion. Just as the old agricultural Arabs hate the Zionists as the instruments of new Western business grab and sharp practice; so the old peddling and pedantic but intensely pious Jews hate the Zionists as the instruments of new Western atheism of free thought. Only I fear that when the storm breaks, such distinctions are swept away. The storm was certainly rising. Outside the Jaffa Gate the road runs up steeply and is split in two by the wedge of a high building, looking as narrow as a tower and projecting like the prow of a ship. There is something almost theatrical about its position and stage properties, its one high-curtained window and balcony, with a sort of pole or flag-staff; for the place is official or rather municipal. Round it swelled the crowd, with its songs and poems and passionate rhetoric in a kind of crescendo, and then suddenly the curtain of the window rose like the curtain of the theatre, and we saw on that high balcony the red fez and the tall figure of the Mahometan Mayor of Jerusalem. I did not understand his Arabic observations; but I know when a man is calming a mob, and the mob did become calmer. It was as if a storm swelled in the night and gradually died away in a grey morning; but there are perpetual mutterings of that storm. My point for the moment is that the exasperations come chiefly from the two extremes of the two great Semitic traditions of monotheism; and certainly not primarily from those poor Eastern Christians of whose fanaticism we have been taught to make fun. From time to time there are gleams of the extremities of Eastern fanaticism which are almost ghastly to Western feeling. They seem to crack the polish of the dignified leaders of the Arab aristocracy and the Zionist school of culture, and reveal a volcanic substance of which only oriental creeds have been made. One day a wild Jewish proclamation is passed from hand to hand, denouncing disloyal Jews who refuse the teaching Hebrew; telling doctors to let them die and hospitals to let them rot, ringing with the old unmistakable and awful accent that bade men dash their children against the stones. Another day the city would be placarded with posters printed in Damascus, telling the Jews who looked to Palestine for a national home that they should find it a national cemetery. And when these cries clash it is like the clash of those two crooked Eastern swords, that crossed and recrossed and revolved like blazing wheels, in the vanguard of the marching mob. I felt the fullest pressure of the problem when I first walked round the whole of the Haram enclosure, the courts of the old Temple, where the high muezzin towers now stand at every corner, and heard the clear voices of the call to prayer. The sky was laden with a storm that became the snowstorm; and it was the time at which the old Jews beat their hands and mourn over what are believed to be the last stones of the Temple. There was a movement in my own mind that was attuned to these things, and impressed by the strait limits and steep sides of that platform of the mountains; for the sense of crisis is not only in the intensity of the ideals, but in the very conditions of the reality, the reality with which this chapter began. And the burden of it is the burden of Palestine; the narrowness of the boundaries and the stratification of the rock. A voice not of my reason but rather sounding heavily in my heart, seemed to be repeating sentences like pessimistic proverbs. There is no place for the Temple of Solomon but on the ruins of the Mosque of Omar. There is no place for the nation of the Jews but in the country of the Arabs. And these whispers came to me first not as intellectual conclusions upon the conditions of the case, of which I should have much more to say and to hope; but rather as hints of something immediate and menacing and yet mysterious. I felt almost a momentary impulse to flee from the place, like one who has received an omen. For two voices had met in my ears; and within the same narrow space and in the same dark hour, electric and yet eclipsed with cloud, I had heard Islam crying from the turret and Israel wailing at the wall. CHAPTER VII THE SHADOW OF THE PROBLEM A traveller sees the hundred branches of a tree long before he is near enough to see its single and simple root; he generally sees the scattered or sprawling suburbs of a town long before he has looked upon the temple or the market-place. So far I have given impressions of the most motley things merely as they came, in chronological and not in logical order; the first flying vision of Islam as a sort of sea, with something both of the equality and the emptiness and the grandeur of its purple seas of sand; the first sharp silhouette of Jerusalem, like Mount St. Michael, lifting above that merely Moslem flood a crag still crowned with the towers of the Crusaders; the mere kaleidoscope of the streets, with little more than a hint of the heraldic meaning of the colours; a merely personal impression of a few of the leading figures whom I happened to meet first, and only the faintest suggestion of the groups for which they stood. So far I have not even tidied up my own first impressions of the place; far less advanced a plan for tidying up the place itself. In any case, to begin with, it is easy to be in far too much of a hurry about tidying up. This has already been noted in the more obvious case, of all that religious art that bewildered the tourist with its churches full of flat and gilded ikons. Many a man has had the sensation of something as full as a picture gallery and as futile as a lumber-room, merely by not happening to know what is really of value, or especially in what way it is really valued. An Armenian or a Syrian might write a report on his visit to England, saying that our national and especially our naval heroes were neglected, and left to the lowest dregs of the rabble; since the portraits of Benbow and Nelson, when exhibited to the public, were painted on wood by the crudest and most incompetent artists. He would not perhaps fully appreciate the fine shade of social status and utility implied in a public-house sign. He might not realise that the sign of Nelson could be hung on high everywhere, because the reputation of Nelson was high everywhere, not because it was low anywhere; that his bad portrait was really a proof of his good name. Yet the too rapid reformer may easily miss even the simple and superficial parallel between the wooden pictures of admirals and the wooden pictures of angels. Still less will he appreciate the intense spiritual atmosphere, that makes the real difference between an ikon and an inn-sign, and makes the inns of England, noble and national as they are, relatively the homes of Christian charity but hardly a Christian faith. He can hardly bring himself to believe that Syrians can be as fond of religion as Englishmen of beer. Nobody can do justice to these cults who has not some sympathy with the power of a mystical idea to transmute the meanest and most trivial objects with a kind of magic. It is easy to talk of superstitiously attaching importance to sticks and stones, but the whole poetry of life consists of attaching importance to sticks and stones; and not only to those tall sticks we call the trees or those large stones we call the mountains. Anything that gives to the sticks of our own furniture, or the stones of our own backyard, even a reflected or indirect divinity is good for the dignity of life; and this is often achieved by the dedication of similar and special things. At least we should desire to see the profane things transfigured by the sacred, rather than the sacred disenchanted by the profane; and it was a prophet walking on the walls of this mountain city, who said that in his vision all the bowls should be as the bowls before the altar, and on every pot in Jerusalem should be written Holy unto the Lord. Anyhow, this intensity about trifles is not always understood. Several quite sympathetic Englishmen told me merely as a funny story (and God forbid that I should deny that it is funny) the fact of the Armenians or some such people having been allowed to suspend a string of lamps from a Greek pillar by means of a nail, and their subsequent alarm when their nail was washed by the owners of the pillar; a sort of symbol that their nail had finally fallen into the hands of the enemy. It strikes us as odd that a nail should be so valuable or so vivid to the imagination. And yet, to men so close to Calvary, even nails are not entirely commonplace. All this, regarding a decent delay and respect for religion or even for superstition, is obvious and has already been observed. But before leaving it, we may note that the same argument cuts the other way; I mean that we should not insolently impose our own ideas of what is picturesque any more than our own ideas of what is practical. The aesthete is sometimes more of a vandal than the vandal. The proposed reconstructions of Jerusalem have been on the whole reasonable and sympathetic; but there is always a danger from the activities, I might almost say the antics, of a sort of antiquary who is more hasty than an anarchist. If the people of such places revolt against their own limitations, we must have a reasonable respect for their revolt, and we must not be impatient even with their impatience. It is their town; they have to live in it, and not we. As they are the only judges of whether their antiquities are really authorities, so they are the only judges of whether their novelties are really necessities. As I pointed out more than once to many of my friends in Jerusalem, we should be very much annoyed if artistic visitors from Asia took similar liberties in London. It would be bad enough if they proposed to conduct excavations in Pimlico or Paddington, without much reference to the people who lived there; but it would be worse if they began to relieve them of the mere utilitarianism of Chelsea Bridge or Paddington Station. Suppose an eloquent Abyssinian Christian were to hold up his hand and stop the motor-omnibuses from going down Fleet Street on the ground that the thoroughfare was sacred to the simpler locomotion of Dr. Johnson. We should be pleased at the African's appreciation of Johnson; but our pleasure would not be unmixed. Suppose when you or I are in the act of stepping into a taxi-cab, an excitable Coptic Christian were to leap from behind a lamp-post, and implore us to save the grand old growler or the cab called the gondola of London. I admit and enjoy the poetry of the hansom; I admit and enjoy the personality of the true cabman of the old four-wheeler, upon whose massive manhood descended something of the tremendous tradition of Tony Weller. But I am not so certain as I should like to be, that I should at that moment enjoy the personality of the Copt. For these reasons it seems really desirable, or at least defensible, to defer any premature reconstruction of disputed things, and to begin this book as a mere note-book or sketch-book of things as they are, or at any rate as they appear. It was in this irregular order, and in this illogical disproportion, that things did in fact appear to me, and it was some time before I saw any real generalisation that would reduce my impressions to order. I saw that the groups disagreed, and to some extent why they disagreed, long before I could seriously consider anything on which they would be likely to agree. I have therefore confined the first section of this book to a mere series of such impressions, and left to the last section a study of the problem and an attempt at the solution. Between these two I have inserted a sort of sketch of what seemed to me the determining historical events that make the problem what it is. Of these I will only say for the moment that, whether by a coincidence or for some deeper cause, I feel it myself to be a case of first thoughts being best; and that some further study of history served rather to solidify what had seemed merely a sort of vision. I might almost say that I fell in love with Jerusalem at first sight; and the final impression, right or wrong, served only to fix the fugitive fancy which had seen, in the snow on the city, the white crown of a woman of Bethlehem. But there is another cause for my being content for the moment, with this mere chaos of contrasts. There is a very real reason for emphasising those contrasts, and for shunning the temptation to shut our eyes to them even considered as contrasts. It is necessary to insist that the contrasts are not easy to turn into combinations; that the red robes of Rome and the green scarves of Islam will not very easily fade into a dingy russet; that the gold of Byzantium and the brass of Babylon will require a hot furnace to melt them into any kind of amalgam. The reason for this is akin to what has already been said about Jerusalem as a knot of realities. It is especially a knot of popular realities. Although it is so small a place, or rather because it is so small a place, it is a domain and a dominion for the masses. Democracy is never quite democratic except when it is quite direct; and it is never quite direct except when it is quite small. So soon as a mob has grown large enough to have delegates it has grown large enough to have despots; indeed the despots are often much the more representative of the two. Now in a place so small as Jerusalem, what we call the rank and file really counts. And it is generally true, in religions especially, that the real enthusiasm or even fanaticism is to be found in the rank and file. In all intense religions it is the poor who are more religious and the rich who are more irreligious. It is certainly so with the creeds and causes that come to a collision in Jerusalem. The great Jewish population throughout the world did hail Mr. Balfour's declaration with something almost of the tribal triumph they might have shown when the Persian conqueror broke the Babylonian bondage. It was rather the plutocratic princes of Jewry who long hung back and hesitated about Zionism. The mass of Mahometans really are ready to combine against the Zionists as they might have combined against the Crusades. It is rather the responsible Mahometan leaders who will naturally be found more moderate and diplomatic. This popular spirit may take a good or a bad form; and a mob may cry out many things, right and wrong. But a mob cries out "No Popery"; it does not cry out "Not so much Popery," still less "Only a moderate admixture of Popery." It shouts "Three cheers for Gladstone," it does not shout "A gradual and evolutionary social tendency towards some ideal similar to that of Gladstone." It would find it quite a difficult thing to shout; and it would find exactly the same difficulty with all the advanced formulae about nationalisation and internationalisation and class-conscious solidarity. No rabble could roar at the top of its voice the collectivist formula of "The nationalisation of all the means of production, distribution, and exchange." The mob of Jerusalem is no exception to the rule, but rather an extreme example of it. The mob of Jerusalem has cried some remarkable things in its time; but they were not pedantic and they were not evasive. There was a day when it cried a single word; "Crucify." It was a thing to darken the sun and rend the veil of the temple; but there was no doubt about what it meant. This is an age of minorities; of minorities powerful and predominant, partly through the power of wealth and partly through the idolatry of education. Their powers appeared in every crisis of the Great War, when a small group of pacifists and internationalists, a microscopic minority in every country, were yet constantly figuring as diplomatists and intermediaries and men on whose attitude great issues might depend. A man like Mr. Macdonald, not a workman nor a formal or real representative of workmen, was followed everywhere by the limelight; while the millions of workmen who worked and fought were out of focus and therefore looked like a fog. Just as such figures give a fictitious impression of unity between the crowds fighting for different flags and frontiers, so there are similar figures giving a fictitious unity to the crowds following different creeds. There are already Moslems who are Modernists; there have always been a ruling class of Jews who are Materialists. Perhaps it would be true to say about much of the philosophical controversy in Europe, that many Jews tend to be Materialists, but all tend to be Monists, though the best in the sense of being Monotheists. The worst are in a much grosser sense materialists, and have motives very different from the dry idealism of men like Mr. Macdonald, which is probably sincere enough in its way. But with whatever motives, these intermediaries everywhere bridge the chasm between creeds as they do the chasm between countries. Everywhere they exalt the minority that is indifferent over the majority that is interested. Just as they would make an international congress out of the traitors of all nations, so they would make an ecumenical council out of the heretics of all religions. Mild constitutionalists in our own country often discuss the possibility of a method of protecting the minority. If they will find any possible method of protecting the majority, they will have found something practically unknown to the modern world. The majority is always at a disadvantage; the majority is difficult to idealise, because it is difficult to imagine. The minority is generally idealised, sometimes by its servants, always by itself. But my sympathies are generally, I confess, with the impotent and even invisible majority. And my sympathies, when I go beyond the things I myself believe, are with all the poor Jews who do believe in Judaism and all the Mahometans who do believe in Mahometanism, not to mention so obscure a crowd as the Christians who do believe in Christianity. I feel I have more morally and even intellectually in common with these people, and even the religions of these people, than with the supercilious negations that make up the most part of what is called enlightenment. It is these masses whom we ought to consider everywhere; but it is especially these masses whom we must consider in Jerusalem. And the reason is in the reality I have described; that the place is like a Greek city or a medieval parish; it is sufficiently small and simple to be a democracy. This is not a university town full of philosophies; it is a Zion of the hundred sieges raging with religions; not a place where resolutions can be voted and amended, but a place where men can be crowned and crucified. There is one small thing neglected in all our talk about self-determination; and that is determination. There is a great deal more difference than there is between most motions and amendments between the things for which a democracy will vote and the things on which a democracy is determined. You can take a vote among Jews and Christians and Moslems about whether lamp-posts should be painted green or portraits of politicians painted at all, and even their solid unanimity may be solid indifference. Most of what is called self-determination is like that; but there is no self-determination about it. The people are not determined. You cannot take a vote when the people are determined. You accept a vote, or something very much more obvious than a vote. Now it may be that in Jerusalem there is not one people but rather three or four; but each is a real people, having its public opinion, its public policy, its flag and almost, as I have said, its frontier. It is not a question of persuading weak and wavering voters, at a vague parliamentary election, to vote on the other side for a change, to choose afresh between two middle-class gentlemen, who look exactly alike and only differ on a question about which nobody knows or cares anything. It is a question of contrasts that will almost certainly remain contrasts, except under the flood of some spiritual conversion which cannot be foreseen and certainly cannot be enforced. We cannot enrol these people under our religion, because we have not got one. We can enrol them under our government, and if we are obliged to do that, the obvious essential is that like Roman rule before Christianity, or the English rule in India it should profess to be impartial if only by being irreligious. That is why I willingly set down for the moment only the first impressions of a stranger in a strange country. It is because our first safety is in seeing that it is a strange country; and our present preliminary peril that we may fall into the habit of thinking it a familiar country. It does no harm to put the facts in a fashion that seems disconnected; for the first fact of all is that they are disconnected. And the first danger of all is that we may allow some international nonsense or newspaper cant to imply that they are connected when they are not. It does no harm, at any rate to start with, to state the differences as irreconcilable. For the first and most unfamiliar fact the English have to learn in this strange land is that differences can be irreconcilable. And again the chief danger is that they may be persuaded that the wordy compromises of Western politics can reconcile them; that such abysses can be filled up with rubbish, or such chasms bridged with cobwebs. For we have created in England a sort of compromise which may up to a certain point be workable in England; though there are signs that even in England that point is approaching or is past. But in any case we could only do with that compromise as we could do without conscription; because an accident had made us insular and even provincial. So in India where we have treated the peoples as different from ourselves and from each other we have at least partly succeeded. So in Ireland, where we have tried to make them agree with us and each other, we have made one never-ending nightmare. We can no more subject the world to the English compromise than to the English climate; and both are things of incalculable cloud and twilight. We have grown used to a habit of calling things by the wrong names and supporting them by the wrong arguments; and even doing the right thing for the wrong cause. We have party governments which consist of people who pretend to agree when they really disagree. We have party debates which consist of people who pretend to disagree when they really agree. We have whole parties named after things they no longer support, or things they would never dream of proposing. We have a mass of meaningless parliamentary ceremonials that are no longer even symbolic; the rule by which a parliamentarian possesses a constituency but not a surname; or the rule by which he becomes a minister in order to cease to be a member. All this would seem the most superstitious and idolatrous mummery to the simple worshippers in the shrines of Jerusalem. You may think what they say fantastic, or what they mean fanatical, but they do not say one thing and mean another. The Greek may or may not have a right to say he is Orthodox, but he means that he is Orthodox; in a very different sense from that in which a man supporting a new Home Rule Bill means that he is Unionist. A Moslem would stop the sale of strong drink because he is a Moslem. But he is not quite so muddleheaded as to profess to stop it because he is a Liberal, and a particular supporter of the party of liberty. Even in England indeed it will generally be found that there is something more clear and rational about the terms of theology than those of politics and popular science. A man has at least a more logical notion of what he means when he calls himself an Anglo-Catholic than when he calls himself an Anglo-Saxon. But the old Jew with the drooping ringlets, shuffling in and out of the little black booths of Jerusalem, would not condescend to say he is a child of anything like the Anglo-Saxon race. He does not say he is a child of the Aramaico-Semitic race. He says he is a child of the Chosen Race, brought with thunder and with miracles and with mighty battles out of the land of Egypt and out of the house of bondage. In other words, he says something that means something, and something that he really means. One of the white Dominicans or brown Franciscans, from the great monasteries of the Holy City, may or may not be right in maintaining that a Papacy is necessary to the unity of Christendom. But he does not pass his life in proving that the Papacy is not a Papacy, as many of our liberal constitutionalists pass it in proving that the Monarchy is not a Monarchy. The Greek priests spend an hour on what seems to the sceptic mere meaningless formalities of the preparation of the Mass. But they would not spend a minute if they were themselves sceptics and thought them meaningless formalities, as most modern people do think of the formalities about Black Rod or the Bar of the House. They would be far less ritualistic than we are, if they cared as little for the Mass as we do for the Mace. Hence it is necessary for us to realise that these rude and simple worshippers, of all the different forms of worship, really would be bewildered by the ritual dances and elaborate ceremonial antics of John Bull, as by the superstitious forms and almost supernatural incantations of most of what we call plain English. Now I take it we retain enough realism and common sense not to wish to transfer these complicated conventions and compromises to a land of such ruthless logic and such rending divisions. We may hope to reproduce our laws, we do not want to reproduce our legal fictions. We do not want to insist on everybody referring to Mr. Peter or Mr. Paul, as the honourable member for Waddy Walleh; because a retiring Parliamentarian has to become Steward of the Chiltern Hundreds, we shall not insist on a retiring Palestinian official becoming Steward of the Moabitic Hundreds. But yet in much more subtle and more dangerous ways we are making that very mistake. We are transferring the fictions and even the hypocrisies of our own insular institutions from a place where they can be tolerated to a place where they will be torn in pieces. I have confined myself hitherto to descriptions and not to criticisms, to stating the elements of the problem rather than attempting as yet to solve it; because I think the danger is rather that we shall underrate the difficulties than overdo the description; that we shall too easily deny the problem rather than that we shall too severely criticise the solution. But I would conclude this chapter with one practical criticism which seems to me to follow directly from all that is said here of our legal fictions and local anomalies. One thing at least has been done by our own Government, which is entirely according to the ritual or routine of our own Parliament. It is a parliament of Pooh Bah, where anybody may be Lord High Everything Else. It is a parliament of Alice in Wonderland, where the name of a thing is different from what it is called, and even from what its name is called. It is death and destruction to send out these fictions into a foreign daylight, where they will be seen as things and not theories. And knowing all this, I cannot conceive the reason, or even the meaning, of sending out Sir Herbert Samuel as the British representative in Palestine. I have heard it supported as an interesting experiment in Zionism. I have heard it denounced as a craven concession to Zionism. I think it is quite obviously a flat and violent contradiction to Zionism. Zionism, as I have always understood it, and indeed as I have always defended it, consists in maintaining that it would be better for all parties if Israel had the dignity and distinctive responsibility of a separate nation; and that this should be effected, if possible, or so far as possible, by giving the Jews a national home, preferably in Palestine. But where is Sir Herbert Samuel's national home? If it is in Palestine he cannot go there as a representative of England. If it is in England, he is so far a living proof that a Jew does not need a national home in Palestine. If there is any point in the Zionist argument at all, you have chosen precisely the wrong man and sent him to precisely the wrong country. You have asserted not the independence but the dependence of Israel, and yet you have ratified the worst insinuations about the dependence of Christendom. In reason you could not more strongly state that Palestine does not belong to the Jews, than by sending a Jew to claim it for the English. And yet in practice, of course, all the Anti-Semites will say he is claiming it for the Jews. You combine all possible disadvantages of all possible courses of action; you run all the risks of the hard Zionist adventure, while actually denying the high Zionist ideal. You make a Jew admit he is not a Jew but an Englishman; even while you allow all his enemies to revile him because he is not an Englishman but a Jew. Now this sort of confusion or compromise is as local as a London fog. A London fog is tolerable in London, indeed I think it is very enjoyable in London. There is a beauty in that brown twilight as well as in the clear skies of the Orient and the South. But it is simply horribly dangerous for a Londoner to carry his cloud of fog about with him, in the crystalline air about the crags of Zion, or under the terrible stars of the desert. There men see differences with almost unnatural clearness, and call things by savagely simple names. We in England may consider all sorts of aspects of a man like Sir Herbert Samuel; we may consider him as a Liberal, or a friend of the Fabian Socialists, or a cadet of one of the great financial houses, or a Member of Parliament who is supposed to represent certain miners in Yorkshire, or in twenty other more or less impersonal ways. But the people in Palestine will see only one aspect, and it will be a very personal aspect indeed. For the enthusiastic Moslems he will simply be a Jew; for the enthusiastic Zionists he will not really be a Zionist. For them he will always be the type of Jew who would be willing to remain in London, and who is ready to represent Westminster. Meanwhile, for the masses of Moslems and Christians, he will only be the aggravation in practice of the very thing of which he is the denial in theory. He will not mean that Palestine is not surrendered to the Jews, but only that England is. Now I have nothing as yet to do with the truth of that suggestion; I merely give it as an example of the violent and unexpected reactions we shall produce if we thrust our own unrealities amid the red-hot realities of the Near East; it is like pushing a snow man into a furnace. I have no objection to a snow man as a part of our own Christmas festivities; indeed, as has already been suggested, I think such festivities a great glory of English life. But I have seen the snow melting in the steep places about Jerusalem; and I know what a cataract it could feed. As I considered these things a deepening disquiet possessed me, and my thoughts were far away from where I stood. After all, the English did not indulge in this doubling of parts and muddling of mistaken identity in their real and unique success in India. They may have been wrong or right but they were realistic about Moslems and Hindoos; they did not say Moslems were Hindoos, or send a highly intelligent Hindoo from Oxford to rule Moslems as an Englishman. They may not have cared for things like the ideal of Zionism; but they understood the common sense of Zionism, the desirability of distinguishing between entirely different things. But I remembered that of late their tact had often failed them even in their chief success in India; and that every hour brought worse and wilder news of their failure in Ireland. I remembered that in the Early Victorian time, against the advice only of the wisest and subtlest of the Early Victorians, we had tied ourselves to the triumphant progress of industrial capitalism; and that progress had now come to a crisis and what might well be a crash. And now, on the top of all, our fine patriotic tradition of foreign policy seemed to be doing these irrational and random things. A sort of fear took hold of me; and it was not for the Holy Land that I feared. A cold wave went over me, like that unreasonable change and chill with which a man far from home fancies his house has been burned down, or that those dear to him are dead. For one horrible moment at least I wondered if we had come to the end of compromise and comfortable nonsense, and if at last the successful stupidity of England would topple over like the successful wickedness of Prussia; because God is not mocked by the denial of reason any more than the denial of justice. And I fancied the very crowds of Jerusalem retorted on me words spoken to them long ago; that a great voice crying of old along the Via Dolorosa was rolled back on me like thunder from the mountains; and that all those alien faces are turned against us to-day, bidding us weep not for them, who have faith and clarity and a purpose, but weep for ourselves and for our children. CHAPTER VIII THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DESERT There was a story in Jerusalem so true or so well told that I can see the actors in it like figures in coloured costumes on a lighted stage. It occurred during the last days of Turkish occupation, while the English advance was still halted before Gaza, and heroically enduring the slow death of desert warfare. There were German and Austrian elements present in the garrison with the Turks, though the three allies seem to have held strangely aloof from each other. In the Austrian group there was an Austrian lady, "who had some dignity or other," like Lord Lundy's grandmother. She was very beautiful, very fashionable, somewhat frivolous, but with fits of Catholic devotion. She had some very valuable Christian virtues, such as indiscriminate charity for the poor and indiscriminate loathing for the Prussians. She was a nurse; she was also a nuisance. One day she was driving just outside the Jaffa Gate, when she saw one of those figures which make the Holy City seem like the eternal crisis of an epic. Such a man will enter the gate in the most ghastly rags as if he were going to be crowned king in the city; with his head lifted as if he saw apocalyptic stars in heaven, and a gesture at which the towers might fall. This man was ragged beyond all that moving rag-heap; he was as gaunt as a gallows tree, and the thing he was uttering with arms held up to heaven was evidently a curse. The lady sent an inquiry by her German servant, whom also I can see in a vision, with his face of wood and his air of still trailing all the heraldic trappings of the Holy Roman Empire. This ambassador soon returned in state and said, "Your Serene High Sublimity (or whatever it is), he says he is cursing the English." Her pity and patriotism were alike moved; and she again sent the plenipotentiary to discover why he cursed the English, or what tale of wrong or ruin at English hands lay behind the large gestures of his despair. A second time the wooden intermediary returned and said, "Your Ecstatic Excellency (or whatever be the correct form), he says he is cursing the English because they don't come." There are a great many morals to this story, besides the general truth to which it testifies; that the Turkish rule was not popular even with Moslems, and that the German war was not particularly popular even with Turks. When all deductions are made for the patriot as a partisan, and his way of picking up only what pleases him, it remains true that the English attack was very widely regarded rather as a rescue than an aggression. And what complaint there was really was, in many cases, a complaint that the rescue did not come with a rush; that the English forces had to fall back when they had actually entered Gaza, and could not for long afterwards continue their advance on Jerusalem. This kind of criticism of military operations is always, of course, worthless. In journalists it is generally worthless without being even harmless. There were some in London whose pessimistic wailing was less excusable than that of the poor Arab in Jerusalem; who cursed the English with the addition of being English themselves, who did it, not as he did, before one foreigner, but before all foreign opinion; and who advertised their failure in a sort of rags less reputable than his. No one can judge of a point like the capture and loss of Gaza, unless he knows a huge mass of technical and local detail that can only be known to the staff on the spot; it is not a question of lack of water but of exactly how little water; not of the arrival of reinforcements but of exactly how much reinforcement; not of whether time presses, but of exactly how much time there is. Nobody can know these things who is editing a newspaper at the other end of the world; and these are the things which, for the soldier on the spot, make all the difference between jumping over a paling and jumping over a precipice. Even the latter, as the philosophic relativist will eagerly point out, is only a matter of degree. But this is a parenthesis; for the purpose with which I mentioned the anecdote is something different. It is the text of another and somewhat more elusive truth; some appreciation of which is necessary to a sympathy with the more profound problems of Palestine. And it might be expressed thus; it is a proverb that the Eastern methods seem to us slow; that the Arabs trail along on labouring camels while the Europeans flash by on motors or mono-planes. But there is another and stranger sense in which we do seem to them slow, and they do seem to themselves to have a secret of swiftness. There is a sense in which we here touch the limits of a land of lightning; across which, as in a dream, the motor-car can be seen crawling like a snail. I have said that there is another side to the desert; though there is something queer in talking of another side to something so bare and big and oppressively obvious. But there is another side besides the big and bare truths, like giant bones, that the Moslem has found there; there is, so to speak, an obverse of the obvious. And to suggest what I mean I must go back again to the desert and the days I spent there, being carted from camp to camp and giving what were courteously described as lectures. All I can say is that if those were lectures, I cannot imagine why everybody is not a lecturer. Perhaps the secret is already out; and multitudes of men in evening dress are already dotted about the desert, wandering in search of an audience. Anyhow in my own wanderings I found myself in the high narrow house of the Base Commandant at Kantara, the only house in the whole circle of the horizon; and from the wooden balustrade and verandah, running round the top of it, could be seen nine miles of tents. Sydney Smith said that the bulbous domes of the Brighton Pavilion looked as if St. Paul's Cathedral had come down there and littered; and that grey vista of countless cones looked rather as if the Great Pyramid had multiplied itself on the prolific scale of the herring. Nor was even such a foolish fancy without its serious side; for though these pyramids would pass, the plan of them was also among the mightiest of the works of man; and the king in every pyramid was alive. For this was the great camp that was the pivot of the greatest campaign; and from that balcony I had looked on something all the more historic because it may never be seen again. As the dusk fell and the moon brightened above that great ghostly city of canvas, I had fallen into talk with three or four of the officers at the base; grizzled and hard-headed men talking with all the curious and almost colourless common sense of the soldier. All that they said was objective; one felt that everything they mentioned was really a thing and not merely a thought; a thing like a post or a palm-tree. I think there is something in this of a sympathy between the English and the Moslems, which may have helped us in India and elsewhere. For they mentioned many Moslem proverbs and traditions, lightly enough but not contemptuously, and in particular another of the proverbial prophecies about the term of Turkish power. They said there was an old saying that the Turk would never depart until the Nile flowed through Palestine; and this at least was evidently a proverb of pride and security, like many such; as who should say until the sea is dry or the sun rises in the west. And one of them smiled and made a small gesture as of attention. And in the silence of that moonlit scene we heard the clanking of a pump. The water from the Nile had been brought in pipes across the desert. And I thought that the symbol was a sound one, apart from all vanities; for this is indeed the special sort of thing that Christendom can do, and that Islam by itself would hardly care to do. I heard more afterwards of that water, which was eventually carried up the hills to Jerusalem, when I myself followed it thither; and all I heard bore testimony to this truth so far as it goes; the sense among the natives themselves of something magic in our machinery, and that in the main a white magic; the sense of all the more solid sort of social service that belongs rather to the West than to the East. When the fountain first flowed in the Holy City in the mountains, and Father Waggett blessed it for the use of men, it is said that an old Arab standing by said, in the plain and powerful phraseology of his people: "The Turks were here for five hundred years, and they never gave us a cup of cold water." I put first this minimum of truth about the validity of Western work because the same conversation swerved slowly, as it were, to the Eastern side. These same men, who talked of all things as if they were chairs and tables, began to talk quite calmly of things more amazing than table-turning. They were as wonderful as if the water had come there like the wind, without any pipes or pumps; or if Father Waggett had merely struck the rock like Moses. They spoke of a solitary soldier at the end of a single telephone wire across the wastes, hearing of something that had that moment happened hundreds of miles away, and then coming upon a casual Bedouin who knew it already. They spoke of the whole tribes moving and on the march, upon news that could only come a little later by the swiftest wires of the white man. They offered no explanation of these things; they simply knew they were there, like the palm-trees and the moon. They did not say it was "telepathy"; they lived much too close to realities for that. That word, which will instantly leap to the lips of too many of my readers, strikes me as merely an evidence of two of our great modern improvements; the love of long words and the loss of common sense. It may have been telepathy, whatever that is; but a man must be almost stunned with stupidity if he is satisfied to say telepathy as if he were saying telegraphy. If everybody is satisfied about how it is done, why does not everybody do it? Why does not a cultivated clergyman in Cornwall make a casual remark to an old friend of his at the University of Aberdeen? Why does not a harassed commercial traveller in Barcelona settle a question by merely thinking about his business partner in Berlin? The common sense of it is, of course, that the name makes no sort of difference; the mystery is why some people can do it and others cannot; and why it seems to be easy in one place and impossible in another. In other words it comes back to that very mystery which of all mysteries the modern world thinks most superstitious and senseless; the mystery of locality. It works back at last to the hardest of all the hard sayings of supernaturalism; that there is such a thing as holy or unholy ground, as divinely or diabolically inspired people; that there may be such things as sacred sites or even sacred stones; in short that the airy nothing of spiritual essence, evil or good, can have quite literally a local habitation and a name. It may be said in passing that this _genius loci_ is here very much the presiding genius. It is true that everywhere to-day a parade of the theory of pantheism goes with a considerable practice of particularism; and that people everywhere are beginning to wish they were somewhere. And even where it is not true of men, it seems to be true of the mysterious forces which men are once more studying. The words we now address to the unseen powers may be vague and universal, but the words they are said to address to us are parochial and even private. While the Higher Thought Centre would widen worship everywhere to a temple not made with hands, the Psychical Research Society is conducting practical experiments round a haunted house. Men may become cosmopolitans, but ghosts remain patriots. Men may or may not expect an act of healing to take place at a holy well, but nobody expects it ten miles from the well; and even the sceptic who comes to expose the ghost-haunted churchyard has to haunt the churchyard like a ghost. There may be something faintly amusing about the idea of demi-gods with door-knockers and dinner tables, and demons, one may almost say, keeping the home fires burning. But the driving force of this dark mystery of locality is all the more indisputable because it drives against most modern theories and associations. The truth is that, upon a more transcendental consideration, we do not know what place is any more than we know what time is. We do not know of the unknown powers that they cannot concentrate in space as in time, or find in a spot something that corresponds to a crisis. And if this be felt everywhere, it is necessarily and abnormally felt in those alleged holy places and sacred spots. It is felt supremely in all those lands of the Near East which lie about the holy hill of Zion. In these lands an impression grows steadily on the mind much too large for most of the recent religious or scientific definitions. The bogus heraldry of Haeckel is as obviously insufficient as any quaint old chronicle tracing the genealogies of English kings through the chiefs of Troy to the children of Noah. There is no difference, except that the tale of the Dark Ages can never be proved, while the travesty of the Darwinian theory can sometimes be disproved. But I should diminish my meaning if I suggested it as a mere score in the Victorian game of Scripture versus Science. Some much larger mystery veils the origins of man than most partisans on either side have realised; and in these strange primeval plains the traveller does realise it. It was never so well expressed as by one of the most promising of those whose literary possibilities were gloriously broken off by the great war; Lieutenant Warre-Cornish who left a strange and striking fragment, about a man who came to these lands with a mystical idea of forcing himself back against the stream of time into the very fountain of creation. This is a parenthesis; but before resuming the more immediate matter of the supernormal tricks of the tribes of the East, it is well to recognise this very real if much more general historic impression about the particular lands in which they lived. I have called it a historic impression; but it might more truly be called a prehistoric impression. It is best expressed in symbol by saying that the legendary site of the Garden of Eden is in Mesopotamia. It is equally well expressed in concrete experience by saying that, when I was in these parts, a learned man told me that the primitive form of wheat had just, for the first time, been discovered in Palestine. The feeling that fills the traveller may be faintly suggested thus; that here, in this legendary land between Asia and Europe, may well have happened whatever did happen; that through this Eastern gate, if any, entered whatever made and changed the world. Whatever else this narrow strip of land may seem like, it does really seem, to the spirit and almost to the senses, like the bridge that may have borne across archaic abysses the burden and the mystery of man. Here have been civilisations as old as any barbarism; to all appearance perhaps older than any barbarism. Here is the camel; the enormous unnatural friend of man; the prehistoric pet. He is never known to have been wild, and might make a man fancy that all wild animals had once been tame. As I said elsewhere, all might be a runaway menagerie; the whale a cow that went swimming and never came back, the tiger a large cat that took the prize (and the prize-giver) and escaped to the jungle. This is not (I venture to think) true; but it is true as Pithecanthropus and Primitive Man and all the other random guesses from dubious bits of bone and stone. And the truth is some third thing, too tremendous to be remembered by men. Whatever it was, perhaps the camel saw it; but from the expression on the face of that old family servant, I feel sure that he will never tell. I have called this the other side of the desert; and in another sense it is literally the other side. It is the other shore of that shifting and arid sea. Looking at it from the West and considering mainly the case of the Moslem, we feel the desert is but a barren border-land of Christendom; but seen from the other side it is the barrier between us and a heathendom far more mysterious and even monstrous than anything Moslem can be. Indeed it is necessary to realise this more vividly in order to feel the virtue of the Moslem movement. It belonged to the desert, but in one sense it was rather a clearance in the cloud that rests upon the desert; a rift of pale but clean light in volumes of vapour rolled on it like smoke from the strange lands beyond. It conceived a fixed hatred of idolatry, partly because its face was turned towards the multitudinous idolatries of the lands of sunrise; and as I looked Eastward I seemed to be conscious of the beginnings of that other world; and saw, like a forest of arms or a dream full of faces, the gods of Asia on their thousand thrones. It is not a mere romance that calls it a land of magic, or even of black magic. Those who carry that atmosphere to us are not the romanticists but the realists. Every one can feel it in the work of Mr. Rudyard Kipling; and when I once remarked on his repulsive little masterpiece called "The Mark of the Beast," to a rather cynical Anglo-Indian officer, he observed moodily, "It's a beastly story. But those devils really can do jolly queer things." It is but to take a commonplace example out of countless more notable ones to mention the many witnesses to the mango trick. Here again we have from time to time to weep over the weak-mindedness that hurriedly dismisses it as the practice of hypnotism. It is as if people were asked to explain how one unarmed Indian had killed three hundred men, and they said it was only the practice of human sacrifice. Nothing that we know as hypnotism will enable a man to alter the eyes in the heads of a huge crowd of total strangers; wide awake in broad daylight; and if it is hypnotism, it is something so appallingly magnified as to need a new magic to explain the explanation; certainly something that explains it better than a Greek word for sleep. But the impression of these special instances is but one example of a more universal impression of the Asiatic atmosphere; and that atmosphere itself is only an example of something vaster still for which I am trying to find words. Asia stands for something which the world in the West as well as the East is more and more feeling as a presence, and even a pressure. It might be called the spiritual world let loose; or a sort of psychical anarchy; a jungle of mango plants. And it is pressing upon the West also to-day because of the breaking down of certain materialistic barriers that have hitherto held it back. In plain words the attitude of science is not only modified; it is now entirely reversed. I do not say it with mere pleasure; in some ways I prefer our materialism to their spiritualism. But for good or evil the scientists are now destroying their own scientific world. The agnostics have been driven back on agnosticism; and are already recovering from the shock. They find themselves in a really unknown world under really unknown gods; a world which is more mystical, or at least more mysterious. For in the Victorian age the agnostics were not really agnostics. They might be better described as reverent materialists; or at any rate monists. They had at least at the back of their minds a clear and consistent concept of their rather clockwork cosmos; that is why they could not admit the smallest speck of the supernatural into their clockwork. But to-day it is very hard for a scientific man to say where the supernatural ends or the natural begins, or what name should be given to either. The word agnostic has ceased to be a polite word for atheist. It has become a real word for a very real state of mind, conscious of many possibilities beyond that of the atheist, and not excluding that of the polytheist. It is no longer a question of defining or denying a simple central power, but of balancing the brain in a bewilderment of new powers which seem to overlap and might even conflict. Nature herself has become unnatural. The wind is blowing from the other side of the desert, not now with noble truism "There is no God but God," but rather with that other motto out of the deeper anarchy of Asia, drawn out by Mr. Kipling, in the shape of a native proverb, in the very story already mentioned; "Your gods and my gods, do you or I know which is the stronger?" There was a mystical story I read somewhere in my boyhood, of which the only image that remains is that of a rose-bush growing mysteriously in the middle of a room. Taking this image for the sake of argument, we can easily fancy a man half-conscious and convinced that he is delirious, or still partly in a dream, because he sees such a magic bush growing irrationally in the middle of his bedroom. All the walls and furniture are familiar and solid, the table, the clock, the telephone, the looking glass or what not; there is nothing unnatural but this one hovering hallucination or optical delusion of green and red. Now that was very much the view taken of the Rose of Sharon, the mystical rose of the sacred tradition of Palestine, by any educated man about 1850, when the rationalism of the eighteenth century was supposed to have found full support in the science of the nineteenth. He had a sentiment about a rose: he was still glad it had fragrance or atmosphere; though he remembered with a slight discomfort that it had thorns. But what bothered him about it was that it was impossible. And what made him think it impossible was it was inconsistent with everything else. It was one solitary and monstrous exception to the sort of rule that ought to have no exceptions. Science did not convince him that there were few miracles, but that there were no miracles; and why should there be miracles only in Palestine and only for one short period? It was a single and senseless contradiction to an otherwise complete cosmos. For the furniture fitted in bit by bit and better and better; and the bedroom seemed to grow more and more solid. The man recognised the portrait of himself over the mantelpiece or the medicine bottles on the table, like the dying lover in Browning. In other words, science so far had steadily solidified things; Newton had measured the walls and ceiling and made a calculus of their three dimensions. Darwin was already arranging the animals in rank as neatly as a row of chairs, or Faraday the chemical elements as clearly as a row of medicine bottles. From the middle of the eighteenth century to the middle of the nineteenth, science was not only making discoveries, but all the discoveries were in one direction. Science is still making discoveries; but they are in the opposite direction. For things are rather different when the man in the bed next looks at the bedroom. Not only is the rose-bush still very obvious; but the other things are looking very odd. The perspective seems to have gone crooked; the walls seem to vary in measurement till the man thinks he is going mad. The wall-paper has a new pattern, of strange spirals instead of round dots. The table seems to have moved by itself across the room and thrown the medicine bottles out of the window. The telephone has vanished from the wall; the mirror does not reflect what is in front of it. The portrait of himself over the mantelpiece has a face that is not his own. That is something like a vision of the vital change in the whole trend of natural philosophy in the last twenty or thirty years. It matters little whether we regard it as the deepening or the destruction of the scientific universe. It matters little whether we say that grander abysses have opened in it, or merely that the bottom has fallen out of it. It is quite self-evident that scientific men are at war with wilder and more unfathomable fancies than the facts of the age of Huxley. I attempt no controversy about any of the particular cases: it is the cumulative effect of all of them that makes the impression one of common sense. It is really true that the perspective and dimensions of the man's bedroom have altered; the disciples of Einstein will tell him that straight lines are curved and perhaps measure more one way than the other; if that is not a nightmare, what is? It is really true that the clock has altered, for time has turned into the fourth dimension or something entirely different; and the telephone may fairly be said to have faded from view in favour of the invisible telepath. It is true that the pattern of the paper has changed, for the very pattern of the world has changed; we are told that it is not made of atoms like the dots but of electrons like the spirals. Scientific men of the first rank have seen a table move by itself, and walk upstairs by itself. It does not matter here whether it was done by the spirits; it is enough that few still pretend that is entirely done by the spiritualists. I am not dealing with doctrines but with doubts; with the mere fact that all these things have grown deeper and more bewildering. Some people really are throwing their medicine bottles out of the window; and some of them at least are working purely psychological cures of a sort that would once have been called miraculous healing. I do not say we know how far this could go; it is my whole point that we do not know, that we are in contact with numbers of new things of which we know uncommonly little. But the vital point is, not that science deals with what we do not know, but that science is destroying what we thought we did know. Nearly all the latest discoveries have been destructive, not of the old dogmas of religion, but rather of the recent dogmas of science. The conservation of energy could not itself be entirely conserved. The atom was smashed to atoms. And dancing to the tune of Professor Einstein, even the law of gravity is behaving with lamentable levity. And when the man looks at the portrait of himself he really does not see himself. He sees his Other Self, which some say is the opposite of his ordinary self; his Subconscious Self or his Subliminal Self, said to rage and rule in his dreams, or a suppressed self which hates him though it is hidden from him; or the Alter Ego of a Dual Personality. It is not to my present purpose to discuss the merit of these speculations, or whether they be medicinal or morbid. My purpose is served in pointing out the plain historical fact; that if you had talked to a Utilitarian and Rationalist of Bentham's time, who told men to follow "enlightened self-interest," he would have been considerably bewildered if you had replied brightly and briskly, "And to which self do you refer; the sub-conscious, the conscious, the latently criminal or suppressed, or others that we fortunately have in stock?" When the man looks at his own portrait in his own bedroom, it does really melt into the face of a stranger or flicker into the face of a fiend. When he looks at the bedroom itself, in short, it becomes clearer and clearer that it is exactly this comfortable and solid part of the vision that is altering and breaking up. It is the walls and furniture that are only a dream or memory. And when he looks again at the incongruous rose-bush, he seems to smell as well as see; and he stretches forth his hand, and his finger bleeds upon a thorn. It will not be altogether surprising if the story ends with the man recovering full consciousness, and finding he has been convalescing in a hammock in a rose-garden. It is not so very unreasonable when you come to think of it; or at least when you come to think of the whole of it. He was not wrong in thinking the whole must be a consistent whole, and that one part seemed inconsistent with the other. He was only wrong about which part was wrong through being inconsistent with the other. Now the whole of the rationalistic doubt about the Palestinian legends, from its rise in the early eighteenth century out of the last movements of the Renascence, was founded on the fixity of facts. Miracles were monstrosities because they were against natural law, which was necessarily immutable law. The prodigies of the Old Testament or the mighty works of the New were extravagances because they were exceptions; and they were exceptions because there was a rule, and that an immutable rule. In short, there was no rose-tree growing out of the carpet of a trim and tidy bedroom; because rose-trees do not grow out of carpets in trim and tidy bedrooms. So far it seemed reasonable enough. But it left out one possibility; that a man can dream about a room as well as a rose; and that a man can doubt about a rule as well as an exception. As soon as the men of science began to doubt the rules of the game, the game was up. They could no longer rule out all the old marvels as impossible, in face of the new marvels which they had to admit as possible. They were themselves dealing now with a number of unknown quantities; what is the power of mind over matter; when is matter an illusion of mind; what is identity, what is individuality, is there a limit to logic in the last extremes of mathematics? They knew by a hundred hints that their non-miraculous world was no longer watertight; that floods were coming in from somewhere in which they were already out of their depth, and down among very fantastical deep-sea fishes. They could hardly feel certain even about the fish that swallowed Jonah, when they had no test except the very true one that there are more fish in the sea than ever came out of it. Logically they would find it quite as hard to draw the line at the miraculous draught of fishes. I do not mean that they, or even I, need here depend on those particular stories; I mean that the difficulty now is to draw a line, and a new line, after the obliteration of an old and much more obvious line. Any one can draw it for himself, as a matter of mere taste in probability; but we have not made a philosophy until we can draw it for others. And the modern men of science cannot draw it for others. Men could easily mark the contrast between the force of gravity and the fable of the Ascension. They cannot all be made to see any such contrast between the levitation that is now discussed as a possibility and the ascension which is still derided as a miracle. I do not even say that there is not a great difference between them; I say that science is now plunged too deep in new doubts and possibilities to have authority to define the difference. I say the more it knows of what seems to have happened, or what is said to have happened, in many modern drawing-rooms, the less it knows what did or did not happen on that lofty and legendary hill, where a spire rises over Jerusalem and can be seen beyond Jordan. But with that part of the Palestinian story which is told in the New Testament I am not directly concerned till the next chapter; and the matter here is a more general one. The truth is that through a thousand channels something has returned to the modern mind. It is not Christianity. On the contrary, it would be truer to say that it is paganism. In reality it is in a very special sense paganism; because it is polytheism. The word will startle many people, but not the people who know the modern world best. When I told a distinguished psychologist at Oxford that I differed from his view of the universe, he answered, "Why universe? Why should it not be a multiverse?" The essence of polytheism is the worship of gods who are not God; that is, who are not necessarily the author and the authority of all things. Men are feeling more and more that there are many spiritual forces in the universe, and the wisest men feel that some are to be trusted more than others. There will be a tendency, I think, to take a favourite force, or in other words a familiar spirit. Mr. H. G. Wells, who is, if anybody is, a genius among moderns and a modern among geniuses, really did this very thing; he selected a god who was really more like a daemon. He called his book _God, the Invisible King_; but the curious point was that he specially insisted that his God differed from other people's God in the very fact that he was not a king. He was very particular in explaining that his deity did not rule in any almighty or infinite sense; but merely influenced, like any wandering spirit. Nor was he particularly invisible, if there can be said to be any degrees in invisibility. Mr. Wells's Invisible God was really like Mr. Wells's Invisible Man. You almost felt he might appear at any moment, at any rate to his one devoted worshipper; and that, as if in old Greece, a glad cry might ring through the woods of Essex, the voice of Mr. Wells crying, "We have seen, he hath seen us, a visible God." I do not mean this disrespectfully, but on the contrary very sympathetically; I think it worthy of so great a man to appreciate and answer the general sense of a richer and more adventurous spiritual world around us. It is a great emancipation from the leaden materialism which weighed on men of imagination forty years ago. But my point for the moment is that the mode of the emancipation was pagan or even polytheistic, in the real philosophical sense that it was the selection of a single spirit, out of many there might be in the spiritual world. The point is that while Mr. Wells worships his god (who is not his creator or even necessarily his overlord) there is nothing to prevent Mr. William Archer, also emancipated, from adoring another god in another temple; or Mr. Arnold Bennett, should he similarly liberate his mind, from bowing down to a third god in a third temple. My imagination rather fails me, I confess, in evoking the image and symbolism of Mr. Bennett's or Mr. Archer's idolatries; and if I had to choose between the three, I should probably be found as an acolyte in the shrine of Mr. Wells. But, anyhow, the trend of all this is to polytheism, rather as it existed in the old civilisation of paganism. There is the same modern mark in Spiritualism. Spiritualism also has the trend of polytheism, if it be in a form more akin to ancestor-worship. But whether it be the invocation of ghosts or of gods, the mark of it is that it invokes something less than the divine; nor am I at all quarrelling with it on that account. I am merely describing the drift of the day; and it seems clear that it is towards the summoning of spirits to our aid whatever their position in the unknown world, and without any clear doctrinal plan of that world. The most probable result would seem to be a multitude of psychic cults, personal and impersonal, from the vaguest reverence for the powers of nature to the most concrete appeal to crystals or mascots. When I say that the agnostics have discovered agnosticism, and have now recovered from the shock, I do not mean merely to sneer at the identity of the word agnosticism with the word ignorance. On the contrary, I think ignorance the greater thing; for ignorance can be creative. And the thing it can create, and soon probably will create, is one of the lost arts of the world; a mythology. In a word, the modern world will probably end exactly where the Bible begins. In that inevitable setting of spirit against spirit, or god against god, we shall soon be in a position to do more justice not only to the New Testament, but to the Old Testament. Our descendants may very possibly do the very thing we scoff at the old Jews for doing; grope for and cling to their own deity as one rising above rivals who seem to be equally real. They also may feel him not primarily as the sole or even the supreme but only as the best; and have to abide the miracles of ages to prove that he is also the mightiest. For them also he may at first be felt as their own, before he is extended to others; he also, from the collision with colossal idolatries and towering spiritual tyrannies, may emerge only as a God of Battles and a Lord of Hosts. Here between the dark wastes and the clouded mountain was fought out what must seem even to the indifferent a wrestle of giants driving the world out of its course; Jehovah of the mountains casting down Baal of the desert and Dagon of the sea. Here wandered and endured that strange and terrible and tenacious people who held high above all their virtues and their vices one indestructible idea; that they were but the tools in that tremendous hand. Here was the first triumph of those who, in some sense beyond our understanding, had rightly chosen among the powers invisible, and found their choice a great god above all gods. So the future may suffer not from the loss but the multiplicity of faith; and its fate be far more like the cloudy and mythological war in the desert than like the dry radiance of theism or monism. I have said nothing here of my own faith, or of that name on which, I am well persuaded, the world will be most wise to call. But I do believe that the tradition founded in that far tribal battle, in that far Eastern land, did indeed justify itself by leading up to a lasting truth; and that it will once again be justified of all its children. What has survived through an age of atheism as the most indestructible would survive through an age of polytheism as the most indispensable. If among many gods it could not presently be proved to be the strongest, some would still know it was the best. Its central presence would endure through times of cloud and confusion, in which it was judged only as a myth among myths or a man among men. Even the old heathen test of humanity and the apparition of the body, touching which I have quoted the verse about the pagan polytheist as sung by the neo-pagan poet, is a test which that incarnate mystery will abide the best. And however much or little our spiritual inquirers may lift the veil from their invisible kings, they will not find a vision more vivid than a man walking unveiled upon the mountains, seen of men and seeing; a visible god. CHAPTER IX THE BATTLE WITH THE DRAGON Lydda or Ludd has already been noted as the legendary birthplace of St. George, and as the camp on the edge of the desert from which, as it happened, I caught the first glimpse of the coloured fields of Palestine that looked like the fields of Paradise. Being an encampment of soldiers, it seems an appropriate place for St. George; and indeed it may be said that all that red and empty land has resounded with his name like a shield of copper or of bronze. The name was not even confined to the cries of the Christians; a curious imaginative hospitality in the Moslem mind, a certain innocent and imitative enthusiasm, made the Moslems also half-accept a sort of Christian mythology, and make an abstract hero of St. George. It is said that Coeur de Lion on these very sands first invoked the soldier saint to bless the English battle-line, and blazon his cross on the English banners. But the name occurs not only in the stories of the victory of Richard, but in the enemy stories that led up to the great victory of Saladin. In that obscure and violent quarrel which let loose the disaster of Hattin, when the Grand Master of the Templars, Gerard the Englishman from Bideford in Devon, drove with demented heroism his few lances against a host, there fell among those radiant fanatics one Christian warrior, who had made with his single sword such a circle of the slain, that the victorious Moslems treated even his dead body as something supernatural; and bore it away with them with honour, saying it was the body of St. George. But if the purpose of the camp be appropriate to the story of St. George, the position of the camp might be considered appropriate to the more fantastic story of St. George and the Dragon. The symbolic struggle between man and monster might very well take place somewhere where the green culture of the fields meets the red desolation of the desert. As a matter of fact, I dare say, legend locates the duel itself somewhere else, but I am only making use of the legend as a legend, or even as a convenient figure of speech. I would only use it here to make a kind of picture which may clarify a kind of paradox, very vital to our present attitude towards all Palestinian traditions, including those that are more sacred even than St. George. This paradox has already been touched on in the last chapter about polytheistic spirits or superstitions such as surrounded the Old Testament, but it is yet more true of the criticisms and apologetics surrounding the New Testament. And the paradox is this; that we never find our own religion so right as when we find we are wrong about it. I mean that we are finally convinced not by the sort of evidence we are looking for, but by the sort of evidence we are not looking for. We are convinced when we come on a ratification that is almost as abrupt as a refutation. That is the point about the wireless telegraphy or wordless telepathy of the Bedouins. A supernatural trick in a dingy tribe wandering in dry places is not the sort of supernaturalism we should expect to find; it is only the sort that we do find. These rocks of the desert, like the bones of a buried giant, do not seem to stick out where they ought to, but they stick out, and we fall over them. Whatever we think of St. George, most people would see a mere fairy-tale in St. George and the Dragon. I dare say they are right; and I only use it here as a figure for the sake of argument. But suppose, for the sake of argument, that a man has come to the conclusion that there probably was such a person as St. George, in spite of all the nonsense about dragons and the chimera with wings and claws that has somehow interwreathed itself with his image. Perhaps he is a little biased by patriotism or other ethical aims; and thinks the saint a good social ideal. Perhaps he knows that early Christianity, so far from being a religion of pacifists, was largely a religion of soldiers. Anyhow he thinks St. George himself a quite sufficiently solid and historical figure; and has little doubt that records or traces can be found of him. Now the point is this; suppose that man goes to the land of the legendary combat; and finds comparatively few or faint traces of the personality of St. George. But suppose he _does_ find, on that very field of combat, the bones of a gigantic monster unlike every other creature except the legendary dragon. Or suppose he only finds ancient Eastern sculptures and hieroglyphics representing maidens, being sacrificed to such a monster, and making it quite clear that even within historic times one of those sacrificed was a princess. It is surely clear that he will be considerably impressed by this confirmation, not of the part he did believe, but actually of the part he did not believe. He has not found what he expected but he has found what he wanted, and much more than he wanted. He has not found a single detail directly in support of St. George. But he had found a very considerable support of St. George and the Dragon. It is needless to inform the reader, I trust, that I do not think this particular case in the least likely; or that I am only using it for the sake of lucidity. Even as it stands, it would not necessarily make a man believe the traditional story, but it would make him guess that it was some sort of tradition of some sort of truth; that there was something in it, and much more in it than even he himself had imagined. And the point of it would be precisely that his reason had not anticipated the extent of his revelation. He has proved the improbable, not the probable thing. Reason had already taught him the reasonable part; but facts had taught him the fantastic part. He will certainly conclude that the whole story is very much more valid than anybody has supposed. Now as I have already said, it is not in the least likely that this will happen touching this particular tale of Palestine. But this is precisely what really has happened touching the most sacred and tremendous of all the tales of Palestine. This is precisely what has happened touching that central figure, round which the monster and the champion are alike only ornamental symbols; and by the right of whose tragedy even St. George's Cross does not belong to St. George. It is not likely to be true of the desert duel between George and the Dragon; but it is already true of the desert duel between Jesus and the Devil. St. George is but a servant and the Dragon is but a symbol, but it is precisely about the central reality, the mystery of Christ and His mastery of the powers of darkness, that this very paradox has proved itself a fact. Going down from Jerusalem to Jericho I was more than once moved by a flippant and possibly profane memory of the swine that rushed down a steep place into the sea. I do not insist on the personal parallel; for whatever my points of resemblance to a pig I am not a flying pig, a pig with wings of speed and precipitancy; and if I am possessed of a devil, it is not the blue devil of suicide. But the phrase came back into my mind because going down to the Dead Sea does really involve rushing down a steep place. Indeed it gives a strange impression that the whole of Palestine is one single steep place. It is as if all other countries lay flat under the sky, but this one country had been tilted sideways. This gigantic gesture of geography or geology, this sweep as of a universal landslide, is the sort of thing that is never conveyed by any maps or books or even pictures. All the pictures of Palestine I have seen are descriptive details, groups of costume or corners of architecture, at most views of famous places; they cannot give the bottomless vision of this long descent. We went in a little rocking Ford car down steep and jagged roads among ribbed and columned cliffs; but the roads below soon failed us altogether; and the car had to tumble like a tank over rocky banks and into empty river-beds, long before it came to the sinister and discoloured landscapes of the Dead Sea. And the distance looks far enough on the map, and seems long enough in the motor journey, to make a man feel he has come to another part of the world; yet so much is it all a single fall of land that even when he gets out beyond Jordan in the wild country of the Shereef he can still look back and see, small and faint as if in the clouds, the spire of the Russian church (I fancy) upon the hill of the Ascension. And though the story of the swine is attached in truth to another place, I was still haunted with its fanciful appropriateness to this one, because of the very steepness of this larger slope and the mystery of that larger sea. I even had the fancy that one might fish for them and find them in such a sea, turned into monsters; sea-swine or four-legged fishes, swollen and with evil eyes, grown over with sea-grass for bristles; the ghosts of Gadara. And then it came back to me, as a curiosity and almost a coincidence, that the same strange story had actually been selected as the text for the central controversy of the Victorian Age between Christianity and criticism. The two champions were two of the greatest men of the nineteenth century; Huxley representing scientific scepticism and Gladstone scriptural orthodoxy. The scriptural champion was universally regarded as standing for the past, if not for the dead past; and the scientific champion as standing for the future, if not the final judgment of the world. And yet the future has been entirely different to anything that anybody expected; and the final judgment may yet reverse all the conceptions of their contemporaries and even of themselves. The philosophical position now is in a very curious way the contrary of the position then. Gladstone had the worst of the argument, and has been proved right. Huxley had the best of the argument, and has been proved wrong. At any rate he has been ultimately proved wrong about the way the world was going, and the probable position of the next generation. What he thought indisputable is disputed; and what he thought dead is rather too much alive. Huxley was not only a man of genius in logic and rhetoric; he was a man of a very manly and generous morality. Morally he deserves much more sympathy than many of the mystics who have supplanted him. But they have supplanted him. In the more mental fashions of the day, most of what he thought would stand has fallen, and most of what he thought would fall is standing yet. In the Gadarene controversy with Gladstone, he announced it as his purpose to purge the Christian ideal, which he thought self-evidently sublime, of the Christian demonology, which he thought self-evidently ridiculous. And yet if we take any typical man of the next generation, we shall very probably find Huxley's sublime thing scoffed at, and Huxley's ridiculous thing taken seriously. I imagine a very typical child of the age succeeding Huxley's may be found in Mr. George Moore. He has one of the most critical, appreciative and atmospheric talents of the age. He has lived in most of the sets of the age, and through most of the fashions of the age. He has held, at one time or another, most of the opinions of the age. Above all, he has not only thought for himself, but done it with peculiar pomp and pride; he would consider himself the freest of all freethinkers. Let us take him as a type and a test of what has really happened to Huxley's analysis of the gold and the dross. Huxley quoted as the indestructible ideal the noble passage in Micah, beginning "He hath shewed thee, O man, that which is good"; and asked scornfully whether anybody was ever likely to suggest that justice was worthless or that mercy was unlovable, and whether anything would diminish the distance between ourselves and the ideals that we reverence. And yet already, perhaps, Mr. George Moore was anticipating Nietzsche, sailing near, as he said, "the sunken rocks about the cave of Zarathustra." He said, if I remember right, that Cromwell should be admired for his injustice. He implied that Christ should be condemned, not because he destroyed the swine, but because he delivered the sick. In short he found justice quite worthless and mercy quite unlovable; and as for humility and the distance between himself and his ideals, he seemed rather to suggest (at this time at least) that his somewhat varying ideals were only interesting because they had belonged to himself. Some of this, it is true, was only in the _Confessions of a Young Man_; but it is the whole point here that they were then the confessions of a young man, and that Huxley's in comparison were the confessions of an old man. The trend of the new time, in very varying degrees, was tending to undermine, not merely the Christian demonology, not merely the Christian theology, not merely the Christian religion, but definitely the Christian ethical ideal, which had seemed to the great agnostic as secure as the stars. But while the world was mocking the morality he had assumed, it was bringing back the mysticism he had mocked. The next phase of Mr. George Moore himself, whom I have taken as a type of the time, was the serious and sympathetic consideration of Irish mysticism, as embodied in Mr. W. B. Yeats. I have myself heard Mr. Yeats, about that time, tell a story, to illustrate how concrete and even comic is the reality of the supernatural, saying that he knew a farmer whom the fairies had dragged out of bed and beaten. Now suppose Mr. Yeats had told Mr. Moore, then moving in this glamorous atmosphere, another story of the same sort. Suppose he had said that the farmer's pigs had fallen under the displeasure of some magician of the sort he celebrates, who had conjured bad fairies into the quadrupeds, so that they went in a wild dance down to the village pond. Would Mr. Moore have thought that story any more incredible than the other? Would he have thought it worse than a thousand other things that a modern mystic may lawfully believe? Would he have risen to his feet and told Mr. Yeats that all was over between them? Not a bit of it. He would at least have listened with a serious, nay, a solemn face. He would think it a grim little grotesque of rustic diablerie, a quaint tale of goblins, neither less nor more improbable than hundreds of psychic fantasies or farces for which there is really a good deal of evidence. He would be ready to entertain the idea if he found it anywhere except in the New Testament. As for the more vulgar and universal fashions that have followed after the Celtic movement, they have left such trifles far behind. And they have been directed not by imaginative artists like Mr. Yeats or even Mr. Moore, but by solid scientific students like Sir William Crookes and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I find it easier to imagine an evil spirit agitating the legs of a pig than a good spirit agitating the legs of a table. But I will not here enter into the argument, since I am only trying to describe the atmosphere. Whatever has happened in more recent years, what Huxley expected has certainly not happened. There has been a revolt against Christian morality, and where there has not been a return of Christian mysticism, it has been a return of the mysticism without the Christianity. Mysticism itself has returned, with all its moons and twilights, its talismans and spells. Mysticism itself has returned, and brought with it seven devils worse than itself. But the scientific coincidence is even more strict and close. It affects not only the general question of miracles, but the particular question of possession. This is the very last element in the Christian story that would ever have been selected by the enlightened Christian apologist. Gladstone would defend it, but he would not go out of his way to dwell on it. It is an excellent working model of what I mean by finding an unexpected support, and finding it in an unexpected quarter. It is not theological but psychological study that has brought us back into this dark underworld of the soul, where even identity seems to dissolve or divide, and men are not even themselves. I do not say that psychologists admit the discovery of demoniacs; and if they did they would doubtless call them something else, such as demono-maniacs. But they admit things which seem almost as near to a new supernaturalism, and things quite as incredible to the old rationalism. Dual personality is not so very far from diabolic possession. And if the dogma of subconsciousness allows of agnosticism, the agnosticism cuts both ways. A man cannot say there is a part of him of which he is quite unconscious, and only conscious that it is not in contact with the unknown. He cannot say there is a sealed chamber or cellar under his house, of which he knows nothing whatever; but that he is quite certain that it cannot have an underground passage leading anywhere else in the world. He cannot say he knows nothing whatever about its size or shape or appearance, except that it certainly does not contain a relic of the finger-joint of St. Catherine of Alexandria, or that it certainly is not haunted by the ghost of King Herod Agrippa. If there is any sort of legend or tradition or plausible probability which says that it is, he cannot call a thing impossible where he is not only ignorant but even unconscious. It comes back therefore to the same reality, that the old compact cosmos depended on a compact consciousness. If we are dealing with unknown quantities, we cannot deny their connection with other unknown quantities. If I have a self of which I can say nothing, how can I even say that it is my own self? How can I even say that I always had it, or that it did not come from somewhere else? It is clear that we are in very deep waters, whether or no we have rushed down a steep place to fall into them. It will be noted that what we really lack here is not the supernatural but only the healthy supernatural. It is not the miracle, but only the miracle of healing. I warmly sympathise with those who think most of this rather morbid, and nearer the diabolic than the divine, but to call a thing diabolic is hardly an argument against the existence of diabolism. It is still more clearly the case when we go outside the sphere of science into its penumbra in literature and conversation. There is a mass of fiction and fashionable talk of which it may truly be said, that what we miss in it is not demons but the power to cast them out. It combines the occult with the obscene; the sensuality of materialism with the insanity of spiritualism. In the story of Gadara we have left out nothing except the Redeemer, we have kept the devils and the swine. In other words, we have not found St. George; but we have found the Dragon. We have found in the desert, as I have said, the bones of the monster we did not believe in, more plainly than the footprints of the hero we did. We have found them not because we expected to find them, for our progressive minds look to the promise of something much brighter and even better; not because we wanted to find them, for our modern mood, as well as our human nature, is entirely in favour of more amiable and reassuring things; not because we thought it even possible to find them, for we really thought it impossible so far as we ever thought of it at all. We have found them because they are _there_; and we are bound to come on them even by falling over them. It is Huxley's method that has upset Huxley's conclusion. As I have said, that conclusion itself is completely reversed. What he thought indisputable is disputed; and what he thought impossible is possible. Instead of Christian morals surviving in the form of humanitarian morals, Christian demonology has survived in the form of heathen demonology. But it has not survived by scholarly traditionalism in the style of Gladstone, but rather by obstinate objective curiosity according to the advice of Huxley. We in the West have "followed our reason as far as it would go," and our reason has led us to things that nearly all the rationalists would have thought wildly irrational. Science was supposed to bully us into being rationalists; but it is now supposed to be bullying us into being irrationalists. The science of Einstein might rather be called following our unreason as far as it will go, seeing whether the brain will crack under the conception that space is curved, or that parallel straight lines always meet. And the science of Freud would make it essentially impossible to say how far our reason or unreason does go, or where it stops. For if a man is ignorant of his other self, how can he possibly know that the other self is ignorant? He can no longer say with pride that at least he knows that he knows nothing. That is exactly what he does not know. The floor has fallen out of his mind and the abyss below may contain subconscious certainties as well as subconscious doubts. He is too ignorant even to ignore; and he must confess himself an agnostic about whether he is an agnostic. That is the coil or tangle, at least, which the dragon has reached even in the scientific regions of the West. I only describe the tangle; I do not delight in it. Like most people with a taste for Catholic tradition, I am too much of a rationalist for that; for Catholics are almost the only people now defending reason. But I am not talking of the true relations of reason and mystery, but of the historical fact that mystery has invaded the peculiar realms of reason; especially the European realms of the motor and the telephone. When we have a man like Mr. William Archer, lecturing mystically on dreams and psychoanalysis, and saying it is clear that God did not make man a reasonable creature, those acquainted with the traditions and distinguished record of that dry and capable Scot will consider the fact a prodigy. I confess it never occurred to me that Mr. Archer was of such stuff as dreams are made of; and if he is becoming a mystic in his old age (I use the phrase in a mystical and merely relative sense) we may take it that the occult oriental flood is rising fast, and reaching places that are not only high but dry. But the change is much more apparent to a man who has chanced to stray into those orient hills where those occult streams have always risen, and especially in this land that lies between Asia, where the occult is almost the obvious, and Europe, where it is always returning with a fresher and younger vigour. The truth becomes strangely luminous in this wilderness between two worlds, where the rocks stand out stark like the very bones of the Dragon. As I went down that sloping wall or shoulder of the world from the Holy City on the mountain to the buried Cities of the Plain, I seemed to see more and more clearly all this Western evolution of Eastern mystery, and how on this one high place, as on a pivot, the whole purpose of mankind had swerved. I took up again the train of thought which I had trailed through the desert, as described in the last chapter, about the gods of Asia and of the ancient dispensation, and I found it led me along these hills to a sort of vista or vision of the new dispensation and of Christendom. Considered objectively, and from the outside, the story is something such as has already been loosely outlined; the emergence in this immemorial and mysterious land of what was undoubtedly, when thus considered, one tribe among many tribes worshipping one god among many gods, but it is quite as much an evident external fact that the god has become God. Still stated objectively, the story is that the tribe having this religion produced a new prophet, claiming to be more than a prophet. The old religion killed the new prophet; but the new prophet killed the old religion. He died to destroy it, and it died in destroying him. Now it may be reaffirmed equally realistically that there was nothing normal about the case or its consequences. The things that took part in that tragedy have never been the same since, and have never been like anything else in the world. The Church is not like other religions; its very crimes were unique. The Jews are not like other races; they remain as unique to everybody else as they are to themselves. The Roman Empire did not pass like other empires; it did not perish like Babylon and Assyria. It went through a most extraordinary remorse amounting to madness and resuscitation into sanity, which is equally strange in history whether it seems as ghastly as a galvanised corpse or as glorious as a god risen from the dead. The very land and city are not like other lands and cities. The concentration and conflict in Jerusalem to-day, whether we regard them as a reconquest by Christendom or a conspiracy of Jews or a part of the lingering quarrel with Moslems, are alike the effect of forces gathered and loosened in that one mysterious moment in the history of the city. They equally proclaim the paradox of its insignificance and its importance. But above all the prophet was not and is not like other prophets; and the proof of it is to be found not primarily among those who believe in him, but among those who do not. He is not dead, even where he is denied. What is the use of a modern man saying that Christ is only a thing like Atys or Mithras, when the next moment he is reproaching Christianity for not following Christ? He does not suddenly lose his temper and talk about our most unmithraic conduct, as he does (very justly as a rule) about our most unchristian conduct. We do not find a group of ardent young agnostics, in the middle of a great war, tried as traitors for their extravagant interpretation of remarks attributed to Atys. It is improbable that Tolstoy wrote a book to prove that all modern ills could be cured by literal obedience to all the orders of Adonis. We do not find wild Bolshevists calling themselves Mithraic Socialists as many of them call themselves Christian Socialists. Leaving orthodoxy and even sanity entirely on one side, the very heresies and insanities of our time prove that after nearly two thousand years the issue is still living and the name is quite literally one to conjure with. Let the critics try to conjure with any of the other names. In the real centres of modern inquiry and mental activity, they will not move even a mystic with the name of Mithras as they will move a materialist with the name of Jesus. There are men who deny God and accept Christ. But this lingering yet living power in the legend, even for those to whom it is little more than a legend, has another relevancy to the particular point here. Jesus of Nazareth, merely humanly considered, has thus become a hero of humanitarianism. Even the eighteenth-century deists in denying his divinity generally took pains to exalt his humanity. Of the nineteenth-century revolutionists it is really an understatement to say that they exalted him as a man; for indeed they rather exalted him as a superman. That is to say, many of them represented him as a man preaching a decisively superior and ever strange morality, not only in advance of his age but practically in advance of our age. They made of his mystical counsels of perfection a sort of Socialism or Pacifism or Communism, which they themselves still see rather as something that ought to be or that will be; the extreme limit of universal love. I am not discussing here whether they are right or not; I say they have in fact found in the same figure a type of humanitarianism and the care for human happiness. Every one knows the striking and sometimes staggering utterances that do really support and illustrate this side of the teaching. Modern idealists are naturally moved by such things as the intensely poetic paradox about the lilies of the field; which for them has a joy in life and living things like that of Shelley or Whitman, combined with a return to simplicity beyond that of Tolstoy or Thoreau. Indeed I rather wonder that those, whose merely historic or humanistic view of the case would allow of such criticism without incongruity, have not made some study of the purely poetical or oratorical structure of such passages. Certainly there are few finer examples of the swift architecture of style than that single fragment about the flowers; the almost idle opening of a chance reference to a wild flower, the sudden unfolding of the small purple blossom into pavilions and palaces and the great name of the national history; and then with a turn of the hand like a gesture of scorn, the change to the grass that to-day is and to-morrow is cast into the oven. Then follows, as so often in the Gospels, the "how much more" which is like a celestial flight of stairs, a ladder of imaginative logic. Indeed this _a fortiori_, and this power of thinking on three levels, is (I may remark incidentally) a thing very much needed in modern discussion. Many minds apparently cannot stretch to three dimensions, or to thinking that a cube can go beyond a surface as a surface goes beyond a line; for instance, that the citizen is infinitely above all ranks, and yet the soul is infinitely above the citizen. But we are only concerned at the moment with the sides of this many-sided mystery which happen to be really in sympathy with the modern mood. Judged even by our modern tests of emancipated art or ideal economics, it is admitted that Christ understood all that is rather crudely embodied in Socialism or the Simple Life. I purposely insist first on this optimistic, I might almost say this pantheistic or even this pagan aspect of the Christian Gospels. For it is only when we understand that Christ, considered merely as a prophet, can be and is a popular leader in the love of natural things, that we can feel that tremendous and tragic energy of his testimony to an ugly reality, the existence of unnatural things. Instead of taking a text as I have done, take a whole Gospel and read it steadily and honestly and straight through at a sitting, and you will certainly have one impression, whether of a myth or of a man. It is that the exorcist towers above the poet and even the prophet; that the story between Cana and Calvary is one long war with demons. He understood better than a hundred poets the beauty of the flowers of the battle-field; but he came out to battle. And if most of his words mean anything they do mean that there is at our very feet, like a chasm concealed among the flowers, an unfathomable evil. In short, I would here only hint delicately that perhaps the mind which admittedly knew much of what we think we know about ethics and economics, knew a little more than we are beginning to know about psychology and psychic phenomena. I remember reading, not without amusement, a severe and trenchant article in the _Hibbert Journal_, in which Christ's admission of demonology was alone thought enough to dispose of his divinity. The one sentence of the article, which I cherish in my memory through all the changing years, ran thus: "If he was God, he knew there was no such thing as diabolical possession." It did not seem to strike the _Hibbert_ critic that this line of criticism raises the question, not of whether Christ is God, but of whether the critic in the _Hibbert Journal_ is God. About that mystery as about the other I am for the moment agnostic; but I should have thought that the meditations of Omniscience on the problem of evil might be allowed, even by an agnostic, to be a little difficult to discover. Of Christ in the Gospels and in modern life I will merely for the moment say this; that if he was God, as the critic put it, it seems possible that he knew the next discovery in science, as well as the last, not to mention (what is more common in rationalistic culture) the last but three. And what will be the next discovery in psychological science nobody can imagine; and we can only say that if it reveals demons and their name is Legion, we can hardly be much surprised now. But at any rate the days are over of Omniscience like that of the _Hibbert_ critic, who knows exactly what he would know if he were God Almighty. What is pain? What is evil? What did they mean by devils? What do we mean by madness? The rising generation, when asked by a venerable Victorian critic and catechist, "What does God know?" will hardly think it unreasonably flippant to answer, "God knows." There was something already suggested about the steep scenery through which I went as I thought about these things; a sense of silent catastrophe and fundamental cleavage in the deep division of the cliffs and crags. They were all the more profoundly moving, because my sense of them was almost as subconscious as the subconsciousness about which I was reflecting. I had fallen again into the old habit of forgetting where I was going, and seeing things with one eye off, in a blind abstraction. I awoke from a sort of trance of absentmindedness in a landscape that might well awaken anybody. It might awaken a man sleeping; but he would think he was still in a nightmare. It might wake the dead, but they would probably think they were in hell. Halfway down the slope the hills had taken on a certain pallor which had about it something primitive, as if the colours were not yet created. There was only a kind of cold and wan blue in the level skies which contrasted with wild sky-line. Perhaps we are accustomed to the contrary condition of the clouds moving and mutable and the hills solid and serene; but anyhow there seemed something of the making of a new world about the quiet of the skies and the cold convulsion of the landscape. But if it was between chaos and creation, it was creation by God or at least by the gods, something with an aim in its anarchy. It was very different in the final stage of the descent, where my mind woke up from its meditations. One can only say that the whole landscape was like a leper. It was of a wasting white and silver and grey, with mere dots of decadent vegetation like the green spots of a plague. In shape it not only rose into horns and crests like waves or clouds, but I believe it actually alters like waves or clouds, visibly but with a loathsome slowness. The swamp is alive. And I found again a certain advantage in forgetfulness; for I saw all this incredible country before I even remembered its name, or the ancient tradition about its nature. Then even the green plague-spots failed, and everything seemed to fall away into a universal blank under the staring sun, as I came, in the great spaces of the circle of a lifeless sea, into the silence of Sodom and Gomorrah. For these are the foundations of a fallen world, and a sea below the seas on which men sail. Seas move like clouds and fishes float like birds above the level of the sunken land. And it is here that tradition has laid the tragedy of the mighty perversion of the imagination of man; the monstrous birth and death of abominable things. I say such things in no mood of spiritual pride; such things are hideous not because they are distant but because they are near to us; in all our brains, certainly in mine, were buried things as bad as any buried under that bitter sea, and if He did not come to do battle with them, even in the darkness of the brain of man, I know not why He came. Certainly it was not only to talk about flowers or to talk about Socialism. The more truly we can see life as a fairy-tale, the more clearly the tale resolves itself into war with the Dragon who is wasting fairyland. I will not enter on the theology behind the symbol; but I am sure it was of this that all the symbols were symbolic. I remember distinguished men among the liberal theologians, who found it more difficult to believe in one devil than in many. They admitted in the New Testament an attestation to evil spirits, but not to a general enemy of mankind. As some are said to want the drama of Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark, they would have the drama of Hell without the Prince of Darkness. I say nothing of these things, save that the language of the Gospel seems to me to go much more singly to a single issue. The voice that is heard there has such authority as speaks to an army; and the highest note of it is victory rather than peace. When the apostles were first sent forth with their faces to the four corners of the earth, and turned again to acclaim their master, he did not say in that hour of triumph, "All are aspects of one harmonious whole" or "The universe evolves through progress to perfection" or "All things find their end in Nirvana" or "The dewdrop slips into the shining sea." He looked up and said, "I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven." Then I looked up and saw in the long jagged lines of road and rock and cleft something of the swiftness of such a thunderbolt. What I saw seemed not so much a scene as an act; as when abruptly Michael barred the passage of the Lord of Pride. Below me all the empire of evil was splashed and scattered upon the plain, like a wine-cup shattered into a star. Sodom lay like Satan, flat upon the floor of the world. And far away and aloft, faint with height and distance, small but still visible, stood up the spire of the Ascension like the sword of the Archangel, lifted in salute after a stroke. CHAPTER X THE ENDLESS EMPIRE One of the adventures of travel consists, not so much in finding that popular sayings are false, as that they mean more than they say. We cannot appreciate the full force of the phrase until we have seen the fact. We make a picture of the things we do not know out of the things we know; and suppose the traveller's tale to mean no more abroad than it would at home. If a man acquainted only with English churches is told about certain French churches that they are much frequented, he makes an English picture. He imagines a definite dense crowd of people in their best clothes going all together at eleven o'clock, and all coming back together to lunch. He does not picture the peculiar impression he would gain on the spot; of chance people going in and out of the church all day, sometimes for quite short periods, as if it were a sort of sacred inn. Or suppose a man knowing only English beer-shops hears for the first time of a German beer-garden, he probably does not imagine the slow ritual of the place. He does not know that unless the drinker positively slams down the top of his beer-mug with a resounding noise and a decisive gesture, beer will go on flowing into it as from a natural fountain; the drinking of beer being regarded as the normal state of man, and the cessation of it a decisive and even dramatic departure. I do not give this example in contempt; heaven forbid. I have had so much to say of the inhuman side of Prussianised Germany that I am glad to be able to pay a passing tribute to those more generous German traditions which we hope may revive and make Germany once more a part of Christendom. I merely give it as an instance of the way in which things we have all heard of, like church-going or beer-drinking, in foreign lands, mean much more, and something much more special, than we should infer from our own land. Now this is true of a phrase we have all heard of deserted cities or temples in the Near East: "The Bedouins camp in the ruins." When I have read a hundred times that Arabs camp in some deserted town or temple near the Nile or the Euphrates, I always thought of gipsies near some place like Stonehenge. They would make their own rude shelter near the stones, perhaps sheltering behind them to light a fire; and for the rest, generations of gipsies might camp there without making much difference. The thing I saw more than once in Egypt and Palestine was much more curious. It was as if the gipsies set to work to refurnish Stonehenge and make it a commodious residence. It was as if they spread a sort of giant umbrella over the circle of stones, and elaborately hung curtains between them, so as to turn the old Druid temple into a sort of patchwork pavilion. In one sense there is much more vandalism, and in another sense much more practicality; but it is a practicality that always stops short of the true creative independence of going off and building a house of their own. That is the attitude of the Arab; and it runs through all his history. Noble as is his masterpiece of the Mosque of Omar, there is something about it of that patchwork pavilion. It was based on Christian work, it was built with fragments, it was content with things that fastidious architects call fictions or even shams. I frequently saw old ruined houses of which there only remained two walls of stone, to which the nomads had added two walls of canvas making an exact cube in form with the most startling incongruity in colour. He needs the form and he does not mind the incongruity, nor does he mind the fact that somebody else has done the solid part and he has only done the ramshackle part. You can say that he is nobly superior to jealousy, or that he is without artistic ambition, or that he is too much of a nomad to mind living half in somebody else's house and half in his own. The real quality is probably too subtle for any simple praise or blame; we can only say that there is in the wandering Moslem a curious kind of limited common sense; which might even be called a short-sighted common sense. But however we define it, that is what can really be traced through Arab conquests and Arab culture in all its ingenuity and insufficiency. That is the note of these nomads in all the things in which they have succeeded and failed. In that sense they are constructive and in that sense unconstructive; in that sense artistic and in that sense inartistic; in that sense practical and in that sense unpractical; in that sense cunning and in that sense innocent. The curtains they would hang round Stonehenge might be of beautifully selected colours. The banners they waved from Stonehenge might be defended with glorious courage and enthusiasm. The prayers they recited in Stonehenge might be essentially worthy of human dignity, and certainly a great improvement on its older associations of human sacrifice. All this is true of Islam and the idolatries and negations are often replaced. But they would not have built Stonehenge; they would scarcely, so to speak, have troubled to lift a stone of Stonehenge. They would not have built Stonehenge; how much less Salisbury or Glastonbury or Lincoln. That is the element about the Arab influence which makes it, after its ages of supremacy and in a sense of success, remain in a subtle manner superficial. When a man first sees the Eastern deserts, he sees this influence as I first described it, very present and powerful, almost omnipresent and omnipotent. But I fancy that to me and to others it is partly striking only because it is strange. Islam is so different to Christendom that to see it at all is at first like entering a new world. But, in my own case at any rate, as the strange colours became more customary, and especially as I saw more of the established seats of history, the cities and the framework of the different states, I became conscious of something else. It was something underneath, undestroyed and even in a sense unaltered. It was something neither Moslem nor modern; not merely oriental and yet very different from the new occidental nations from which I came. For a long time I could not put a name to this historical atmosphere. Then one day, standing in one of the Greek churches, one of those houses of gold full of hard highly coloured pictures, I fancied it came to me. It was the Empire. And certainly not the raid of Asiatic bandits we call the Turkish Empire. The thing which had caught my eye in that coloured interior was the carving of a two-headed eagle in such a position as to make it almost as symbolic as a cross. Every one has heard, of course, of the situation which this might well suggest, the suggestion that the Russian Church was far too much of an Established Church and the White Czar encroached upon the White Christ. But as a fact the eagle I saw was not borrowed from the Russian Empire; it would be truer to say that the Empire was borrowed from the eagle. The double eagle is the ancient emblem of the double empire of Rome and of Byzantium; the one head looking to the west and the other to the east, as if it spread its wings from the sunrise to the sunset. Unless I am mistaken, it was only associated with Russia as late as Peter the Great, though it had been the badge of Austria as the representative of the Holy Roman Empire. And what I felt brooding over that shrine and that landscape was something older not only than Turkey or Russia but than Austria itself. I began to understand a sort of evening light that lies over Palestine and Syria; a sense of smooth ruts of custom such as are said to give a dignity to the civilisation of China. I even understood a sort of sleepiness about the splendid and handsome Orthodox priests moving fully robed about the streets. They were not aristocrats but officials; still moving with the mighty routine of some far-off official system. In so far as the eagle was an emblem not of such imperial peace but of distant imperial wars, it was of wars that we in the West have hardly heard of; it was the emblem of official ovations. When Heracleius rode homewards from the rout of Ispahan With the captives dragged behind him and the eagles in the van. That is the rigid reality that still underlay the light mastery of the Arab rider; that is what a man sees, in the patchwork pavilion, when he grows used to the coloured canvas and looks at the walls of stone. This also was far too great a thing for facile praise or blame, a vast bureaucracy busy and yet intensely dignified, the most civilised thing ruling many other civilisations. It was an endless end of the world; for ever repeating its rich finality. And I myself was still walking in that long evening of the earth; and Caesar my lord was at Byzantium. But it is necessary to remember next that this empire was not always at its evening. Byzantium was not always Byzantine. Nor was the seat of that power always in the city of Constantine, which was primarily a mere outpost of the city of Caesar. We must remember Rome as well as Byzantium; as indeed nobody would remember Byzantium if it were not for Rome. The more I saw of a hundred little things the more my mind revolved round that original idea which may be called the Mediterranean; and the fact that it became two empires, but remained one civilisation, just as it has become two churches, but remained one religion. In this little world there is a story attached to every word; and never more than when it is the wrong word. For instance, we may say that in certain cases the word Roman actually means Greek. The Greek Patriarch is sometimes called the Roman Patriarch; while the real Roman Patriarch, who actually comes from Rome, is only called the Latin Patriarch, as if he came from any little town in Latium. The truth behind this confusion is the truth about five hundred very vital years, which are concealed even from cultivated Englishmen by two vague falsehoods; the notion that the Roman Empire was merely decadent and the notion that the Middle Ages were merely dark. As a fact, even the Dark Ages were not merely dark. And even the Byzantine Empire was not merely Byzantine. It seems a little unfair that we should take the very title of decay from that Christian city, for surely it was yet more stiff and sterile when it had become a Moslem city. I am not so exacting as to ask any one to popularise such a word as "Constantinopolitan." But it would surely be a better word for stiffness and sterility to call it Stamboulish. But for the Moslems and other men of the Near East what counted about Byzantium was that it still inherited the huge weight of the name of Rome. Rome had come east and reared against them this Roman city, and though and priest or soldier who came out of it might be speaking as a Greek, he was ruling as a Roman. Its critics in these days of criticism may regard it as a corrupt civilisation. But its enemies in the day of battle only regarded it as civilisation. Saladin, the greatest of the Saracens, did not call Greek bishops degenerate dreamers or dingy outcasts, he called them, with a sounder historical instinct, "The monks of the imperial race." The survival of the word merely means that even when the imperial city fell behind them, they did not surrender their claim to defy all Asia in the name of the Christian Emperor. That is but one example out of twenty, but that is why in this distant place to this day the Greeks who are separated from the see of Rome sometimes bear the strange name of "The Romans." Now that civilisation is our civilisation, and we never had any other. We have not inherited a Teutonic culture any more than a Druid culture; not half so much. The people who say that parliaments or pictures or gardens or roads or universities were made by the Teutonic race from the north can be disposed of by the simple question: why did not the Teutonic race make them in the north? Why was not the Parthenon originally built in the neighbourhood of Potsdam, or did ten Hansa towns compete to be the birthplace of Homer? Perhaps they do by this time; but their local illusion is no longer largely shared. Anyhow it seems strange that the roads of the Romans should be due to the inspiration of the Teutons; and that parliaments should begin in Spain because they came from Germany. If I looked about in these parts for a local emblem like that of the eagle, I might very well find it in the lion. The lion is common enough, of course, in Christian art both hagiological and heraldic. Besides the cavern of Bethlehem of which I shall speak presently, is the cavern of St. Jerome, where he lived with that real or legendary lion who was drawn by the delicate humour of Carpaccio and a hundred other religious painters. That it should appear in Christian art is natural; that it should appear in Moslem art is much more singular, seeing that Moslems are in theory forbidden so to carve images of living things. Some say the Persian Moslems are less particular; but whatever the explanation, two lions of highly heraldic appearance are carved over that Saracen gate which Christians call the gate of St. Stephen; and the best judges seem to agree that, like so much of the Saracenic shell of Zion, they were partly at least copied from the shields and crests of the Crusaders. And the lions graven over the gate of St. Stephen might well be the text for a whole book on the subject. For if they indicate, however indirectly, the presence of the Latins of the twelfth century, they also indicate the earlier sources from which the Latin life had itself been drawn. The two lions are pacing, passant as the heralds would say, in two opposite directions almost as if prowling to and fro. And this also might well be symbolic as well as heraldic. For if the Crusaders brought the lion southward in spite of the conventional fancy of Moslem decoration, it was only because the Romans had previously brought the lion northward to the cold seas and the savage forests. The image of the lion came from north to south, only because the idea of the lion had long ago come from south to north. The Christian had a symbolic lion he had never seen, and the Moslem had a real lion that he refused to draw. For we could deduce from the case of this single creature the fact that all our civilisation came from the Mediterranean, and the folly of pretending that it came from the North Sea. Those two heraldic shapes over the gate may be borrowed from the Norman or Angevin shield now quartered in the Royal Arms of England. They may have been copied, directly or indirectly, from that great Angevin King of England whose title credited him with the heart of a lion. They may have in some far-off fashion the same ancestry as the boast or jest of our own comic papers when they talk about the British Lion. But why are there lions, though of French or feudal origin, on the flag of England? There might as well be camels or crocodiles, for all the apparent connection with England or with France. Why was an English king described as having the heart of a lion, any more than of a tiger? Why do your patriotic cartoons threaten the world with the wrath of the British Lion; it is really as strange as if they warned it against stimulating the rage of the British rhinoceros. Why did not the French and English princes find in the wild boars, that were the objects of their hunting, the subjects of their heraldry? If the Normans were really the Northmen, the sea-wolves of Scandinavian piracy, why did they not display three wolves on their shields? Why has not John Bull been content with the English bull, or the English bull-dog? The answer might be put somewhat defiantly by saying that the very name of John Bull is foreign. The surname comes through France from Rome; and the Christian name comes through Rome from Palestine. If there had really been any justification for the Teutonic generalisation, we should expect the surname to be "ox" and not "bull"; and we should expect the hero standing as godfather to be Odin or Siegfried, and not the prophet who lived on locusts in the wilderness of Palestine or the mystic who mused with his burning eyes on the blue seas around Patmos. If our national hero is John Bull and not Olaf the Ox, it is ultimately because that blue sea has run like a blue thread through all the tapestries of our traditions; or in other words because our culture, like that of France or Flanders, came originally from the Mediterranean. And if this is true of our use of the word "bull," it is obviously even truer of our use of the word "lion." The later emblem is enough to show that the culture came, not only from the Mediterranean, but from the southern as well as the northern side of the Mediterranean. In other words, the Roman Empire ran all round the great inland sea; the very name of which meant, not merely the sea in the middle of the land, but more especially the sea in the middle of all the lands that mattered most to civilisation. One of these, and the one that in the long run has mattered most of all, was Palestine. In this lies the deepest difference between a man like Richard the Lion Heart and any of the countless modern English soldiers in Palestine who have been quite as lion-hearted as he. His superiority was not moral but intellectual; it consisted in knowing where he was and why he was there. It arose from the fact that in his time there remained a sort of memory of the Roman Empire, which some would have re-established as a Holy Roman Empire. Christendom was still almost one commonwealth; and it seemed to Richard quite natural to go from one edge of it that happened to be called England to the opposite edge of it that happened to be called Palestine. We may think him right or wrong in the particular quarrel, we may think him innocent or unscrupulous in his incidental methods; but there is next to no doubt whatever that he did regard himself not merely as conquering but as re-conquering a realm. He was not like a man attacking total strangers on a hitherto undiscovered island. He was not opening up a new country, or giving his name to a new continent, and he could boast none of those ideals of imperial innovation which inspire the more enlightened pioneers, who exterminate tribes or extinguish republics for the sake of a gold-mine or an oil-field. Some day, if our modern educational system is further expanded and enforced, the whole of the past of Palestine may be entirely forgotten; and a traveller in happier days may have all the fresher sentiments of one stepping on a new and nameless soil. Disregarding any dim and lingering legends among the natives, he may then have the honour of calling Sinai by the name of Mount Higgins, or marking on a new map the site of Bethlehem with the name of Brownsville. But King Richard, adventurous as he was, could not experience the full freshness of this sort of adventure. He was not riding into Asia thus romantically and at random; indeed he was not riding into Asia at all. He was riding into Europa Irredenta. But that is to anticipate what happened later and must be considered later. I am primarily speaking of the Empire as a pagan and political matter; and it is easy to see what was the meaning of the Crusade on the merely pagan and political side. In one sentence, it meant that Rome had to recover what Byzantium could not keep. But something further had happened as affecting Rome than anything that could be understood by a man standing as I have imagined myself standing, in the official area of Byzantium. When I have said that the Byzantian civilisation seemed still to be reigning, I meant a curious impression that, in these Eastern provinces, though the Empire had been more defeated it has been less disturbed. There is a greater clarity in that ancient air; and fewer clouds of real revolution and novelty have come between them and their ancient sun. This may seem an enigma and a paradox; seeing that here a foreign religion has successfully fought and ruled. But indeed the enigma is also the explanation. In the East the continuity of culture has only been interrupted by negative things that Islam has done. In the West it has been interrupted by positive things that Christendom itself has done. In the West the past of Christendom has its perspective blocked up by its own creations; in the East it is a true perspective of interminable corridors, with round Byzantine arches and proud Byzantine pillars. That, I incline to fancy, is the real difference that a man come from the west of Europe feels in the east of Europe, it is a gap or a void. It is the absence of the grotesque energy of Gothic, the absence of the experiments of parliament and popular representation, the absence of medieval chivalry, the absence of modern nationality. In the East the civilisation lived on, or if you will, lingered on; in the West it died and was reborn. But for a long time, it should be remembered, it must have seemed to the East merely that it died. The realms of Rome had disappeared in clouds of barbaric war, while the realms of Byzantium were still golden and gorgeous in the sun. The men of the East did not realise that their splendour was stiffening and growing sterile, and even the early successes of Islam may not have revealed to them that their rule was not only stiff but brittle. It was something else that was destined to reveal it. The Crusades meant many things; but in this matter they meant one thing, which was like a word carried to them on the great west wind. And the word was like that in an old Irish song: "The west is awake." They heard in the distance the cries of unknown crowds and felt the earth shaking with the march of mobs; and behind them came the trampling of horses and the noise of harness and of horns of war; new kings calling out commands and hosts of young men full of hope crying out in the old Roman tongue "Id Deus vult," Rome was risen from the dead. Almost any traveller could select out of the countless things that he has looked at the few things that he has seen. I mean the things that come to him with a curious clearness; so that he actually sees them to be what he knows them to be. I might almost say that he can believe in them although he has seen them. There can be no rule about this realisation; it seems to come in the most random fashion; and the man to whom it comes can only speak for himself without any attempt at a critical comparison with others. In this sense I may say that the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem contains something impossible to describe, yet driving me beyond expression to a desperate attempt at description. The church is entered through a door so small that it it might fairly be called a hole, in which many have seen, and I think truly, a symbol of some idea of humility. It is also said that the wall was pierced in this way to prevent the appearance of a camel during divine service, but even that explanation would only repeat the same suggestion through the parable of the needle's eye. Personally I should guess that, in so far as the purpose was practical, it was meant to keep out much more dangerous animals than camels, as, for instance, Turks. For the whole church has clearly been turned into a fortress, windows are bricked up and walls thickened in some or all of its thousand years of religious war. In the blank spaces above the little doorway hung in old times that strange mosaic of the Magi which once saved the holy place from destruction, in the strange interlude between the decline of Rome and the rise of Mahomet. For when the Persians who had destroyed Jerusalem rode out in triumph to the village of Bethlehem, they looked up and saw above the door a picture in coloured stone, a picture of themselves. They were following a strange star and worshipping an unknown child. For a Christian artist, following some ancient Eastern tradition containing an eternal truth, had drawn the three wise men with the long robes and high head-dresses of Persia. The worshippers of the sun had come westward for the worship of the star. But whether that part of the church were bare and bald as it is now or coloured with the gold and purple images of the Persians, the inside of the church would always be by comparison abruptly dark. As familiarity turns the darkness to twilight, and the twilight to a grey daylight, the first impression is that of two rows of towering pillars. They are of a dark red stone having much of the appearance of a dark red marble; and they are crowned with the acanthus in the manner of the Corinthian school. They were carved and set up at the command of Constantine; and beyond them, at the other end of the church beside the attar, is the dark stairway that descends under the canopies of rock to the stable where Christ was born. Of all the things I have seen the most convincing, and as it were crushing, were these red columns of Constantine. In explanation of the sentiment there are a thousand things that want saying and cannot be said. Never have I felt so vividly the great fact of our history; that the Christian religion is like a huge bridge across a boundless sea, which alone connects us with the men who made the world, and yet have utterly vanished from the world. To put it curtly and very crudely on this point alone it was possible to sympathise with a Roman and not merely to admire him. All his pagan remains are but sublime fossils; for we can never know the life that was in them. We know that here and there was a temple to Venus or there an altar to Vesta; but who knows or pretends to know what he really felt about Venus or Vesta? Was a Vestal Virgin like a Christian Virgin, or something profoundly different? Was he quite serious about Venus, like a diabolist, or merely frivolous about Venus, like a Christian? If the spirit was different from ours we cannot hope to understand it, and if the spirit was like ours, the spirit was expressed in images that no longer express it. But it is here that he and I meet; and salute the same images in the end. In any case I can never recapture in words the waves of sympathy with strange things that went through me in that twilight of the tall pillars, like giants robed in purple, standing still and looking down into that dark hole in the ground. Here halted that imperial civilisation, when it had marched in triumph through the whole world; here in the evening of its days it came trailing in all its panoply in the pathway of the three kings. For it came following not only a falling but a fallen star and one that dived before them into a birthplace darker than a grave. And the lord of the laurels, clad in his sombre crimson, looked down into that darkness, and then looked up, and saw that all the stars in his own sky were dead. They were deities no longer but only a brilliant dust, scattered down the vain void of Lucretius. The stars were as stale as they were strong; they would never die for they had never lived; they were cursed with an incurable immortality that was but the extension of mortality; they were chained in the chains of causation and unchangeable as the dead. There are not many men in the modern world who do not know that mood, though it was not discovered by the moderns; it was the final and seemingly fixed mood of nearly all the ancients. Only above the black hole of Bethlehem they had seen a star wandering like a lost spark; and it had done what the eternal suns and planets could not do. It had disappeared. There are some who resent the presence of such purple beside the plain stable of the Nativity. But it seems strange that they always rebuke it as if it were a blind vulgarity like the red plush of a parvenu; a mere insensibility to a mere incongruity. For in fact the insensibility is in the critics and not the artists. It is an insensibility not to an accidental incongruity but to an artistic contrast. Indeed it is an insensibility of a somewhat tiresome kind, which can often be noticed in those sceptics who make a science of folk-lore. The mark of them is that they fail to see the importance of finding the upshot or climax of a tale, even when it is a fairy-tale. Since the old devotional doctors and designers were never tired of insisting on the sufferings of the holy poor to the point of squalor, and simultaneously insisting on the sumptuousness of the subject kings to the point of swagger, it would really seem not entirely improbable that they may have been conscious of the contrast themselves. I confess this is an insensibility, not to say stupidity, in the sceptics and simplifiers, which I find very fatiguing. I do not mind a man not believing a story, but I confess I am bored stiff (if I may be allowed the expression) by a man who can tell a story without seeing the point of the story, considered as a story or even considered as a lie. And a man who sees the rags and the royal purple as a clumsy inconsistency is merely missing the meaning of a deliberate design. He is like a man who should hear the story of King Cophetua and the beggar maid and say doubtfully that it was hard to recognise it as really _a mariage de convenance_; a phrase which (I may remark in parenthesis but not without passion) is not the French for "a marriage of convenience," any more than _hors d'oeuvre_ is the French for "out of work"; but may be more rightly rendered in English as "a suitable match." But nobody thought the match of the king and the beggar maid conventionally a suitable match; and nobody would ever have thought the story worth telling if it had been. It is like saying that Diogenes, remaining in his tub after the offer of Alexander, must have been unaware of the opportunities of Greek architecture; or like saying that Nebuchadnezzar eating grass is clearly inconsistent with court etiquette, or not to be found in any fashionable cookery book. I do not mind the learned sceptic saying it is a legend or a lie; but I weep for him when he cannot see the gist of it, I might even say the joke of it. I do not object to his rejecting the story as a tall story; but I find it deplorable when he cannot see the point or end or upshot of the tall story, the very pinnacle or spire of that sublime tower. This dull type of doubt clouds the consideration of many sacred things as it does that of the shrine of Bethlehem. It is applied to the divine reality of Bethlehem itself, as when sceptics still sneer at the littleness, the localism, the provincial particularity and obscurity of that divine origin; as if Christians could be confounded and silenced by a contrast which Christians in ten thousand hymns, songs and sermons have incessantly shouted and proclaimed. In this capital case, of course, the same principle holds. A man may think the tale is incredible; but it would never have been told at all if it had not been incongruous. But this particular case of the lesser contrast, that between the imperial pomp and the rustic poverty of the carpenter and the shepherds, is alone enough to illustrate the strange artistic fallacy involved. If it be the point that an emperor came to worship a carpenter, it is as artistically necessary to make the emperor imperial as to make the carpenter humble; if we wish to make plain to plain people that before this shrine kings are no better than shepherds, it is as necessary that the kings should have crowns as that the shepherds should have crooks. And if modern intellectuals do not know it, it is because nobody has really been mad enough even to try to make modern intellectualism popular. Now this conception of pomp as a popular thing, this conception of a concession to common human nature in colour and symbol, has a considerable bearing on many misunderstandings about the original enthusiasm that spread from the cave of Bethlehem over the whole Roman Empire. It is a curious fact that the moderns have mostly rebuked historic Christianity, not for being narrow, but for being broad. They have rebuked it because it did prove itself the desire of all nations, because it did satisfy the cravings of many creeds, because it did prove itself to idolaters as something as magic as their idols, or did prove itself to patriots something as lovable as their native land. In many other matters indeed, besides this popular art, we may find examples of the same illogical prejudice. Nothing betrays more curiously the bias of historians against the Christian faith than the fact that they blame in Christians the very human indulgences that they have praised in heathens. The same arts and allegories, the same phraseologies and philosophies, which appear first as proofs of heathen health turn up later as proofs of Christian corruption. It was noble of pagans to be pagan, but it was unpardonable of Christians to be paganised. They never tire of telling us of the glory that was Greece, the grandeur that was Rome, but the Church was infamous because it satisfied the Greek intellect and wielded the Roman power. Now on the first example of the attempt of theology to meet the claims of philosophy I will not here dwell at length. I will only remark in passing that it is an utter fallacy to suggest, as for instance Mr. Wells suggests in his fascinating _Outline of History_, that the subtleties of theology were a mere falling away from the simplicities of religion. Religion may be better simple for those who find it simple; but there are bound to be many who in any case find it subtle, among those who think about it and especially those who doubt about it. To take an example, there is no saying which the humanitarians of a broad religion more commonly offer as a model of simplicity than that most mystical affirmation "God is Love." And there is no theological quarrel of the Councils of the Church which they, especially Mr. Wells, more commonly deride as bitter and barren than that at the Council of Nicea about the Co-eternity of the Divine Son. Yet the subtle statement is simply a metaphysical explanation of the simple statement; and it would be quite possible even to make it a popular explanation, by saying that God could not love when there was nothing to be loved. Now the Church Councils were originally very popular, not to say riotous assemblies. So far from being undemocratic, they were rather too democratic; the real case against them was that they passed by uproarious votes, and not without violence, things that had ultimately to be considered more calmly by experts. But it may reasonably be suggested, I think, that the concentration of the Greek intellect on these things did gradually pass from a popular to a more professional or official thing; and that the traces of it have finally tended to fade from the official religion of the East. It was far otherwise with the more poetical and therefore more practical religion of the West. It was far otherwise with that direct appeal to pathos and affection in the highly coloured picture of the Shepherd and the King. In the West the world not only prolonged its life but recovered its youth. That is the meaning of the movement I have described as the awakening of the West and the resurrection of Rome. And the whole point of that movement, as I propose to suggest, was that it was a popular movement. It had returned with exactly that strange and simple energy that belongs to the story of Bethlehem. Not in vain had Constantine come clad in purple to look down into that dark cave at his feet; nor did the star mislead him when it seemed to end in the entrails of the earth. The men who followed him passed on, as it were, through the low and vaulted tunnel of the Dark Ages; but they had found the way, and the only way, out of that world of death, and their journey ended in the land of the living. They came out into a world more wonderful than the eyes of men have looked on before or after; they heard the hammers of hundreds of happy craftsmen working for once according to their own will, and saw St. Francis walking with his halo a cloud of birds. CHAPTER XI THE MEANING OF THE CRUSADE There are three examples of Western work on the great eastern slope of the Mount of Olives; and they form a sort of triangle illustrating the truth about the different influences of the West on the East. At the foot of the hill is the garden kept by the Franciscans on the alleged site of Gethsemane, and containing the hoary olive that is supposed to be the terrible tree of the agony of Christ. Given the great age and slow growth of the olives, the tradition is not so unreasonable as some may suppose. But whether or not it is historically right, it is not artistically wrong. The instinct, if it was only an instinct, that made men fix upon this strange growth of grey and twisted wood, was a true imaginative instinct. One of the strange qualities of this strange Southern tree is its almost startling hardness; accidentally to strike the branch of an olive is like striking rock. With its stony surface, stunted stature, and strange holes and hollows, it is often more like a grotto than a tree. Hence it does not seem so unnatural that it should be treated as a holy grotto; or that this strange vegetation should claim to stand for ever like a sculptured monument. Even the shimmering or shivering silver foliage of the living olive might well have a legend like that of the aspen; as if it had grown grey with fear from the apocalyptic paradox of a divine vision of death. A child from one of the villages said to me, in broken English, that it was the place where God said his prayers. I for one could not ask for a finer or more defiant statement of all that separates the Christian from the Moslem or the Jew; _credo quia impossibile_. Around this terrible spot the Franciscans have done something which will strike many good and thoughtful people as quite fantastically inadequate; and which strikes me as fantastically but precisely right. They have laid out the garden simply as a garden, in a way that is completely natural because it is completely artificial. They have made flower-beds in the shape of stars and moons, and coloured them with flowers like those in the backyard of a cottage. The combination of these bright patterns in the sunshine with the awful shadow in the centre is certainly an incongruity in the sense of a contrast. But it is a poetical contrast, like that of birds building in a temple or flowers growing on a tomb. The best way of suggesting what I for one feel about it would be something like this; suppose we imagine a company of children, such as those whom Christ blessed in Jerusalem, afterwards put permanently in charge of a field full of his sorrow; it is probable that, if they could do anything with it, they would do something like this. They might cut it up into quaint shapes and dot it with red daisies or yellow marigolds. I really do not know that there is anything better that grown up people could do, since anything that the greatest of them could do must be, must look quite as small. "Shall I, the gnat that dances in Thy ray, dare to be reverent?" The Franciscans have not dared to be reverent; they have only dared to be cheerful. It may be too awful an adventure of the imagination to imagine Christ in that garden. But there is not the smallest difficulty about imagining St. Francis there; and that is something to say of an institution which is eight hundred years old. Immediately above this little garden, overshadowing and almost overhanging it, is a gorgeous gilded building with golden domes and minarets glittering in the sun, and filling a splendid situation with almost shameless splendour; the Russian church built over the upper part of the garden, belonging to the Orthodox-Greeks. Here again many Western travellers will be troubled; and will think that golden building much too like a fairy palace in a pantomime. But here again I shall differ from them, though perhaps less strongly. It may be that the pleasure is childish rather than childlike; but I can imagine a child clapping his hands at the mere sight of those great domes like bubbles of gold against the blue sky. It is a little like Aladdin's Palace, but it has a place in art as Aladdin has a place in literature; especially since it is oriental literature. Those wise missionaries in China who were not afraid to depict the Twelve Apostles in the costume of Chinamen might have built such a church in a land of glittering mosques. And as it is said that the Russian has in him something of the child and something of the oriental, such a style may be quite sincere, and have even a certain simplicity in its splendour. It is genuine of its kind; it was built for those who like it; and those who do not like it can look at something else. This sort of thing may be called tawdry, but it is not what I call meretricious. What I call really meretricious can be found yet higher on the hill; towering to the sky and dominating all the valleys. The nature of the difference, I think, is worth noting. The German Hospice, which served as a sort of palace for the German Emperor, is a very big building with a very high tower, planned I believe with great efficiency, solidity and comfort, and fitted with a thousand things that mark its modernity compared with the things around, with the quaint garden of the Franciscans or the fantastic temple of the Russians. It is what I can only describe as a handsome building; rather as the more vulgar of the Victorian wits used to talk about a fine woman. By calling it a handsome building I mean that from the top of its dizzy tower to the bottom of its deepest foundations there is not one line or one tint of beauty. This negative fact, however, would be nothing; it might be honestly ugly and utilitarian like a factory or a prison; but it is not. It is as pretentious as the gilded dome below it; and it is pretentious in a wicked way where the other is pretentious in a good and innocent way. What annoys me about it is that it was not built by children, or even by savages, but by professors; and the professors could profess the art and could not practise it. The architects knew everything about a Romanesque building except how to build it. We feel that they accumulated on that spot all the learning and organisation and information and wealth of the world, to do this one particular thing; and then did it wrong. They did it wrong, not through superstition, not through fanatical exaggeration, not through provincial ignorance, but through pure, profound, internal, intellectual incompetence; that intellectual incompetence which so often goes with intellectual pride. I will mention only one matter out of a hundred. All the columns in the Kaiser's Chapel are in one way very suitable to their place; every one of them has a swelled head. The column itself is slender but the capital is not only big but bulging; and it has the air of bulging _downwards_, as if pressing heavily on something too slender to support it. This is false, not to any of the particular schools of architecture about which professors can read in libraries, but to the inmost instinctive idea of architecture itself. A Norman capital can be heavy because the Norman column is thick, and the whole thing expresses an elephantine massiveness and repose. And a Gothic column can be slender, because its strength is energy; and is expressed in its line, which shoots upwards like the life of a tree, like the jet of a fountain or even like the rush of a rocket. But a slender thing beneath, obviously oppressed by a bloated thing above, suggests weakness by one of those miraculous mistakes that are as precisely wrong as masterpieces are precisely right. And to all this is added the intolerable intuition; that the Russians and the Franciscans, even if we credit them with fantastic ignorance, are at least looking up at the sky; and we know how the learned Germans would look down upon them, from their monstrous tower upon the hill. And this is as true of the moral as of the artistic elements in the modern Jerusalem. To show that I am not unjustly partisan, I will say frankly that I see little to complain of in that common subject of complaint; the mosaic portrait of the Emperor on the ceiling of the chapel. It is but one among many figures; and it is not an unknown practice to include a figure of the founder in such church decorations. The real example of that startling moral stupidity which marked the barbaric imperialism can be found in another figure of which, curiously enough, considerably less notice seems to have been taken. It is the more remarkable because it is but an artistic shadow of the actual fact; and merely records in outline and relief the temporary masquerade in which the man walked about in broad daylight. I mean the really astounding trick of dressing himself up as a Crusader. That was, under the circumstances, far more ludicrous and lunatic a proceeding than if he had filled the whole ceiling with cherub heads with his own features, or festooned all the walls with one ornamental pattern of his moustaches. The German Emperor came to Jerusalem under the escort of the Turks, as the ally of the Turks, and solely because of the victory and supremacy of the Turks. In other words, he came to Jerusalem solely because the Crusaders had lost Jerusalem; he came there solely because the Crusaders had been routed, ruined, butchered before and after the disaster of Hattin: because the Cross had gone down in blood before the Crescent, under which alone he could ride in with safety. Under those circumstances to dress up as a Crusader, as if for a fancy dress ball, was a mixture of madness and vulgarity which literally stops the breath. There is no need whatever to blame him for being in alliance with the Turks; hundreds of people have been in alliance with the Turks; the English especially have been far too much in alliance with them. But if any one wants to appreciate the true difference, distinct from all the cant of newspaper nationality, between the English and the Germans (who were classed together by the same newspapers a little time before the war) let him take this single incident as a test. Lord Palmerston, for instance, was a firm friend of the Turks. Imagine Lord Palmerston appearing in chain mail and the shield of a Red Cross Knight. It is obvious enough that Palmerston would have said that he cared no more for the Crusade than for the Siege of Troy; that his diplomacy was directed by practical patriotic considerations of the moment; and that he regarded the religious wars of the twelfth century as a rubbish heap of remote superstitions. In this he would be quite wrong, but quite intelligible and quite sincere; an English aristocrat of the nineteenth century inheriting from the English aristocrats of the eighteenth century; whose views were simply those of Voltaire. And these things are something of an allegory. For the Voltairian version of the Crusades is still by far the most reasonable of all merely hostile views of the Crusades. If they were not a creative movement of religion, then they were simply a destructive movement of superstition; and whether we agree with Voltaire in calling it superstition or with Villehardouin in calling it religion, at least both these very clear-headed Frenchmen would agree that the motive did exist and did explain the facts. But just as there is a clumsy German building with statues that at once patronise and parody the Crusaders, so there is a clumsy German theory that at once patronises and minimises the Crusades. According to this theory the essential truth about a Crusade was that it was not a Crusade. It was something that the professors, in the old days before the war, used to call a Teutonic Folk-Wandering. Godfrey and St. Louis were not, as Villehardouin would say, fighting for the truth; they were not even, as Voltaire would say, fighting for what they thought was the truth; this was only what they thought they thought, and they were really thinking of something entirely different. They were not moved either by piety or priestcraft, but by a new and unexpected nomadism. They were not inspired either by faith or fanaticism, but by an unusually aimless taste for foreign travel. This theory that the war of the two great religions could be explained by "Wanderlust" was current about twenty years ago among the historical professors of Germany, and with many of their other views, was often accepted by the historical professors of England. It was swallowed by an earthquake, along with other rubbish, in the year 1914. Since then, so far as I know, the only person who has been patient enough to dig it up again is Mr. Ezra Pound. He is well known as an American poet; and he is, I believe, a man of great talent and information. His attempt to recover the old Teutonic theory of the Folk-Wandering of Peter the Hermit was expressed, however, in prose; in an article in the _New Age_. I have no reason to doubt that he was to be counted among the most loyal of our allies; but he is evidently one of those who, quite without being Pro-German, still manage to be German. The Teutonic theory was very Teutonic; like the German Hospice on the hill it was put together with great care and knowledge and it is rotten from top to bottom. I do not understand, for that matter, why that alliance which we enjoy with Mr. Pound should not be treated in the same way as the other historical event; or why the war should not be an example of the Wanderlust. Surely the American Army in France must have drifted eastward merely through the same vague nomadic need as the Christian Army in Palestine. Surely Pershing as well as Peter the Hermit was merely a rather restless gentleman who found his health improved by frequent change of scene. The Americans said, and perhaps thought, that they were fighting for democracy; and the Crusaders said, and perhaps thought, that they were fighting for Christianity. But as we know what the Crusaders meant better than they did themselves, I cannot quite understand why we do not enjoy the same valuable omniscience about the Americans. Indeed I do not see why we should not enjoy it (for it would be very enjoyable) about any individual American. Surely it was this vague vagabond spirit that moved Mr. Pound, not only to come to England, but in a fashion to come to Fleet Street. A dim tribal tendency, vast and invisible as the wind, carried him and his article like an autumn leaf to alight on the _New Age_ doorstep. Or a blind aboriginal impulse, wholly without rational motive, led him one day to put on his hat, and go out with his article in an envelope and put it in a pillar-box. It is vain to correct by cold logic the power of such primitive appetites; nature herself was behind the seemingly random thoughtlessness of the deed. And now that it is irrevocably done, he can look back on it and trace the large lines of an awful law of averages; wherein it is ruled by a ruthless necessity that a certain number of such Americans should write a certain number of such articles, as the leaves fall or the flowers return. In plain words, this sort of theory is a blasphemy against the intellectual dignity of man. It is a blunder as well as a blasphemy; for it goes miles out of its way to find a bestial explanation when there is obviously a human explanation. It is as if a man told me that a dim survival of the instincts of a quadruped was the reason of my sitting on a chair with four legs. I answer that I do it because I foresee that there may be grave disadvantages in sitting on a chair with one leg. Or it is as if I were told that I liked to swim in the sea, solely because some early forms of amphibian life came out of the sea on to the shore. I answer that I know why I swim in the sea; and it is because the divine gift of reason tells me that it would be unsatisfactory to swim on the land. In short this sort of vague evolutionary theorising simply amounts to finding an unconvincing explanation of something that needs no explanation. And the case is really quite as simple with great political and religious movements by which man has from time to time changed the world in this or that respect in which he happened to think it would be the better for a change. The Crusade was a religious movement, but it was also a perfectly rational movement; one might almost say a rationalist movement. I could quite understand Mr. Pound saying that such a campaign for a creed was immoral; and indeed it often has been, and now perhaps generally is, quite horribly immoral. But when he implies that it is irrational he has selected exactly the thing which it is not. It is not enlightenment, on the contrary it is ignorance and insularity, which causes most of us to miss this fact. But it certainly is the fact that religious war is in itself much more rational than patriotic war. I for one have often defended and even encouraged patriotic war, and should always be ready to defend and encourage patriotic passion. But it cannot be denied that there is more of mere passion, of mere preference and prejudice, in short of mere personal accident, in fighting another nation than in fighting another faith. The Crusader is in every sense more rational than the modern conscript or professional soldier. He is more rational in his object, which is the intelligent and intelligible object of conversion; where the modern militarist has an object much more confused by momentary vanity and one-sided satisfaction. The Crusader wished to make Jerusalem a Christian town; but the Englishman does not wish to make Berlin an English town. He has only a healthy hatred of it as a Prussian town. The Moslem wished to make the Christian a Moslem; but even the Prussian did not wish to make the Frenchman a Prussian. He only wished to make the Frenchman admire a Prussian; and not only were the means he adopted somewhat ill-considered for this purpose, but the purpose itself is looser and more irrational. The object of all war is peace; but the object of religious war is mental as well as material peace; it is agreement. In short religious war aims ultimately at equality, where national war aims relatively at superiority. Conversion is the one sort of conquest in which the conquered must rejoice. In that sense alone it is foolish for us in the West to sneer at those who kill men when a foot is set in a holy place, when we ourselves kill hundreds of thousands when a foot is put across a frontier. It is absurd for us to despise those who shed blood for a relic when we have shed rivers of blood for a rag. But above all the Crusade, or, for that matter, the Jehad, is by far the most philosophical sort of fighting, not only in its conception of ending the difference, but in its mere act of recognising the difference, as the deepest kind of difference. It is to reverse all reason to suggest that a man's politics matter and his religion does not matter. It is to say he is affected by the town he lives in, but not by the world he lives in. It is to say that he is altered when he is a fellow-citizen walking under new lamp-posts, but not altered when he is another creature walking under strange stars. It is exactly as if we were to say that two people ought to live in the same house, but it need not be in the same town. It is exactly as if we said that so long as the address included York it did not matter whether it was New York; or that so long as a man is in Essex we do not care whether he is in England. Christendom would have been entirely justified in the abstract in being alarmed or suspicious at the mere rise of a great power that was not Christian. Nobody nowadays would think it odd to express regret at the rise of a power because it was Militarist or Socialist or even Protectionist. But it is far more natural to be conscious of a difference, not about the order of battle but the battle of life; not about our definable enjoyment of possessions, but about our much more doubtful possession of enjoyment; not about the fiscal divisions between us and foreigners but about the spiritual divisions even between us and friends. These are the things that differ profoundly with differing views of the ultimate nature of the universe. For the things of our country are often distant; but the things of our cosmos are always near; we can shut our doors upon the wheeled traffic of our native town; but in our own inmost chamber we hear the sound that never ceases; that wheel which Dante and a popular proverb have dared to christen as the love that makes the world go round. For this is the great paradox of life; that there are not only wheels within wheels, but the larger wheels within the smaller. When a whole community rests on one conception of life and death and the origin of things, it is quite entitled to watch the rise of another community founded on another conception as the rise of something certain to be different and likely to be hostile. Indeed, as I have pointed out touching certain political theories, we already admit this truth in its small and questionable examples. We only deny the large and obvious examples. Christendom might quite reasonably have been alarmed if it had not been attacked. But as a matter of history it had been attacked. The Crusader would have been quite justified in suspecting the Moslem even if the Moslem had merely been a new stranger; but as a matter of history he was already an old enemy. The critic of the Crusade talks as if it had sought out some inoffensive tribe or temple in the interior of Thibet, which was never discovered until it was invaded. They seem entirely to forget that long before the Crusaders had dreamed of riding to Jerusalem, the Moslems had almost ridden into Paris. They seem to forget that if the Crusaders nearly conquered Palestine, it was but a return upon the Moslems who had nearly conquered Europe. There was no need for them to argue by an appeal to reason, as I have argued above, that a religious division must make a difference; it had already made a difference. The difference stared them in the face in the startling transformation of Roman Barbary and of Roman Spain. In short it was something which must happen in theory and which did happen in practice; all expectation suggested that it would be so and all experience said it was so. Having thought it out theoretically and experienced it practically, they proceeded to deal with it equally practically. The first division involved every principle of the science of thought; and the last developments followed out every principle of the science of war. The Crusade was the counter-attack. It was the defensive army taking the offensive in its turn, and driving back the enemy to his base. And it is this process, reasonable from its first axiom to its last act, that Mr. Pound actually selects as a sort of automatic wandering of an animal. But a man so intelligent would not have made a mistake so extraordinary but for another error which it is here very essential to consider. To suggest that men engaged, rightly or wrongly, in so logical a military and political operation were only migrating like birds or swarming like bees is as ridiculous as to say that the Prohibition campaign in America was only an animal reversion towards lapping as the dog lappeth, or Rowland Hill's introduction of postage stamps an animal taste for licking as the cat licks. Why should we provide other people with a remote reason for their own actions, when they themselves are ready to tell us the reason, and it is a perfectly reasonable reason? I have compared this pompous imposture of scientific history to the pompous and clumsy building of the scientific Germans on the Mount of Olives, because it substitutes in the same way a modern stupidity for the medieval simplicity. But just as the German Hospice after all stands on a fine site, and might have been a fine building, so there is after all another truth, somewhat analogous, which the German historians of the Folk-Wanderings might possibly have meant, as distinct from all that they have actually said. There is indeed one respect in which the case of the Crusade does differ very much from modern political cases like prohibition or the penny post. I do not refer to such incidental peculiarities as the fact that Prohibition could only have succeeded through the enormous power of modern plutocracy, or that even the convenience of the postage goes along with an extreme coercion by the police. It is a somewhat deeper difference that I mean; and it may possibly be what these critics mean. But the difference is not in the evolutionary, but rather the revolutionary spirit. The First Crusade was not a racial migration; it was something much more intellectual and dignified; a riot. In order to understand this religious war we must class it, not so much with the wars of history as with the revolutions of history. As I shall try to show briefly on a later page, it not only had all the peculiar good and the peculiar evil of things like the French Revolution or the Russian Revolution, but it was a more purely popular revolution than either of them. The truly modern mind will of course regard the contention that it was popular as tantamount to a confession that it was animal. In these days when papers and speeches are full of words like democracy and self-determination, anything really resembling the movement of a mass of angry men is regarded as no better than a stampede of bulls or a scurry of rats. The new sociologists call it the herd instinct, just as the old reactionaries called it the many-headed beast. But both agree in implying that it is hardly worth while to count how many head there are of such cattle. In face of such fashionable comparisons it will seem comparatively mild to talk of migration as it occurs among birds or insects. Nevertheless we may venture to state with some confidence that both the sociologists and the reactionaries are wrong. It does not follow that human beings become less than human because their ideas appeal to more and more of humanity. Nor can we deduce that men are mindless solely from the fact that they are all of one mind. In plain fact the virtues of a mob cannot be found in a herd of bulls or a pack of wolves, any more than the crimes of a mob can be committed by a flock of sheep or a shoal of herrings. Birds have never been known to besiege and capture an empty cage of an aviary, on a point of principle, merely because it had kept a few other birds in captivity, as the mob besieged and captured the almost empty Bastille, merely because it was the fortress of a historic tyranny. And rats have never been known to die by thousands merely in order to visit a particular trap in which a particular rat had perished, as the poor peasants of the First Crusade died in thousands for a far-off sight of the Sepulchre or a fragment of the true cross. In this sense indeed the Crusade was not rationalistic, if the rat is the only rationalist. But it will seem more truly rational to point out that the inspiration of such a crowd is not in such instincts as we share with the animals, but precisely in such ideas as the animals never (with all their virtues) understand. What is peculiar about the First Crusade is that it was in quite a new and abnormal sense a popular movement. I might almost say it was the only popular movement there ever was in the world. For it was not a thing which the populace followed; it was actually a thing which the populace led. It was not only essentially a revolution, but it was the only revolution I know of in which the masses began by acting alone, and practically without any support from any of the classes. When they had acted, the classes came in; and it is perfectly true, and indeed only natural, that the masses alone failed where the two together succeeded. But it was the uneducated who educated the educated. The case of the Crusade is emphatically not a case in which certain ideas were first suggested by a few philosophers, and then preached by demagogues to the democracy. This was to a great extent true of the French Revolution; it was probably yet more true of the Russian Revolution; and we need not here pause upon the fine shade of difference that Rousseau was right and Karl Marx was wrong. In the First Crusade it was the ordinary man who was right or wrong. He came out in a fury at the insult to his own little images or private prayers, as if he had come out to fight with his own domestic poker or private carving-knife. He was not armed with new weapons of wit and logic served round from the arsenal of an academy. There was any amount of wit and logic in the academies of the Middle Ages; but the typical leader of the Crusade was not Abelard or Aquinas but Peter the Hermit, who can hardly be called even a popular leader, but rather a popular flag. And it was his army, or rather his enormous rabble, that first marched across the world to die for the deliverance of Jerusalem. Historians say that in that huge host of thousands there were only nine knights. To any one who knows even a little of medieval war the fact seems astounding. It is indeed a long exploded fallacy to regard medievalism as identical with feudalism. There were countless democratic institutions, such as the guilds; sometimes as many as twenty guilds in one small town. But it is really true that the military organization of the Middle Ages was almost entirely feudal; indeed we might rather say that feudalism was the name of their military organisation. That so vast a military mass should have attempted to move at all, with only nine of the natural military leaders, seems to me a prodigy of popular initiative. It is as if a parliament were elected at the next general election, in which only two men could afford to read a daily newspaper. This mob marched against the military discipline of the Moslems and was massacred; or, might I so mystically express it, martyred. Many of the great kings and knights who followed in their tracks did not so clearly deserve any haloes for the simplicity and purity of their motives. The canonisation of such a crowd might be impossible, and would certainly be resisted in modern opinion; chiefly because they indulged their democratic violence on the way by killing various usurers; a course which naturally fills modern society with an anger verging on alarm. A perversity leads me to weep rather more over the many slaughtered peasants than over the few slaughtered usurers; but in any case the peasants certainly were not slaughtered in vain. The common conscience of all classes, in a time when all had a common creed, was aroused, and a new army followed of a very different type of skill and training; led by most of the ablest captains and by some of the most chivalrous gentlemen of the age. For curiously enough, the host contained more than one cultured gentleman who was as simple a Christian as any peasant, and as recklessly ready to be butchered or tortured for the mere name of Christ. It is a tag of the materialists that the truth about history rubs away the romance of history. It is dear to the modern mind because it is depressing; but it does not happen to be true. Nothing emerges more clearly from a study that is truly realistic, than the curious fact that romantic people were really romantic. It is rather the historical novels that will lead a modern man vaguely to expect to find the leader of the new knights, Godfrey de Bouillon, to have been merely a brutal baron. The historical facts are all in favour of his having been much more like a knight of the Round Table. In fact he was a far better man than most of the knights of the Round Table, in whose characters the fabulist, knowing that he was writing a fable, was tactful enough to introduce a larger admixture of vice. Truth is not only stranger than fiction, but often saintlier than fiction. For truth is real, while fiction is bound to be realistic. Curiously enough Godfrey seems to have been heroic even in those admirable accidents which are generally and perhaps rightly regarded as the trappings of fiction. Thus he was of heroic stature, a handsome red-bearded man of great personal strength and daring; and he was himself the first man over the wall of Jerusalem, like any boy hero in a boy's adventure story. But he was also, the realist will be surprised to hear, a perfectly honest man, and a perfectly genuine practiser of the theoretical magnanimity of knighthood. Everything about him suggests it; from his first conversion from the imperial to the papal (and popular) cause, to his great refusal of the kinghood of the city he had taken; "I will not wear a crown of gold where my Master wore a crown of thorns." He was a just ruler, and the laws he made were full of the plainest public spirit. But even if we dismiss all that was written of him by Christian chroniclers because they might be his friends (which would be a pathetic and exaggerated compliment to the harmonious unity of Crusaders and of Christians) he would still remain sufficiently assoiled and crowned with the words of his enemies. For a Saracen chronicler wrote of him, with a fine simplicity, that if all truth and honour had otherwise withered off the earth, there would still remain enough of them so long as Duke Godfrey was alive. Allied with Godfrey were Tancred the Italian, Raymond of Toulouse with the southern French and Robert of Normandy, the adventurous son of the Conqueror, with the Normans and the English. But it would be an error, I think, and one tending to make the whole subsequent story a thing not so much misunderstood as unintelligible, to suppose that the whole crusading movement had been suddenly and unnaturally stiffened with the highest chivalric discipline. Unless I am much mistaken, a great mass of that army was still very much of a mob. It is probable _a priori_, since the great popular movement was still profoundly popular. It is supported by a thousand things in the story of the campaign; the extraordinary emotionalism that made throngs of men weep and wail together, the importance of the demagogue, Peter the Hermit, in spite of his unmilitary character, and the wide differences between the designs of the leaders and the actions of the rank and file. It was a crowd of rude and simple men that cast themselves on the sacred dust at the first sight of the little mountain town which they had tramped for two thousand miles to see. Tancred saw it first from the slope by the village of Bethlehem, which had opened its gates willingly to his hundred Italian knights; for Bethlehem then as now was an island of Christendom in the sea of Islam. Meanwhile Godfrey came up the road from Jaffa, and crossing the mountain ridge, saw also with his living eyes his vision of the world's desire. But the poorest men about him probably felt the same as he; all ranks knelt together in the dust, and the whole story is one wave of numberless and nameless men. It was a mob that had risen like a man for the faith. It was a mob that had truly been tortured like a man for the faith. It was already transfigured by pain as well as passion. Those that know war in those deserts through the summer months, even with modern supplies and appliances and modern maps and calculations, know that it could only be described as a hell full of heroes. What it must have been to those little local serfs and peasants from the Northern villages, who had never dreamed in nightmares of such landscapes or such a sun, who knew not how men lived at all in such a furnace and could neither guess the alleviations nor get them, is beyond the imagination of man. They arrived dying with thirst, dropping with weariness, lamenting the loss of the dead that rotted along their road; they arrived shrivelled to rags or already raving with fever and they did what they had come to do. Above all, it is clear that they had the vices as well as the virtues of a mob. The shocking massacre in which they indulged in the sudden relaxation of success is quite obviously a massacre by a mob. It is all the more profoundly revolutionary because it must have been for the most part a French mob. It was of the same order as the Massacre of September, and it is but a part of the same truth that the First Crusade was as revolutionary as the French Revolution. It was of the same order as the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, which was also a piece of purely popular fanaticism, directed against what was also regarded as an anti-national aristocracy. It is practically self-evident that the Christian commanders were opposed to it, and tried to stop it. Tancred promised their lives to the Moslems in the mosque, but the mob clearly disregarded him. Raymond of Toulouse himself saved those in the Tower of David, and managed to send them safely with their property to Ascalon. But revolution with all its evil as well as its good was loose and raging in the streets of the Holy City. And in nothing do we see that spirit of revolution more clearly than in the sight of all those peasants and serfs and vassals, in that one wild moment in revolt, not only against the conquered lords of Islam, but even against the conquering lords of Christendom. The whole strain of the siege indeed had been one of high and even horrible excitement. Those who tell us to-day about the psychology of the crowd will agree that men who have so suffered and so succeeded are not normal; that their brains are in a dreadful balance which may turn either way. They entered the city at last in a mood in which they might all have become monks; and instead they all became murderers. A brilliant general, who played a decisive part in our own recent Palestinian campaign, told me with a sort of grim humour that he hardly wondered at the story; for he himself had entered Jerusalem in a sort of fury of disappointment; "We went through such a hell to get there, and now it's spoilt for all of us." Such is the heavy irony that hangs over our human nature, making it enter the Holy City as if it were the Heavenly City, and more than any earthly city can be. But the struggle which led to the scaling of Jerusalem in the First Crusade was something much wilder and more incalculable than anything that can be conceived in modern war. We can hardly wonder that the crusading crowd saw the town in front of them as a sort of tower full of demons, and the hills around them as an enchanted and accursed land. For in one very real sense it really was so; for all the elements and expedients were alike unknown qualities. All their enemies' methods were secrets sprung upon them. All their own methods were new things made out of nothing. They wondered alike what would be done on the other side and what could be done on their own side; every movement against them was a stab out of the darkness and every movement they made was a leap in the dark. First, on the one side, we have Tancred trying to take the whole fortified city by climbing up a single slender ladder, as if a man tried to lasso the peak of a mountain. Then we have the flinging from the turrets of a strange and frightful fiery rain, as if water itself had caught fire. It was afterwards known as the Greek Fire and was probably petroleum; but to those who had never seen (or felt) it before it may well have seemed the flaming oil of witchcraft. Then Godfrey and the wiser of the warriors set about to build wooden siege-towers and found they had next to no wood to build them. There was scarcely anything in that rocky waste but the dwarf trees of olive; a poetic fantasy woven about that war in after ages described them as hindered even in their wood-cutting by the demons of that weird place. And indeed the fancy had an essential truth, for the very nature of the land fought against them; and each of those dwarf trees, hard and hollow and twisted, may well have seemed like a grinning goblin. It is said that they found timbers by accident in a cavern; they tore down the beams from ruined houses; at last they got into touch with some craftsmen from Genoa who went to work more successfully; skinning the cattle, who had died in heaps, and covering the timbers. They built three high towers on rollers, and men and beasts dragged them heavily against the high towers of the city. The catapults of the city answered them, the cataracts of devouring fire came down; the wooden towers swayed and tottered, and two of them suddenly stuck motionless and useless. And as the darkness fell a great flare must have told them that the third and last was in flames. All that night Godfrey was toiling to retrieve the disaster. He took down the whole tower from where it stood and raised it again on the high ground to the north of the city which is now marked by the pine tree that grows outside Herod's gate. And all the time he toiled, it was said, sinister sorcerers sat upon the battlements, working unknown marvels for the undoing of the labour of man. If the great knight had a touch of such symbolism on his own side, he might have seen in his own strife with the solid timber something of the craft that had surrounded the birth of his creed, and the sacred trade of the carpenter. And indeed the very pattern of all carpentry is cruciform, and there is something more than an accident in the allegory. The transverse position of the timber does indeed involve many of those mathematical that are analogous to moral truths and almost every structural shape has the shadow of the mystic rood, as the three dimensions have a shadow of the Trinity. Here is the true mystery of equality; since the longer beam might lengthen itself to infinity, and never be nearer to the symbolic shape without the help of the shorter. Here is that war and wedding between two contrary forces, resisting and supporting each other; the meeting-place of contraries which we, by a sort of pietistic pun, still call the crux of the question. Here is our angular and defiant answer to the self-devouring circle of Asia. It may be improbable, though it is far from impossible (for the age was philosophical enough) that a man like Godfrey thus extended the mystical to the metaphysical; but the writer of a real romance about him would be well within his rights in making him see the symbolism of his own tower, a tower rising above him through the clouds of night as if taking hold on the heaven or showing its network of beams black against the daybreak; scaling the skies and open to all the winds, a ladder and a labyrinth, repeating till it was lost in the twilight the pattern of the sign of the cross. When dawn was come all those starving peasants may well have stood before the high impregnable walls in the broad daylight of despair. Even their nightmares during the night, of unearthly necromancers looking down at them from the battlements and with signs and spells paralysing all their potential toils, may well have been a sort of pessimistic consolation, anticipating and accounting for failure. The Holy City had become for them a fortress full of fiends, when Godfrey de Bouillon again set himself sword in hand upon the wooden tower and gave the order once more to drag it tottering towards the towers on either side of the postern gate. So they crawled again across the fosse full of the slain, dragging their huge house of timber behind them, and all the blast and din of war broke again about their heads. A hail of bolts hammered such shields as covered them for a canopy, stones and rocks fell on them and crushed them like flies in the mire, and from the engines of the Greek Fire all the torrents of their torment came down on them like red rivers of hell. For indeed the souls of those peasants must have been sickened with something of the topsy-turvydom felt by too many peasants of our own time under the frightful flying batteries of scientific war; a blasphemy of inverted battle in which hell itself has occupied heaven. Something of the vapours vomited by such cruel chemistry may have mingled with the dust of battle, and darkened such light as showed where shattering rocks were rending a roof of shields, to men bowed and blinded as they are by such labour of dragging and such a hailstorm of death. They may have heard through all the racket of nameless noises the high minaret cries of Moslem triumph rising shriller like a wind in shrill pipes, and known little else of what was happening above or beyond them. It was most likely that they laboured and strove in that lower darkness, not knowing that high over their heads, and up above the cloud of battle, the tower of timber and the tower of stone had touched and met in mid-heaven; and great Godfrey, alone and alive, had leapt upon the wall of Jerusalem. CHAPTER XII THE FALL OF CHIVALRY On the back of this book is the name of the New Jerusalem and on the first page of it a phrase about the necessity of going back to the old even to find the new, as a man retraces his steps to a sign-post. The common sense of that process is indeed most mysteriously misunderstood. Any suggestion that progress has at any time taken the wrong turning is always answered by the argument that men idealise the past, and make a myth of the Age of Gold. If my progressive guide has led me into a morass or a man-trap by turning to the left by the red pillar-box, instead of to the right by the blue palings of the inn called the Rising Sun, my progressive guide always proceeds to soothe me by talking about the myth of an Age of Gold. He says I am idealising the right turning. He says the blue palings are not so blue as they are painted. He says they are only blue with distance. He assures me there are spots on the sun, even on the rising sun. Sometimes he tells me I am wrong in my fixed conviction that the blue was of solid sapphires, or the sun of solid gold. In short he assures me I am wrong in supposing that the right turning was right in every possible respect; as if I had ever supposed anything of the sort. I want to go back to that particular place, not because it was all my fancy paints it, or because it was the best place my fancy can paint; but because it was a many thousand times better place than the man-trap in which he and his like have landed me. But above all I want to go back to it, not because I know it was the right place but because I think it was the right turning. And the right turning might possibly have led me to the right place; whereas the progressive guide has quite certainly led me to the wrong one. Now it is quite true that there is less general human testimony to the notion of a New Jerusalem in the future than to the notion of a Golden Age in the past. But neither of those ideas, whether or no they are illusions, are any answer to the question of a plain man in the plain position of this parable; a man who has to find some guidance in the past if he is to get any good in the future. What he positively knows, in any case, is the complete collapse of the present. Now that is the exact truth about the thing so often rebuked as a romantic and unreal return of modern men to medieval things. They suppose they have taken the wrong turning, because they know they are in the wrong place. To know that, it is necessary not to idealise the medieval world, but merely to realise the modern world. It is not so much that they suppose the medieval world was above the average as that they feel sure the modern world is below the average. They do not start either with the idea that man is meant to live in a New Jerusalem of pearl and sapphire in the future, or that a man was meant to live in a picturesque and richly-painted tavern of the past; but with a strong inward and personal persuasion that a man was not meant to live in a man-trap. For there is and will be more and more a turn of total change in all our talk and writing about history. Everything in the past was praised if it had led up to the present, and blamed if it would have led up to anything else. In short everybody has been searching the past for the secret of our success. Very soon everybody may be searching the past for the secret of our failure. They may be talking in such terms as they use after a motor smash or a bankruptcy; where was the blunder? They may be writing such books as generals write after a military defeat; whose was the fault? The failure will be assumed even in being explained. For industrialism is no longer a vulgar success. On the contrary, it is now too tragic even to be vulgar. Under the cloud of doom the modern city has taken on something of the dignity of Babel or Babylon. Whether we call it the nemesis of Capitalism or the nightmare of Bolshevism makes no difference; the rich grumble as much as the poor; every one is discontented, and none more than those who are chiefly discontented with the discontent. About that discord we are in perfect harmony; about that disease we all think alike, whatever we think of the diagnosis or the cure. By whatever process in the past we might have come to the right place, practical facts in the present and future will prove more and more that we have come to the wrong place. And for many a premonition will grow more and more of a probability; that we may or may not await another century or another world to see the New Jerusalem rebuilt and shining on our fields; but in the flesh we shall see Babylon fall. But there is another way in which that metaphor of the forked road will make the position plain. Medieval society was not the right place; it was only the right turning. It was only the right road; or perhaps only the beginning of the right road. The medieval age was very far from being the age in which everything went right. It would be nearer the truth I mean to call it the age in which everything went wrong. It was the moment when things might have developed well, and did develop badly. Or rather, to be yet more exact, it was the moment when they were developing well, and yet they were driven to develop badly. This was the history of all the medieval states and of none more than medieval Jerusalem; indeed there were signs of some serious idea of making it the model medieval state. Of this notion of Jerusalem as the New Jerusalem, of the Utopian aspect of the adventure of the Latin Kingdom, something may be said in a moment. But meanwhile there was a more important part played by Jerusalem, I think, in all that great progress and reaction which has left us the problem of modern Europe. And the suggestion of it is bound up with the former suggestion, about the difference between the goal and the right road that might have led to it. It is bound up with that quality of the civilisation in question, that it was potential rather than perfect; and there is no need to idealise it in order to regret it. This peculiar part played by Jerusalem I mention merely as a suggestion; I might almost say a suspicion. Anyhow, it is something of a guess; but I for one have found it a guide. Medievalism died, but it died young. It was at once energetic and incomplete when it died, or very shortly before it died. This is not a matter of sympathy or antipathy, but of appreciation of an interesting historic comparison with other historic cases. When the Roman Empire finally failed we cannot of course say that it had done all it was meant to do, for that is dogmatism. We cannot even say it had done all that it might have done, for that is guesswork. But we can say that it had done certain definite things and was conscious of having done them; that it had long and even literally rested on its laurels. But suppose that Rome had fallen when she had only half defeated Carthage, or when she had only half conquered Gaul, or even when the city was Christian but most of the provinces still heathen. Then we should have said, not merely that Rome had not done what she might have done, but that she had not done what she was actually doing. And that is very much the truth in the matter of the medieval civilisation. It was not merely that the medievals left undone what they might have done, but they left undone what they were doing. This potential promise is proved not only in their successes but in their failures. It is shown, for instance, in the very defects of their art. All the crafts of which Gothic architecture formed the frame-work were developed, not only less than they should have been, but less than they would have been. There is no sort of reason why their sculpture should not have become as perfect as their architecture; there is no sort of reason why their sense of form should not have been as finished as their sense of colour. A statue like the St. George of Donatello would have stood more appropriately under a Gothic than under a Classic arch. The niches were already made for the statues. The same thing is true, of course, not only about the state of the crafts but about the status of the craftsman. The best proof that the system of the guilds had an undeveloped good in it is that the most advanced modern men are now going back five hundred years to get the good out of it. The best proof that a rich house was brought to ruin is that our very pioneers are now digging in the ruins to find the riches. That the new guildsmen add a great deal that never belonged to the old guildsmen is not only a truth, but is part of the truth I maintain here. The new guildsmen add what the old guildsmen would have added if they had not died young. When we renew a frustrated thing we do not renew the frustration. But if there are some things in the new that were not in the old, there were certainly some things in the old that are not yet visible in the new; such as individual humour in the handiwork. The point here, however, is not merely that the worker worked well but that he was working better; not merely that his mind was free but that it was growing freer. All this popular power and humour was increasing everywhere, when something touched it and it withered away. The frost had struck it in the spring. Some people complain that the working man of our own day does not show an individual interest in his work. But it will be well to realise that they would be much more annoyed with him if he did. The medieval workman took so individual an interest in his work that he would call up devils entirely on his own account, carving them in corners according to his own taste and fancy. He would even reproduce the priests who were his patrons and make them as ugly as devils; carving anti-clerical caricatures on the very seats and stalls of the clerics. If a modern householder, on entering his own bathroom, found that the plumber had twisted the taps into the images of two horned and grinning fiends, he would be faintly surprised. If the householder, on returning at evening to his house, found the door-knocker distorted into a repulsive likeness of himself, his surprise might even be tinged with disapproval. It may be just as well that builders and bricklayers do not gratuitously attach gargoyles to our smaller residential villas. But well or ill, it is certainly true that this feature of a flexible popular fancy has never reappeared in any school of architecture or any state of society since the medieval decline. The great classical buildings of the Renascence were swept as bare of it as any villa in Balham. But those who best appreciate this loss to popular art will be the first to agree that at its best it retained a touch of the barbaric as well as the popular. While we can admire these matters of the grotesque, we can admit that their work was sometimes unintentionally as well as intentionally grotesque. Some of the carving did remain so rude that the angels were almost as ugly as the devils. But this is the very point upon which I would here insist; the mystery of why men who were so obviously only beginning should have so suddenly stopped. Men with medieval sympathies are sometimes accused, absurdly enough, of trying to prove that the medieval period was perfect. In truth the whole case for it is that it was imperfect. It was imperfect as an unripe fruit or a growing child is imperfect. Indeed it was imperfect in that very particular fashion which most modern thinkers generally praise, more than they ever praise maturity. It was something now much more popular than an age of perfection; it was an age of progress. It was perhaps the one real age of progress in all history. Men have seldom moved with such rapidity and such unity from barbarism to civilisation as they did from the end of the Dark Ages to the times of the universities and the parliaments, the cathedrals and the guilds. Up to a certain point we may say that everything, at whatever stage of improvement, was full of the promise of improvement. Then something began to go wrong, almost equally rapidly, and the glory of this great culture is not so much in what it did as in what it might have done. It recalls one of these typical medieval speculations, full of the very fantasy of free will, in which the schoolmen tried to fancy the fate of every herb or animal if Adam had not eaten the apple. It remains, in a cant historical phrase, one of the great might-have-beens of history. I have said that it died young; but perhaps it would be truer to say that it suddenly grew old. Like Godfrey and many of its great champions in Jerusalem, it was overtaken in the prime of life by a mysterious malady. The more a man reads of history the less easy he will find it to explain that secret and rapid decay of medieval civilisation from within. Only a few generations separated the world that worshipped St. Francis from the world that burned Joan of Arc. One would think there might be no more than a date and a number between the white mystery of Louis the Ninth and the black mystery of Louis the Eleventh. This is the very real historical mystery; the more realistic is our study of medieval things, the more puzzled we shall be about the peculiar creeping paralysis which affected things so virile and so full of hope. There was a growth of moral morbidity as well as social inefficiency, especially in the governing classes; for even to the end the guildsmen and the peasants remained much more vigorous. How it ended we all know; personally I should say that they got the Reformation and deserved it. But it matters nothing to the truth here whether the Reformation was a just revolt and revenge or an unjust culmination and conquest. It is common ground to Catholics and Protestants of intelligence that evils preceded and produced the schism; and that evils were produced by it and have pursued it down to our own day. We know it if only in the one example, that the schism begat the Thirty Years' War, and the Thirty Years' War begat the Seven Years' War, and the Seven Years' War begat the Great War, which has passed like a pestilence through our own homes. After the schism Prussia could relapse into heathenry and erect an ethical system external to the whole culture of Christendom. But it can still be reasonably asked what begat the schism; and it can still be reasonably answered; something that went wrong with medievalism. But what was it that went wrong? When I looked for the last time on the towers of Zion I had a fixed fancy that I knew what it was. It is a thing that cannot be proved or disproved; it must sound merely an ignorant guess. But I believe myself that it died of disappointment. I believe the whole medieval society failed, because the heart went out of it with the loss of Jerusalem. Let it be observed that I do not say the loss of the war, or even the Crusade. For the war against Islam was not lost. The Moslem was overthrown in the real battle-field, which was Spain; he was menaced in Africa; his imperial power was already stricken and beginning slowly to decline. I do not mean the political calculations about a Mediterranean war. I do not even mean the Papal conceptions about the Holy War. I mean the purely popular picture of the Holy City. For while the aristocratic thing was a view, the vulgar thing was a vision; something with which all stories stop, something where the rainbow ends, something over the hills and far away. In Spain they had been victorious; but their castle was not even a castle in Spain. It was a castle east of the sun and west of the moon, and the fairy prince could find it no more. Indeed that idle image out of the nursery books fits it very exactly. For its mystery was and is in standing in the middle, or as they said in the very centre of the earth. It is east of the sun of Europe, which fills the world with a daylight of sanity, and ripens real and growing things. It is west of the moon of Asia, mysterious and archaic with its cold volcanoes, silver mirror for poets and a most fatal magnet for lunatics. Anyhow the fall of Jerusalem, and in that sense the failure of the Crusades, had a widespread effect, as I should myself suggest, for the reason I have myself suggested. Because it had been a popular movement, it was a popular disappointment; and because it had been a popular movement, its ideal was an image; a particular picture in the imagination. For poor men are almost always particularists; and nobody has ever seen such a thing as a mob of pantheists. I have seen in some of that lost literature of the old guilds, which is now everywhere coming to light, a list of the stage properties required for some village play, one of those popular plays acted by the medieval trades unions, for which the guild of the shipwrights would build Noah's Ark or the guild of the barbers provide golden wigs for the haloes of the Twelve Apostles. The list of those crude pieces of stage furniture had a curious colour of poetry about it, like the impromptu apparatus of a nursery charade; a cloud, an idol with a club, and notably among the rest, the walls and towers of Jerusalem. I can imagine them patiently painted and gilded as a special feature, like the two tubs of Mr. Vincent Crummles. But I can also imagine that towards the end of the Middle Ages, the master of the revels might begin to look at those towers of wood and pasteboard with a sort of pain, and perhaps put them away in a corner, as a child will tire of a toy especially if it is associated with a disappointment or a dismal misunderstanding. There is noticeable in some of the later popular poems a disposition to sulk about the Crusades. But though the popular feeling had been largely poetical, the same thing did in its degree occur in the political realm that was purely practical. The Moslem had been checked, but he had not been checked enough. The whole story of what was called the Eastern Question, and three-quarters of the wars of the modern world, were due to the fact that he was not checked enough. The only thing to do with unconquerable things is to conquer them. That alone will cure them of invincibility; or what is worse, their own vision of invincibility. That was the conviction of those of us who would not accept what we considered a premature peace with Prussia. That is why we would not listen either to the Tory Pro-Germanism of Lord Lansdowne or the Socialist Pro-Germanism of Mr. Macdonald. If a lunatic believes in his luck so fixedly as to feel sure be cannot be caught, he will not only believe in it still, but believe in it more and more, until the actual instant when he is caught. The longer the chase, the more certain he will be of escaping; the more narrow the escapes, the more certain will be the escape. And indeed if he does escape it will seem a miracle, and almost a divine intervention, not only to the pursued but to the pursuers. The evil thing will chiefly appear unconquerable to those who try to conquer it. It will seem after all to have a secret of success; and those who failed against it will hide in their hearts a secret of failure. It was that secret of failure, I fancy, that slowly withered from within the high hopes of the Middle Ages. Christianity and chivalry had measured their force against Mahound, and Mahound had not fallen; the shadow of his horned helmet, the crest of the Crescent, still lay across their sunnier lands; the Horns of Hattin. The streams of life that flowed to guilds and schools and orders of knighthood and brotherhoods of friars were strangely changed and chilled. So, if the peace had left Prussianism secure even in Prussia, I believe that all the liberal ideals of the Latins, and all the liberties of the English, and the whole theory of a democratic experiment in America, would have begun to die of a deep and even subconscious despair. A vote, a jury, a newspaper, would not be as they are, things of which it is hard to make the right use, or any use; they would be things of which nobody would even try to make any use. A vote would actually look like a vassal's cry of "haro," a jury would look like a joust; many would no more read headlines than blazon heraldic coats. For these medieval things look dead and dusty because of a defeat, which was none the less a defeat because it was more than half a victory. A curious cloud of confusion rests on the details of that defeat. The Christian captains who acted in it were certainly men on a different moral level from the good Duke Godfrey; their characters were by comparison mixed and even mysterious. Perhaps the two determining personalities were Raymond of Tripoli, a skilful soldier whom his enemies seemed to have accused of being much too skilful a diplomatist; and Renaud of Chatillon, a violent adventurer whom his enemies seem to have accused of being little better than a bandit. And it is the irony of the incident that Raymond got into trouble for making a dubious peace with the Saracens, while Renaud got into trouble by making an equally dubious war on the Saracens. Renaud exacted from Moslem travellers on a certain road what he regarded as a sort of feudal toll or tax, and they regarded as a brigand ransom; and when they did not pay he attacked them. This was regarded as a breach of the truce; but probably it would have been easier to regard Renaud as waging the war of a robber, if many had not regarded Raymond as having made the truce of a traitor. Probably Raymond was not a traitor, since the military advice he gave up to the very instant of catastrophe was entirely loyal and sound, and worthy of so wise a veteran. And very likely Renaud was not merely a robber, especially in his own eyes; and there seems to be a much better case for him than many modern writers allow. But the very fact of such charges being bandied among the factions shows a certain fall from the first days under the headship of the house of Bouillon. No slanderer ever suggested that Godfrey was a traitor; no enemy ever asserted that Godfrey was only a thief. It is fairly clear that there had been a degeneration; but most people hardly realise sufficiently that there had been a very great thing from which to degenerate. The first Crusades had really had some notion of Jerusalem as a New Jerusalem. I mean they had really had a vision of the place being not only a promised land but a Utopia or even an Earthly Paradise. The outstanding fact and feature which is seldom seized is this: that the social experiment in Palestine was rather in advance of the social experiments in the rest of Christendom. Having to begin at the beginning, they really began with what they considered the best ideas of their time; like any group of Socialists founding an ideal Commonwealth in a modern colony. A specialist on this period, Colonel Conder of the Palestine Exploration, has written that the core of the Code was founded on the recommendations of Godfrey himself in his "Letters of the Sepulchre"; and he observes concerning it: "The basis of these laws was found in Justinian's code, and they presented features as yet quite unknown in Europe, especially in their careful provision of justice for the bourgeois and the peasant, and for the trading communes whose fleets were so necessary to the king. Not only were free men judged by juries of their equals, but the same applied to those who were technically serfs and actually aborigines." The original arrangements of the Native Court seem to me singularly liberal, even by modern standards of the treatment of natives. That in many such medieval codes citizens were still called serfs is no more final than the fact that in many modern capitalist newspapers serfs are still called citizens. The whole point about the villein was that he was a tenant at least as permanent as a peasant. He "went with the land"; and there are a good many hopeless tramps starving in streets, or sleeping in ditches, who might not be sorry if they could go with a little land. It would not be very much worse than homelessness and hunger to go with a good kitchen garden of which you could always eat most of the beans and turnips; or to go with a good cornfield of which you could take a considerable proportion of the corn. There has been many a modern man would have been none the worse for "going" about burdened with such a green island, or dragging the chains of such a tangle of green living things. As a fact, of course, this system throughout Christendom was already evolving rapidly into a pure peasant proprietorship; and it will be long before industrialism evolves by itself into anything so equal or so free. Above all, there appears notably that universal mark of the medieval movement; the voluntary liberation of slaves. But we may willingly allow that something of the earlier success of all this was due to the personal qualities of the first knights fresh from the West; and especially to the personal justice and moderation of Godfrey and some of his immediate kindred. Godfrey died young; his successors had mostly short periods of power, largely through the prevalence of malaria and the absence of medicine. Royal marriages with the more oriental tradition of the Armenian princes brought in new elements of luxury and cynicism; and by the time of the disputed truce of Raymond of Tripoli, the crown had descended to a man named Guy of Lusignan who seems to have been regarded as a somewhat unsatisfactory character. He had quarrelled with Raymond, who was ruler of Galilee, and a curious and rather incomprehensible concession made by the latter, that the Saracens should ride in arms but in peace round his land, led to alleged Moslem insults to Nazareth, and the outbreak of the furious Templar, Gerard of Bideford, of which mention has been made already. But the most serious threat to them and their New Jerusalem was the emergence among the Moslems of a man of military genius, and the fact that all that land lay now under the shadow of the ambition and ardour of Saladin. With the breach of the truce, or even the tale of it, the common danger of Christians was apparent; and Raymond of Tripoli repaired to the royal headquarters to consult with his late enemy the king; but he seems to have been almost openly treated as a traitor. Gerard of Bideford, the fanatic who was Grand Master of the Templars, forced the king's hand against the advice of the wiser soldier, who had pointed out the peril of perishing of thirst in the waterless wastes between them and the enemy. Into those wastes they advanced, and they were already weary and unfit for warfare by the time they came in sight of the strange hills that will be remembered for ever under the name of the Horns of Hattin. On those hills, a few hours later, the last knights of an army of which half had fallen gathered in a final defiance and despair round the relic they carried in their midst, a fragment of the True Cross. In that hour fell, as I have fancied, more hopes than they themselves could number, and the glory departed from the Middle Ages. There fell with them all that New Jerusalem which was the symbol of a new world, all those great and growing promises and possibilities of Christendom of which this vision was the centre, all that "justice for the bourgeois and the peasant, and for the trading communes," all the guilds that gained their charters by fighting for the Cross, all the hopes of a happier transformation of the Roman Law wedded to charity and to chivalry. There was the first slip and the great swerving of our fate; and in that wilderness we lost all the things we should have loved, and shall need so long a labour to find again. Raymond of Tripoli had hewn his way through the enemy and ridden away to Tyre. The king, with a few of the remaining nobles, including Renaud de Chatillon, were brought before Saladin in his tent. There occurred a scene strangely typical of the mingled strains in the creed or the culture that triumphed on that day; the stately Eastern courtesy and hospitality; the wild Eastern hatred and self-will. Saladin welcomed the king and gracefully gave him a cup of sherbet, which he passed to Renaud. "It is thou and not I who hast given him to drink," said the Saracen, preserving the precise letter of the punctilio of hospitality. Then he suddenly flung himself raving and reviling upon Renaud de Chatillon, and killed the prisoner with his own hands. Outside, two hundred Hospitallers and Templars were beheaded on the field of battle; by one account I have read because Saladin disliked them, and by another because they were Christian priests. There is a strong bias against the Christians and in favour of the Moslems and the Jews in most of the Victorian historical works, especially historical novels. And most people of modern, or rather of very recent times got all their notions of history from dipping into historical novels. In those romances the Jew is always the oppressed where in reality he was often the oppressor. In those romances the Arab is always credited with oriental dignity and courtesy and never with oriental crookedness and cruelty. The same injustice is introduced into history, which by means of selection and omission can be made as fictitious as any fiction. Twenty historians mention the way in which the maddened Christian mob murdered the Moslems after the capture of Jerusalem, for one who mentions that the Moslem commander commanded in cold blood the murder of some two hundred of his most famous and valiant enemies after the victory of Hattin. The former cannot be shown to have been the act of Tancred, while the latter was quite certainly the act of Saladin. Yet Tancred is described as at best a doubtful character, while Saladin is represented as a Bayard without fear or blame. Both of them doubtless were ordinary faulty fighting men, but they are not judged by an equal balance. It may seem a paradox that there should be this prejudice in Western history in favour of Eastern heroes. But the cause is clear enough; it is the remains of the revolt among many Europeans against their own old religious organisation, which naturally made them hunt through all ages for its crimes and its victims. It was natural that Voltaire should sympathise more with a Brahmin he had never seen than with a Jesuit with whom he was engaged in a violent controversy; and should similarly feel more dislike of a Catholic who was his enemy than of a Moslem who was the enemy of his enemy. In this atmosphere of natural and even pardonable prejudice arose the habit of contrasting the intolerance of the Crusaders with the toleration shown by the Moslems. Now as there are two sides to everything, it would undoubtedly be quite possible to tell the tale of the Crusades, correctly enough in detail, and in such a way as entirely to justify the Moslems and condemn the Crusaders. But any such real record of the Moslem case would have very little to do with any questions of tolerance or intolerance, or any modern ideas about religious liberty and equality. As the modern world does not know what it means itself by religious liberty and equality, as the moderns have not thought out any logical theory of toleration at all (for their vague generalisations can always be upset by twenty tests from Thugs to Christian Science) it would obviously be unreasonable to expect the moderns to understand the much clearer philosophy of the Moslems. But some rough suggestion of what was really involved may be found convenient in this case. Islam was not originally a movement directed against Christianity at all. It did not face westwards, so to speak; it faced eastwards towards the idolatries of Asia. But Mahomet believed that these idols could be fought more successfully with a simpler kind of creed; one might almost say with a simpler kind of Christianity. For he included many things which we in the West commonly suppose not only to be peculiar to Christianity but to be peculiar to Catholicism. Many things have been rejected by Protestantism that are not rejected by Mahometanism. Thus the Moslems believe in Purgatory, and they give at least a sort of dignity to the Mother of Christ. About such things as these they have little of the bitterness that rankles in the Jews and is said sometimes to become hideously vitriolic. While I was in Palestine a distinguished Moslem said to a Christian resident: "We also, as well as you, honour the Mother of Christ. Never do we speak of her but we call her the Lady Miriam. I dare not tell you what the Jews call her." The real mistake of the Moslems is something much more modern in its application than any particular or passing persecution of Christians as such. It lay in the very fact that they did think they had a simpler and saner sort of Christianity, as do many modern Christians. They thought it could be made universal merely by being made uninteresting. Now a man preaching what he thinks is a platitude is far more intolerant than a man preaching what he admits is a paradox. It was exactly because it seemed self-evident, to Moslems as to Bolshevists, that their simple creed was suited to everybody, that they wished in that particular sweeping fashion to impose it on everybody. It was because Islam was broad that Moslems were narrow. And because it was not a hard religion it was a heavy rule. Because it was without a self-correcting complexity, it allowed of those simple and masculine but mostly rather dangerous appetites that show themselves in a chieftain or a lord. As it had the simplest sort of religion, monotheism, so it had the simplest sort of government, monarchy. There was exactly the same direct spirit in its despotism as in its deism. The Code, the Common Law, the give and take of charters and chivalric vows, did not grow in that golden desert. The great sun was in the sky and the great Saladin was in his tent, and he must be obeyed unless he were assassinated. Those who complain of our creeds as elaborate often forget that the elaborate Western creeds have produced the elaborate Western constitutions; and that they are elaborate because they are emancipated. And the real moral of the relations of the two great religions is something much more subtle and sincere than any mere atrocity tales against Turks. It is the same as the moral of the Christian refusal of a Pagan Pantheon in which Christ should rank with Ammon and Apollo. Twice the Christian Church refused what seemed like a handsome offer of a large latitudinarian sort; once to include Christ as a god and once to include him as a prophet; once by the admission of all idols and once by the abandonment of all idols. Twice the Church took the risk and twice the Church survived alone and succeeded alone, filling the world with her own children; and leaving her rivals in a desert, where the idols were dead and the iconoclasts were dying. But all this history has been hidden by a prejudice more general than the particular case of Saracens and Crusaders. The modern, or rather the Victorian prejudice against Crusaders is positive and not relative; and it would still desire to condemn Tancred if it could not acquit Saladin. Indeed it is a prejudice not so much against Crusaders as against Christians. It will not give to these heroes of religious war the fair measure it gives to the heroes of ordinary patriotic and imperial war. There never was a nobler hero than Nelson, or one more national or more normal. Yet Nelson quite certainly did do what Tancred almost certainly did not do; break his own word by giving up his own brave enemies to execution. If the cause of Nelson in other times comes to be treated as the creed of Tancred has often in recent times been treated, this incident alone will be held sufficient to prove not only that Nelson was a liar and a scoundrel, but that he did not love England at all, did not love Lady Hamilton at all, that he sailed in English ships only to pocket the prize money of French ships, and would as willingly have sailed in French ships for the prize money of English ships. That is the sort of dull dust of gold that has been shaken like the drifting dust of the desert over the swords and the relics, the crosses and the clasped hands of the men who marched to Jerusalem or died at Hattin. In these medieval pilgrims every inconsistency is a hypocrisy; while in the more modern patriots even an infamy is only an inconsistency. I have rounded off the story here with the ruin at Hattin because the whole reaction against the pilgrimage had its origin there; and because it was this at least that finally lost Jerusalem. Elsewhere in Palestine, to say nothing of Africa and Spain, splendid counter-strokes were still being delivered from the West, not the least being the splendid rescue by Richard of England. But I still think that with the mere name of that tiny town upon the hills the note of the whole human revolution had been struck, was changed and was silent. All the other names were only the names of Eastern towns; but that was nearer to a man than his neighbours; a village inside his village, a house inside his house. There is a hill above Bethlehem of a strange shape, with a flat top which makes it look oddly like an island, habitable though uninhabited, when all Moab heaves about it and beyond it as with the curves and colours of a sea. Its stability suggests in some strange fashion what may often be felt in these lands with the longest record of culture; that there may be not only a civilisation but even a chivalry older than history. Perhaps the table-land with its round top has a romantic reminiscence of a round table. Perhaps it is only a fantastic effect of evening, for it is felt most when the low skies are swimming with the colours of sunset, and in the shadows the shattered rocks about its base take on the shapes of titanic paladins fighting and falling around it. I only know that the mere shape of the hill and vista of the landscape suggested such visions and it was only afterwards that I heard the local legend, which says it is here that some of the Christian knights made their last stand after they lost Jerusalem and which names this height The Mountain of the Latins. They fell, and the ages rolled on them the rocks of scorn; they were buried in jests and buffooneries. As the Renascence expanded into the rationalism of recent centuries, nothing seemed so ridiculous as to butcher and bleed in a distant desert not only for a tomb, but an empty tomb. The last legend of them withered under the wit of Cervantes, though he himself had fought in the last Crusade at Lepanto. They were kicked about like dead donkeys by the cool vivacity of Voltaire; who went off, very symbolically, to dance attendance on the new drill-sergeant of the Prussians. They were dissected like strange beasts by the serene disgust of Gibbon, more serene than the similar horror with which he regarded the similar violence of the French Revolution. By our own time even the flippancy has become a platitude. They have long been the butt of every penny-a-liner who can talk of a helmet as a tin pot, of every caricaturist on a comic paper who can draw a fat man falling off a bucking horse; of every pushing professional politician who can talk about the superstitions of the Middle Ages. Great men and small have agreed to contemn them; they were renounced by their children and refuted by their biographers; they were exposed, they were exploded, they were ridiculed and they were right. They were proved wrong, and they were right. They were judged finally and forgotten, and they were right. Centuries after their fall the full experience and development of political discovery has shown beyond question that they were right. For there is a very simple test of the truth; that the very thing which was dismissed, as a dream of the ages of faith, we have been forced to turn into a fact in the ages of fact. It is now more certain than it ever was before that Europe must rescue some lordship, or overlordship, of these old Roman provinces. Whether it is wise for England alone to claim Palestine, whether it would be better if the Entente could do so, I think a serious question. But in some form they are reverting for the Roman Empire. Every opportunity has been given for any other empire that could be its equal, and especially for the great dream of a mission for Imperial Islam. If ever a human being had a run for his money, it was the Sultan of the Moslems riding on his Arab steed. His empire expanded over and beyond the great Greek empire of Byzantium; a last charge of the chivalry of Poland barely stopped it at the very gates of Vienna. He was free to unfold everything that was in him, and he unfolded the death that was in him. He reigned and he could not rule; he was successful and he did not succeed. His baffled and retreating enemies left him standing, and he could not stand. He fell finally with that other half-heathen power in the North, with which he had made an alliance against the remains of Roman and Byzantine culture. He fell because barbarism cannot stand; because even when it succeeds it rather falls on its foes and crushes them. And after all these things, after all these ages, with a wearier philosophy, with a heavier heart, we have been forced to do again the very thing that the Crusaders were derided for doing. What Western men failed to do for the faith, other Western men have been forced to do even without the faith. The sons of Tancred are again in Tripoli. The heirs of Raymond are again in Syria. And men from the Midlands or the Northumbrian towns went again through a furnace of thirst and fever and furious fighting, to gain the same water-courses and invest the same cities as of old. They trod the hills of Galilee and the Horns of Hattin threw no shadow on their souls; they crossed dark and disastrous fields whose fame had been hidden from them, and avenged the fathers they had forgotten. And the most cynical of modern diplomatists, making their settlement by the most sceptical of modern philosophies, can find no practical or even temporary solution for this sacred land, except to bring it again under the crown of Coeur de Lion and the cross of St. George. There came in through the crooked entry beside the great gap in the wall a tall soldier, dismounting and walking and wearing only the dust-hued habit of modern war. There went no trumpet before him, neither did he enter by the Golden Gate; but the silence of the deserts was full of a phantom acclamation, as when from far away a wind brings in a whisper the cheering of many thousand men. For in that hour a long-lost cry found fulfilment, and something counted irrational returned in the reason of things. And at last even the wise understood, and at last even the learned were enlightened on a need truly and indeed international, which a mob in a darker age had known by the light of nature; something that could be denied and delayed and evaded, but not escaped for ever. _Id Deus vult_. CHAPTER XIII THE PROBLEM OF ZIONISM There is an attitude for which my friends and I were for a long period rebuked and even reviled; and of which at the present period we are less likely than ever to repent. It was always called Anti-Semitism; but it was always much more true to call it Zionism. At any rate it was much nearer to the nature of the thing to call it Zionism, whether or no it can find its geographical concentration in Zion. The substance of this heresy was exceedingly simple. It consisted entirely in saying that Jews are Jews; and as a logical consequence that they are not Russians or Roumanians or Italians or Frenchmen or Englishmen. During the war the newspapers commonly referred to them as Russians; but the ritual wore so singularly thin that I remember one newspaper paragraph saying that the Russians in the East End complained of the food regulations, because their religion forbade them to eat pork. My own brief contact with the Greek priests of the Orthodox Church in Jerusalem did not permit me to discover any trace of this detail of their discipline; and even the Russian pilgrims were said to be equally negligent in the matter. The point for the moment, however, is that if I was violently opposed to anything, it was not to Jews, but to that sort of remark about Jews; or rather to the silly and craven fear of making it a remark about Jews. But my friends and I had in some general sense a policy in the matter; and it was in substance the desire to give Jews the dignity and status of a separate nation. We desired that in some fashion, and so far as possible, Jews should be represented by Jews, should live in a society of Jews, should be judged by Jews and ruled by Jews. I am an Anti-Semite if that is Anti-Semitism. It would seem more rational to call it Semitism. Of this attitude, I repeat, I am now less likely than ever to repent. I have lived to see the thing that was dismissed as a fad discussed everywhere as a fact; and one of the most menacing facts of the age. I have lived to see people who accused me of Anti-Semitism become far more Anti-Semitic than I am or ever was. I have heard people talking with real injustice about the Jews, who once seemed to think it an injustice to talk about them at all. But, above all, I have seen with my own eyes wild mobs marching through a great city, raving not only against Jews, but against the English for identifying themselves with the Jews. I have seen the whole prestige of England brought into peril, merely by the trick of talking about two nations as if they were one. I have seen an Englishman arriving in Jerusalem with somebody he had been taught to regard as his fellow countryman and political colleague, and received as if he had come arm-in-arm with a flaming dragon. So do our frosty fictions fare when they come under that burning sun. Twice in my life, and twice lately, I have seen a piece of English pedantry bring us within an inch of an enormous English peril. The first was when all the Victorian historians and philosophers had told us that our German cousin was a cousin german and even germane; something naturally near and sympathetic. That also was an identification; that also was an assimilation; that also was a union of hearts. For the second time in a few short years, English politicians and journalists have discovered the dreadful revenge of reality. To pretend that something is what it is not is business that can easily be fashionable and sometimes popular. But the thing we have agreed to regard as what it is not will always abruptly punish and pulverise us, merely by being what it is. For years we were told that the Germans were a sort of Englishman because they were Teutons; but it was all the worse for us when we found out what Teutons really were. For years we were told that Jews were a sort of Englishman because they were British subjects. It is all the worse for us now we have to regard them, not subjectively as subjects, but objectively as objects; as objects of a fierce hatred among the Moslems and the Greeks. We are in the absurd position of introducing to these people a new friend whom they instantly recognise as an old enemy. It is an absurd position because it is a false position; but it is merely the penalty of falsehood. Whether this Eastern anger is reasonable or not may be discussed in a moment; but what is utterly unreasonable is not the anger but the astonishment; at least it is our astonishment at their astonishment. We might believe ourselves in the view that a Jew is an Englishman; but there was no reason why they should regard him as an Englishman, since they already recognised him as a Jew. This is the whole present problem of the Jew in Palestine; and it must be solved either by the logic of Zionism or the logic of purely English supremacy and, impartiality; and not by what seems to everybody in Palestine a monstrous muddle of the two. But of course it is not only the peril in Palestine that has made the realisation of the Jewish problem, which once suffered all the dangers of a fad, suffer the opposite dangers of a fashion. The same journalists who politely describe Jews as Russians are now very impolitely describing certain Russians who are Jews. Many who had no particular objection to Jews as Capitalists have a very great objection to them as Bolshevists. Those who had an innocent unconsciousness of the nationality of Eckstein, even when he called himself Eckstein, have managed to discover the nationality of Braunstein, even, when he calls, himself Trotsky. And much of this peril also might easily have been lessened, by the simple proposal to call men and things by their own names. I will confess, however, that I have no very full sympathy with the new Anti-Semitism which is merely Anti-Socialism. There are good, honourable and magnanimous Jews of every type and rank, there are many to whom I am greatly attached among my own friends in my own rank; but if I have to make a general choice on a general chance among different types of Jews, I have much more sympathy with the Jew who is revolutionary than the Jew who is plutocratic. In other words, I have much more sympathy for the Israelite we are beginning to reject, than for the Israelite we have already accepted. I have more respect for him when he leads some sort of revolt, however narrow and anarchic, against the oppression of the poor, than when he is safe at the head of a great money-lending business oppressing the poor himself. It is not the poor aliens, but the rich aliens I wish we had excluded. I myself wholly reject Bolshevism, not because its actions are violent, but because its very thought is materialistic and mean. And if this preference is true even of Bolshevism, it is ten times truer of Zionism. It really seems to me rather hard that the full storm of fury should have burst about the Jews, at the very moment when some of them at least have felt the call of a far cleaner ideal; and that when we have tolerated their tricks with our country, we should turn on them precisely when they seek in sincerity for their own. But in order to judge this Jewish possibility, we must understand more fully the nature of the Jewish problem. We must consider it from the start, because there are still many who do not know that there is a Jewish problem. That problem has its proof, of course, in the history of the Jew, and the fact that he came from the East. A Jew will sometimes complain of the injustice of describing him as a man of the East; but in truth another very real injustice may be involved in treating him as a man of the West. Very often even the joke against the Jew is rather a joke against those who have made the joke; that is, a joke against what they have made out of the Jew. This is true especially, for instance, of many points of religion and ritual. Thus we cannot help feeling, for instance, that there is something a little grotesque about the Hebrew habit of putting on a top-hat as an act of worship. It is vaguely mixed up with another line of humour, about another class of Jew, who wears a large number of hats; and who must not therefore be credited with an extreme or extravagant religious zeal, leading him to pile up a pagoda of hats towards heaven. To Western eyes, in Western conditions, there really is something inevitably fantastic about this formality of the synagogue. But we ought to remember that we have made the Western conditions which startle the Western eyes. It seems odd to wear a modern top-hat as if it were a mitre or a biretta; it seems quainter still when the hat is worn even for the momentary purpose of saying grace before lunch. It seems quaintest of all when, at some Jewish luncheon parties, a tray of hats is actually handed round, and each guest helps himself to a hat as a sort of _hors d'oeuvre_. All this could easily be turned into a joke; but we ought to realise that the joke is against ourselves. It is not merely we who make fun of it, but we who have made it funny. For, after all, nobody can pretend that this particular type of head-dress is a part of that uncouth imagery "setting painting and sculpture at defiance" which Renan remarked in the tradition of Hebrew civilisation. Nobody can say that a top-hat was among the strange symbolic utensils dedicated to the obscure service of the Ark; nobody can suppose that a top-hat descended from heaven among the wings and wheels of the flying visions of the Prophets. For this wild vision the West is entirely responsible. Europe has created the Tower of Giotto; but it has also created the topper. We of the West must bear the burden, as best we may, both of the responsibility and of the hat. It is solely the special type and shape of hat that makes the Hebrew ritual seem ridiculous. Performed in the old original Hebrew fashion it is not ridiculous, but rather if anything sublime. For the original fashion was an oriental fashion; and the Jews are orientals; and the mark of all such orientals is the wearing of long and loose draperies. To throw those loose draperies over the head is decidedly a dignified and even poetic gesture. One can imagine something like justice done to its majesty and mystery in one of the great dark drawings of William Blake. It may be true, and personally I think it is true, that the Hebrew covering of the head signifies a certain stress on the fear of God, which is the beginning of wisdom, while the Christian uncovering of the head suggests rather the love of God that is the end of wisdom. But this has nothing to do with the taste and dignity of the ceremony; and to do justice to these we must treat the Jew as an oriental; we must even dress him as an oriental. I have only taken this as one working example out of many that would point to the same conclusion. A number of points upon which the unfortunate alien is blamed would be much improved if he were, not less of an alien, but rather more of an alien. They arise from his being too like us, and too little like himself. It is obviously the case, for instance, touching that vivid vulgarity in clothes, and especially the colours of clothes, with which a certain sort of Jews brighten the landscape or seascape at Margate or many holiday resorts. When we see a foreign gentleman on Brighton Pier wearing yellow spats, a magenta waistcoat, and an emerald green tie, we feel that he has somehow missed certain fine shades of social sensibility and fitness. It might considerably surprise the company on Brighton Pier, if he were to reply by solemnly unwinding his green necktie from round his neck, and winding it round his head. Yet the reply would be the right one; and would be equally logical and artistic. As soon as the green tie had become a green turban, it might look as appropriate and even attractive as the green turban of any pilgrim of Mecca or any descendant of Mahomet, who walks with a stately air through the streets of Jaffa or Jerusalem. The bright colours that make the Margate Jews hideous are no brighter than those that make the Moslem crowd picturesque. They are only worn in the wrong place, in the wrong way, and in conjunction with a type and cut of clothing that is meant to be more sober and restrained. Little can really be urged against him, in that respect, except that his artistic instinct is rather for colour than form, especially of the kind that we ourselves have labelled good form. This is a mere symbol, but it is so suitable a symbol that I have often offered it symbolically as a solution of the Jewish problem. I have felt disposed to say: let all liberal legislation stand, let all literal and legal civic equality stand; let a Jew occupy any political or social position which he can gain in open competition; let us not listen for a moment to any suggestions of reactionary restrictions or racial privilege. Let a Jew be Lord Chief justice, if his exceptional veracity and reliability have clearly marked him out for that post. Let a Jew be Archbishop of Canterbury, if our national religion has attained to that receptive breadth that would render such a transition unobjectionable and even unconscious. But let there be one single-clause bill; one simple and sweeping law about Jews, and no other. Be it enacted, by the King's Most Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal and the Commons in Parliament assembled, that every Jew must be dressed like an Arab. Let him sit on the Woolsack, but let him sit there dressed as an Arab. Let him preach in St. Paul's Cathedral, but let him preach there dressed as an Arab. It is not my point at present to dwell on the pleasing if flippant fancy of how much this would transform the political scene; of the dapper figure of Sir Herbert Samuel swathed as a Bedouin, or Sir Alfred Mond gaining a yet greater grandeur from the gorgeous and trailing robes of the East. If my image is quaint my intention is quite serious; and the point of it is not personal to any particular Jew. The point applies to any Jew, and to our own recovery of healthier relations with him. The point is that we should know where we are; and he would know where he is, which is in a foreign land. This is but a parenthesis and a parable, but it brings us to the concrete controversial matter which is the Jewish problem. Only a few years ago it was regarded as a mark of a blood-thirsty disposition to admit that the Jewish problem was a problem, or even that the Jew was a Jew. Through much misunderstanding certain friends of mine and myself have persisted in disregarding the silence thus imposed; but facts have fought for us more effectively than words. By this time nobody is more conscious of the Jewish problem than the most intelligent and idealistic of the Jews. The folly of the fashion by which Jews often concealed their Jewish names, must surely be manifest by this time even to those who concealed them. To mention but one example of the way in which this fiction falsified the relations of everybody and everything, it is enough to note that it involved the Jews themselves in a quite new and quite needless unpopularity in the first years of the war. A poor little Jewish tailor, who called himself by a German name merely because he lived for a short time in a German town, was instantly mobbed in Whitechapel for his share in the invasion of Belgium. He was cross-examined about why he had damaged the tower of Rheims; and talked to as if he had killed Nurse Cavell with his own pair of shears. It was very unjust; quite as unjust as it would be to ask Bethmann-Hollweg why he had stabbed Eglon or hewn Agag in pieces. But it was partly at least the fault of the Jew himself, and of the whole of that futile and unworthy policy which had led him to call himself Bernstein when his name was Benjamin. In such cases the Jews are accused of all sorts of faults they have not got; but there are faults that they have got. Some of the charges against them, as in the cases I have quoted concerning religious ritual and artistic taste, are due merely to the false light in which they are regarded. Other faults may also be due to the false position in which they are placed. But the faults exist; and nothing was ever more dangerous to everybody concerned than the recent fashion of denying or ignoring them. It was done simply by the snobbish habit of suppressing the experience and evidence of the majority of people, and especially of the majority of poor people. It was done by confining the controversy to a small world of wealth and refinement, remote from all the real facts involved. For the rich are the most ignorant people on earth, and the best that can be said for them, in cases like these, is that their ignorance often reaches the point of innocence. I will take a typical case, which sums up the whole of this absurd fashion. There was a controversy in the columns of an important daily paper, some time ago, on the subject of the character of Shylock in Shakespeare. Actors and authors of distinction, including some of the most brilliant of living Jews, argued the matter from the most varied points of view. Some said that Shakespeare was prevented by the prejudices of his time from having a complete sympathy with Shylock. Some said that Shakespeare was only restrained by fear of the powers of his time from expressing his complete sympathy with Shylock. Some wondered how or why Shakespeare had got hold of such a queer story as that of the pound of flesh, and what it could possibly have to do with so dignified and intellectual a character as Shylock. In short, some wondered why a man of genius should be so much of an Anti-Semite, and some stoutly declared that he must have been a Pro-Semite. But all of them in a sense admitted that they were puzzled as to what the play was about. The correspondence filled column after column and went on for weeks. And from one end of that correspondence to the other, no human being even so much as mentioned the word "usury." It is exactly as if twenty clever critics were set down to talk for a month about the play of Macbeth, and were all strictly forbidden to mention the word "murder." The play called _The Merchant of Venice_ happens to be about usury, and its story is a medieval satire on usury. It is the fashion to say that it is a clumsy and grotesque story; but as a fact it is an exceedingly good story. It is a perfect and pointed story for its purpose, which is to convey the moral of the story. And the moral is that the logic of usury is in its nature at war with life, and might logically end in breaking into the bloody house of life. In other words, if a creditor can always claim a man's tools or a man's home, he might quite as justly claim one of his arms or legs. This principle was not only embodied in medieval satires but in very sound medieval laws, which set a limit on the usurer who was trying to take away a man's livelihood, as the usurer in the play is trying to take away a man's life. And if anybody thinks that usury can never go to lengths wicked enough to be worthy of so wild an image, then that person either knows nothing about it or knows too much. He is either one of the innocent rich who have never been the victims of money-lenders, or else one of the more powerful and influential rich who are money-lenders themselves. All this, I say, is a fact that must be faced, but there is another side to the case, and it is this that the genius of Shakespeare discovered. What he did do, and what the medieval satirist did not do, was to attempt to understand Shylock; in the true sense to sympathise with Shylock the money-lender, as he sympathised with Macbeth the murderer. It was not to deny that the man was an usurer, but to assert that the usurer was a man. And the Elizabethan dramatist does make him a man, where the medieval satirist made him a monster. Shakespeare not only makes him a man but a perfectly sincere and self-respecting man. But the point is this: that he is a sincere man who sincerely believes in usury. He is a self-respecting man who does not despise himself for being a usurer. In one word, he regards usury as normal. In that word is the whole problem of the popular impression of the Jews. What Shakespeare suggested about the Jew in a subtle and sympathetic way, millions of plain men everywhere would suggest about him in a rough and ready way. Regarding the Jew in relation to his ideas about interest, they think either that he is simply immoral; or that if he is moral, then he has a different morality. There is a great deal more to be said about how far this is true, and about what are its causes and excuses if it is true. But it is an old story, surely, that the worst of all cures is to deny the disease. To recognise the reality of the Jewish problem is very vital for everybody and especially vital for Jews. To pretend that there is no problem is to precipitate the expression of a rational impatience, which unfortunately can only express itself in the rather irrational form of Anti-Semitism. In the controversies of Palestine and Syria, for instance, it is very common to hear the answer that the Jew is no worse than the Armenian. The Armenian also is said to be unpopular as a money-lender and a mercantile upstart; yet the Armenian figures as a martyr for the Christian faith and a victim of the Moslem fury. But this is one of those arguments which really carry their own answer. It is like the sceptical saying that man is only an animal, which of itself provokes the retort, "What an animal!" The very similarity only emphasises the contrast. Is it seriously suggested that we can substitute the Armenian for the Jew in the study of a world-wide problem like that of the Jews? Could we talk of the competition of Armenians among Welsh shop-keepers, or of the crowd of Armenians on Brighton Parade? Can Armenian usury be a common topic of talk in a camp in California and in a club in Piccadilly? Does Shakespeare show us a tragic Armenian towering over the great Venice of the Renascence? Does Dickens show us a realistic Armenian teaching in the thieves' kitchens of the slums? When we meet Mr. Vernon Vavasour, that brilliant financier, do we speculate on the probability of his really having an Armenian name to match his Armenian nose? Is it true, in short, that all sorts of people, from the peasants of Poland to the peasants of Portugal, can agree more or less upon the special subject of Armenia? Obviously it is not in the least true; obviously the Armenian question is only a local question of certain Christians, who may be more avaricious than other Christians. But it is the truth about the Jews. It is only half the truth, and one which by itself would be very unjust to the Jews. But it is the truth, and we must realise it as sharply and clearly as we can. The truth is that it is rather strange that the Jews should be so anxious for international agreements. For one of the few really international agreements is a suspicion of the Jews. A more practical comparison would be one between the Jews and gipsies; for the latter at least cover several countries, and can be tested by the impressions of very different districts. And in some preliminary respects the comparison is really useful. Both races are in different ways landless, and therefore in different ways lawless. For the fundamental laws are land laws. In both cases a reasonable man will see reasons for unpopularity, without wishing to indulge any task for persecution. In both cases he will probably recognise the reality of a racial fault, while admitting that it may be largely a racial misfortune. That is to say, the drifting and detached condition may be largely the cause of Jewish usury or gipsy pilfering; but it is not common sense to contradict the general experience of gipsy pilfering or Jewish usury. The comparison helps us to clear away some of the cloudy evasions by which modern men have tried to escape from that experience. It is absurd to say that people are only prejudiced against the money methods of the Jews because the medieval church has left behind a hatred of their religion. We might as well say that people only protect the chickens from the gipsies because the medieval church undoubtedly condemned fortune-telling. It is unreasonable for a Jew to complain that Shakespeare makes Shylock and not Antonio the ruthless money-lender; or that Dickens makes Fagin and not Sikes the receiver of stolen goods. It is as if a gipsy were to complain when a novelist describes a child as stolen by the gipsies, and not by the curate or the mothers' meeting. It is to complain of facts and probabilities. There may be good gipsies; there may be good qualities which specially belong to them as gipsies; many students of the strange race have, for instance, praised a certain dignity and self-respect among the women of the Romany. But no student ever praised them for an exaggerated respect for private property, and the whole argument about gipsy theft can be roughly repeated about Hebrew usury. Above all, there is one other respect in which the comparison is even more to the point. It is the essential fact of the whole business, that the Jews do not become national merely by becoming a political part of any nation. We might as well say that the gipsies had villas in Clapham, when their caravans stood on Clapham Common. But, of course, even this comparison between the two wandering peoples fails in the presence of the greater problem. Here again even the attempt at a parallel leaves the primary thing more unique. The gipsies do not become municipal merely by passing through a number of parishes, and it would seem equally obvious that a Jew need not become English merely by passing through England on his way from Germany to America. But the gipsy not only is not municipal, but he is not called municipal. His caravan is not immediately painted outside with the number and name of 123 Laburnam Road, Clapham. The municipal authorities generally notice the wheels attached to the new cottage, and therefore do not fall into the error. The gipsy may halt in a particular parish, but he is not as a rule immediately made a parish councillor. The cases in which a travelling tinker has been suddenly made the mayor of an important industrial town must be comparatively rare. And if the poor vagabonds of the Romany blood are bullied by mayors and magistrates, kicked off the land by landlords, pursued by policemen and generally knocked about from pillar to post, nobody raises an outcry that _they_ are the victims of religious persecution; nobody summons meetings in public halls, collects subscriptions or sends petitions to parliament; nobody threatens anybody else with the organised indignation of the gipsies all over the world. The case of the Jew in the nation is very different from that of the tinker in the town. The moral elements that can be appealed to are of a very different style and scale. No gipsies are millionaires. In short, the Jewish problem differs from anything like the gipsy problem in two highly practical respects. First, the Jews already exercise colossal cosmopolitan financial power. And second, the modern societies they live in also grant them vital forms of national political power. Here the vagrant is already as rich as a miser and the vagrant is actually made a mayor. As will be seen shortly, there is a Jewish side of the story which leads really to the same ending of the story; but the truth stated here is quite independent of any sympathetic or unsympathetic view of the race in question. It is a question of fact, which a sensible Jew can afford to recognise, and which the most sensible Jews do very definitely recognise. It is really irrational for anybody to pretend that the Jews are only a curious sect of Englishmen, like the Plymouth Brothers or the Seventh Day Baptists, in the face of such a simple fact as the family of Rothschild. Nobody can pretend that such an English sect can establish five brothers, or even cousins, in the five great capitals of Europe. Nobody can pretend that the Seventh Day Baptists are the seven grandchildren of one grandfather, scattered systematically among the warring nations of the earth. Nobody thinks the Plymouth Brothers are literally brothers, or that they are likely to be quite as powerful in Paris or in Petrograd as in Plymouth. The Jewish problem can be stated very simply after all. It is normal for the nation to contain the family. With the Jews the family is generally divided among the nations. This may not appear to matter to those who do not believe in nations, those who really think there ought not to be any nations. But I literally fail to understand anybody who does believe in patriotism thinking that this state of affairs can be consistent with it. It is in its nature intolerable, from a national standpoint, that a man admittedly powerful in one nation should be bound to a man equally powerful in another nation, by ties more private and personal even than nationality. Even when the purpose is not any sort of treachery, the very position is a sort of treason. Given the passionately patriotic peoples of the west of Europe especially, the state of things cannot conceivably be satisfactory to a patriot. But least of all can it conceivably be satisfactory to a Jewish patriot; by which I do not mean a sham Englishman or a sham Frenchman, but a man who is sincerely patriotic for the historic and highly civilised nation of the Jews. For what may be criticised here as Anti-Semitism is only the negative side of Zionism. For the sake of convenience I have begun by stating it in terms of the universal popular impression which some call a popular prejudice. But such a truth of differentiation is equally true on both its different sides. Suppose somebody proposes to mix up England and America, under some absurd name like the Anglo-Saxon Empire. One man may say, "Why should the jolly English inns and villages be swamped by these priggish provincial Yankees?" Another may say, "Why should the real democracy of a young country be tied to your snobbish old squirarchy?" But both these views are only versions of the same view of a great American: "God never made one people good enough to rule another." The primary point about Zionism is that, whether it is right or wrong, it does offer a real and reasonable answer both to Anti-Semitism and to the charge of Anti-Semitism. The usual phrases about religious persecution and racial hatred are not reasonable answers, or answers at all. These Jews do not deny that they are Jews; they do not deny that Jews may be unpopular; they do not deny that there may be other than superstitious reasons for their unpopularity. They are not obliged to maintain that when a Piccadilly dandy talks about being in the hands of the Jews he is moved by the theological fanaticism that prevails in Piccadilly; or that when a silly youth on Derby Day says he was done by a dirty Jew, he is merely conforming to that Christian orthodoxy which is one of the strict traditions of the Turf. They are not, like some other Jews, forced to pay so extravagant a compliment to the Christian religion as to suppose it the ruling motive of half the discontented talk in clubs and public-houses, of nearly every business man who suspects a foreign financier, or nearly every working man who grumbles against the local pawn-broker. Religious mania, unfortunately, is not so common. The Zionists do not need to deny any of these things; what they offer is not a denial but a diagnosis and a remedy. Whether their diagnosis is correct, whether their remedy is practicable, we will try to consider later, with something like a fair summary of what is to be said on both sides. But their theory, on the face of it, is perfectly reasonable. It is the theory that any abnormal qualities in the Jews are due to the abnormal position of the Jews. They are traders rather than producers because they have no land of their own from which to produce, and they are cosmopolitans rather than patriots because they have no country of their own for which to be patriotic. They can no more become farmers while they are vagrant than they could have built the Temple of Solomon while they were building the Pyramids of Egypt. They can no more feel the full stream of nationalism while they wander in the desert of nomadism than they could bathe in the waters of Jordan while they were weeping by the waters of Babylon. For exile is the worst kind of bondage. In insisting upon that at least the Zionists have insisted upon a profound truth, with many applications to many other moral issues. It is true that for any one whose heart is set on a particular home or shrine, to be locked out is to be locked in. The narrowest possible prison for him is the whole world. It will be well to notice briefly, however, how the principle applies to the two Anti-Semitic arguments already considered. The first is the charge of usury and unproductive loans, the second the charge either of treason or of unpatriotic detachment. The charge of usury is regarded, not unreasonably, as only a specially dangerous development of the general charge of uncreative commerce and the refusal of creative manual exercise; the unproductive loan is only a minor form of the unproductive labour. It is certainly true that the latter complaint is, if possible, commoner than the former, especially in comparatively simple communities like those of Palestine. A very honest Moslem Arab said to me, with a singular blend of simplicity and humour, "A Jew does not work; but he grows rich. You never see a Jew working; and yet they grow rich. What I want to know is, why do we not all do the same? Why do we not also do this and become rich?" This is, I need hardly say, an over-simplification. Jews often work hard at some things, especially intellectual things. But the same experience which tells us that we have known many industrious Jewish scholars, Jewish lawyers, Jewish doctors, Jewish pianists, chess-players and so on, is an experience which cuts both ways. The same experience, if carefully consulted, will probably tell us that we have not known personally many patient Jewish ploughmen, many laborious Jewish blacksmiths, many active Jewish hedgers and ditchers, or even many energetic Jewish hunters and fishermen. In short, the popular impression is tolerably true to life, as popular impressions very often are; though it is not fashionable to say so in these days of democracy and self-determination. Jews do not generally work on the land, or in any of the handicrafts that are akin to the land; but the Zionists reply that this is because it can never really be their own land. That is Zionism, and that has really a practical place in the past and future of Zion. Patriotism is not merely dying for the nation. It is dying with the nation. It is regarding the fatherland not merely as a real resting-place like an inn, but as a final resting-place, like a house or even a grave. Even the most Jingo of the Jews do not feel like this about their adopted country; and I doubt if the most intelligent of the Jews would pretend that they did. Even if we can bring ourselves to believe that Disraeli lived for England, we cannot think that he would have died with her. If England had sunk in the Atlantic he would not have sunk with her, but easily floated over to America to stand for the Presidency. Even if we are profoundly convinced that Mr. Beit or Mr. Eckstein had patriotic tears in his eyes when he obtained a gold concession from Queen Victoria, we cannot believe that in her absence he would have refused a similar concession from the German Emperor. When the Jew in France or in England says he is a good patriot he only means that he is a good citizen, and he would put it more truly if he said he was a good exile. Sometimes indeed he is an abominably bad citizen, and a most exasperating and execrable exile, but I am not talking of that side of the case. I am assuming that a man like Disraeli did really make a romance of England, that a man like Dernburg did really make a romance of Germany, and it is still true that though it was a romance, they would not have allowed it to be a tragedy. They would have seen that the story had a happy ending, especially for themselves. These Jews would not have died with any Christian nation. But the Jews did die with Jerusalem. That is the first and last great truth in Zionism. Jerusalem was destroyed and Jews were destroyed with it, men who cared no longer to live because the city of their faith had fallen. It may be questioned whether all the Zionists have all the sublime insanity of the Zealots. But at least it is not nonsense to suggest that the Zionists might feel like this about Zion. It is nonsense to suggest that they would ever feel like this about Dublin or Moscow. And so far at least the truth both in Semitism and Anti-Semitism is included in Zionism. It is a commonplace that the infamous are more famous than the famous. Byron noted, with his own misanthropic moral, that we think more of Nero the monster who killed his mother than of Nero the noble Roman who defeated Hannibal. The name of Julian more often suggests Julian the Apostate than Julian the Saint; though the latter crowned his canonisation with the sacred glory of being the patron saint of inn-keepers. But the best example of this unjust historical habit is the most famous of all and the most infamous of all. If there is one proper noun which has become a common noun, if there is one name which has been generalised till it means a thing, it is certainly the name of Judas. We should hesitate perhaps to call it a Christian name, except in the more evasive form of Jude. And even that, as the name of a more faithful apostle, is another illustration of the same injustice; for, by comparison with the other, Jude the faithful might almost be called Jude the obscure. The critic who said, whether innocently or ironically, "What wicked men these early Christians were!" was certainly more successful in innocence than in irony; for he seems to have been innocent or ignorant of the whole idea of the Christian communion. Judas Iscariot was one of the very earliest of all possible early Christians. And the whole point about him was that his hand was in the same dish; the traitor is always a friend, or he could never be a foe. But the point for the moment is merely that the name is known everywhere merely as the name of a traitor. The name of Judas nearly always means Judas Iscariot; it hardly ever means Judas Maccabeus. And if you shout out "Judas" to a politician in the thick of a political tumult, you will have some difficulty in soothing him afterwards, with the assurance that you had merely traced in him something of that splendid zeal and valour which dragged down the tyranny of Antiochus, in the day of the great deliverance of Israel. Those two possible uses of the name of Judas would give us yet another compact embodiment of the case for Zionism. Numberless international Jews have gained the bad name of Judas, and some have certainly earned it. If you have gained or earned the good name of Judas, it can quite fairly and intelligently be affirmed that this was not the fault of the Jews, but of the peculiar position of the Jews. A man can betray like Judas Iscariot in another man's house; but a man cannot fight like Judas Maccabeus for another man's temple. There is no more truly rousing revolutionary story amid all the stories of mankind, there is no more perfect type of the element of chivalry in rebellion, than that magnificent tale of the Maccabee who stabbed from underneath the elephant of Antiochus and died under the fall of that huge and living castle. But it would be unreasonable to ask Mr. Montagu to stick a knife into the elephant on which Lord Curzon, let us say, was riding in all the pomp of Asiatic imperialism. For Mr. Montagu would not be liberating his own land; and therefore he naturally prefers to interest himself either in operations in silver or in somewhat slower and less efficient methods of liberation. In short, whatever we may think of the financial or social services such as were rendered to England in the affair of Marconi, or to France in the affair of Panama, it must be admitted that these exhibit a humbler and more humdrum type of civic duty, and do not remind us of the more reckless virtues of the Maccabees or the Zealots. A man may be a good citizen of anywhere, but he cannot be a national hero of nowhere; and for this particular type of patriotic passion it is necessary to have a _patria_. The Zionists therefore are maintaining a perfectly reasonable proposition, both about the charge of usury and the charge of treason, if they claim that both could be cured by the return to a national soil as promised in Zionism. Unfortunately they are not always reasonable about their own reasonable proposition. Some of them have a most unlucky habit of ignoring, and therefore implicitly denying, the very evil that they are wisely trying to cure. I have already remarked this irritating innocence in the first of the two questions; the criticism that sees everything in Shylock except the point of him, or the point of his knife. How in the politics of Palestine at this moment this first question is in every sense the primary question. Palestine has hardly as yet a patriotism to be betrayed; but it certainly has a peasantry to be oppressed, and especially to be oppressed as so many peasantries have been with usury and forestalling. The Syrians and Arabs and all the agricultural and pastoral populations of Palestine are, rightly or wrongly, alarmed and angered at the advent of the Jews to power; for the perfectly practical and simple reason of the reputation which the Jews have all over the world. It is really ridiculous in people so intelligent as the Jews, and especially so intelligent as the Zionists, to ignore so enormous and elementary a fact as that reputation and its natural results. It may or may not in this case be unjust; but in any case it is not unnatural. It may be the result of persecution, but it is one that has definitely resulted. It may be the consequence of a misunderstanding; but it is a misunderstanding that must itself be understood. Rightly or wrongly, certain people in Palestine fear the coming of the Jews as they fear the coming of the locusts; they regard them as parasites that feed on a community by a thousand methods of financial intrigue and economic exploitation. I could understand the Jews indignantly denying this, or eagerly disproving it, or best of all, explaining what is true in it while exposing what is untrue. What is strange, I might almost say weird, about the attitude of some quite intelligent and sincere Zionists, is that they talk, write and apparently think as if there were no such thing in the world. I will give one curious example from one of the best and most brilliant of the Zionists. Dr. Weizmann is a man of large mind and human sympathies; and it is difficult to believe that any one with so fine a sense of humanity can be entirely empty of anything like a sense of humour. Yet, in the middle of a very temperate and magnanimous address on "Zionist Policy," he can actually say a thing like this, "The Arabs need us with our knowledge, and our experience and our money. If they do not have us they will fall into the hands of others, they will fall among sharks." One is tempted for the moment to doubt whether any one else in the world could have said that, except the Jew with his strange mixture of brilliancy and blindness, of subtlety and simplicity. It is much as if President Wilson were to say, "Unless America deals with Mexico, it will be dealt with by some modern commercial power, that has trust-magnates and hustling millionaires." But would President Wilson say it? It is as if the German Chancellor had said, "We must rush to the rescue of the poor Belgians, or they may be put under some system with a rigid militarism and a bullying bureaucracy." But would even a German Chancellor put it exactly like that? Would anybody put it in the exact order of words and structure of sentence in which Dr. Weizmann has put it? Would even the Turks say, "The Armenians need us with our order and our discipline and our arms. If they do not have us they will fall into the hands of others, they will perhaps be in danger of massacres." I suspect that a Turk would see the joke, even if it were as grim a joke as the massacres themselves. If the Zionists wish to quiet the fears of the Arabs, surely the first thing to do is to discover what the Arabs are afraid of. And very little investigation will reveal the simple truth that they are very much afraid of sharks; and that in their book of symbolic or heraldic zoology it is the Jew who is adorned with the dorsal fin and the crescent of cruel teeth. This may be a fairy-tale about a fabulous animal; but it is one which all sorts of races believe, and certainly one which these races believe. But the case is yet more curious than that. These simple tribes are afraid, not only of the dorsal fin and dental arrangements which Dr. Weizmann may say (with some justice) that he has not got; they are also afraid of the other things which he says he has got. They may be in error, at the first superficial glance, in mistaking a respectable professor for a shark. But they can hardly be mistaken in attributing to the respectable professor what he himself considers as his claims to respect. And as the imagery about the shark may be too metaphorical or almost mythological, there is not the smallest difficulty in stating in plain words what the Arabs fear in the Jews. They fear, in exact terms, their knowledge and their experience and their money. The Arabs fear exactly the three things which he says they need. Only the Arabs would call it a knowledge of financial trickery and an experience of political intrigue, and the power given by hoards of money not only of their own but of other peoples. About Dr. Weizmann and the true Zionists this is self-evidently unjust; but about Jewish influence of the more visible and vulgar kind it has to be proved to be unjust. Feeling as I do the force of the real case for Zionism, I venture most earnestly to implore the Jews to disprove it, and not to dismiss it. But above all I implore them not to be content with assuring us again and again of their knowledge and their experience and their money. That is what people dread like a pestilence or an earthquake; their knowledge and their experience and their money. It is needless for Dr. Weizmann to tell us that he does not desire to enter Palestine like a Junker or drive thousands of Arabs forcibly out of the land; nobody supposes that Dr. Weizmann looks like a Junker; and nobody among the enemies of the Jews says that they have driven their foes in that fashion since the wars with the Canaanites. But for the Jews to reassure us by insisting on their own economic culture or commercial education is exactly like the Junkers reassuring us by insisting on the unquestioned supremacy of their Kaiser or the unquestioned obedience of their soldiers. Men bar themselves in their houses, or even hide themselves in their cellars, when such virtues are abroad in the land. In short the fear of the Jews in Palestine, reasonable or unreasonable, is a thing that must be answered by reason. It is idle for the unpopular thing to answer with boasts, especially boasts of the very quality that makes it unpopular. But I think it could be answered by reason, or at any rate tested by reason; and the tests by consideration. The principle is still as stated above; that the tests must not merely insist on the virtues the Jews do show, but rather deal with the particular virtues which they are generally accused of not showing. It is necessary to understand this more thoroughly than it is generally understood, and especially better than it is usually stated in the language of fashionable controversy. For the question involves the whole success or failure of Zionism. Many of the Zionists know it; but I rather doubt whether most of the Anti-Zionists know that they know it. And some of the phrases of the Zionists, such as those that I have noted, too often tend to produce the impression that they ignore when they are not ignorant. They are not ignorant; and they do not ignore in practice; even when an intellectual habit makes them seem to ignore in theory. Nobody who has seen a Jewish rural settlement, such as Rishon, can doubt that some Jews are sincerely filled with the vision of sitting under their own vine and fig-tree, and even with its accompanying lesson that it is first necessary to grow the fig-tree and the vine. The true test of Zionism may seem a topsy-turvy test. It will not succeed by the number of successes, but rather by the number of failures, or what the world (and certainly not least the Jewish world) has generally called failures. It will be tested, not by whether Jews can climb to the top of the ladder, but by whether Jews can remain at the bottom; not by whether they have a hundred arts of becoming important, but by whether they have any skill in the art of remaining insignificant. It is often noted that the intelligent Israelite can rise to positions of power and trust outside Israel, like Witte in Russia or Rufus Isaacs in England. It is generally bad, I think, for their adopted country; but in any case it is no good for the particular problem of their own country. Palestine cannot have a population of Prime Ministers and Chief Justices; and if those they rule and judge are not Jews, then we have not established a commonwealth but only an oligarchy. It is said again that the ancient Jews turned their enemies into hewers of wood and drawers of water. The modern Jews have to turn themselves into hewers of wood and drawers of water. If they cannot do that, they cannot turn themselves into citizens, but only into a kind of alien bureaucrats, of all kinds the most perilous and the most imperilled. Hence a Jewish state will not be a success when the Jews in it are successful, or even when the Jews in it are statesmen. It will be a success when the Jews in it are scavengers, when the Jews in it are sweeps, when they are dockers and ditchers and porters and hodmen. When the Zionist can point proudly to a Jewish navvy who has _not_ risen in the world, an under-gardener who is not now taking his ease as an upper-gardener, a yokel who is still a yokel, or even a village idiot at least sufficiently idiotic to remain in his village, then indeed the world will come to blow the trumpets and lift up the heads of the everlasting gates; for God will have turned the captivity of Zion. Zionists of whose sincerity I am personally convinced, and of whose intelligence anybody would be convinced, have told me that there really is, in places like Rishon, something like a beginning of this spirit; the love of the peasant for his land. One lady, even in expressing her conviction of it, called it "this very un-Jewish characteristic." She was perfectly well aware both of the need of it in the Jewish land, and the lack of it in the Jewish race. In short she was well aware of the truth of that seemingly topsy-turvy test I have suggested; that of whether men are worthy to be drudges. When a humorous and humane Jew thus accepts the test, and honestly expects the Jewish people to pass it, then I think the claim is very serious indeed, and one not lightly to be set aside. I do certainly think it a very serious responsibility under the circumstances to set it altogether aside. It is our whole complaint against the Jew that he does not till the soil or toil with the spade; it is very hard on him to refuse him if he really says, "Give me a soil and I will till it; give me a spade and I will use it." It is our whole reason for distrusting him that he cannot really love any of the lands in which he wanders; it seems rather indefensible to be deaf to him if he really says, "Give me a land and I will love it." I would certainly give him a land or some instalment of the land, (in what general sense I will try to suggest a little later) so long as his conduct on it was watched and tested according to the principles I have suggested. If he asks for the spade he must use the spade, and not merely employ the spade, in the sense of hiring half a hundred men to use spades. If he asks for the soil he must till the soil; that is he must belong to the soil and not merely make the soil belong to him. He must have the simplicity, and what many would call the stupidity of the peasant. He must not only call a spade a spade, but regard it as a spade and not as a speculation. By some true conversion the urban and modern man must be not only on the soil, but of the soil, and free from our urban trick of inventing the word dirt for the dust to which we shall return. He must be washed in mud, that he may be clean. How far this can really happen it is very hard for anybody, especially a casual visitor, to discover in the present crisis. It is admitted that there is much Arab and Syrian labour employed; and this in itself would leave all the danger of the Jew as a mere capitalist. The Jews explain it, however, by saying that the Arabs will work for a lower wage, and that this is necessarily a great temptation to the struggling colonists. In this they may be acting naturally as colonists, but it is none the less clear that they are not yet acting literally as labourers. It may not be their fault that they are not proving themselves to be peasants; but it is none the less clear that this situation in itself does not prove them to be peasants. So far as that is concerned, it still remains to be decided finally whether a Jew will be an agricultural labourer, if he is a decently paid agricultural labourer. On the other hand, the leaders of these local experiments, if they have not yet shown the higher materialism of peasants, most certainly do not show the lower materialism of capitalists. There can be no doubt of the patriotic and even poetic spirit in which many of them hope to make their ancient wilderness blossom like the rose. They at least would still stand among the great prophets of Israel, and none the less though they prophesied in vain. I have tried to state fairly the case for Zionism, for the reason already stated; that I think it intellectually unjust that any attempt of the Jews to regularise their position should merely be rejected as one of their irregularities. But I do not disguise the enormous difficulties of doing it in the particular conditions Of Palestine. In fact the greatest of the real difficulties of Zionism is that it has to take place in Zion. There are other difficulties, however, which when they are not specially the fault of Zionists are very much the fault of Jews. The worst is the general impression of a business pressure from the more brutal and businesslike type of Jew, which arouses very violent and very just indignation. When I was in Jerusalem it was openly said that Jewish financiers had complained of the low rate of interest at which loans were made by the government to the peasantry, and even that the government had yielded to them. If this were true it was a heavier reproach to the government even than to the Jews. But the general truth is that such a state of feeling seems to make the simple and solid patriotism of a Palestinian Jewish nation practically impossible, and forces us to consider some alternative or some compromise. The most sensible statement of a compromise I heard among the Zionists was suggested to me by Dr. Weizmann, who is a man not only highly intelligent but ardent and sympathetic. And the phrase he used gives the key to my own rough conception of a possible solution, though he himself would probably, not accept that solution. Dr. Weizmann suggested, if I understood him rightly, that he did not think Palestine could be a single and simple national territory quite in the sense of France; but he did not see why it should not be a commonwealth of cantons after the manner of Switzerland. Some of these could be Jewish cantons, others Arab cantons, and so on according to the type of population. This is in itself more reasonable than much that is suggested on the same side; but the point of it for my own purpose is more particular. This idea, whether it correctly represents Dr. Weizmann's meaning or no, clearly involves the abandonment of the solidarity of Palestine, and tolerates the idea of groups of Jews being separated from each other by populations of a different type. Now if once this notion be considered admissible, it seems to me capable of considerable extension. It seems possible that there might be not only Jewish cantons in Palestine but Jewish cantons outside Palestine, Jewish colonies in suitable and selected places in adjacent parts or in many other parts of the world. They might be affiliated to some official centre in Palestine, or even in Jerusalem, where there would naturally be at least some great religious headquarters of the scattered race and religion. The nature of that religious centre it must be for Jews to decide; but I think if I were a Jew I would build the Temple without bothering about the site of the Temple. That they should have the old site, of course, is not to be thought of; it would raise a Holy War from Morocco to the marches of China. But seeing that some of the greatest of the deeds of Israel were done, and some of the most glorious of the songs of Israel sung, when their only temple was a box carried about in the desert, I cannot think that the mere moving of the situation of the place of sacrifice need even mean so much to that historic tradition as it would to many others. That the Jews should have some high place of dignity and ritual in Palestine, such as a great building like the Mosque of Omar, is certainly right and reasonable; for upon no theory can their historic connection be dismissed. I think it is sophistry to say, as do some Anti-Semites, that the Jews have no more right there than the Jebusites. If there are Jebusites they are Jebusites without knowing it. I think it sufficiently answered in the fine phrase of an English priest, in many ways more Anti-Semitic than I: "The people that remembers has a right." The very worst of the Jews, as well as the very best, do in some sense remember. They are hated and persecuted and frightened into false names and double lives; but they remember. They lie, they swindle, they betray, they oppress; but they remember. The more we happen to hate such elements among the Hebrews the more we admire the manly and magnificent elements among the more vague and vagrant tribes of Palestine, the more we must admit that paradox. The unheroic have the heroic memory; and the heroic people have no memory. But whatever the Jewish nation might wish to do about a national shrine or other supreme centre, the suggestion for the moment is that something like a Jewish territorial scheme might really be attempted, if we permit the Jews to be scattered no longer as individuals but as groups. It seems possible that by some such extension of the definition of Zionism we might ultimately overcome even the greatest difficulty of Zionism, the difficulty of resettling a sufficient number of so large a race on so small a land. For if the advantage of the ideal to the Jews is to gain the promised land, the advantage to the Gentiles is to get rid of the Jewish problem, and I do not see why we should obtain all their advantage and none of our own. Therefore I would leave as few Jews as possible in other established nations, and to these I would give a special position best described as privilege; some sort of self-governing enclave with special laws and exemptions; for instance, I would certainly excuse them from conscription, which I think a gross injustice in their case. [Footnote: Of course the privileged exile would also lose the rights of a native.] A Jew might be treated as respectfully as a foreign ambassador, but a foreign ambassador is a foreigner. Finally, I would give the same privileged position to all Jews everywhere, as an alternative policy to Zionism, if Zionism failed by the test I have named; the only true and the only tolerable test; if the Jews had not so much failed as peasants as succeeded as capitalists. There is one word to be added; it will be noted that inevitably and even against some of my own desires, the argument has returned to that recurrent conclusion, which was found in the Roman Empire and the Crusades. The European can do justice to the Jew; but it must be the European who does it. Such a possibility as I have thrown out, and any other possibility that any one can think of, becomes at once impossible without some idea of a general suzerainty of Christendom over the lands of the Moslem and the Jew. Personally, I think it would be better if it were a general suzerainty of Christendom, rather than a particular supremacy of England. And I feel this, not from a desire to restrain the English power, but rather from a desire to defend it. I think there is not a little danger to England in the diplomatic situation involved; but that is a diplomatic question that it is neither within my power or duty to discuss adequately. But if I think it would be wiser for France and England together to hold Syria and Palestine together rather than separately, that only completes and clinches the conclusion that has haunted me, with almost uncanny recurrence, since I first saw Jerusalem sitting on the hill like a turreted town in England or in France; and for one moment the dark dome of it was again the Templum Domini, and the tower on it was the Tower of Tancred. Anyhow with the failure of Zionism would fall the last and best attempt at a rationalistic theory of the Jew. We should be left facing a mystery which no other rationalism has ever come so near to providing within rational cause and cure. Whatever we do, we shall not return to that insular innocence and comfortable unconsciousness of Christendom, in which the Victorian agnostics could suppose that the Semitic problem was a brief medieval insanity. In this as in greater things, even if we lost our faith we could not recover our agnosticism. We can never recover agnosticism, any more than any other kind of ignorance. We know that there is a Jewish problem; we only hope that there is a Jewish solution. If there is not, there is no other. We cannot believe again that the Jew is an Englishman with certain theological theories, any more than we can believe again any other part of the optimistic materialism whose temple is the Albert Memorial. A scheme of guilds may be attempted and may be a failure; but never again can we respect mere Capitalism for its success. An attack may be made on political corruption, and it may be a failure; but never again can we believe that our politics are not corrupt. And so Zionism may be attempted and may be a failure; but never again can we ourselves be at ease in Zion. Or rather, I should say, if the Jew cannot be at ease in Zion we can never again persuade ourselves that he is at ease out of Zion. We can only salute as it passes that restless and mysterious figure, knowing at last that there must be in him something mystical as well as mysterious; that whether in the sense of the sorrows of Christ or of the sorrows of Cain, he must pass by, for he belongs to God. CONCLUSION To have worn a large scallop shell in my hat in the streets of London might have been deemed ostentatious, to say nothing of carrying a staff like a long pole; and wearing sandals might have proclaimed rather that I had not come from Jerusalem but from Letchworth, which some identify with the New Jerusalem descending out of heaven from God. Lacking such attributes, I passed through South England as one who might have come from Ramsgate or from anywhere; and the only symbol left to me of my pilgrimage was a cheap ring of metal coloured like copper and brass. For on it was written in Greek characters the word "Jerusalem," and though it may be less valuable than a brass nail, I do not think you can buy it in the Strand. All those enormous and everlasting things, all those gates of bronze and mosaics of purple and peacock colouring, all those chapels of gold and columns of crimson marble, had all shrivelled up and dwindled down to that one small thread of red metal round my finger. I could not help having a feeling, like Aladdin, that if I rubbed the ring perhaps all those towers would rise again. And there was a sort of feeling of truth in the fancy after all. We talk of the changeless East; but in one sense the impression of it is really rather changing, with its wandering tribes and its shifting sands, in which the genii of the East might well build the palace or the paradise of a day. As I saw the low and solid English cottages rising around me amid damp delightful thickets under rainy skies, I felt that in a deeper sense it is rather we who build for permanence or at least for a sort of peace. It is something more than comfort; a relative and reasonable contentment. And there came back on me like a boomerang a rather indescribable thought which had circled round my head through most of my journey; that Christendom is like a gigantic bronze come out of the furnace of the Near East; that in Asia is only the fire and in Europe the form. The nearest to what I mean was suggested in that very striking book _Form and Colour_, by Mr. March Philips. When I spoke of the idols of Asia, many moderns may well have murmured against such a description of the ideals of Buddha or Mrs. Besant. To which I can only reply that I do know a little about the ideals, and I think I prefer the idols. I have far more sympathy with the enthusiasm for a nice green or yellow idol, with nine arms and three heads, than with the philosophy ultimately represented by the snake devouring his tail; the awful sceptical argument in a circle by which everything begins and ends in the mind. I would far rather be a fetish worshipper and have a little fun, than be an oriental pessimist expected always to smile like an optimist. Now it seems to me that the fighting Christian creed is the one thing that has been in that mystical circle and broken out of it, and become something real as well. It has gone westward by a sort of centrifugal force, like a stone from a sling; and so made the revolving Eastern mind, as the Franciscan said in Jerusalem, do something at last. Anyhow, although I carried none of the trappings of a pilgrim I felt strongly disposed to take the privileges of one. I wanted to be entertained at the firesides of total strangers, in the medieval manner, and to tell them interminable tales of my travels. I wanted to linger in Dover, and try it on the citizens of that town. I nearly got out of the train at several wayside stations, where I saw secluded cottages which might be brightened by a little news from the Holy Land. For it seemed to me that all my fellow-countrymen must be my friends; all these English places had come much closer together after travels that seemed in comparison as vast as the spaces between the stars. The hop-fields of Kent seemed to me like outlying parts of my own kitchen garden; and London itself to be really situated at London End. London was perhaps the largest of the suburbs of Beaconsfield. By the time I came to Beaconsfield itself, dusk was dropping over the beechwoods and the white cross-roads. The distance seemed to grow deeper and richer with darkness as I went up the long lanes towards my home; and in that distance, as I drew nearer, I heard the barking of a dog. 
15953	----	THE CITY OF DELIGHT A Love Drama of the Siege and Fall of Jerusalem by Elizabeth Miller Author of _The Yoke_ and _Saul of Tarsus_ With Illustrations by F.X. Leyendecker Indianapolis The Bobbs-Merrill Company Publishers 1908 March [Illustration] To My Elder Brother Otto Miller CONTENTS Chapter Page I A Prince's Bride 1 II On the Road to Jerusalem 31 III The Shepherd of Pella 56 IV The Travelers 85 V By the Wayside 108 VI Dawn in the Hills 124 VII Imperial Cæsar 148 VIII Greek and Jew 169 IX The Young Titus 189 X The Story of a Divine Tragedy 212 XI The House of Offense 233 XII The Prince Returns 253 XIII A New Pretender 274 XIV The Pride of Amaryllis 284 XV The Image of Jealousy 300 XVI The Spread Net 322 XVII The Tangled Web 337 XVIII In the Sunless Crypt 358 XIX The False Prophet 374 XX As the Foam upon Water 390 XXI The Faithful Servant 408 XXII Vanished Hopes 417 XXIII The Fulfilment 427 XXIV The Road to Pella 441 THE CITY OF DELIGHT Chapter I A PRINCE'S BRIDE The chief merchant of Ascalon stood in the guest-chamber of his house. Although it was a late winter day the old man was clad in the free white garments of a midsummer afternoon, for to the sorrow of Philistia the cold season of the year sixty-nine had been warm, wet and miasmic. An old woman entering presently glanced at the closed windows of the apartment when she noted the flushed face of the merchant but she made no movement to have them opened. More than the warmth of the day was engaging the attention of the grave old man, and the woman, by dress and manner of equal rank with him, stood aside until he could give her a moment. His porter bowed at his side. "The servants of Philip of Tyre are without," he said. "Shall they enter?" "They have come for the furnishings," Costobarus answered. "Take thou all the household but Momus and Hiram, and dismantle the rooms for them. Begin in the library; then the sleeping-rooms; this chamber next; the kitchen last of all. Send Hiram to the stables to except three good camels from the herd for our use. Let Momus look to the baggage. Where is Keturah?" A woman servant hastening after a line of men bearing a great divan, picking up the draperies and pillows that had dropped, stopped and salaamed to her master. "Is our apparel ready?" he asked. "Prepared, master," was the response. "Then send hither--" But at that moment a man-servant dressed in the garb of a physician hastened into the chamber. Without awaiting the notice of his master he hurried up and whispered in his ear. Costobarus' face grew instantly grave. "How near?" he asked anxiously. "In the next house--but a moment since. The household hath fled," was the low answer. "Haste, haste!" Costobarus cried to the rush of servants about him. "Lose no time. We must be gone from this place before mid-afternoon. Laodice! Where is Laodice?" he inquired. Then his wife who had stood aside spoke. "She is not yet prepared," she explained unreadily. "She needs a frieze cloak--" Costobarus broke in by beckoning his wife to one side, where the servants could not hear him say compassionately, "Let there be no delay for small things, Hannah. Let us haste, for Laodice is going on the Lord's business." "A matter of a day only," Hannah urged. "A delay that is further necessary, for Aquila's horse is lame." The old man shook his head and looked away to see a man-servant stagger out under a load of splendid carpets. The old woman came close. "The wayside is ambushed and the wilderness is patrolled with danger, Costobarus," she said. "Of a certainty you will not take Laodice out into a country perilous for caravans and armies!" "These very perils are the signs of the call of the hour," he maintained. "She dare not fail to respond. The Deliverer cometh; every prophecy is fulfilled. Rather rejoice that you have prepared your daughter for this great use. Be glad that you have borne her." But in Hannah's face wavered signs of another interpretation of these things. She broke in on him without the patience to wait until he had completed his sentence. "Are they prophecies of hope which are fulfilled, or the words of the prophet of despair?" she insisted. "What saith Daniel of this hour? Did he not name it the abomination of desolation? Said he not that the city and the sanctuary should be destroyed, that there should be a flood and that unto the end of the war desolations shall be determined? Desolations, Costobarus! And Laodice is but a child and delicately reared!" "All these things may come to pass and not a hair of the heads of the chosen people be harmed," he assured her. "But Laodice is too young to have part in the conflict of nations, the business of Heaven and earth and the end of all things!" A courier strode into the hall and approached Costobarus, saw that he was engaged in conversation and stopped. The merchant noted him and withdrew to read the message which the man carried. "A letter from Philadelphus," he said over his shoulder, as he moved away from Hannah. "He hath landed in Cæsarea with his cousin Julian of Ephesus. He will proceed at once to Jerusalem. We have no time to lose. Ah, Momus?" He spoke to a servant who had limped into the hall and stood waiting for his notice. He was the ruin of a man, physically powerful but as a tree wrecked by storm and grown strong again in spite of its mutilation. Pestilence in years long past had attacked him and had left him dumb, distorted of feature, wry-necked and stiffened in the right leg and arm. His left arm, forced to double duty, had become tremendously muscular, his left hand unusually dexterous. Much of his facial distortion was the result of his efforts to convey his ideas by expression and by his attempts to overcome the interference of his wry neck with the sweep of his vision. "Whom have we in our party, Momus?" Costobarus asked. As the man made rapid, uncouth signs, the master interpreted. "Keturah, Hiram and Aquila--and thou and I, Momus. Three camels, one of which is the beast of burden. Good! Aquila will ride a horse; ha! a horse in a party of camels--well, perhaps--if he were bought in Ascalon. How? What? St--t! The physician told me even now. Let none of the household know it--above all things not thy mistress!" The last sentence was delivered in a whisper in response to certain uneasy gestures the mute had made. The man bowed and withdrew. A second servitor now approached with papers which the merchant inspected and signed hastily with ink and stylus which the clerk bore. When this last item was disposed of, Hannah was again at her husband's side. "Costobarus," she whispered, "it is known that the East Gate of the Temple, which twenty Levites can close only with effort, opened of itself in the sixth hour of the night!" "A sign that God reëntereth His house," the merchant explained. "A sign, O my husband, that the security of the Holy House is dissolved of its own accord for the advantage of its enemies!" Costobarus observed two huge Ethiopians who appeared bewildered at the threshold of the unfamiliar interior, looking for the master of the house to tell them what to do. The merchant motioned toward a tall ebony case that stood against one of the walls and showed them that they were to carry it out. Hannah continued: "And thou hast not forgotten that night when the priests at the Pentecost, entering the inner court, were thrown down by the trembling of the Temple and that a vast multitude, which they could not see, cried: 'Let us go hence!' And that dreadful sunset which we watched and which all Israel saw when armies were seen fighting in the skies and cities with toppling towers and rocking walls fell into red clouds and vanished!" "What of thyself, Hannah?" he broke in. "Art thou ready to depart for Tyre? Philip will leave to-morrow. Do not delay him. Go and prepare." But the woman rushed on to indiscretion, in her desperate intent to stop the journey to Jerusalem at any cost. "But there are those of good repute here in Ascalon, sober men and excellent women, who say that our hope for the Branch of David is too late--that Israel is come to judgment, this hour--for He is come and gone and we received Him not!" Costobarus turned upon her sharply. "What is this?" he demanded. "O my husband," she insisted hopefully, "it measures up with prophecy! And they who speak thus confidently say that He prophesied the end of the Holy City, and that this is not the Advent, but doom!" "It is the Nazarene apostasy," he exclaimed in alarm, "alive though the power of Rome and the diligence of the Sanhedrim have striven to destroy it these forty years! Now the poison hath entered mine own house!" A servant bowed within earshot. Costobarus turned to him hastily. "Philip of Tyre," the attendant announced. "Let him enter," Costobarus said. "Go, Hannah; make Laodice ready--preparations are almost complete; be not her obstacle." "But--but," she insisted with whitening lips, "I have not said that I believe all this. I only urge that, in view of this time of war, of contending prophecies and of all known peril, that we should keep her, who is our one ewe lamb, our tender flower, our Rose of Sharon, yet within shelter until the signs are manifest and the purpose of the Lord God is made clear." He turned to her slowly. There was pain on his face, suffering that she knew her words had evoked and, more than that, a yearning to relent. She was ashamed and not hopeful, but her mother-love was stronger than her wifely pity. "Must I command you, Hannah?" he asked. Her figure, drawn up with the intensity of her wishfulness, relaxed. Her head drooped and slowly she turned away. Costobarus looked after her and struggled with rising emotion. But the curtain dropped behind her and left him alone. A moment later the curtains over the arch parted and a middle-aged Jew, richly habited, stood there. He raised his hand for the blessing of the threshold, then embraced Costobarus with more warmth than ceremony. "What is this I hear?" he demanded with affectionate concern. "Thou leavest Ascalon for the peril of Jerusalem?" "Can Jerusalem be more perilous than Ascalon this hour?" Costobarus asked. "Yes, by our fathers!" Philip declared. "Nothing can be so bad as the condition of the Holy City. But what has happened? Three days ago thou wast as securely settled here as a barnacle on a shore-rock! To-day thou sendest me word: 'Lo! the time long expected hath come; I go hence to Jerusalem.' What is it, my brother?" "Sit and listen." Philip looked about him. The divan was there, stripped of its covering of fine rugs, but the room otherwise was without furniture. Prepared for surprise, the Tyrian let no sign of his curiosity escape him, and, sitting, leaned on his knees and waited. "Philadelphus Maccabaeus hath sent to me, bidding me send Laodice to him--in Jerusalem," Costobarus said in a low voice. Philip's eyes widened with sudden comprehension. "He hath returned!" he exclaimed in a whisper. For a time there was silence between the two old men, while they gazed at each other. Then Philip's manner became intensely confident. "I see!" he exclaimed again, in the same whisper. "The throne is empty! He means to possess it, now that Agrippa hath abandoned it!" Costobarus pressed his lips together and bowed his head emphatically. Again there was silence. "Think of it!" Philip exclaimed presently. "I have done nothing else since his messenger arrived at daybreak. Little, little, did I think when I married Laodice to him, fourteen years ago, that the lad of ten and the little child of four might one day be king and queen over Judea!" Philip shook his head slowly and his gaze settled to the pavement. Presently he drew in a long breath. "He is twenty-four," he began thoughtfully. "He has all the learning of the pagans, both of letters and of war; he--Ah! But is he capable?" "He is the great-grandson of Judas Maccabaeus! That is enough! I have not seen him since the day he wedded Laodice and left her to go to Ephesus, but no man can change the blood of his fathers in him. And Philip--he shall have no excuse to fail. He shall be moneyed; he shall be moneyed!" Costobarus leaned toward his friend and with a sweep of his hand indicated the stripped room. It was a noble chamber. The stamp of the elegant simplicity of Cyrus, the Persian, was upon it. The ancient blue and white mosaics that had been laid by the Parsee builder and the fretwork and twisted pillars were there, but the silky carpets, the censers and the chairs of fine woods were gone. Costobarus looked steadily at the perplexed countenance of Philip. "Seest thou how much I believe in this youth?" he asked. A shade of uneasiness crossed Philip's forehead. "Thou art no longer young, Costobarus," he said, "and disappointments go hard with us, at our age--especially, especially." "I shall not be disappointed," Costobarus declared. The friendly Jew looked doubtful. "The nation is in a sad state," he observed. "We have cause. The procurators have been of a nature with their patrons, the emperors. It is enough but to say that! But Vespasian Cæsar is another kind of man. He is tractable. Young Titus, who will succeed him, is well-named the Darling of Mankind. We could get much redress from these if we would be content with redress. But no! We must revert to the days of Saul!" "Yes; but they declare they will have no king but God; no commander but the Messiah to come; no order but primitive impulse! But the Maccabee will change all that! It is but the far swing of the first revolt. Jerusalem is ready for reason at this hour, it is said." "Yes," Philip assented with a little more spirit. "It hath reached us, who have dealings with the East, that there is a better feeling in the city. Such slaughter has been done there among the Sadducees, such hordes of rebels from outlying subjugated towns have poured their license and violence in upon the safe City of Delight, that the citizens of Jerusalem actually look forward to the coming of Titus as a deliverance from the afflictions which their own people have visited upon them." "The hour for the Maccabee, indeed," Costobarus ruminated. "And the hour for Him whom we all expect," Philip added in a low tone. Costobarus bowed his head. Presently he drew a scroll from the folds of his ample robe. "Hear what Philadelphus writes me: Cæsarea, II Kal. Jul. XX. To Costobarus, greetings and these by messenger; I learn on arriving in this city that Judea is in truth no man's country. Wherefore it can be mine by cession or conquest. It is mine, however, by right. I shall possess it. I go hence to Jerusalem. Fail not to send my wife thither and her dowry. Aquila, my emissary, will safely conduct her. Trust him. Proceed with despatch and husband the dowry of your daughter, since it is to be the corner-stone of a new Israel. Peace to you and yours. To my wife my affection and my loyalty. PHILADELPHUS MACCABAEUS. Nota Bene. Julian of Ephesus accompanies me. He is my cousin. He will in all probability meet your daughter at the Gate. MACCABAEUS." Slowly the old man rolled the writing. "He wastes no words," Philip mused. "He writes as a siege-engine talks--without quarter." Costobarus nodded. "So I am giving him two hundred talents," he said deliberately. "Two hundred talents!" Philip echoed. "And I summoned thee, Philip, to say that in addition to my house and its goods, thou canst have my shipping, my trade, my caravans, which thou hast coveted so long at a price--at that price. I shall give Laodice two hundred talents." "Two hundred talents!" Philip echoed again, somewhat taken aback. Costobarus went to a cabinet on the wall and drew forth a shittim-wood case which he unlocked. Therefrom he took a small casket and opened it. He then held it so that the sun, falling into it, set fire to a bed of loose gems mingled without care for kind or value--a heap of glowing color emitting sparks. "Here are one hundred of the talents," Costobarus said. A flash of understanding lighted Philip's face not unmingled with the satisfaction of a shrewd Jew who has pleased himself at business. One hundred talents, then, for the best establishment in five cities, in all the Philistine country. But why? Costobarus supplied the answer at that instant. "I would depart with my daughter by mid-afternoon," he said. "I doubt the counting houses; if I had known sooner--" Philip began. "Aquila arrived only this morning. I sent a messenger to you at once." Philip rose. "We waste time in talk. I shall inform thee by messenger presently. God speed thee! My blessings on thy son-in-law and on thy daughter!" Costobarus rose and took his friend's hand. "Thou shalt have the portion of the wise-hearted man in this kingdom. And this yet further, my friend. If perchance the uncertainties of travel in this distressed land should prove disastrous and I should not return, I shall leave a widow here--" "And in that instance, be at peace. I am thy brother." Costobarus pressed Philip's hand. "Farewell," he said; and Philip embraced him and went forth. Costobarus turned to one of his closed windows and thrust it open, for the influence of the spring sun had made itself felt in the past important hour for Costobarus. Noon stood beautiful and golden over the city. The sky was clean-washed and blue, and the surface of the Mediterranean, glimpsed over white house-tops that dropped away toward the sea-front, was a wandering sheet of flashing silver. Here and there were the ruins of the last year's warfare, but over the fallen walls of gray earth the charity of running vines and the new growth of the spring spread a beauty, both tender and compassionate. In such open spaces inner gardens were exposed and almond trees tossed their crowns of white bloom over pleached arbors of old grape-vines. Here the Mediterranean birds sang with poignant sweetness while the new-budded limbs of the oleanders tilted suddenly under their weight as they circled from covert to covert. But the energy of the young spring was alive only in the birds and the blossoming orchards. Wherever the solid houses fronted in unbroken rows the passages between, there were no open windows, no carpets swung from latticed balconies; no buyers moved up the roofed-over Street of Bazaars. Not in all the range of the old man's vision was to be seen a living human being. For the chief city of the Philistine country Ascalon was nerveless and still. At times immense and ponderous creaking sounded in the distance, as if a great rusted crane swung in the wind. Again there were distant, voluminous flutterings, as if neglected and loosened sails flapped. Idle roaming donkeys brayed and a dog shut up and forgotten in a compound barked incessantly. Presently there came faint, far-off, failing cries that faded into silence. The Jew's brow contracted but he did not move. From his position, he could see the port to the east packed with lifeless vessels. The stretches of stone wharf and the mole were vacant and littered with rubbish. The yard-arms of abandoned freighters were peculiarly beaded with tiny black shapes that moved from time to time. Far out at sea, so far that a blue mist embraced its base and set its sails mysteriously afloat in air, a great galley, with all canvas crowded on, sped like a frightened bird past the port that had once been its haven. A strange compelling odor stole up from the city. Costobarus glanced down into his garden below him. It was a terraced court, with vine-covered earthen retaining walls supporting each successive tier and terminating against a domed gate flanked on either side by a tall conical cypress. He noted, on the flagging of the walk leading by flights of steps down to the gate, a heap of garments with broad brown and yellow stripes. Wondering at the untidiness of his gardener in leaving his tunic here while he worked, Costobarus looked away toward the large stones that lay here and there in gutters and on grass-plots, remnants of the work of the Roman catapults the previous summer. In the walls of houses were unrepaired breaches, where the wounds of the missiles showed. On a slight eminence overlooking the city from the west center-poles of native cedar which had supported Roman tents were still standing. But no garrison was there now, though the signs of the savage Roman obsession still lay on the remnants of the prostrate western wall. So as Costobarus' gaze wandered he did not see far above that heap of striped garments in his garden walk, fixed like an enchanted thing, moveless, dead-calm, a great desert vulture poised in air. Presently another and yet another materialized out of the blue, growing larger as they fell down to the level of their fellow. Slowly the three swooped down over the heap on the garden walk. The tiny black shapes that beaded the yard-arms in port spread great wings and soared solemnly into Ascalon. The three vultures dropped noiselessly on the pavement. Cries began suddenly somewhere nearer and instantly the tremendous booming of a great oriental gong from the heathen quarters swept heavy floods of sound over the outcry and drowned it. The vultures flew up hastily and Costobarus saw them for the first time. A chill rushed over him; revulsion of feeling showed vividly on his face. He shut the window. Noon was high over Ascalon and Pestilence was Cæsar within its walls. It was the penalty of warfare, the long black shadow that the passage of a great army casts upon a battling nation. Physicians could not give it a name. It seized upon healthy victims, rent them, blasted them and cast them dead and distorted in their tracks, before help could reach them. It passed like fire on a high wind through whole countries and left behind it silence and feeding vultures. As Costobarus turned from his window to pace up and down his chamber, Hannah's argument came back to him with new energy. He felt with a kind of panic that his confident answer to her might have been wrong. When a girl appeared in the archway, he moved impulsively toward her, as if to retract the command that would send her out into this land that the Lord had spoken against, but the strength and repose in her face communicated itself to him. Above all other suggestions in her presence was that overpowering richness of oriental beauty which no other kind in the world may surpass in its appeal to the loves of men. Enough of the Roman stock in her line had given structural firmness and stature to a type which at her age would have developed weight and duskiness, but she was taller and more slender than the women of her race, and supple and alive and splendid. About her hips was knotted a silken scarf of red and white and green with long undulant fringes that added to the lithe grace in her movements. Under it was a glistening garment of silver tissue that reached to the small ankles laced about by the ribbons of white sandals. For sleeves there were netted fringes through which the fine luster of her arms was visible. About her wrists, her throat and in her hair, heavy and shining black, were golden coins that marked her steps with stealthy tinkling. Costobarus, in spite of the shock of doubt and fear in his brain, looked at her as if with the happy eyes of the astonished Maccabee. In those full tender lips, in the slope of those black, silken brows, in the sparkling behind the dusky slumbrous eyes, there was all the fire and generosity and limitless charm that should make her lover's world a place of delight and perfume and music. "How is it with you, Laodice?" he asked, faltering a little. "I am prepared, my father," she answered. "I commend your despatch. I would be gone within an hour." She bowed and Costobarus regarded her with growing wistfulness. At this last moment his love was to become his obstacle, his fear for his child his one cowardice. "Dost thou remember him?" he asked without preliminary. Laodice answered as if the thought were first in her mind. "Not at all; and yet, if I could remember him, I may not discover in the man of four-and-twenty anything of the lad of ten." "He may not have changed. There are such natures, and, as I recall him, his may well be one of these. His disposition from childhood to boyhood did not change. When I knew him in Jerusalem, he was worthy the notice of a man. The manner he had there he bore with him to this, a smaller city, and hence to Ephesus, a city of another kind. It was good to see him examine the world, reject this and that and look upon his choice proudly. He made the schools observe him, consider him. He did not enter them for alteration, nor was he shut up in a shell of self-satisfaction. He entered them as a citizen of the world and as an examiner of all philosophy. Yet the world taught him nothing. It gave him merely the open school where regulation and atmosphere helped him to teach himself. O wife of a child, thou shalt not be ashamed of thy husband, man-grown!" "How is he favored?" she asked with the first maiden hesitation showing in the question. "He was slender and dark and promised to be tall. He was quick in movement, quick in temper, resourceful, aye, even shifty, I should say; stubborn, cold in heart, hard to please." "Fit attributes for a king," she said, half to herself, "yet he will be no soft husband." Costobarus looked away from her and was silent for a time. "Daughter," he said finally, "thou hast learned indeed that thine is to be no luxurious life. In thy restrained heart there are no dreams. Let not thy youth, when thou seest him, put obstacle in the way of thy duty. Whether thou lovest him or lovest him not, he is thy husband, thy fellow in a great labor for God and for Israel. Remember the times and the portents and shut thine ears against selfish desire. Thou seest Judea. That which the Lord hath uttered against it through the prophets has come to pass. Abandon thy hopes in all save the Son of God; forget thyself; prepare to give all and expect nothing but the coming of the King! For verily thou lookest over the edge of the world past the very end of time!" The solemn announcement of the Advent by this white-bearded prophet should have discovered in her a very human and terrified girl. But it was no new tidings to her. Since her earliest recollection she had heard it, expected it, contemplated it, till the magnitude and terror of it had been lost in its familiarity. She clasped her hands and dropped her eyes and her lips moved in a silent prayer. Costobarus remained for a space sunk in glorified meditation. But presently he raised himself, with signs of his recent feeling showing on his face. "Send hither thy mother; bid Aquila and our servants stand here before me a little later." She bowed and withdrew. As she passed out a servant stepped aside to give her room and at a sign from his master approached. "A messenger from Philip of Tyre," he said. A moment later an old courier carrying a sheepskin wallet came into the chamber. He salaamed and produced a tablet which he handed to Costobarus. Herewith, O my brother, I send thee one hundred talents. May it prove part of the corner-stone of a new Israel. Peace to thee and thine! PHILIP OF TYRE. Costobarus looked up at the old courier. "Take my blessings to thy master. May he come to a high seat in that new Israel which he hath helped to build! Farewell." The courier withdrew. When his footsteps died away the old merchant reached under the divan and drew forth the shittim-wood box. Producing a key he unlocked and opened it. From his bosom he drew forth the letter from Philadelphus and laid it within. "Let her take it with her," he said, speaking aloud. "Here," lifting a cylinder of old silver exquisitely chased, "are her marriage papers; this," lifting delicately embroidered squares of linen, "her marriage tokens, and here, her dowry." He opened the inner box and laid the sheepskin wallet in upon the gems. He closed the lid, and, locking the case, lifted it and set it beside him on the divan. When he looked up, he saw a man standing within a few paces of him and perfunctorily gazing at anything but the display of Laodice's fortune. He was lean, muscular, somewhat younger than forty but already gray at the temples, of nervous temperament, direct of gaze and of attractive presence. He wore a tunic of gray wool bordered with red, and a gray mantle hung negligently from his shoulders. Limbs and arms were bare and his head-covering of red wool hung from his arm. Costobarus, a little discomfited that he had been surprised with Laodice's dowry exposed, spoke briskly. "Well, Aquila? Prepared?" "Everything is in order. I am ready to proceed at once." "How many in your party?" "But myself." "Have you ever been to Jerusalem?" "Never." "How, then," Costobarus asked, with a keen look, "came Philadelphus to appoint you to conduct Laodice to the city?" "His retinue is small; he could not come himself, and he chose me as safer than the other member of his party," was the direct reply. Costobarus studied this reply before he questioned his son-in-law's courier further. "Jerusalem, they say, is in disorder. How will you get my daughter to shelter when you have reached the city?" "Philadelphus hath instructed me that there will be a Greek at the Sun Gate daily, awaiting us. He will wear a purple turban embroidered with a golden star. He will conduct us to the house of Amaryllis the Seleucid, who is pledged to the Maccabee's cause. Philadelphus will be in her house." "Why hers?" Costobarus persisted. "Because it is the only secure house in Jerusalem. She stands in the good graces of John of Gischala and she is safe." Costobarus ruminated. "There is too much detail; too many people to depend upon and therefore too many who may fail you. Aquila!" "Sir?" "I am going to Jerusalem with you." He turned without waiting to see the effect of this speech upon the Maccabee's courier and clapped his hands for an attendant. To the servitor who responded he said: "Send hither our party. It is time. Bring me my cloak." He looked then suddenly at Aquila. The Roman's face had cleared of its astonishment and discomfiture. "Well enough," the courier said bluntly and closed his lips. The servitor reappeared with his master's cloak and kerchief. After him came Keturah, the handmaiden, and Hiram, a camel-driver, prepared for a journey. The mute Momus presently appeared. Costobarus got into his cloak without help, made inquiry for this detail and that of his business and of his journey, gave instruction to his attendants, and then asked for Laodice. There was a moment of silence more distressed than embarrassed. Momus dropped his eyes; Keturah looked at her master with moving lips and sudden flushing of color, as if she were on the point of tears. Aquila stared absently out of the arch beyond. Costobarus glanced from one to the other of his company and then went toward the corridor to call his daughter. As he lifted the curtain, he started and stopped. [Illustration: At her feet Hannah knelt.] The lifted curtain had revealed Laodice. At her feet Hannah knelt, as if she had flung herself in her daughter's path, her arms clasping the young figure close to her and an agony of appeal stamped on her upraised face. The last of the rich color had died out of the girl's face and with pitiful eyes and quivering lips she was stroking the desperate hands that meant to keep her for ever. Except for the sudden sobbing of the woman servant, tense and anguished silence prevailed. The old merchant was confronted with a perplexity that found him without fortitude to solve. He felt his strength slip from him. He, too, covered his face with his hands. At the opposite arch another house servant appeared, lifted a distorted, blackening face and, doubling like a wounded snake, fell upon the floor. A moment of stupefied silence in which Hannah, with her mother instincts never so acutely alive, turned her strained vision upon the writhing figure. Then shrieks broke from the lips of the serving-woman; the hall filled with panic. Hannah leaped to her feet and thrust Laodice toward her father. "Away!" she cried. "The pestilence! The pestilence is upon us!" Chapter II ON THE ROAD TO JERUSALEM News of the appearance of the plague in the house of Costobarus traveled fast after the death of the gardener, who had fallen in the open and in sight of the watchful inhabitants of Ascalon. So by the time the house servants of the merchant were made aware of their peril by the death of one of their own number, Philip of Tyre with the courage of affection and loyalty stood on the threshold of the guest-chamber informed of the situation and prepared to help. Hannah, supported by the Tyrian's assurance of her rescue and protection, succeeded in urging Costobarus and Laodice not to delay for her to the peril of the thrice precious daughter. So with his house yet ringing with the first convulsion of terror Costobarus ordered his party with all haste to the camels. Keturah, Laodice's handmaiden, had fainted with terror and was carried parcel-wise over the great arm of Momus, the mute, out into the street and deposited summarily on the floor of Laodice's bamboo howdah. The camel-driver, Hiram, seemed only a little less stupefied than she. The mute, with a face as determined and threatening as an uplifted gad, drove him from the shelter of a dark corner out to his place on the neck of his master's camel. Aquila, the emissary, showed the immemorial composure in the face of disaster that was the badge of the Roman in the days of the degenerate Cæsars, and, mounting his horse when the rest of the party were in their places, headed the procession toward the northeast. From an upper window behind a lattice, Hannah cried her farewells and fluttered her scarf. She was smiling the drawn, white smile of a mother who is forcing herself to be cheerful in the face of danger, for the peace of those she loves. Laodice understood the tender deception and when a sharp turn of the street cut off the sight of the plumy trees of the garden, she covered her face and wept inconsolably. On either side of the passage there came muffled sounds from houses; out of open alleys leading into interior courts stole the fetor of death that even the spice of burning unguents could not smother. The whole air shuddered with the drumming of heathen physicians in the pagan quarters, through which the silence of long stretches of ominously quiet houses shouted its meaning. At times frantic barefoot flights could be glimpsed as households deserted stricken houses, but whatever outcry arose came from bedsides. Ascalon fled as a frightened animal flees, silently and under cover. They rode now through a shrieking wind, burdened with sallow smoke and dreadful odors. Denser and denser the cloud grew till the streets ahead were hidden in yellow vapor and near-by houses loomed with dim outlines as if far off, and even the sounds of death and disaster became choked in the immense prevalence of smell. Blinded, with scarf and kerchief wrapped over mouth and nostril, the fleeing party swept down upon the very heart of that stifling mystery. Through it presently, as the houses thinned out, they saw cores of great heat surmounted by black-tipped flames that crackled savagely. Momus, now in the lead, turned sharply to his right and the next instant had the wind behind him. Almost involuntarily each member of the party looked back. Outside the breach of the broken wall, standing clear to view with the wind from the hills sweeping townward from them, were diabolical figures, naked and black, feeding immense pyres with hideous fuel. Past this grisly line, a camel with a single rider swept in from seaward. The traveler lifted an arm and signaled to the party. Aquila seemed not to see this hail, and rode on; but Costobarus, after the traveler motioned to them once more, spoke: "Does not this person make signs to us, Aquila?" The pagan looked back. "Why should he?" he asked. "He can tell us," the master observed and spoke to Momus and Hiram, who drew up their camels. The traveler raced alongside. It was a woman, veiled and wrapped with all the jealous care of the East against the curious eyes of strangers. Aquila took in her featureless presence with a single irritated look and apparently lost interest. "Greeting, lady," Costobarus said. "Peace, sir, and greeting," she replied respectfully. Her tones were marked with the deference of the serving-class and Costobarus gave her permission to speak. "Art thou a Jew and master of this train?" she asked. Costobarus assented. "I was journeying to Jerusalem with a caravan of which my master was owner, but the Romans came upon us and took every one prisoner, except myself. I escaped, but I am without protection and without friends. In Jerusalem, I have relatives who will care for me, yet I fear to make the journey alone. I pray thee, with the generosity of a Jew and the authority of a master, permit me to go in the protection of thy company!" Costobarus reflected and while he hesitated he became aware that Momus was looking at him with warning in his eyes. But Laodice, so filled with loneliness and apprehension, was moved to sympathy for the solitary and friendless woman. She leaned toward her father and said in a low voice: "Let her come with us, father; she is a woman and afraid." Aquila heard that low petition and he flashed a look at the stranger that seemed reproachful. But Costobarus was speaking. "Ride with us, then, and be welcome," he said. The woman bowed her shawled head and murmured with emotion after a silence: "The blessings of a servant be upon you and yours; may the God of Israel be with you for evermore." She dropped back to the rear of the party and the train moved on. Meanwhile, Keturah, who sat huddled on the floor of Laodice's howdah, had not moved since they had left the doorway of Costobarus' house. Momus, on the neck of Laodice's camel, had observed her once or twice, and now he reached back and touched her. He jerked his hand away and brought up his camel with a wrench. Hiram, following close behind, by dint of main strength managed to avoid a collision with Momus' beast so suddenly halted. The mute leaped down from his place and in an instant Costobarus joined him. Alarmed without understanding, Laodice had risen and was drawn as far as she might from the serving-woman. Momus, lifting himself by the stirrup, seized the stiff figure and laid it down upon the sands. Aquila dismounted and the three men bent over the woman. Then Costobarus glanced up quickly at Laodice, made a sign to Momus, who, with a face devoid of expression, climbed back into his place on the neck of the camel. The strange woman who had stood her ground was heard to say in a low voice, half lost in the muffling of her wrappings: "One!" Momus drove on leisurely and Laodice, knowing that she must not look, slipped down in her place and wrapped her vitta over her face. Pestilence was riding with them. After a long time, Costobarus' camel ambled up beside hers, and she ventured to uncover her eyes. Her father smiled at her with that same heart-breaking smile which her mother had for her in face of trouble. "The frosts! The frosts!" he whispered to Momus, and the mute laid goad about his camel. Aquila, seeing this haste, checked his horse's gait and fell back beside the strange woman. Together they permitted the rest of the party to ride ahead, while they talked in voices too restrained to be heard. "There is pestilence in this company," Aquila said angrily; "will that not persuade you to abandon this plan?" "No. When all of you are like to die and leave this great treasure sitting out in the wilderness without a guardian?" she said lightly. There was no trace of a servant's humility in her tone. "Hast had the plague that thou seem'st to feel secure from it?" he demanded. "O no; then there would be no risk in this game. There is no sport in an unfair advantage over conditions. No! But how comes this Costobarus with you?" "He would not trust his daughter and a dowry to me, alone." "How shall we get to Emmaus, then?" she asked. "We shall not get to Emmaus; so you must inform Julian, who will expect us there," he declared. The woman played with the silken reins of her camel. Behind her veil a sarcastic smile played about the corners of her mouth. Aquila watched her resentfully, waiting with an immense reserve of caustic words for her refusal to accept the charge. "So, my Mars of the gray temples, thou meanest in all faith to deliver up this lady and her treasure to Julian?" "By those same gray temples, I do! And hold thy peace about my white hairs. Nothing made them so but thyself--and this evil plot in which I am tangled. What does Julian mean to do with this poor creature?" "He has not got her yet and by the complication thou seest now, wearing its turban over one ear in yonder howdah, it may come to pass that he will never have her--and her dowry." "Pfui! How little you know this Julian! Besides, I am pledged to deliver him--at least the treasure." "And thou meanest to line his purse with this great treasure because he paid thee to do it?" "I shall; and be rid of it!" The woman smiled sarcastically. "And scorn it for thyself?" Aquila made no answer, but rode on in sulky silence. "Perpol, it must be pleasant to be a queen," the woman observed with an assumption of childishness in her voice. "Peril's own habit!" Aquila declared. "Peril! Fie! That is half the pleasure of this game of life. It is tiresome to live any other way than hazardously." "Thou shalt have pleasure enough in this journey thou art to take," Aquila declared a little threateningly. The woman laughed. When Aquila spoke again, his voice was full of concern. "I was a fool for not forcing you to stay in Ascalon. You are reckless--reckless!" "It was that which made me attractive," the woman broke in, "to Nero, to Vitellius and to you." "Reckless and useless!" Aquila went on decisively. "Hear me, now; I trifle no longer. Sometime to-night thou'lt leave us and journey to Emmaus and inform Julian what has wrecked his plans, and send him with despatch to Zorah. This thou wilt do, by all the Furies, or when I do catch thee as I shall, since there is no other fool in Judea who will undertake to feed thee, I shall leave the print of my displeasure on thee from thy head to thy heel! Mark me!" The woman laughed aloud, with such peculiar insolence and amusement that one of the servants heard her and turned his head that way. "Pah! What a timid villain thou art," the woman said, when the servant looked away again. "How much better it would have been had Julian fixed upon _me_ as his confederate!" "Not for Julian! You plot against him even now. But say what you will, you go to Emmaus to-night, without fail. I have spoken!" Aquila touched his horse and riding away from the woman came up beside Costobarus who was gazing over the country through which they were passing. It was a great plain, advancing by benches and slopes to the edge of a rocky shore. Without forests, spotted only with verdure, vast, barren, exhausted with the constant production of fourteen centuries, it was a cheerless sea-front at its best. To the west the wash of the tideless Mediterranean tumbled along an unindented coast; to the east the sallow stony earth went up and up, toward an ever receding sallow horizon. Between lay humbled towns, wholly abandoned to the bats and to the ignoble wild life of the Judean wilderness. There were no sheep or cattle. Vespasian had passed that way and required the flocks of the nation for the subsistence of his four legions. There were no olive or fig groves. They had been the first to fall under the Roman ax, for the policy of Roman warfare was that the first step in subduing a rebellious province was to starve it. The vineyards had suffered the same end. The enriched soil of these inclosures, made one now with the wild at the leveling of their hedges, produced acres of profitless weeds, green against the rising brown bosom of the hill-fronts. Here and there were the fallen walls of isolated homes--wastes of masonry already losing all domestic signs. There were no gardens; it had been two seasons since the wheat and the barley had been reaped last, and the seaboard of southern Judea, in the path of Rome the destroyer, was a wilderness. Over all this immense slope the eyes of Costobarus wandered. However he had felt in the preceding days when he looked upon this ruin of the land of milk and honey, he realized now suddenly and in all its fearful actuality the predicament of Judea, its despair and the gigantic travail before those who would save it from the united sentence passed upon it by God and the powers. Immense dejection seized him. He looked from the face of the country, upon which not a single thing of profit showed, toward the bowed head and oppressed figure of his young and inexperienced daughter who was to put her tender self between Ruin and its victim. Chills, succeeded by flashes of fever, swept over him. He raised himself as if to give command to Aquila but settled back under the canopy, grown immeasurably older and feebler in that moment of helpless surrender to conditions of which he had been part an artificer. It was not as if he had made an incautious move in a political game; it was, as it seemed to him undeniably then, that he had advanced against the Lord God of Hosts, and there was no turning back! He settled slowly into a stunned anguish that seemed to rise gradually, like a filling tide, shutting out the sunset and the seaboard, the bald earth and the streaming wind, and engulfing him in roaring darkness and intense cold. They were in sight of a cluster of Syrian huts, the first inhabited village they had come upon since leaving Ascalon, but he was not aware of it. The sudden halting of his camel and a hoarse strained cry at hand seemed to bear some relation to his condition, but he did not care. He felt his howdah lurch to one side as some one leaped up beside him; he felt remotely the great grasp of hands on him, which must have been Momus'; the quick military voice of Aquila he heard and then, keen and distinct as a call upon him, the sound of Laodice's tones made sharp with terror. He opened his eyes and saw her, holding him in her arms. Somewhere in the background were the faces of Momus and Aquila. Between the pagan and the old servant passed a look that the old man caught. Then he heard Aquila say: "The village--his sole chance, if there is a physician there." Laodice held him fast only for a moment, when it seemed that she was wrenched away. The dying man was glad. If this were pestilence, she should not come near. The hiss of the lash and the bound of the stung camel disturbed him but he lapsed into the immense cold again as they raced down the slight declivity toward the Syrian village. But Pestilence was riding with them and the odds were with it. But the dwellers of that little huddle of huts had nothing to do but to sit in their doorways and suspect. Whatever came their way from the sea for many months had brought them disaster and long since they had learned to defend themselves. So now, when a party riding at breakneck speed, bearing with them an old man on whom the inertia of death was plain, came across the frontiers of their little town, they met them with the convenient stones of their rocky streets, with their savage, stark-ribbed dogs, with offal from kitchen heap and donkey stall and with insults and curses. "Away, ye bringers of plague! Out, lepers; be gone, ye unclean!" Laodice and Aquila who rode in the open were fair targets for half the hail that fell about them. The girl groaned as the missiles fell into the howdah upon the helpless shape of Costobarus, who did not lift a hand to fend off the stones. The pagan, bruised and raging, drew his weapon and spurred his horse to ride down his assailants, but they scattered before him and from safe refuge continued their assault with redoubled determination. Momus, seeing only injury in attempting to enforce hospitality, turned his camel and, swinging around the outermost limits of the settlement, fled. Aquila followed him, and a moment later the rest of the party joined them. Without the range of the village, the party halted. Momus and Aquila lifted Costobarus down and laid him on a rug that Laodice had spread for him. But when she would have knelt by him, he motioned to Aquila not to permit her to approach. The mute stood by his master. In that countenance fast passing under shade was written charge and injunction as solemn as the darkness that approached him. "Here, O faithful servant, is the wife of a prince, the daughter of thy master, the joy of thine own declining days. Shield her against wrong and misfortune by all the strength that in thee lies, as thou hopest in the King to come and the reward of the steadfast. Promise!" They were silent lips that once knew the art and the sound of speech. The old habit never entirely fell away from them. Under this anguish they moved--fruitlessly; over the deformed face flitted the keen agony of regret; then he lifted his great left arm and bent it upward at the elbow; the huge, even monstrous muscles, knotted and kinked from shoulder to elbow, sank down under the broad barbarian bracelet of bronze and rippled under and rose again from elbow to wrist, ferocious, superhuman! In that movement the dying man read the mute's consecration of his one great strength to the protection of the tenderly loved Laodice. Costobarus motioned to the shittim-wood casket and Momus undid it and strapped it on his own belt. "The frosts! The frosts!" the dying man whispered. The mute understood. Then the father's eyes wandered toward the figure of his daughter fended away from him by the pagan. The agony of her suffering and the agony of his distress for her bridged the space between them. And while they yearned toward each other in a silence that quivered with pain, the light darkened in Costobarus' eyes. When Laodice came to herself, she was laid upon a spot of rough grass, in the shelter of an overhanging bluff. It was not the scene upon which her sorrow-stunned eyes had closed a while before. The village was nowhere in sight; the plain had been left behind; any further view was shut off by Aquila's horse, and the two camels whose bridles were in the hands of Hiram. Beside the stricken girl knelt Momus and Aquila; standing at her feet was a new-comer, on whom her wandering and half-conscious gaze rested. He was an old man, clad in a short tunic, ragged of hem and girt about him with a rope. Barefoot, bareheaded and provided only with a staff and a small wallet, he was to outward appearances little more than one of the legion of mendicants that infested the poverty-stricken land of Judea. But his large eyes, under the tangle of wind-blown white hair and white shelving brows, were infinitely intelligent and refined. Now, they beamed with pity and concern on the bereaved girl. But she forgot him the next instant, for returning consciousness brought back like a blow the memory of the death of her father. From time to time she caught snatches of conversation between the old wayfarer and Aquila. They were spoken in low tones and only from time to time did they reach her. "He was Costobarus, principal merchant of this coast," she heard Aquila explain shortly. "I shall go on to Ascalon; I do not fear," the old man said next. "I shall bring his people to fetch his body. I marked the spot. Comfort her with that, when she can bear to talk of it." "We go to Jerusalem," Aquila went on, some time later, "else we should turn back with him ourselves. But we dare not risk the pestilence on her account, for it seems that she is very necessary to the Jews at this hour--very necessary." "I follow to the Holy City," the old wayfarer added at last. "The Passover is celebrated there within two weeks. But I shall not fail; nothing will harm me." "What talisman do you carry to protect you?" the pagan asked a little irritably. "No talisman, but the love of Jesus Christ, the Saviour!" "A Christian!" Aquila exclaimed. Even through her stupor of grief and hopelessness, Laodice heard this exclamation. Here, then, was one of the Nazarenes, that mysterious sect whose tenets she had never been permitted to hear; But also, she knew that the old apostate had braved the plague and had buried her father. She turned to look at him in time to see him extend his hands in blessing over her. "_The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and his comfort be with you, for ever; amen_. Farewell." He was gone. Momus raised her in his arms and, lifting her into her howdah, laid her tenderly on the improvised reclining seat that had been made of the chair therein. In a twinkling the whole party had mounted, and passed swiftly on toward Jerusalem. As they moved forward, the strange woman murmured softly: "Two!" Laodice's camel mounted the slope toward the east and stretched away on a comparative level toward an immense white moon. Aquila's horse kept up with the matchless speed of the tall camel only at times, and Laodice, dully sensing that they were going at hot haste, realized that a race was on between them and the pestilence. Momus was wielding the goad for a run to the frosts. A camel raced up beside Aquila. "Look!" the woman said to him in a lowered tone, showing back over the road by which they had come. Aquila turned in his saddle and looked. Momus rose in his seat and looked. Behind them only one camel rocked along in their wake. The other and its driver had disappeared. "Deserted!" Aquila exclaimed under his breath. "Three!" the woman said. "A pest on your counting for a Charon's toll-taker!" Aquila whispered savagely. "We will have no more of it!" "No?" the woman said with a meaning that made the pagan shiver. Momus laid goad about his camel. The way continually ascended toward the east; the soil was no longer sandy, but rocky; no longer given up to desolate gardens, but black with groves of cedars and highland shrubs. They swung off a plateau that would have ended in a cliff, down a shaly sheep-path into a wady. Under the moonlight, the bottom was seen to be scarred with marks of hoof and wheel. It debouched suddenly into a Roman road, straight, level, magnificently built and running as a bird flies on to Jerusalem. The camel's gait increased. Momus settled himself in a securer position and Laodice, careless of the outcome of this breathless hurry, yielded herself to the careen of her howdah. At times, her indifferent vision caught, through moonlit notches and gaps, glimpses of great blue vapors, crowned with pale fire and piled in glorious disorder low on the eastern horizon. They were the hills encompassing Jerusalem. The stream of wind on her face cooled and drove stronger. Aquila rode closer to her, his horse panting under the effort. His face looked strange and distressed. "Lady," he said in low tones, "necessity forces me to speak to you in your grief; do not blame me for indifference to your desire to be alone. But we must care for you, though in your heart this moment you may resent a wish to live. But your father commanded me!" She gave him attention. "Let us not carry peril with us," he added in a half-whisper. "Let us not carry food for pestilence with us." "I do not understand," she answered, adopting his low tone. "The more we are, the more of us to die. You must live; I must live," he explained, nodding toward Momus. After a little silence, she asked: "Do we not ride toward the frosts?" "Yes; but even now pestilence may ride on beside us--your servant and this woman. Let us save ourselves." "Abandon them?" she questioned. "Lest they go on without us," he added. Momus turned suddenly and gazed at Aquila. Then he imperiously signed the pagan to fall back. They rode on. The pagan slackened his horse's gallop and reined in beside the woman. They talked together, argumentatively, for a single tense minute and then Aquila, with a bitter word, put spurs to his animal and dashed up beside Laodice's camel. In his one uplifted hand a knife gleamed. The other reached toward the casket bound to Momus' hip. Laodice, raised to an upright attitude in her fresh fright, saw that his face was black and twisted and that he wavered stiffly in his saddle. But the mute did not await the attack. He seized the pagan's outstretched hands with that monstrous left and flung him backward. Without an effort to save himself, falling rigidly and with a strange cry, Aquila dropped back over his horse's crupper into the dust of the road. "Momus!" Laodice screamed. Back of her the woman cried out: "On! On! It is the pestilence!" Momus wielded his goad. Laodice, shaking and crying aloud, looked back to see the strange woman swerve her camel past the dark shape lying with out-flung arms in the road and sweep quickly on after them. The scourge had overtaken Aquila. All night the camels fled east, all night the soft footfall of the woman's beast pursued them; all night the wind freshened until Laodice's bared face stiffened with the cold and the breath of the mute that sat upon her camel's neck steamed in the moonlight. Up and up, by steep and winding wadies they mounted; under overhanging cliffs and past bald towers of hill-rock staring white in the moon, along black passes between brooding eminences of solid night, crowned with ghost-light; over high plateaus darkened with groves, down dales with singing, invisible streams running seaward and up again and on until the hills engulfed them wholly and those before were higher than any they had seen. Then their flying beasts, leaving the Roman road over which they had sped for some distance, followed a sheep-path and burst into an open immersed in moonlight. Below in the distance was a cluster of huts, white and lifeless. But abroad, over the crisp grass and misty white on all the exposed slopes, sparkled the deep hoar frost! Chapter III THE SHEPHERD OF PELLA Momus drew up his camel. The woman who had followed halted. Except for the hurried breathing of their beasts, a critical silence brooded over the moon-silvered wilderness. The moment was tense with the agony of human bitterness against the immitigable despatch of death. There could be no thanksgiving for their own safety from those who were not glad to be given life. Laodice resented her preservation; old Momus, aside from the wound of personal loss sore in his heart, was stricken with the realization of the grief of his young mistress, which he could not help. He did not raise his eyes to her face when he turned toward her; there was no speech. In the young woman's heart the pain was too great for her to venture expression safely. The silence was poignant with unnatural restraint. Presently Momus inquired of her by signs if she wished to go on to the lifeless village below the camp. She did not observe his gestures, and Momus decided for her. He drove on and the woman, who had wrapped her cloak about her as the biting wind of the hills heightened through the narrow defiles to the north, followed. But almost the next instant Momus drew up his mount so suddenly that Laodice was roused. He turned and began to make rapid signs. Laodice half rose as she read them and pressed her hands together. "Seven days!" she exclaimed in dismay. There was silence. Momus made the camel kneel. He dismounted slowly, and began to undo the tent-cloth in a roll beside the howdah. The woman rode up and instantly the mute stepped between her and his young mistress and went on with his work. Laodice understood the question in the woman's attitude although, with true sense of an inferior's place, the stranger did not speak. "We are unclean," Laodice said with effort. "We have come from a pestilential city and we have touched the dead. We can not enter a town with these defilements upon us, except to present ourselves to a priest for examination and separation. Furthermore, we must burn our unessential belongings. If you are a Jewess all these things are known to you." The woman extended her hands, palms upward, with a grace that was almost dainty. "Lady," she said behind her unlifted veil, "I am an unlettered woman and have been accustomed to the instruction of my masters. I am obedient to the laws of our people." "You would have been in less peril to have ridden alone," Laodice sighed. "Our company has been no help to you." "We can not say that confidently. There are worse things than pestilence in the wilderness," the woman replied. Momus seemed to observe more confidence than was natural in the ready answers of this professed servant, and before he would leave Laodice to pitch camp, he helped her to alight and drew her with him. The woman remained on her mount. Gathering up sticks, dead needles of cedar and last year's leaves, he made a fire upon which he heaped fuel till it lighted up the near-by slopes of the hills and roared jovially in the broad wind. It was a pocket in the heart of high hills into which they had fled. The bold, sure line of a Roman road divided it, cutting tyrannically through the cowed hovels of the town as an arrow drives through a flock of pigeons. On either side were the dim shapes of great rocks and semi-recumbent cedars. Retiring into shadow were the darker outlines of the surrounding circle of hills, rived by intervals of black night where wadies entered. From their summits the flying arch of the heavens sprang, printed with a few faint stars, but all silvered with the flood-light of a moon cold and pure as the frost itself. It was unsympathetic, aloof and wild--a cold place into which to bring broken hearts to assume banishment from the comfort and companionship of mankind. Laodice slowly and with effort began to separate those belongings which were to be laid upon the fire from those which were too necessary to be burned. The woman alighted but, on offering to assist, was warned away from the girl with a menacing gesture of Momus' great arm. The stranger drew herself up suddenly with a wrath that she hardly controlled but came no nearer Laodice. When the girl finally finished her selection, the woman begged permission to attend to the camels and getting the beasts on their feet led them together to be tethered. Laodice, assisted by Momus, took up the condemned supplies and flung them one at a time upon the roaring fire. Little by little, with growing reluctance, the heap of spare belongings was examined and condemned, until finally only the garments they wore, the tents that were to shelter them and the essential harness of the camels were left. Then Momus drew from his wallet a fragment of aromatic gum and cast it on the blaze. While it ignited and burned with great vapors of penetrating incense, he unstrapped the precious casket, set it down between his feet, stripped off his comfortable woolen tunic and passed it through the volumes of white smoke piling up from the fire. And while he stood thus a deft hand seized the casket from behind. There was a sharp, warning cry from Laodice. The old man staggered only a moment from the tripping that the wrench gave him, but in that instant of hesitation the pillager vanished. The old mute shouted the infuriated, half-animal yell of the dumb and started in pursuit, but at his second step he saw the fleeter camel swing down the declivity, at top-speed, with the other trailing with difficulty at full length of its bridle behind. The next instant the muffled beat of the padded hooves drummed the solid bed of the Roman road, and the shapes of camels and fugitive were lost in blue darkness beyond the town. There was no need for the pair left behind to await a realization of all that the loss meant to them. One running swiftly as a fine young creature can run when spurred by desperation, and the other, lamely but doggedly, as an old determined man, rushed down the rough side of the slope, leaped into the roadway and ran irrationally after the fugitive mounted upon a camel, fleeter than the fastest horse. Momus saw with fear that Laodice on this straight inviting road would out-distance him to her peril. He shouted inarticulately after her, but her reply came back, high with desperation and terror. "The corner-stone of Israel! All his treasure! God's portion, lost, lost!" She was out of his sight. The sudden barking of dogs told him that she had crossed the outskirts of the village, and groaning with alarm for her the old man stumbled on after her. He saw lights flash out; heard shouts, and out of the confusion distinguished Laodice's, vehement and urging. The yapping of the town curs became less threatening and, by the time Momus reached the settlement, half-dressed Jews were hurrying east out of the village after the flying feet of the girl, in pursuit of the robber. For unmeasured time, while the moon crossed its meridian and sloped down the west, the search continued. Momus did not overtake the fleet-footed party that preceded him. Stragglers that lost interest dropped back with him from time to time; but finding him dumb and immensely distressed, they disappeared eventually and returned to the town. One by one, at times by twos and threes the party dropped off. The three or four who remained helpful continued against hope, for simple pity for the girl. But when she dropped suddenly by the wayside, exhausted with the strain of many troubles, they stopped to tell her that the chase was fruitless and to offer their rough condolences. Then Momus hobbled up to them. Laodice refused to raise her head to listen to them and they turned to the old man. But by signs, he showed them that his tongue was dead, and finally, with suppressed remarks upon the exceeding misfortune of the pair, they, too, disappeared. A thoughtful one invited them to return to the village. Laodice, careless now of what he should think of his exposure to pestilence, told him bluntly that they were unclean. Hastily he exclaimed at the sum of their troubles, hastily blessed them, and hastily departed. There was a pallor along the under-rim of the east; the wind freshened with the sweet vigor of early morning. Over the stunned silence came the sound of the infinite trotting of tiny hooves and a high, wild, youthful yell. Laodice, too worn to observe, sat still; but Momus, with a rush of old fairy-tales in mind, sprang to her side and seized her arm. His alarmed eyes searched the dark landscape for whatever visitation it had to reveal. There was the rush of countless hoof-beats and a low cloud of dust obscured the crest of the hill just above them. The soft tremolo of multitudinous bleating came out of it. The quick excited bark of a fresh Natolian sheep-dog wakened an echo in one of the ravines through a hill on the opposite side of the road, while strong and insistent and happy the young cry preceded this sudden animation in the wilderness. There was a fall of gravel on the slope over their heads and the next instant a fourteen-year-old boy descended upon the pair in a fall of earth, his sandaled feet planted one ahead of the other, his bare arms thrown above his head as he balanced himself, his long, stiff, crinkled black locks blowing backward, his face bright with the eager enjoyment of his simple feat. After him came a veritable avalanche of Syrian sheep, scrambling to right and left as they parted behind Momus and Laodice and eddying around the young shepherd who stopped at seeing the pair. His yell died away at once, though the effort of sliding down a frozen, rocky slope had not interfered with a single note. He might well have been a young satyr, fresh from the groves of Achaia, with his big, serious mouth and its range of glittering teeth, his shining deer-like eyes, wide apart, his faun curls low on his forehead, his big head set on a short neck, his shoulders yet childish, his slim brown body half smothered in skins, half bare as he was born, his large hard hand gripping a crook of horn and wood. His gaze at Momus was frank with boyish curiosity. His bright eyes plainly remarked on the oddity of the old servant's appearance. Having catalogued old Momus as worthy of further inspection, he looked then at Laodice. Under the lowering moon and the listless effort of coming day, her unmantled dress of silver tissue made of her a moon-spirit, banished out of her world of pallor and solitude. Before her splendid young beauty, pale with distress and weariness, he was not abashed. His simple eyes studied her with equal frankness, but with an admiration beyond words. Feeling somehow that his sudden appearance might have distressed her, he said finally: "Go on, lady, or stay as it pleases you. I will not hurt you." Momus' shoulders submerged his ears in an indignant shrug. That this young calf of the pastures should insure him safe passage! But Laodice was still filled with the calamity of her loss. "Hast seen a robber, here, along this road?" she asked. "Many of them," was the prompt answer. "With a chest of jewels?" The boy shook his head. "I never examined their booty," he said with perfect respect. "Or then a woman riding one camel and leading another?" "Never anything like that." Laodice, with this hope gone, let her face fall into her hands. "His fortune given freely to Israel," she groaned. "His whole life's ambition reduced to material form for the help of his brethren--gone, gone!" The shepherd grew instantly distressed. He looked at Momus and asked in a whisper what had happened. But the old servant signed to his lips irritably, and stroked his young mistress' hair in a dumb effort to comfort her. The silence grew painful. In his anxiety to relieve them, he bethought him of their uncovered heads and houseless state. "Do you live in the village; or do you camp near by?" Momus shook his head. Laodice appreciated the boy's concern for them but could not make an attempt to explain. "Then," he offered promptly, "come have my fire and my rock. It is the best rock in all these hills; and my tent," he added, showing the skins that wrapped him. "I wear my tent; it saves my carrying it. Indeed I do not need it; you may have it. Come!" He spoke hurriedly, as if he would thrust his desire to comfort between her and the wave of disconsolation that he felt was about to cover her. Old Momus, sensibly accepting the boy's suggestion as the wisest course, raised Laodice and motioning the shepherd to lead on, led his young mistress up the hill as the boy retraced his steps. The flood of Syrian sheep turned back with him and followed bleating between the urging of the sheep-dog, as the boy climbed. On a slope to the west as a wady bent upon itself abruptly before it debouched upon the hillside, there was a deep glow illuminating a space in the depression. The shepherd dropped down out of sight. His voice came over the shuffle and bleat of the sheep. "Follow me; this is my house." Momus led his mistress over to the wady. There the shepherd with uplifted hands helped her down with the superior courtesy of a householder offering hospitality. There was a red circle of fire in the sandy bottom of the dry wady, and beside it was a flat boulder at the foot of which were prints of the shepherd's sandals and, on the bank behind it, the mark where his shoulders had comfortably rested. He made no apology for the poverty of his entertainment; he had never known anything better. "Now, brother," he said busily to Momus, "if thou'lt lend me of thy height, thou shalt have of my agility and we will set up a douar for the lady." With frank composure he stripped off the burden of skins that covered him until he stood forth in a single hide of wool, with a tumble of sheep pelts at his feet. In each one was a thorn preserved for use and with these he pinned them all together, scrambled out on the bank, emitting his startling cry at the sheep that obstructed his path. From above he shouted down to Momus. "Stretch it, brother, over thy head. I shall pin it down with stones on either side. Now, unless some jackal dislodges these weights before morning, ye will be safe covered from the cold. There! God never made a man till He prepared him a cave to sleep under! I've never slept in the open, yet. How is it with thee now, lady?" He was down again before her with the red light of the great bed of coals illuminating him with a glow that was almost an expression of his charity. She saw that he had the straight serious features of the Ishmaelite, but lacked the fierce yet wondering gaze of the Arab. Aside from these superior indications in his face there was nothing to separate him from any other shepherd that ranged the mountainous pastures of Palestine. She, who all her life had never known anything but to expect the tenderest of ministrations, was humbly surprised and grateful at the free-handed generosity of the young stranger. Momus looked at him with grudging approval. "It is kindly shelter," she said finally with effort, "and it is warm. You are very good to us!" "But you have not eaten of my salt," he declared. Momus showed interest. It had been long since the last meal in the luxurious house of Costobarus. The boy in the meantime produced unleavened loaves from the carry-all of sheepskin that hung over his shoulders, and without explanation disappeared among his flock. Presently he returned with a small skin of milk. "We have goats in the flock," he said. "A shepherd can not live without a goat. You do not know about shepherds," he added. Laodice thought that she detected tactful inquiry in his last remark and roused herself painfully to make due explanations to her host. But he waved his hands at her, with the desert-man's courtesy which covers fine points better than the greater ones. "Eat my fare; I do not purchase thy history with salt and shelter," he said, with a certain sublimity of honor. Momus ate, and looked with growing grace at his young host. But Laodice succeeded only in drinking the goat's milk and lapsed into benumbed gazing at the red glow of fire that cast its warmth about her. The shepherd talked on, attempting to interest her in something other than her consuming sorrow. "These be Christian sheep about you, friends," he said, "and I am a Christian shepherd." Momus sat up suddenly with a bit of the boy's bread arrested on its way to his lips. He was eating the fare of an apostate, of a despised Nazarene. The boy went on composedly. "We are from Pella, the Christian city. We are, my sheep, my city and I, the only secure people in all Judea. We, I and the sheep, have been in the hills since the first new grass in February. We are many leagues from home." "So am I," Laodice said wearily. "Jerusalem?" the shepherd asked, glad he had brought out a response. "No? Yet all Judea is going to Jerusalem at this time. Are you fugitives?" Momus nodded. "Come then to Pella," the shepherd urged. "You will be fed there; Titus will not come there. We are poor but we are happy--and we are safe." Laodice thanked him so inertly that he sensed her disinterest, and while he sat looking at her, searching his heart for something kind to say, she put out her hand impulsively and took his. "God keep thee and forget thy heresy," she said. "If thou livest in Pella, Pella is indeed happy." He laughed with a flush stealing up under the brown of his cheeks. A faint light came into Laodice's eyes as she looked at him; he returned her gaze with a gradual softening that was intensely complimentary. Between the two was effected instant and lasting fellowship. Before Momus' indignant eyes the shepherd was blushing happily. "Who art thou?" Laodice asked. "They call me Joseph, son of Thomas." After a silence she said softly, "I am not at liberty to tell my name." She remembered the secrecy of Philadelphus' mission. "Yet perchance if the God of my fathers prosper me and my husband, I may come to Pella--as thy queen." The boy's eyes brightened and he drew in a sharp breath, but almost instantly the animation died and he looked at her sorrowfully. It seemed that she read dissent and sympathy commingled in his gaze. But he was a Christian; he could not believe and hope as she hoped. "Can I do aught for you?" he asked disjointedly. "Our duty is rather toward you, child," she answered, suddenly arousing to the peril they might bring their free-handed host. "We have newly come from a country where there is pestilence." But he smiled down on her uplifted face, with immense confidence. "I am not afraid. Besides, if I perish giving you comfort, I have done only as Jesus would have me do." "Who is Jesus?" Laodice asked. The shepherd made a little sign and bent his knee. "The Christ!" he responded. Momus plucked quickly at Laodice's sleeve and shook his head at her in an admonitory manner. He had laid down his bread unfinished. But the shepherd looked at him sympathetically. "Never fear," he said. "It will not hurt her to hear about Him. He makes Pella safe from armies. Let her come there and see for herself." Laodice pressed his hand. "I shall come," she said. He heaved a contented sigh--contented with himself, contented with her promise to come. Then he drew his hands away. "The sheep are noisy; they will not let you sleep. We shall go." Then as if afraid of her thanks he drew away, and halted at the threshold of the shelter. Then the boy extended his hands with a gesture so solemn that both of his guests bowed their heads instinctively. "_The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you for evermore_. Farewell," he said in a half-whisper. He was gone. Presently the rush of little feet swept after him and his high, wild, youthful yell rang faintly in the distance. The delicate crackling from the heated bed of coals was all that was heard in the sheltered wady roofed with skins. For the second time within the past few hours, Laodice had met a Christian. Both had helped her; both had blessed her. And one was an old man and one was a child. The interest of the recent interview and the excitement of the night slowly died away, leaving Laodice in the dead hopelessness of weary despair. She lay down suddenly with her face against the warmed sand and wept. Momus sat down beside her, covered her with a leopard skin taken from his own swarthy shoulders, and soothed her with awkward touches on cheek and hair, till her tears exhausted her and she slept. Stealthily then the old man rolled up her own mantle and put it under her head and prepared to watch. And then as he sat with his knee drawn up, his head bowed upon it, the weakness of slumber gradually stole away his watchfulness and his concern. Some time later, before the deliberate dawn of a March day had put out the last of the greater stars, two men on horses descended the declivity just above the shelter of sheepskins and attracted by the dull glow of the fire drew up cautiously. At a word from one of the men, the other alighted and, peering from the shelter of a prostrate cedar, inspected the pair. After assuring himself that there were but two about the camp, one a woman and both asleep, he tiptoed back to his fellow. "Only a man and a woman," he said. "Jews on their way to the Passover. Their fire is almost out. Let us ride on." "What haste!" the one who had kept his saddle said. "One would think it were you going forward to meet a bride and her dowry! I am hungry. Let us borrow of this fire and get breakfast." "Emmaus is only a little farther on," the first man protested. "I am tired of wayside meals, Philadelphus. I would eat at a khan again before I forget the custom." "How is the pair favored?" the other said provokingly. "I did not approach near enough," the other retorted. "It seemed to be an old man and a girl." "Pretty?" the one called Philadelphus asked. "I did not see." "Married, Julian?" "How could I tell?" Julian flared. Philadelphus laughed, and dismounted. "I shall see for myself," he declared, walking over to the sheltering cedar to look. Julian followed him nervously, saying under his breath: "You waste time deliberately!" "Tut! You merely wish to keep me from seeing this girl," Philadelphus retorted. He, too, stopped at the prostrate cedar and gazed under the sagging shelter of skins. "Shade of Helen!" he exclaimed under his breath as the firelight gave him perfect view of the sleeping girl. "What have we here?" Julian made no response. He drew nearer and looked in silence. "Now what are they to each other?" Philadelphus continued. "Father and daughter; lady and servant or--a courtezan and her manager?" At the continued silence of his companion, he argued his question himself. "No such ill-fashioned peasant loins as his ever begat such sweet patrician perfection as that!" he declared. "And a lady rich enough to have one servant would travel with more than one or not at all--" Julian broke in with sudden avid interest. "Look at that deal of feminine flummery--that dress of silver tissue, the ends of that silken scarf you see below the covering--all those jewels and trinkets! Odd garb for travel afoot, is it not? It is a badge not to be put off even in as barren a market as this. She is going to Jerusalem for the Passover. He will carry the purse, however, mark me." "How well you know the marks of delinquency!" Philadelphus said with a glimmer of resentment in his eyes. "Who does not? What do the Jewish psalmists and proverbialists and purists depict so minutely as that migrating iniquity, the strange woman?" "But look at her!" Philadelphus insisted. "I have not seen anything so bewitching since I left Ephesus!" "No; nor a long time before!" Julian declared. "I must have a nearer look." "Careful! You will wake her!" Julian's face showed a sneer at his companion's concern. "I'll have a care not to wake the old Boeotian," he said. He stepped between Laodice and her sleeping servant. The mute with the stupor of slumber further to disable his dulled hearing, did not move. "Young!" Philadelphus exclaimed in a whisper. "And new to the life!" "Pfui!" Julian scoffed. "Sleep makes even Venus look innocent!" "Then this is the most innocent wickedness I have seen in months!" "So you catalogue innocence as a charm! It's not here. But if she had no beauty but that eyelash I'd be speared upon it!" Philadelphus turned toward the old servant plunged in the exhausted sleep of weary age. "Thou grizzled nightmare!" he exclaimed vindictively. He glanced again at the girl. Julian had knelt beside her. Between the two men passed a look that was mutually understood. "Remember," Julian whispered, "you are a married man." Philadelphus paled suddenly with anger as the intent of his companion dawned upon him, but he put off his temper shrewdly. "And so approaching a time when wayside beauties will no longer be free to me," he said, cutting off his fellow in the beginning of his preëmption. "And you have a long freedom before you." There was so much challenge in his manner that Julian accepted it. He reached into his tunic and drew forth a pair of dice. "We will play for her," he said. The Maccabee put the tesserae aside. "We will not use them," he said. "I know them to be cogged. Let us have the judgment of a coin." A bronze coin of Agrippa was produced. Julian in getting at his purse brushed against the sleeping girl and as the pair glanced at her before they tossed, her large eyes opened full in Julian's face. A moment, almost breathless for the two, and terror flared up in her eyes. She started up, but Julian's hand dropped on her. "Peace, Phryne!" he said. She shrank from his touch, literally into the arms upon which Philadelphus rested his weight. She looked up into his eyes, and saw them soften with a smile, and moved no farther. Philadelphus took the coin. "Let Vespasian decide for me," he said. "For me Fortunatus," said Julian. Philadelphus filliped the coin and flung out a strong and fending hand against his fellow covering it. Under the brightening day, the lowering profile of the old plebeian emperor Vespasian showed distinctly on the newly minted bronze. Julian made a sharp menacing sound, and with clenched hands rose on his knees. But Philadelphus looked at him steadily, half-amused at the implied threat, half-inviting its fulfilment, and under his gaze, Julian rose slowly and drew away. Philadelphus tossed the coin after him. His cousin picked it up and put it in his purse. [Illustration: Philadelphus looked down upon his prize.] Philadelphus looked down at his prize. She had not flinched from him when she had found him beside her, with Julian threatening her. But now her wide open eyes fixed upon his brimmed with an agony of appeal. Innocent of the world's wickedness, she could only sense supreme peril in this mysterious game without understanding the stake. Momus was not in sight--dead for all she knew--and the desert was an ally against her. Over her, now, bent a face characteristic of a great spirit, yet one which was coeval with the times--times of violence and the supremacy of force. His lips were thin, the contour of his face angular at the jaw, the nose straight and long, his brows black and low over dark blue eyes of a fathomless depth, the forehead strongly molded, and marked with deep perpendicular lines between the eyes. He was dark, heavy-haired, young, lean, broad and of fine height even as he knelt beside her. Laodice did not note any of these things. She was only conscious of the immense power her terror and her helplessness had to combat. Back of all this iron selfishness, she hoped that somewhere was a gentleness, even if inert and useless. All her strength was concentrated in the effort to bring it to life. He gazed at her, apparently unconscious of the desperation in the face lifted to him. The slow smile that presently grew again in his eyes was none the less unthoughted. He slipped his hand under a strand of her rich hair that had fallen and drew it out, slowly, at full length. Slowly his eyes followed it as inch by inch it slipped through his fingers. Old memories seemed to struggle to the surface; old tendernesses; recollection of pure hours and holy things; paganism dropped from him like a husk and the spiritual hauteur of a Jew brought the expression of the unhumbled house of Judah into his face. Through a notch in the hills a golden beam shot from the sun and penetrating this inwalled valley lay like an illuminating fire on the man's face and glorified it. Laodice's breath stopped. Slowly his fingers slipped along the fine silken length of that shining strand until his arm extended to the full; and the end of the lock yet rested on her breast. Thus might have been the hair of that Rahab, who was no less a patriot because she was frail; thus, the hair of Bathsheba, who was the mother of the wisest Israelite though she sinned; thus the hair of that mother of Samson, who slew armies single-handed! Badge of Judah, mark of the haughty strength of the oldest enlightenment in the world! He would not initiate his succor of Israel with violence against its purest type. He smiled slowly; slowly let the strand fall through his fingers. He looked into her eyes and she saw a sudden light immeasurably compassionate and tender grow there. A weakness swept over her; she felt that she had been longing for that light. Then he rose quickly and moved away. Old Momus, the mute, with his head on his knees slept on. Julian, who had been halted involuntarily by the attitude of his companion and had been an amazed witness of this extraordinary end of the incident, looked at Philadelphus' face in frank stupefaction. But Philadelphus laid a hand so forceful and compelling on his companion's shoulder that it left the pink print of his fingers on the flesh, turned him toward the horses and led him away. "We will breakfast farther on," he said. A moment and they were swinging down the stony side of the hill toward the east, and Laodice, with her hand clutching her excited heart, had not thought of flinging herself upon Momus. She raised herself gradually to watch them as far as she could see, and her fixed and stunned gaze rested with immense homesickness and longing on the taller man radiant against the background of a risen sun. Chapter IV THE TRAVELERS The Maccabee rode on, unconscious of Julian's critical gaze. The smile on his lips flickered now brightly, now very faint. The incident in the hills had not made him entirely happy, but it had awakened in him something which was latent in him, something which he had never felt before, but which held a sweet familiarity that the blood of his fathers in him had recognized. Julian was intensely disgusted and disappointed. But there was still a sensation of shock on his shoulder where the Maccabee's iron hand had rested and his famous caution stood him in stead at this moment when a quarrel with such intense and executive earnestness in his companion's manner might prove disastrous. If quarrel they must before they reached Emmaus, now but a few leagues east of them, he must insure himself against defeat much less likely to be suffered from a man reluctant to quarrel. He had been hunting for a pretext ever since they had left Cæsarea, but this one, suddenly opened to him, startled him. He admitted now that it would not be wise to force a fight. Whatever must be done should be done with least danger to himself. It were better, he believed, to allay suspicion. He spoke. "How far is it to Jerusalem?" "About eighty furlongs." "Then if we continue, we shall approach the gates after nightfall." "We shall not continue," Philadelphus remarked. "We shall halt at Emmaus." "Do you think it would be better for us to camp here in the hills rather than to stop without the walls of Jerusalem between the city forces and the winter garrison of Titus and await the opening of the Gates?" Julian asked after thought. "We shall wait in Emmaus," the Maccabee repeated, his soul too filled with dream to note the change in his companion's manner. "You have already lost three days," Julian charged him irritably. "Jerusalem may be besieged; it may be long before I can ride in the wilderness again," the Maccabee answered. "Right; your next journey through this place may be afoot--at the end of a chain," Julian averred. The Maccabee raised his brows. "Losing courage at the last end of the journey?" he inquired. "No! I never have believed in this project," Julian declared. "Why?" "Who believes in the prospects of a man determined to leap into Hades?" But the Maccabee was already riding on with his head lifted, his eyes set upon the blue shadows on the western slopes of hills, lifted against the early morning sun. Julian went on. "You go, cousin, on a mission mad enough to measure up with the antics of the frantic citizens of Jerusalem. It will not be even a glorious defeat. You will be swallowed up in an immense calamity too tremendous to offer publicity to so infinitesimal a detail as the death of one Philadelphus Maccabaeus. Agrippa has deserted the city and when a Herod lets go of his own, his own is not worth the holding. The city is torn between factions as implacable as the sea and the land. The conservatives are either dead or fled; pillage and disorder are the main motives of all that are left. And Titus advances with four legions. What can you hope for this mob of crazed Jews?" Julian's words had been more lively than the Maccabee had expected. He was obliged to give attention before his kinsman made an end. "You are fond of summaries, Julian," he said, "dealt in your own coin. Look you, now, at my hope. You confess that these Jews lack a leader. They have lacked him so long that they hunger and thirst for one. Also they have suffered the distresses of disorder so intensely that peace in any form is most welcome to them. Titus approacheth reluctantly. He had rather deliver Jerusalem than besiege it. I am of the loved and dethroned Maccabaean line--acceptable to every faction of Jewry, from the Essenes to the Sicarii. Titus is my friend, unless he suspects me as coming to undermine his better friend, the pretty Herod. I shall help Jerusalem help herself; I shall make peace with Rome; I shall be King of the Jews!--Behold, is not my summary as practical as yours?" Julian laughed with an amusement that had a ring of contempt in it. "There is naught to keep an astronomer from planning a rearrangement of the stars," he said. But the Maccabee rode on calmly. Julian sighed. After a while he spoke. "Well, how do you proceed? You tell me that these very visionaries whom you would succor have never laid eyes on you. What marks you as royal--as a sprig of the great, just and dead Maccabee?" "I bear proofs, Roman documents of my family and of my birth. Certain of my party are already organized in Jerusalem and are expecting me, and I wear the Maccabaean signet. Is not that enough?" "Nothing of it worth the security of private citizenship and a whole head!" "No? Not when there is a dowry of two hundred talents awaiting my courage to come and get it?" "Ha! That wife! But will you enter that sure death for a woman you do not know?" "And for a fortune I have not possessed and for a kingdom that I never owned." "She will not be there! Old Costobarus is not so mired in folly as to send his daughter into the Pit to provide you with money to--pay Charon." "Aquila sent me a messenger at Cæsarea," Philadelphus continued calmly, "saying that Costobarus was transfigured when he had my summons. He feels that his God has been good to him to choose his daughter to share the throne of Judea. Hence, by this time my lady awaits me in Jerusalem." Again Julian sighed. "And there is none in Jerusalem who knows your face?" he asked after a silence. "None, except Amaryllis, and she has not seen me since I was sixteen years old." "And there also is an obstacle which I had forgotten to enumerate," Julian said argumentatively. "You have put your trust in a frail woman." "Amaryllis may be frail," the Maccabee admitted, "but she is sufficiently manly to have all that you and I demand of a man to put faith in him. She is a good companion and she will not lie." "Impossible! She is a woman!" Julian exclaimed. "Even then," the Maccabee returned patiently, "her own ambition safeguards me. She can not succeed except as I am successful, and her purposes are of another kind than mine. She helps herself when she helps me. Therefore I am depending on her selfishness. It is usually a dependable thing." "What does she want?" "The old classic times of the _heterae_ in Greece. She wants to be the pioneer of art in Jerusalem. It is a fertile and a neglected field. She had rather be known as the mother of refinement in Judea than as the queen of kings over the world." "A modest ambition!" "A great one. How many monarchs are forgotten while Aspasia is remembered! Who were the reigning kings during Sappho's time?" "But go on. You repose much on her influence. Perhaps she has the will but not the power to help you." "Power! She is the mistress of John of Gischala and actual potentate over Jerusalem at this hour." "Unless Simon bar Gioras hath taken the upper hand within the last few days. Remember the fortunes of factionists are ephemeral." Philadelphus jingled his harness. He was sorry that he had permitted this discussion. Now its continuance was particularly irritating, when he had rather think of something else. He was near Jerusalem; but he was not going forward, now, with the same eagerness, nor with the same enthusiasm for his cause. The incident in the hills had marked the change in him. It was not, then, with a patient tongue that he defended his intentions, which had grown less inviting in the last hour. "How little your wife will enjoy her," Julian's smooth voice broke in once more, "seeing that the frail one is lovely." "I do not know that she is lovely." "What!" Julian exclaimed in genuine amazement. "You do not know that she is lovely! Years of correspondence with a woman whom you do not know to be lovely! Reposing kingdoms on a woman's influence whom you do not know to be beautiful!" "Beauty is no tie," the Maccabee retorted. "Have you forgotten Salome, the Jewish actress who could play Aphrodite in the theaters of Ephesus, to the confusion of the goddess herself? They said she snared three procurators and an emperor at one performance and lost them in a day!" "Have you seen her?" Julian asked with a sidelong glance. "Till your own eyes prove it, you should not accept that she is so bewitching." "There is no need that I should see her; Aquila swears it! And I would take his word against the testimony of even mine own eyes." Julian looked up in a startled manner and hurriedly looked away again. A half-frightened, half-amused smile played about his lips. "Aquila is no judge of woman," he said finally. "And furthermore, they say she got to trifling with magic and prowling about the temples to see if the gods came true. They were afraid she would get them blasted along with her sometime for her sacrilege. I know all this because Aquila declared she attached herself to him in sheer poverty in Ephesus and swore to follow him to the ends of the earth." The Maccabee smiled. "Nevertheless, he told me that he was afraid of her, but that she was a woman and in need and he could not reject her." Julian's eyes grew insinuating. "How much then your behavior this morning would have shocked him!" he murmured. The smile died on the Maccabee's face. Reference to the girl in the hills seemed blasphemy on this man's lips. "And you do not recall your wife's face?" Julian persisted. The Maccabee's face hardened more. But he shook his head. "Fourteen years can change a woman from a beauty to--a--a Christian, ugly and old and cold," Julian augured. The Maccabee turned his head away from his tormentor and Julian's laughter trailed off into a half-jocular groan. "How much you harp on beauty!" the Maccabee said deliberately. "Are you then going to regret the actresses you left behind when I tore you from your exalted calling as the forelegs of the elephant in the theaters at Ephesus?" Julian's face blackened. A foolhardy daring born of rage resolved him at that instant. He flung himself out from his saddle and raised his hand with a knife clenched in it. But the Maccabee with a composed laugh caught the hand and wrenching it about, dropped it, red and contracting with pain, at his companion's side. "Tut! Julian, you are a bad combatant. If you must make way with a man," the Maccabee advised, "stab him in the back. It is sure--for you. Ha! Is this Emmaus we see?" They had ridden up a slight eminence and below them was a disorder of fallen or decrepit Syrian huts in the hollow place in the hills. It had been the history of Emmaus for centuries to be known. The feet of the Crucified One had pressed its ruined streets and His devoted chroniclers had not failed to set it down in their illuminated gospels. Army after army in endless procession had thundered through it since the first invader humbled the glory of Canaan, and few of the historians had forgotten to record the unimportant incident. Warfare had hurtled about it for centuries; the Roman army had come upon it and would continue to come. It had not the spirit to resist; it was not worthy of conquest. It simply stood in the path of events. A single citizen appeared at the doorway of the most habitable house and looked absently over the heads of the new-comers. As they approached, the villager did not observe them. Instead, he looked at the near horizon lifted on the shoulder of the hills and meditated on the signs of the weather. It was Emmaus' habit to find strangers at its door. Julian, with natural desire to be first on this perilous ground and away from the side of the man who had defeated him and laughed at him, rode up to the door. The villager, seeing the traveler stop, gazed at him. Julian had about him an air of blood and breeding first to be remarked even before his features. The grace of his bearing and the excellence of his bodily condition were highly aristocratic. His height was good, his figure modestly athletic as an observance of fine form rather than a preparation for the arena. He was simply dressed in a light blue woolen tunic. A handkerchief was bound about his head. His forehead was very white and half hidden by loose, curling black locks that escaped with boyish negligence from his head-dress. His eyes were black, his cheeks tanned but colorless, his mouth mirthful and red but hard in its outlines. Clean-shaven, lithe, supple, he did not appear to be more than twenty-two. But there was an even-tempered cynicism and sophistication in the half-droop of his level lids, indifference, hauteur and self-reliance in the uplift of his chin. His soul was therefore older, more seasoned and set than the frame that housed it. Now there was considerable agitation in his manner, enough to make him sharp in his speech to the villager. "Is there a khan in Emmaus?" he demanded. "There is," the villager responded calmly. "Where?" The citizen motioned toward a low-roofed rambling structure of stone picked up on the native hills. "Ask there," he said and passing out of his door went his way. Julian touched his horse and rode through the worn passage and into the court of the decrepit khan of Emmaus. The Maccabee followed. The Syrian host who was both waiter and hostler met Julian entering first. "Quick!" Julian said, leaning from his horse. "Is there a young man here with gray temples? A pagan?" The Syrian, attracted by the anxiety in the demand, followed a train of surmise before his answer. "No pagans, here. Naught but Jews," he observed finally. "Or a young woman of wealth? Quick!" "No wealth at all; but plenty of women. The Passover pilgrims." Julian heaved a sigh of relief and dismounted. The Maccabee rode into the court of the khan at that instant. The khan-keeper took their horses and a little later the two men were led into the single cobwebby chamber, low-ceiled, gloomy, cold and cheerless as a cave. There they were given food and afterward a corner of the hall where a straw pallet had been laid and a stone trough filled with water for a bath. After refreshing himself the Maccabee lay down and slept with supreme indifference to the rancor of the man who had attempted to kill him. But Julian had another idea than pressing his vengeful advantage at that time. He went out into Emmaus and engaging the unemployed of the thriftless town sent them broadcast into the hills in search of a pagan who was young, yet gray at the temples. Some of them went--and they were chiefly boys who were not old enough to know that these strangers who come in pagan guise to Emmaus are full of guile. But none returned to him. They had neither seen nor heard of a pagan who was young though the white hair of an old man snowed on his temples. So Julian storming within went out into the hills himself, to search. Meanwhile the Maccabee, a light sleeper and readily restored, awoke and found himself alone. The khan-keeper informed him on inquiry that Julian had ridden away. "Too fair a hope to think that he has deserted me," the Maccabee observed. "I shall await him a decent time. He will return." He tramped about the chamber waiting for something that was not Julian, intending to do something but unable to define that thing. There was a vague admission that this last pause before his entry into Jerusalem where he must accomplish so much was an opportunity for some sort of preparation, but he lacked direction and resource. He was irritable and purposeless. Out of the low door that opened into the lewen of the khan he caught glimpses of the town spread over the tilt of the hill before him. It had become active since he had looked upon it in the very early hours of the day. Over the gate he could see the toss of canopies and the heads of camels passing; he could hear the ring of mule-hooves on the stones and the tramp of wayfarers. There were shoutings and debate; the cries of servants and the gossip of parties. All this moved on always in the direction of Jerusalem. Few paused. The single shop in Emmaus became active; the khan caught a little of the drift, but the great body of what seemed to be an unending stream of pilgrims passed on. The Maccabee spoke to his host. "What is this?" he asked. The publican raised his brows. "Hast never heard of the Passover?" he asked. The Maccabee started. How far he had drifted from the customs of his people, to fail to remember its vital feast--he who meant to be king over the Jews! He turned away a little abashed. The train of thought awakened by the khan-keeper's answer led him back to the hieratic customs of his race. What was his status as a Jew after all these years of delinquency? What atonement did he owe, what offering should he make? He went out over the cobbled pavement of the lewen to the gate. Here he should see part of his people and learn from simple observation what material he would have in his work for Israel. From his memories of the old Passovers of his boyhood, he saw instantly that there had come a change over Judea and the worshiping sons of Abraham. They went in bodies, in numbers from a handful from some remote but pious hamlet to great armies from the leveled cities of Joppa, Ptolemais and Anthedon, from Cæsarea and Tyre and Sidon, from the enthusiastic towns in Galilee, and even from far-off Antioch and Ephesus. They were not fewer in number, because of a year of warfare and the menace of an approaching army upon the city in which they were to take refuge. But there were more--double, even triple the number that usually went up to Jerusalem at this time. For of the millions of inhabitants in Judea in the unhappy year of 70 A.D., a third of them were plundered and homeless refugees from ruined cities. Therefore, instead of the armies of men, happy, hopeful and enthusiastic, who had journeyed in former years to Jerusalem, there passed before the Maccabee a mixed multitude of men and women and children. Thousands carried with them all that warfare had left to them--pitiful parcels of treasure or household goods, or extra clothing; other thousands bore nothing in their hands, and by the wear in their garments and the hunger in their faces, it seemed that they owned nothing to carry. The Maccabee noted finally the entire absence of the travelers who fared in state. Not in all that long procession that wound up the stony passage from the west, did he see a single Sadducee. There went mobs of laborers and farmers, tradesmen, servants and small merchants, but the Jewish friends of Rome that had once made part of the Passover pilgrimage a royal progress were nowhere to be seen. Under the vast, vivid blue of the mountain skies they moved, indifferent to the splendid benevolence of the untroubled day. The pure wind swept in from the radiance in the east, flinging out multi-colored garments and scarves, rushing with its bracing chill without obstruction through even the compactest mass of wayfarers. The cedars on the hills about the little town whistled continuously and at times some extremely narrow defile with an uninterrupted draft would take voice and cry humanly. But there was no responsive exhilaration to the vigor of morning on a mountain-top. The great ever-growing migration was dark, dangerous and moody. Somewhere beyond the highest of the blue hills to the east, the white walls of the city of David were receiving all this. Somewhere to the west the four brassy legions of Titus were marching down upon all this. About the Maccabee were assembling all the circumstances that govern a tremendous struggle. Eagerness, earnestness, all the strength and resolution of his strong and resolute nature surged into his soul. It was his hour. It should find him prepared. He turned out of the gate and crowding along by the stone wall to pass in the opposite direction from the flood of pilgrims pouring through Emmaus, he searched for the synagogue of the little town. He came upon it, a solid square building of stone with an Egyptic façade and an architrave carved with a great stone flower set in an olive wreath. Without was the proseuchae, paved with boulders now worn smooth by the summer sittings of the congregation who gathered around the reader's stone. The Maccabee stopped at the gate and unlacing his pagan sandals set them outside the threshold. Once over the stone sill with the imminent gloom covering him, he felt the old sanctity envelop him with a reproach in its forgotten familiarity. Old incense, old litanies, old rites rushed back to him with the smell of the stagnant fragrance. He heard again from the farther depths of the dark interior the musical monotone of a rabbi reciting a ritual. The voice was young and low. Presently he heard the responses spoken in a woman's voice, so tender, so soft and so sad that he sensed instantly the meaning of the sympathy in the young priest's voice. Out of the incense-laden dusk he found old custom stealing back upon him. His lips anticipated words unreadily; gladly he realized that he could say these formulas, also; he had not forgotten; he had not forgotten! In this little synagogue in a poor town there were no privacies; communicants had to depend on the courtesy of their fellows for uninterrupted devotion. The wanderer had not forgotten this. So he effaced himself in the darkness and awaited his own turn. He hardly knew why he had come. For what should he ask--forgiveness or for the hope of the King who was to come? What should he do--make atonement or promises; give an offering or ask encouragement? He did not doubt for an instant that he had done wisely in seeking the synagogue, but what had he for it, or what had it for him? Meanwhile the voice of the priest, disembodied in the gloom, had put off its ritualistic tone and was delivering a charge: "Since you are in haste to reach Jerusalem, you may depart, so that you will give me your word that you will in all faith abide upon the road seven days; and that at the end of the separation you will present yourselves for examination and cleansing at Jerusalem, and that you will in nowise transgress the law of separation on the journey hence." The Maccabee heard the woman give her word. After a little further communication, he heard them move toward the entrance. The white light from the day without revealed to him in a few steps, a veiled woman, a deformed old man and a young rabbi. He did not need to take the evidence of her dress or of her companion to recognize under this veil the girl whom he had won from Julian of Ephesus, in the hills, that very morning. As if in response to his inner hope that she would see him, she raised her eyes at the moment she passed, and started quickly. Even under the shelter of her veil he saw her flush. The next instant she was out of the synagogue and gone. The Maccabee hesitated restlessly, forgot his mission to the synagogue and then, with no definite purpose, followed. At the edge of town, where the huddle of huts left off and the gravel and rock and cedar began, he saw the priest dismiss the pair with his blessing and turn back. Undecided, restless and regretful, the Maccabee lingered, looking after her as she went into the hills, unattended, except for an anomalous old man. The sun of noon shone on her silver dress that the dust of the wayside had not tarnished. He was gloomy and wistful without understanding his discomfort, and afraid for the beautiful unknown going out for seven days into the unfriendly wilderness. There was the click of a horse's hoof beside him. He glanced up with a nervous start to see Julian of Ephesus, scowling, at hand. "It is time," he said, "for us to be off." The Maccabee instantly determined that Julian of Ephesus should not come up with this defenseless girl again. "I am not ready," he returned promptly. "It was three days, this morning, that you have lost. To-morrow it will be four." "And Sabbath, it will be seven. A long time, a long time!" The Maccabee turned and went back to the khan. A gap in the hills had hidden the girl in the silver tissue, and the blitheness of the Maccabee's spirit had gone with her. Chapter V BY THE WAYSIDE By sunset, the Maccabee and Julian of Ephesus had taken the road to Jerusalem again. As they reached the crest of a series of ridges there lay before them a long gentle slope smooth and dun-colored as some soft pelt, dropping down into a tender vale with levels of purple vapor hanging over it. At the end of this declivity, leagues in length, was a faint blue shape, cloudlike and almost merged with the cold color of the eastern horizon, but suddenly developing at its summit a delicate white peak. The sunset reaching it as they rode changed the point to a pinnacle of ruby before their eyes. Their shadows that had ridden before them merged with the shade over the world. Then with a soft, whispery, ghost-like intaking of the breath, a quantity of sand on the straight road before them got up under their horses' feet and moved away to another spot and dropped again with a peppering sound and was dead moveless earth again. The little breath of wind from under the edge of the sky had fallen. In the silence between the muffled beat of hooves the Maccabee heard at his ears the quick lively throb of a busy pump. With it went the firm rush of a subdued stream. He was hearing his own heart-beat, his own life flowing through his veins. Since nature in him had hurried him out of the synagogue after its own desire, he seemed to have become primitive, conscious of the human creature in him. Now, though he rode through a bewitching air through an enchanted land, he did not ride in a dream. All his being was alert and sagacious. Though the confusion of footprints in the dust showed plainly where men had passed by thousands, he did not follow their lead. Over the tangle of marks lay a slim paw-printed, confident, careless trail of a jackal, following the scent to a well. The Maccabee was obedient to the instinct of the animal instead of the reason of man. At the end of that trail, surer than Ariadne's scarlet thread in the labyrinth, he knew that thirst had taken the girl in the dress of silver tissue. So as he rode along this faultless highway that fared level and undeviating by arches, causeways and bridges across mountains, over black marshes and profound valleys, he kept his eyes on the jackal's trail. Long after moonrise they came to a spot in the road where the human marks passed on, by hundreds, by other hundreds deserted the road and clambered up the side of the hill. Over this deviation the jackal had trotted. The Maccabee, tall on his horse, raised his fine head and searched all the brooding shapes of the hills about. The road at this point ran through a defile. On either side the slopes crowded upon the pass. Above them were bold summits with groves of cedars, and in one of these the Maccabee made out a thin curl of smoke dimly illuminated by a moon-drowned fire. Up there in the covert of the trees the girl in the silver tissue was resting from her perilous and outlawed journey. "We will eat here," the Maccabee said abruptly to Julian. "Eat!" Julian exclaimed. "What?" The Maccabee signed to the pack on Julian's horse. Julian dismounted, shaking his head. "What a savage appetite this travel in the untaught wilds of Judea hath bred in you, my cousin! You, whom once a crust of bread and a cup of wine would satisfy!" But the Maccabee climbed out of the roadway and, finding a sheltered spot behind a boulder, kicked together some of the dead weeds and twigs and set fire to the heap with flint and steel. Then he lost interest in the preparation of his comforts. He turned to look up at the faint column of illumination in the little copse of cedars and presently, stealthily, went that way. It was a poor encampment that he came upon. From the low-growing limbs of a couple of gnarly cedars, old Momus had stretched the sheepskins which Joseph, the shepherd, had given them. Three sides of the shelter were protected thus, and the fourth side opened down-hill, with a low fire screening them from the mountain wind. Within this inclosure, wrapped in the coarse mantle of her servant, sat Laodice. She had raised her veil and its misty texture flowed like a web of frost over her brilliant hair and framed her face in cold vapor. In spite of the marks of grief that had exhausted her tears, the fatigue and discomfort, she seemed, to the Maccabee's eyes, more than ever lovely. He was angry with the hieratic banishment that sent her out to subsist by the roadside for seven days in early spring; angry with the harsh inhospitality of the hills; and angrier that he could not change it all. He looked at the old mute to see that he was carefully putting away the remnants of a meal of durra bread and curds. The primitive gallantry of the original man stirred in the Maccabee. He had come unseen; with silent step he departed. A little later he stepped boldly into the circle of light from their camp-fire. To Laodice, in her lowly position, he seemed superhumanly big and splendid. Without mantle or any of the accessories that would show preparation against the cold, his bare arms and limbs and dark face, tanned, hardy and resolute, seemed to be those of a strong aborigine, sturdy friend of all of nature's rougher moods. He did not look at Momus, who got up as quickly as he might at the intrusion of the big stranger. His dark eyes rested on Laodice, who sat transfixed with her sudden recognition of the visitor. He held in one hand a brace of fowls, in the other a skin of wine. When he spoke the polish of the Ephesian andronitis in his voice and manner destroyed the primitive illusion. "Lady, I heard in the synagogue at Emmaus to-day the exclusion that is laid upon you for seven days. This is a hungry country and no man should waste food. I shall enter Jerusalem to-morrow by daybreak; we, my companion and I, have no further use for these. They are Milesian ducks, fattened on nuts. And this is Falernian--Roman. I pray you, allow me to leave them with your servant with my obeisances." Without waiting for her reply the Maccabee passed fowls and skin into the hands of Momus who stood near. "Sir," she answered unreadily, with her small hands gripping each other before her and her eyes veiled, "I thank you. It was not the least of my anxieties how we should provide ourselves with food under prohibition and in a country perilous with war. You have made to-morrow easy for us. I thank you." "To-morrow; yes," he argued, seizing upon a discussion for an excuse to remain, "but the next day, and the next five days, what shall you do?" "Perchance," she said gravely, "God will send us another stranger of a generous heart, with more than he needs for himself." Not likely, indeed, he thought, would such beauty as hers go hungry as long as there were hearts in the wilderness as impressionable as his. But the thought of another than himself providing for her did not make him happy. There was nothing more to be said, but he did not go. In his face gathered signs of his interest in her identity. "Is there more that I can do for you?" he asked. "Have you friends in Jerusalem? I will bear your messages gladly." But it was a grateful privilege which she had to refuse with reluctance. If her husband awaited her in Jerusalem, he must wait, rather than be informed of the cause of her delay at peril of exposing his presence in the city. She shook her head. "There is nothing more," she added. "I thank you." Dismissal was so evident in her voice that he prepared to depart. "Shall you move on, then, in the morning?" he asked. "We have seven days in the wilderness," she explained. "We can not hasten. It is only a little way to Jerusalem." "But it is a long road and a weary one for tender feet," he answered; "and it is a time of warfare and much uncertainty." She lifted her eyes now with trouble in them. "Is there any less dangerous way than this?" she asked. The Maccabee sat down and clasped his hands about his knees. This grasping at the slightest excuse to remain exasperated the perplexed Momus, who could not understand the stranger's assurance. But the Maccabee failed to see him. "There is," he said to Laodice. "One can journey with you. I am under no restriction, and the rabbis do not bind you against me. I can secure you comforts along the way, and give you protection. There in no such dire need that I enter Jerusalem under seven days." Laodice was confused by this sudden offer of help from a stranger in whom her confidence was not entirely settled. Nevertheless a warmth and pleasure crept into her heart benumbed with sorrow. She did not look at Momus, fearing instinctively that the command in her old servant's eyes would not be of a kind with the grateful response she meant to give this stranger. "I have no right to expect so much--from a stranger," she said. "Then I shall not be a stranger," he declared promptly. "Call me--Hesper--of Ephesus." "Ephesus!" she echoed, looking up quickly. "The maddest city in the world," he replied. "Dost know it?" She hesitated. Could she say with entire truth that she did not know Ephesus? Had she not read those letters that Philadelphus had written to her father, which were glowing with praise of the proud city of Diana? Was it not as if she had seen the Odeum and the great Theater, the Temple with its golden cows, the mount and the plain and the broad wandering of the Rivers Hermus, Caÿster and Maenander? Had she not made maps of it from her young husband's accounts and then with enthusiasm traced his steps by its stony, hilly streets from forum to stadium and from school to museum? Had she not dreamed of its shallow port, its rugged highways and its skyey marshes? It had been her pride to know Ephesus, although she had never laid eyes upon it. Even she had come to believe that she would know an Ephesian by his aggressive joy in life! It went hard with her to deny that she knew that city which she had all but seen. The Maccabee observed her hesitation and when she looked up to answer, his eyes full of question were resting upon her. "I do not know Ephesus," she said quickly. "Are--are you a native?" "No." She wanted mightily to know if he had met the young Philadelphus in that city, but she feared to ask further lest she betray him. "A great city," he went on, "but there are greater pagan cities. It is not like Jerusalem, which has no counterpart in the world. Even the most intolerant pagan is curious about Jerusalem." She looked again at his face. It was not Greek or Roman, neither more indicative of her own blood. "Are you a Jew?" she asked. He remembered that she had seen him in a synagogue. "I was," he said after a silence. She looked at him a moment before she made comment. "I never heard a Jew say it that way before." He acknowledged the rebuke with the flash of a smile that appeared only in his eyes. "A Jew entirely Jewish wears the mark on him. You have had to ask if I were a Jew. Would I be consistent to claim to be that which in no wise shows to be in me?" "It is time to be a Jew or against the Jews," she said gravely. "There is no middle ground concerning Judea at this hour." Serious words from the lips of a woman in whom a man expects to find entertainment are obtrusive, a paradox. Still the new generosity in his heart for this girl made any manner she chose, engaging, so that it showed him the sight of her face and gave him the sound of her voice. "Seeing," he said, "that it is the hour of the Jewish hope, is it politic for us to declare ourselves for its benefits?" "The call at this hour," she exclaimed reproachfully, "is to be great in sacrifice--not for reward. It is the word of the prophets that we shall not attain glory until we have suffered for it. We have not yet made the beginning." She touched so familiarly on his own thoughts which had haunted him since ambition had awakened in him in his boyhood, that his interest in his own hope surged to the fore. "How goes it in Jerusalem?" he asked earnestly. "Evilly, they say," she answered, "but I have not been in the city. Yet you see Judea. That which has destroyed it threatens the city. Jews have no friends abroad over the world. We need then our own, our own!" "Trust me, lady, for a good Jew. I have said that I had been one, because I admit how far I have drifted from my people. But I am going back!" Somehow that strong avowal touched the deep springs of her grief. She knew the pleasure that her father would have felt in it. With the greatness of his sacrifice in mind, she filled with the determination that his work should not have been in vain. She rose and flung back the cumbrous striped mantle on her shoulders and put out her hands to the Maccabee. "Hast seen these pilgrims going to the Passover?" she exclaimed, with color rising as her emotion grew. "All day they have passed; army after army of Jews, not only strong, but filled with the spirit that makes men die for a cause! Hast seen Judea, which was once the land of milk and honey? Wasted! a sight to make Jews gnash their teeth and die of hate and rage! What hast thou said of Jerusalem? 'The perfection of beauty and the joy of the whole earth!' threatened with this same blight that hath made a wilderness of Canaan! If the hour and the circumstance and the cause will but unite us, this unweaponed host will stretch away at once in majestic orders of tens of thousands--legions upon legions that would shame Xerxes for numbers and that first Cæsar for strength. Then--oh, I can see that calm battle-line pass like the ocean tide over the stony Roman front, and forget as the sea forgets the pebbles that opposed it!" She halted suddenly on the edge of tears. The Maccabee, astonished and moved, looked at her in silence. This, then, was what even the women of the shut chambers of Palestine expected of him--if he freed Judea! If such spirit prevailed over the armies of men assembling in the Holy City, what might he not achieve with their help! The Maccabee felt confidence and enthusiasm fill his heart to the full. He rose. "Our blows will never weaken nor our hearts grow faint," he said, "if we have such eloquence and such beauty to inspire us." She drew back a little. His persistent happiness of mood fell cruelly on her flinching heart at that moment. He noted her sudden relapse into dejection, with disappointment. "Do not be sad," he said. "Discomforts do not last for ever." "It is not that," she said in a low voice. "I have buried beloved dead on this journey and I have surrendered all my substance to a pillager." There was the silence of arrested thought. The Maccabee was taken aback and embarrassed. He felt that he was an intruder. But even the flush on her face in restraining emotion made her loveliness more than ever winsome. He let his hand drop softly on hers. But in the genuineness of his sympathy he was not too moved to feel that her hand warmed under his clasp. "The difference between a fool and a blunderer," he said contritely, "is that the blunderer is always sorry for his mistakes. I will go. None has a right to refuse another his hour to weep." He hesitated a moment, as if he would have kissed her hand. She glanced up at him with eyes too filled with the darkness of grief for words. The slow unconscious smile that had worked such perfect transformation that first morning grew in his eyes. It was comfort, compliment and protection all in one. Then he went away into the moonlight. Within a few feet he came upon Julian of Ephesus with immense rancor written on his face. The Maccabee was disturbed. It was not well that this conscienceless man should have discovered that they were traveling near this girl and her old servant. Much as the young man wished to loiter along the road to Jerusalem to keep her in sight while he could, he saw plainly that to defend her from Julian he must ride on and leave her. "Your meal," said Julian, "is as cold as Jugurtha's bath." "I have lost my appetite," the Maccabee said carelessly. "Saddle and let us ride on." At his words, a picture of his own comfortable progress to Jerusalem compared to her long foot-weary tramp for days over the inhospitable hills appeared to him. The instant impulse did not permit himself to argue the immoderation of his care of her. Julian clung to his side until they were ready to depart. Then the Maccabee, using subterfuge to give him opportunity to escape the vigilant eyes of the Ephesian, suddenly clapped his hand to his hip, exclaiming that he had left his weapon at the camp. Before Julian's sneer reached him, he mounted quickly and rode up the hill, meaning to offer his horse to the girl. The bed of coals still glowed cheerily, but the shelter of sheepskins, the old servant and the girl in the tissue of woven moonbeams were gone. He stood still, vexed, disappointed and resentful. "The old incubus has made her go on, purposely, to get rid of me!" he decided finally. "Perpol! He won't!" Chapter VI DAWN IN THE HILLS It was a night that the Maccabee did not readily forget. Since the girl had moved on to avoid him, he had become alive to a delinquency that was more of a sensation than an admission. His thought of her, that had been a diversion before, now seemed to be a transgression. An incident of this nature during the fourteen years of his life in Ephesus would have engaged his conscience only a moment if at all, but at this last hour it amounted to a deflection from his newly resolved uprightness. Julian rode in a constant air of expectancy and increasing irritation. The slightest sound from the haunted hills elicited a start from him and his intense attention until the origin of the sound proved itself. Many Passover pilgrims who had proceeded by night passed under his close scrutiny and from time to time he stopped the Maccabee in a speech with a peremptory command to listen. All this engaged the Maccabee's interest, but he made no comment until, on occasion of his casual word in praise of the fidelity of Aquila, Julian flew into a rage and reviled the emissary until the Maccabee brought him up with a sharp word. "Enough of that!" he exclaimed. "What ails you, man?" Julian caught his breath and after a silence replied in a voice considerably sweetened that Aquila was a conscienceless pagan and not to be praised till he was dead. But the Maccabee, with the girl uppermost in his mind, believed that his cousin was inwardly resenting his preëmption of the pretty stranger. The fact that Julian had changed the pace of their advance confirmed him in this suspicion. From the smart trot that they had maintained from the time they had left Cæsarea, they had declined to a walk. Julian next showed inclination to loiter. He spent an unusual length of time at every spring at which they watered their horses; an unseen break in his harness engaged a prolonged halt on the road; he stopped at an unroofed hut to rouse sleeping Passover pilgrims who had taken refuge within to ask how far they were from Jerusalem, and wrangled with the sleepy Jew for many minutes over the hazy estimate the man had given him. With each of these pretenses the Maccabee's conviction grew that the girl had something to do with the altered behavior of his cousin. And with that growing conviction, he became the more convinced that he ought to maintain an espionage of Julian. At midnight they were both tired, exasperated, moody, and determined against each other. They had not journeyed thirty furlongs. In one of the high valleys in the hills a great well bubbled up from a hollow by the road, overflowed the stone basin that the ancients had built for it and wasted itself in the undrained soil about. Here, then, was one of the few marshes in Judea. The road by a series of arches crossed it and continued up the shoulder of the hills toward the east. All about it flourished the young growth of the rough sedge grass, green as emerald. The spot was treeless and marked with broad low hummocks of new sod. Julian halted. "Shall we camp here?" he asked. "It hath the recommendation of variety," the Maccabee said wearily. "Eheu! How I shall miss the greensward of Ephesus! Yes, we'll camp!" They dismounted and while Julian unpacked their blankets, the Maccabee collected dead reeds and cedar twigs and built a fire. Then he stretched himself by the sweet-smelling flame. "She can not have kept up with our horses; indeed it is unlikely that they moved far," he thought, and thus assured that there was no danger to the girl for whom he had become a self-constituted guardian, he ate a piece of bread, drank a cup of wine and fell asleep. His slumber was not entirely unconscious. So long as the movements of his cousin continued regular about him, he lay still, but once, when Julian approached too near, his eyes opened full in the face of the man about to lean over him. The Ephesian raised himself hastily and the Maccabee's eyes closed again. "A pest on an eye that only half sleeps!" Julian said to himself. "He hasn't lost count on the minutes since he left Cæsarea!" The morning broke, the sun mounted, the deserted road became populous with all the previous day's host of pilgrims, and the silence in the hills failed before the procession that should not cease till night fell again. Through all the shouting at camel and mule, the talk of parties and the dogged trudging of lonely and uncompanionable solitaries, the Maccabee slept. From time to time Julian, who had wakened early, gazed with smoldering eyes at the insolent composure of his enemy sleeping. But slumber with so little control over the senses of a man was not to be depended upon for any work that demanded stealth. At times the gaze he bent upon the long lazy shape half buried in the raw-edged grass was malevolent with uneasiness and hate. Again, some one of the passing travelers that bore a resemblance to the expected Aquila would bring the Ephesian to his feet, only to sink back again with a muttered imprecation at his disappointment. "A pest on the waxen-hearted satyr!" he said to himself finally. "Why should he have been more faithful to me than to his first employer! I am old enough to have learned by this time not to trust my success to any man but myself. Now where am I to look for him--Ephesus, Syene, Gaul, Medea? Jerusalem first! By Hecate, the fellow is handsome! And these Jewesses are impressionable!" The rumination was broken off suddenly by a glimpse of an old deformed man bearing a burden on his shoulders, followed by a slender figure, jealously wrapped in a plebeian mantle that left only a hem of silver tissue under its border. They were skirting along the brow of the hill opposite, away from the rest of the pilgrims on the road. Both were walking slowly and the old man seemed to be examining the farther slope, as if meditating a halt. Julian got upon his feet and watched. He saw the old man sign to the girl presently and they moved down the farther side of the hill and were lost to view. Julian cast a look at the sleeper and hesitated. Then he scanned the road; he might miss Aquila. He seemed to relinquish the intent that had risen in him, and sat down again. After a while as his constant gaze at the passers-by led him again toward the overflowing well, he saw there, standing in a long line, awaiting turn to dip a vessel in the water, the old bowed servant, with a skin in his hand. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Julian sprang to his feet and, hastening across the road, considerably below the well, climbed the hill in the direction in which he had seen the girl disappear. That watchful alarm in the brain which, at moments of demand, is instantly alive in certain sleepers, aroused the Maccabee almost as soon as the stealthy, receding footsteps of Julian died away. He stirred, sat up and looked about him. Julian was nowhere to be seen. Both horses were feeding a little distance away. The Maccabee sprang up and looked toward the well. There patiently but apprehensively waiting was old Momus. The girl was not with him. Suspicion grew vivid in the Maccabee's brain. The tender rank grass about him showed the print of his cousin's steps as they led away toward the road. He followed intently. The slim marks of the well-shod feet led him across the dust of the road up into gravel on the slope and finally eluded him on the escarpment that soared away above him. The Maccabee hurried to the top of the declivity to gain whatever aid that point of vantage might offer and from that height saw below him to the west a single nook shaped of rock and hummock and a tree out of which rose a blue thread of smoke. He dropped down the farther slope at a pace little short of a run. He mounted the slight ridge that overlooked the depression in time to see Julian of Ephesus appear over the opposite side. Within, with her mantle laid off, her veil thrown back, the girl knelt over a bed of coals, baking one of the Maccabee's Milesian ducks. Julian had made a sound; the Maccabee had come silently. She looked up and saw the less kindly man first, flashed white with terror, sprang to her feet with a cry, and whirled to flee up the other side. There she confronted the Maccabee with hands extended to ward off the encroachment of his cousin. Without an instant's hesitation she flew into the Maccabee's arms. His clasp closed around her and she shrank against him, clinging to the folds of his tunic over his breast with hands that were tremulous. Her flight to him for refuge achieved an instant change in the Maccabee. The fear of defeat, the primal hate of a rival, died in him. All that remained was big wrath at the presumption and effrontery of Julian of Ephesus. He had no definite memory of what followed, because of the rush of blood in his veins, the whirl of pleasurable sensation in his brain and the weight of a sweet frightened figure pressed to him. The Ephesian went, leaving an impression of a most vindictive threat in the glittering smile and the motion of his shapely hand clenched at the victorious Maccabee. The girl drew away hastily. The veil was over her face and through its silken meshes he saw the glow on her cheeks and the sweep of her lowered lashes down upon that bloom. She was faltering her thanks and her apologies. "It is mine to ask pardon," he exclaimed, still smoldering with wrath. "I had no part in this, except to interfere with this bad companion of mine. I did not follow you; believe me." It confused her to know that he had guessed why she had moved from their encampment the night before. As necessary as old Momus had made it seem to her then, it seemed now to have been ungrateful. She could make no reply to that portion of his speech. "My servant went to the well," she said. "He will return presently. I am not afraid now." "I am; you ought to be. I shall wait till your extraordinary servant returns." At this decided speech Laodice showed a little panic. "No, no! I am not afraid. He--" But the Maccabee ignored the implied dismissal. "I owe him both a reproof and thanks for leaving you here alone for any wayfarer to approach--and for me to discover. I wish," gazing abroad over the broken horizon, "there were no well between here and Jerusalem, and that he were as thirsty as Tantalus." She made no reply to this remark, but her whole presence expressed discomfort in his determination to remain. "Heathen Hecate ought to get him in these wilds for forcing that cruel journey on you last night, when you were so weary and sad! There was no good in it. He wanted simply to get you away from me! Let us hope that Titus has got him for his museum by this time, and be at ease!" She raised her head and reproach flashed through the meshes of her veil. "Momus is a good man," she said. "He can not be," he insisted. "Have I not set forth his iniquities even now?" "It was a short task," she maintained. "But time is not long enough to count his virtues." "I can spend time better," he declared. He saw her silken brows lower in a spirited frown and he was glad. She was showing some other feeling than that dead level of unhappiness that had possessed her from the first moment he had seen her. His was not the heart contented to go astray after a tear. Men fall in search of joy. "Momus is carrying a burden under which more brilliant men would falter," she averred. "I am beyond reckoning his debtor!" "Since he has shifted that sweet burden for a time on my shoulders, I will forgive him for his looks. If he will stay away, I'll be his debtor further. But enough of Momus! I came to ask after your health, when your long journey by night is done." "I am well; we did not journey all night." "Sit, I pray you. There is no need for you to stand with that air of finality. I am not going, yet. I went back to your camp last night within a short time after I left you and found the camp broken and your fire lonely. I wanted to offer you my horse." "We did not walk all night. We camped a little farther on, and moved at daybreak this morning," she explained. He cast a reflective look at the sun and considered how much time Julian of Ephesus had lost for him upon the road, or else how long he had slept, that this pair, who had camped all night and had journeyed afoot by day, had caught up with him. "Still it was a cruel journey--for those little feet," he said. She glanced involuntarily at her sandals, worn and dusty. "Yes," he said compassionately, following her eyes. "But let me see no more, else I meet this good and burdened Momus with the flat of my hand when he comes! What is he to you?" "My servant--now almost my father!" she insisted, trying to cover the tacit accusation that she had made in admitting by a glance that she was weary. "He orders all things for my good. Do you think that each of the stones over which I stumbled to-day did not hurt him worse because they hurt me? Do you think he would have me go on, unless the stake were worth the pain I had to endure? Say no more against him!" The Maccabee shrugged his shoulders; then noting that she still stood, he smoothed down a spot of the sand with his foot, tossed upon it one of the sheepskins that Momus had unrolled, and extending his hand politely pressed her down on the place he had made. Then he dropped down beside her, lounging on his elbow. "What is the stake?" he asked after he had composed himself. She hesitated, regretting that her defense of Momus had led her to hint her mission and touch upon her husband's ambition. "The welfare of hosts!" she replied finally. "Heavens! What a menace I was!" the Maccabee smiled. She colored quickly and he resented the veil that was shutting away so much that was fine and fleeting by way of expression under its folds. "But you are just as dangerous," he declared. "Now, we should be in Jerusalem this hour. Our welfare and the welfare of others depend upon us--I mean my companion and me. But there is no devoted prodigy to bear me away--thank fortune! I have come out of a great turmoil; I must plunge into a greater one before many days. Let me rest between them. It will be a long time before I shall possess anything so sweet as the smell of this cedar fire and the picture of you against this fair sky!" She looked down quickly. "Was Ephesus in turmoil?" she asked disconnectedly. "Ephesus was never in any other state! A fit preparation for the disorder in Jerusalem! I was met at Cæsarea with such tales as depressed me until it required such delight as you are to bring back my spirits again! What takes you to Jerusalem?" he asked earnestly. "The Passover? God will forgive you if you neglect it one year. Nothing but the sternest necessity should send any one there at this hour." "My necessity is stern--it is Judea's necessity," she answered. "More similarity!" he exclaimed. "That is why I go! Certainly Judea's fortunes have bettered with you and me both hastening to her rescue. Come, let us compare further. I am going to crown a king over Judea!" She raised her veil to look at him with startled eyes. The glimpse of her face, for ever a delight and an astonishment to him because of its extraordinary loveliness, swept him out of the half-serious air into which he had fallen. He stopped and looked at her with pleased, boyish, happy eyes. "Aurora!" he said softly. "I see now why day comes gradually. Mankind would die of excitement if the dawn were unveiled to them like this suddenly every morning!" She released the veil hurriedly, but before it fell he put out a hand, caught it and tossed it back over her head. "Be consistent with your part," he said, still smiling. "No man ever saw day cancel her dawn and live." It was pleasant, this sweet possession and command. How much like an overgrown boy he had become, since she had wakened to find herself in his power that morning in the hills! The harshness and inflexibility had left his atmosphere entirely. She was only afraid of him now because he had refused to be dismissed. But she drew down the veil. "I, too, expect a king," she said in a lowered tone. "A conqueror and a redeemer." "The Messiah?" he said, and she knew by the inflection that he had not meant that King when he had spoken. He noted that her hair was coiled upon her head when he threw back her veil and he turned to that at once. "You wear your hair in a fashion," he said, "that once meant that which men dislike to discover of a woman whom they greatly admire. I hope it is no longer significant." "I go," she said after a silence, "to join my husband in Jerusalem." The Maccabee's lips parted and an expression of disappointment with an admixture of surprise and vexation came over his face. But what did it matter? Were she as free as air, he was a married man. The humor of the situation appealed to him. He dropped his head into the bend of his elbow and laughed. "Welladay, this is a respite for us both, then," he said. But realizing that an admission that he was married might hopelessly reduce their hour to a formal basis, he took refuge in a falsehood. "My companion expects to meet a wife in Jerusalem," he continued. "A royal creature, daughter of an ancient and haughty family, with all her life purpose congealed in lofty and serious intent, her coffers lined with gold and her face as determined and unbending as Juno's with her jealousy stirred. He is not delighted, poor lad!" Laodice sat very still and listened. There was enough similarity in this story to interest her. The Maccabee, seeing that he had made an impression with this deception and feeling somehow a relief in making it, went on, delighted with his deceit. "He has not seen her since he married her in his childhood, but he knows full well how she will look when he meets her." Surprise paralyzed Laodice. Was the smiling and dangerous companion of this man, her husband? The Maccabee, meanwhile, deliberately remarked her charms and recounted their antithesis in making up a picture of the woman he expected to meet as his wife. "She will, according to his expectations, be meager and thin, not plump! Thoughtful women and women with a purpose are never plump! And she will be black and pale, all eyes, with a nose which is not the noble nose of our race. She will be religious and it will not make her happy. She will realize her value to her husband and he will not be permitted to forget it. She will be ambitious and full of schemes. She will be the larger part of his family, though by the balance she will weigh not so much as an omer of barley." Laodice got upon her feet in her agitation and raised her veil to stare at this slander. Was this a picture of herself she heard? The Maccabee was enjoying himself uncommonly. "She will wear the garments of a queen, but--how little a slip of silver tissue will become her!" Laodice looked down in alarm at her gleaming garment, and reached for her mantle. The Maccabee had no idea how much pleasure he was to derive in making his own story, Julian's. He continued, almost recklessly, now. "Small wonder that he is so delinquent in the wilderness, with such square-shouldered righteousness awaiting him in town! Forgive him, lady, for his iniquities now, for he will be a good man after he reaches Jerusalem; by my soul, you may be sure he will be good!" Laodice gasped under the pressure of astonishment and indignation. It was bad enough to be pictured thus unprepossessing, but to be suddenly made aware of her husband in a man whom she feared, was desperate. She stared with frank and horrified eyes at her tormentor. "But--but--" she stammered. "True," he sighed. "One can not know what calamity forces another into misdeeds. Now were I my unfortunate friend, perhaps I should afflict you with my hunger for sweetness also." And that smooth, insinuating, violent pagan was Philadelphus Maccabaeus! But what had her father said of him, as a child? "Quick in temper, resourceful, aye, even shifty, stubborn, cold in heart, hard to please!" And to this man she must present herself, late, penniless and unhelpful. Panic seized her! How could she go on to Jerusalem! That long graceful figure stretched on the sand was speaking. What was it in his voice that drew her so mightily from any terror that possessed her at any time? "Sit down, sit down! I have more to say," he was urging her. She obeyed him numbly. "He gets worse as he approaches the city. I think I ought to leave him. It will not be safe to be near him when his moneyed lady claims him for her own!" "She--she--" Laodice burst out, "is--may be such a woman!" "Such a woman as you! No; she will not be. That is what makes him bad. And now that I bethink me, perhaps it is just as well that you proceed to Jerusalem. He may comfort himself with a sight of you, now and then." "I? I comfort him?" she exclaimed. "By my soul I know it! What blunders Fortune makes in bestowing wives! Perchance your husband could have got on as well without so radiant a spouse, while my poor beauty-loving friend must needs be paired with a--Alas! there is too much marrying in this world!" There was a ring of genuine dejection in his voice and when she looked down at him, she saw that his eyes were larger and more sorrowful than she believed they could be. He was hurting himself with his own deceit. She looked away hastily, frightened at the sudden tenderness that his pathetic gaze had wakened in her. "Alas!" he went on. "The greatest sacrifice and the frequentest in this world of cross-purposes never gets into poetry. I--" he halted a moment and looked away, "I ought to be sorry for her, too. She is not getting the best of men." "Verily!" she exclaimed impulsively. He whirled his head toward her, stared; then with a flash of intense expression in his eyes burst into a ringing laugh that shook him from head to foot. He flung out his hand and catching hers passed it across his lips without kissing it, and let it go before he regained composure enough to speak. "No! Not a good man! Verily! But hath he no cause to be delinquent?" "No!" she said stubbornly. "He has judged her without seeing her, when, by your own words, he expects her to bring him fortune and position. What is he bringing her?" The Maccabee looked at her thoughtfully before he answered. "Nothing! Not even his heart!" he vowed. Laodice caught her breath in an agony of indignation and distress. "He does not in any way deserve--" she stopped precipitately. She was about to add "the great fortune he is to get," when she realized that she was taking this husband nothing--not even her own heart. She went on, for the first time a little glad that she was penniless. "He may find--neither fortune, nor position, nor heart awaiting him!" she finished pointedly. The Maccabee pulled one of his stubborn locks that had fallen over his eyes. The smile grew less vivid. He had no comment to make to this. Meanwhile Laodice looked at him. "Shall--you be with--your friend in Jerusalem?" she asked. "It depends on his wife," he retorted with a grimace. She would be glad if this tall, comely trifler, with a voice as musical as some grave-toned viol, were to be seen from time to time to relieve the tedium of life with the offensive Philadelphus. This admission instantly brought a shock to her. She had learned to study herself in these last few days since she had become aware of the ways of the world. Life was to be no longer a period of obedience to laws which the Torah had laid down; it was to be a long resistance against desirable things that she yearned for but which she dared not have. She learned at this moment that she could be her own chief stumbling-block, and that love, the most precious illumination in every life, might be a destruction and a consuming fire. She looked at this man, who lounged beside her, with a new sensation. He was winsome, and therefore the more perilous. That smooth insulting stranger whom this man had revealed as her husband with all his violence and license was a humble and harmless thing compared to this one, who had snared her by his care of her and by his charming self. She felt a desire to cry out for Momus to take her back to the inner chamber of the shut house in Ascalon, away from her danger to herself and from the sight of the man who had done her no harm--yet. She did not know how plainly all this wrote itself on her candid face. Wise pupil of that unbridled school, the city of Diana, he could read in that slight frown on her forehead and the pathetic curve of her lips, that she was contented with him--that she was not glad to go on to that husband in Jerusalem. He was near to her before she knew he had moved. "After all," he was saying in a low voice, "I am glad you are going to Jerusalem. You shall not be lost from me again. Whose house shall I ask for when I can not endure separation longer?" She moved away from him. There was a step behind her and Laodice, coloring shamedly, looked straight into the accusing eyes of Momus who stood there. The stranger rose. "I shall see you again," he said to her. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. The next instant he was gone. Chapter VII IMPERIAL CÆSAR When the Maccabee had returned to the spot in the sedgy valley where he and Julian had halted, he found the Ephesian white to the lips and with ignited eyes awaiting him. "How much longer?" the Ephesian demanded. "What! Fast and slow!" the Maccabee said calmly. "Last night you wasted hours to spite me. To-day you begrudge me a moment's talk with a lovely wayfarer. Or is it because she prefers me? You have ordered our progress long enough. I shall move when it pleases me." He sat down by the fire, clasping his hands back of his head, and half-closed his eyes. The Ephesian rose and tramped restlessly about. As he glanced down at the reposeful attitude of the man whom he could not exasperate he saw the sun glitter on the Maccabaean signet on the hand clasped back of Philadelphus' head. The sight of it in a way collected Julian's purposes. He knew that by some misadventure he had missed Aquila whom he had hoped to meet in Emmaus, bearing treasure stolen from the daughter of Costobarus. By this time, then, the Maccabee's emissary had doubtless arrived in Jerusalem--the last possible point for the two conspirators to meet. To proceed to Jerusalem without the Maccabee, with whatever excuse he could invent, would not deliver the dowry of the bride into his hands, in the event that Aquila had not succeeded in his instructions to make way with Laodice before he reached Jerusalem. Nothing occurred to Julian at that moment but to impersonate the Maccabee until it was possible to get possession of the two hundred talents from those friends in Jerusalem who were interested in his cousin's welfare. No one in Jerusalem knew Philadelphus Maccabaeus. Aquila, as fellow-conspirator, would not dare to expose him if Julian appeared as his cousin. Perilous at best, it seemed the only plan by which he was to get possession of a fortune which even Cæsar would be glad to have. The resolution formed itself in a brain turbulent with passion and desperation. He halted silently back of his cousin and with a sudden flare of intent on his dead white face snatched a dagger from his girdle and drove it between the shoulders of the Maccabee. Without a word, Philadelphus turned upon his assailant and started to his feet. But Julian, catching a glimpse of the dire purpose in his cousin's darkened eyes, struck again. The knife, blindly wielded, glanced on the Maccabee's head with wild force. Under a veil of scarlet Philadelphus sank to the earth. Julian with a sob of terror sprang out of range of his victim's gaze. After a time he took courage and looked. The lids were fallen and the breast was still. Julian bent hastily and snatched the signet from the nerveless hand and fumbling in the bosom drew forth the wallet there. He opened it, finding within ancient parchments with heavy seals, new writings, rolls of notes and a packet of letters. He rose, trembling violently, and backed away. After a moment's fascinated gaze at the roadway to see if the pilgrims passing had seen what he had done, he whirled about, mounted his horse and galloped frantically toward Jerusalem. Meanwhile the midday activity on the Roman roadway swept by the smoldering fire and the motionless figure lying in the grass some distance back from the highway. Along the splendid causeway the Passover pilgrims fared, men afoot, men on camels, families and solitary travelers; the poor, the once rich, the humble and the haughty; figures in burnooses, gabardines, gowns and tunics; striped and checkered woolens, linens or rags; noisy or silent, angry or sad, hour in and hour out, until the hills were a-throb with the human atmosphere. Time and again the sweet invitation of the rare grass along the marsh invited the way-weary to halt to tie a sandal, to bind up a wound, to eat a crust spread with curds or simply to rest. No one approached the silent man who had fallen beside a dying fire. They were tired enough to refrain from disturbing a man who slept. So, though they looked at him from where they sat and two or three asked each other if he were asleep or merely weary, he was left alone. One by one they who halted took up their journey again and the figure in the grass lay still. Finally near the noon hour there came from the summit of a hill overhanging the road, a high, wild, youthful yell that cut with startling distinctness through the dead level of human communication on the highway. Each of the travelers below looked up to see a young shepherd in sheepskins with long-blowing stiff crinkled locks flying back from a dusky face, with eyes soft and shining as those of some wild thing. Around him eddied a mob of sheep as wild as he, and a Natolian dog raced hither and thither in a cloud of dust, rounding the edge of the flock and shaping it to the advance of the young faun that mastered it. "Sheep! by the prophets!" one of the sedate Jews exclaimed. "The only flock in existence in Judea, I venture!" his companion declared. "And so hopelessly doomed to Roman possession that it can not be called in existence." "Heigh! Hello! Young David!" one of the younger men called up to the shepherd. "Does Titus pay you for minding his mutton?" "Salute, neighbors!" another shouted. "Here is the Roman commissary!" "Ill-fathered son of an Ishmaelite!" a Tyrian said to this jester. "That you should make sport of Judea's humiliation!" The shepherd who had paused amid his whirlpool of sheep wisely held his peace. There was a division of sentiment here that were better not aggravated. He halted long enough for the road to clear below him and then descended into the valley and crossed to the low meadow on the opposite side. His scamper of sheep flocked into the sedge, parting around the prostrate figure by a circle of coals now dead, and plunged into the pasture. The boy inspected the earth and shook his head. It was too wet for a long stay, inviting as it seemed. But here his flock might pasture for a day without injury. He glanced at the sleeper as he passed and continued to the farther side where the opposite hill sloped down into the depression. Here he found for himself a comfortable spot and lay down, prepared to watch all day. From time to time he looked across at the motionless figure in the grass and commented to himself that it was a weary man who slept so soundly, and then lost interest in the maze of dreams that can entangle the wits of a shepherd who is a boy. The march of the Passover pilgrims continued to Jerusalem. In mid-afternoon there came interruption. Along the level highway came the rapid beat of hooves and the musical jingle of harness. Every soul within sound of that un-Jewish mode of travel turned apprehensively and looked back. Bearing down upon them from the west came a stampede of Roman cavalry scouting. The sunshine on their brass armor transformed them into shapes of gold, and the recklessness of their advance swept the pilgrims out of their path as far as could be seen. Right and left the Jews scattered; some ran into the hills and hid themselves; others merely stepped aside and with darkening faces waited defiantly for the approach of the oppressor. The young shepherd full of excitement sprang to his feet. Neither the fleeing Jews nor the Jews that had stood their ground attracted the attention of the approaching legionaries. It was the close-packed, avid-feeding sheep, deep in the grass, that won their instant and enthusiastic notice. The decurion in charge of the squad brought up his gray horse with such suddenness that the animal's feet slid in the gravel. "Sheep, by the wings of Mercury!" he shouted. "Dismount, fellows! Here's for a feast this night and an offering to Mars to-morrow!" The ten in brazen armor threw themselves from their horses with the enthusiasm of boys and spread a panic of whooping and of waving arms about the startled flock. The young shepherd, too long a fugitive from the encroachments of this same army to misunderstand the nature of the attack, ran into the thick of the shouting Romans. His valiant dog with exposed teeth flew straight at the nearest legionary. "Cerberus!" the soldier howled, dodging. "Your pike, Paulus! Quick! By Hector, it is a wolf!" But the quickest soldier would not have been quick enough to elude the enraged beast had not the shepherd with a spring and a warning cry seized his dog by the ears and stopped him mid-bound. "Down, Urge!" he cried. "Take away your men!" he shouted to the decurion. "I can not hold him long." "Only so long," Paulus growled, raising his pike over the snarling dog. "Drop it!" the decurion ordered him peremptorily. "We are ten to one and a dog. No blood-letting this day. It is Titus' order. Boy, get you gone; these sheep are confiscate." "I have been told they are only common stock," the boy remonstrated gravely, "but you may be right. Howbeit, they are not mine and I can not leave them." "You have been misinformed," the decurion said gravely, while his men, circling around the growling dog, went on with their work. "These are Roman sheep, with the Flavian coat of arms and the mark of the army in black on their hides--if you shear them. But if you make away as fast as you can I shall not tell Titus which way you went." The sheep had started pell-mell toward the Roman road. The decurion turned back to his horse. The shepherd released his dog, which ran after the flock, and stepped into the decurion's way. "However these sheep look when they are sheared," he said, "this seems to be robbery to me." "Robbery!" the good-natured decurion exclaimed. "This is but a religious rite that Mercury got out of the cradle at two days to establish. Only he took Apollo's cattle while we are contenting ourselves with the sheep of mortal ownership. Robbery! What an inelegant word!" Meanwhile the stampeded sheep were making in a cloud of dust back over the road toward the west from which the Romans had come. "What shall I say to the citizens of Pella?" the little shepherd shouted, pursuing the decurion who was making back to his horse as fast as he could go. "Salute them for me," the decurion shouted back, "and make them my obeisances, and say that I shall report on the flavor of the sheep by messenger from Jerusalem." In a moment the boy sprang into the decurion's way so suddenly that the soldier almost fell over him. "Be fair!" the boy exclaimed. "At least leave me half!" The decurion was losing patience and the shepherd had grown more than ever serious. "Fair!" the Roman echoed. "Why, I have been indulgent! This is war! It is almost a breach of discipline to argue with you. Out of the way!" "The Roman army has all the world to feed it; Pella has only its sheep. We, then, must face hunger and cold because your appetites crave mutton this day!" the boy returned resentfully. The decurion pointed down the road. "Why waste your breath! There go the sheep." The boy's dark eyes filled with tears. The decurion swung around him and went back to the horses that waited in the road. He knotted their bridles together and, leading one of the number, remounted and rode west after the receding cloud of dust which hid the flock. The shepherd's head sank on his heaving breast and he stood still. "Lord Jesus, I pray Thee, give me my sheep again!" he prayed. A deep prolonged thunder that had been filling the hills with sound began to multiply as the nearest slopes caught it and tossed it from echo to echo. It was not loud but immensely prevalent. Those wayfarers who had fled came back to the brink of the hill and those who had stood their ground walked out into the grass to look back. Around the curve of a buttress of rock that stood out at the line of the road, the head of a column of Roman cavalry appeared. The superb color-bearer bore on his hip the staff supporting the Imperial standard. At the forefront rode a young general; on either side a tribune. Behind came a detachment of six hundred horse. The sheep huddling in the way were swept like a scurry of leaves out into the meadow alongside the road, and one of the tribunes and the general turned in their saddles to look at the confiscated flock. The second tribune observed their interest in this trivial incident with disgust. The young general, whose military cloak flaunted a purple border, called the decurion boyishly: "Well done, Sergius! A samnos of wine for your company to-night for this." The decurion saluted. "Where did you get them?" the tribune demanded. The shepherd who had withdrawn to the side of the road on the approach of the column looked at the questioner with resentful eyes from which the moisture had not vanished. "From me!" he said. Both the purple-wearing young general and his tribune looked at him amusedly. "How many killed and wounded, Sergius?" the tribune asked. The silent and disapproving tribune, observing that the commanding officer had not given an order to halt, brought the six hundred to, lest they ride their general down. "You!" the general exclaimed with his eyes on the young shepherd. The boy looked up into the face of the Roman who sat above him on a snow-white horse. It was a young face, tanned by the sun of Alexandria, but bright with an emanation of light that somehow was made tangible by the flash of his teeth as he talked and the sparkle of his lively eyes. For a soldier exposed to the open air and the ruffian life of the camp and burdened with the grave task of subduing a desperate nation, he was free of disfigurements. His brows were knitted as if to give his full soft eyes protection and the frown, with the laughing cut of his youthful lips, gave his face a quizzical expression that was entirely winning. In countenance and figure he was handsome, refined and thoroughly Roman. The little shepherd was won to him instantly. Without knowing that the world from one border to the other had already named this charming young Roman the Darling of Mankind, the little shepherd, had his lips been shaped to poetry, would have called him that. So Joseph, the shepherd, son of Thomas, the Christian, and Titus, son of Vespasian, Emperor of the World, looked at each other with perfect fellowship. "Those are sheep from Pella," Joseph said soberly, "in my care. They were taken from me because," he paused till a more tactful statement should suggest itself, but, lacking it, drove ahead with spirit, "there was not more of me to stop your soldiers." "I believe you," Titus replied heartily. "But that is the fortune of war. Still, you Jews have a habit of refusing to accept defeat rationally." "I am not a Jew," Joseph explained. "I am born of Arab blood, and I am a Christian." "Worse and worse," said Titus. Joseph shifted his position argumentatively. "Is it?" he asked. "Are you making war on Pella or Jerusalem? Was it Pella or the hundred Jewish towns that cost Rome so much of late? Pella is not exactly your friend, though neither are most of your provinces; but are you going to pillage Egypt or Persia because Judea is in rebellion?" Titus threw his plump leg over the horn of his saddle and sat sidewise. One of his tribunes looked at the other with a flickering smile that was not entirely free of contempt. But his fellow returned a stare that for immobility would have done credit to the Memnon. "Now," Titus began, "I have heard of this fault in the Christians. They don't understand warfare." "We don't," Joseph declared bluntly. "We do not see why you should take my sheep to feed your army, when we have had nothing to do with bringing your army over here. We haven't cost you one drop of Roman blood or one denarius of Roman money, and yet you are taking at one act the whole of our substance and punishing us for the misdeeds of others--others whom you haven't succeeded in punishing yet." "That is bad judgment," Titus said, frowning at the last sentence. "Unpleasant truth always is," Joseph retorted. One of the tribunes laughed impulsively and Titus looked around at him reproachfully. "Come, come, Carus," he said. "Thy pardon, Cæsar," the tribune replied, "but we'll be whipped in this wordy battle. And even a small defeat were an unpropitious sign on this expedition." "To Hades with your signs! If I am whipped with six hundred back of me, I ought to be! Boy, we have your sheep by conquest; you will have to take them back the same way." Joseph's face fell. "I have had them since I was nine years old. I've tended them since they were lambs and their mothers before them. It is like surrendering so many children," he said dejectedly. "In truth I can fight for them even if it be but to lose, and I am bidden not to fight at that." "By Hector, that is not a Jewish tenet!" Titus exclaimed. Joseph said nothing. He stood still in the path of the Roman six hundred with his curly head sunk on his breast. There was silence. "Is it?" Titus demanded uncomfortably. "No; and for that reason you are still fighting them and will fight and lose and lose and lose, before you win. Still, it is no safeguard not to fight you; you take our substance anyhow. Be we peace-lovers or not, there is warfare; if we do not fight we are fought against." Titus thrust his helmet back from his full front of intensely black curls and wiped his forehead. "The sun is hot in these hills," he said disjointedly to the tribune he had called Carus, "and the wind is cold. Uncomfortable climate." Carus said nothing. "Is it not?" Titus demanded irritably. "Very," Carus observed hastily. The little shepherd stood in the road and the six hundred were silent. "Well," said Titus with a tone of finality, "you never remember the wrongs the strong man endured--wrongs that the weak man did him because of his weakness." "It never hurts the strong man," Joseph said softly, "to give the weak one another chance." Titus closed his lips at that, and the tribune who had smiled sarcastically looked with sudden intent at Carus. Carus silently moved his horse to the sarcastic tribune's side with such threatening expression on his face that the other discreetly held his peace. "Perhaps," Titus said thoughtfully, but the boy failed to see more in that word than the simple expression. In his search for some further plea that would give him his sheep again, the presence of the young Roman appealed to him with hope. Surely one so young and laughing, so ready to stop an army to argue with a child, could not be beyond reach of persuasion. With the simple frankness so innocent of guile as to make charming that which upon other lips would have been the broadest insincerity, he put that moment's thought into words. "I thought," he said slowly, "because your horse is so white and your dress so golden and your face so beautiful that I would have but to ask--and I would have my sheep again." Titus looked at him, not with the idea that his compliment was effective, but with the thought that the boy was yet too young to have lost faith in attractive things; that another than himself would have to teach the shepherd that lesson in disappointment. "Have you examined these sheep for disease, Sergius?" he demanded, with a show of severity. "I never saw a flock in this country that was not full of peril for the cavalry." Sergius, wisely catching excuse in this demand, saluted. "I did not," he replied. "So? Well, do it hereafter. Go stop those legionaries and turn loose that flock. We lost five hundred horse in Cæsarea for just such negligence." Joseph flung up his head, his eyes sparkling, his cheeks aglow, his whole figure alive with a gratitude so potent that it was painful. Titus, with the deep tide of a blush crawling over his forehead, scowled down at this joy. "Look well," he continued severely to Sergius, "and if they are healthy--" But Joseph laughed and stepped out of the young general's path. "And," said Titus, his face clearing before that laugh as he directed his words to the little shepherd, "Jerusalem shall have another chance." Transfiguration brightened the small dusky face. He put up his hands for that blessing that was a part of his farewell. "_May my God supply all thy need according to his riches in glory, by Jesus Christ. Amen!_" Titus, with a bowed head, touched his horse, and in response to a silent flash of an uplifted sword the picked six hundred of Cæsar's army rode on in the subdued thunder of hoof and the music of jingling harness toward Jerusalem. After a long time there came the quick patter of a running flock and the multitudinous complaint of lambs, and up from the east rushed the mob of sheep. Behind them trotting comfortably were the mounted scouts. The ten privates wore scornful countenances highly expressive of their contempt for the unwarlike restitution they had been forced to make, but as they rode past when the sheep swept out of the road to their tender, Sergius, the decurion, dropped back and with his tongue in his cheek made such jovial threatening signs that the little shepherd laughed again. The squad galloped after the main body and were lost to view. Many of the Jews called to the little shepherd, but after a time travel was resumed on the road and deep monotonous composure settled upon the valley again. But Joseph, the Christian, turned into the high grass of the meadow with bowed head and clasped hands. "Lord Jesus, what may I do for Thee?" he asked impulsively. He stopped suddenly. At his feet lay the silent sleeper in the grass. On the tall growth upstanding about the prostrate form were clear shining scarlet drops. The little shepherd turned white and threw himself down on his knees beside the still figure and put his hand over the heart. Then he lifted his face to the skies. "_I was sick and ye visited me_," he whispered radiantly. [Illustration: He threw himself down by the still figure.] Chapter VIII GREEK AND JEW Julian of Ephesus, now the presumptive Philadelphus Maccabaeus, rode up the broad brown bosom of a hill that had confronted him for miles to the south, and the sun had sloped until its early spring rays struck level from the west. At the summit, he drew up his horse suddenly with a quick intaking of the breath. Below him lay Jerusalem. South and east the barren summits of brown hills shaped a depression in which the city lay. North, clean-white and regular, the wall of Agrippa was printed against the cold blue of the sky. Below on three lesser mounts and overflowing the vales between was the goodliest city in all Asia. About it and through it climbed such walls, planted on such bold natural escarpment, that made it the most inaccessible fortification in the world. On its highest hill stood a vision of marble and gold--a fortress in gemstone--the Temple. Behind it towered Roman Antonia. Westward the Tyropean Bridge spanned a deep, populous ravine. The high broad street upon which the giant causeway terminated was marked by the solemn cenotaphs of Mariamne and Phaselis and ended against the Tower of Hippicus--a vast and unflinching citadel of stone. Under the shadow of this pile was the high place of the Herods; in sight was a second Herodian palace. South was the open space of the great markets; near the southernmost segment of the outer wall was the semicircular Hippodrome. Cut off from its neighbor by ancient walls were Ophlas, overlooking Tophet and under the shadow of the Temple; Mount Zion which the Lord had established, Akra of the valley, Moriah, the Holy Hill, and Coenopolis or Bezetha which Agrippa I had walled. About the immense outer fortifications crawled the shadowy valleys of Tophet, of Brook Kedron and of Hinnom. Thickly scattered like fallen patches of skies the pools of Siloam, Gihon, Shiloh, En-Rogel, the Great Pool, the Serpent's Pool and the Dragon's Well reflected the color of the mountain heavens. Between them wandered the blue threads of certain aqueducts that supplied them. Everywhere rose the shafts of monuments and memorials, old as the pride of Absalom, new as the folly of the Herods; everywhere the aggressive paganism of Rome and Greece, which would have paganized this monotheistic race out of very rancor against its uprightness, violated with insolent beauty the hieratic severity of the city's face. Rich, bold, strong, beautiful, Jerusalem was at that hour, as viewed from the hill to the north, the perfection of beauty and the joy of the whole earth. For a moment ambition struggled nobly in the breast of the man that overlooked it. Except for the obstacles he had placed in his own way by his misdeeds, Julian of Ephesus at that moment might have become great. But he had struck down his kinsman on the way, and such deeds were remembered even in war-ridden Judea; he had come to Jerusalem wearing his kinsman's name that he might despoil that kinsman's bride of her dowry; a hundred other crimes of his commission stood in the way to peace and success. But about him the Passover pilgrims, catching their first glimpse of the Holy City, gave way to the storm of emotion that had gradually gathered as they drew near to the threatened City of Delight. It had moved him to look upon this most majestic fortification, embattled and begirt for resistance against the most majestic nation in the world. But he who came as a stranger could not feel within him the tenderness of old love, the sanctity of old tradition, and the desperation of kin in his blood as he gazed upon Jerusalem. Yonder was a roof-garden; to him, no more than that. But the inspired Jews beside him knew that in that place the sun of noon had shone upon Bathsheba, the beautiful; and in that neighboring high place the heart of the Singing King had melted; to the north was a stretch of monotonous ground overgrown with a new suburb; but that was the camp of Sennacherib, the Assyrian whom the Angel of the Lord smote and his army of one hundred and four score and five thousand, before the morning. Yonder were squalid streets, older than any others. But the Kings had walked them; the Prophets had helped wear trenches in their stones; the heroes and the strong-hearted women of the ancient days had gone that way. No house but was holy with tradition; no street but was sanctified by event. Small wonder, then, that these who came to this Passover, the most momentous one since that calamity which had occurred forty years ago on Golgotha, wept, cried aloud to Heaven; became beatified and made prophecies; railed; anathematized Jerusalem's enemies; assumed vows and were threatening. Julian of Ephesus was shaken. He looked about him on the tempestuous host, then touched his horse and rode down to the city. On the Hill Scopus over which he approached an inferior number of Romans were camped, and these had maintained a semblance of siege only sufficiently effective to close all the gates on three sides. The Sun Gate to the south of the city was therefore the most accessible point of entry for the pilgrims. Following the people who had preceded him, Julian approached this portal, left his horse with the stable-keeper without and prepared to enter Jerusalem. Collecting at the causeway of the Sun Gate the pilgrims came with such impetus that the foremost were rushed struggling and protesting through the tunnel under the wall and forced well into Jerusalem before they could control their own motion. Once within, the host spread out so that one looking at the immense space they instantly covered wondered how so great a mass ever passed through the circumscribed limits of a fifty-foot gate. At times stopping was impossible. Again there were momentary lulls, as when the sea recoils upon itself and is stilled for an instant. They who stood to watch, wearied of days of such invasion, unconsciously wished that the interval might endure till they could rest their number-wearied brains. But, as if the stagnation were the result of congestion somewhere without the walls, when the wave returned it came with redoubled height and power and the Sun Gate would roar with the noise of their entry. After the Ephesian had been swept in with his own company of pilgrims, he saw that which even few of the new-comers had expected to see. The immediate vicinity of the gate was laid waste. Up Mount Zion opposite Hippicus and along the margin of the Tyropean Valley where the Herodian and Sadducean palaces had seemed so fair from the north were great blackened shells of walls and leaning pillars, partly buried in ruin and rubbish. Far and wide the streets were littered with debris and charred fragments of burned timbers. At another place on the breast of Zion was a chaos of rock where a mansion had been literally pulled down. Somewhere near Akra pale columns of pungent, wind-blown smoke still rose from a colossal heap of fused matter that the Ephesian could not identify. About it were neglected houses; not a sign of festivity was apparent; windows hung open carelessly; the hangings in colonnades were stripped away entirely or whipped loose from the fastenings and abandoned to the winds. Numbers of dwellings appeared to have been sacked; others were so closely barred and fortified that their exteriors appeared as inhospitable as jails. Confusion prevailed on the smoked and untidy marble Walk of the Purified leading down from the Temple. Here those who held fast to the Law met and contested for their old exclusiveness with wild heathen Idumean soldiers, starvelings, ruffians and strange women from out-lying towns. Far and wide were wandering crowds, surly, defiant, discourteous, exacting. Manifestly it was the visitors who were the aggressors. They had been overthrown and driven from their own into an unsubjugated city which was secure. They felt the rage of the defeated which are not subdued, and the resentment against another's unearned immunity. The citizens of Jerusalem had not welcomed them and they were enraged. Half a dozen fights of more or less seriousness were in sight at once. A column of black wiry men in some semblance of uniform pushed across the open space toward the Essene Gate. They took no heed for any in their path. Those who could not escape were overturned and trampled on. Meeting a rush at the gate they drew swords and coolly hacked their way through screams of fear and pain and amazement. After them went a wave of curses and complaint. Citizens against the visitors; visitors against the citizens; soldiers against them all! "And this cousin of mine meant to pacify all this!" the Ephesian exclaimed to himself. Jerusalem, that had for fifteen hundred years adorned herself at this time with tabrets and had gone forth in the dance of them that make merry, was drunken with wormwood and covered with ashes. All at once the Ephesian saw four soldiers standing together and with them, manifestly under their protection, was a Greek of striking beauty. He wore on his fine head a purple turban embroidered with a golden star. Without a moment's hesitation, the Ephesian approached. The spears of the four soldiers fell and formed a barrier around the Greek. The new-comer smiled confidently. "Greeting, servant of Amaryllis," he said. "I am your lady's expected guest." The Greek came forth from the square formed by his guard. "I am that servant of Amaryllis," he said courteously. "But show me yet another sign." The Ephesian drew from his bosom the Maccabaean signet and flashed its blue fires at the Greek. The servant stepped hastily between the soldiers and the new-comer. "Thy name?" he asked in a whisper. "I am Philadelphus Maccabaeus." The servant bent and taking the hem of the woolen tunic pressed it to his lips. "Happy hour!" he exclaimed. "I pray you follow me." The pretender breathed a relieved sigh and joined his protector. They passed down into Akra and approached the straight column of pungent smoke towering up from a charred heap that the Ephesian in spite of his haste inspected curiously. "What is that?" he asked of the Greek. "That, master, is the city granaries." "The granaries!" the Ephesian cried, aghast. The Greek inclined his head. "What--what--fired them?" the Ephesian asked. "John and Simon differed on the point of its control and each fired it to keep the other from possessing it!" For a moment the Ephesian was thunderstruck. Then he quickened his pace. "By the horns of Capricornus!" he avowed. "The sooner one gets out of this, the wiser he must be counted!" The Greek looked at him with lifted brows and led on. They crossed the Tyropean Valley and approached a small new house of stone, abutting the vast retaining wall that was built against Moriah. A line of soldiers was thrown out from the entrance to the house and his conductor, after whispering a word to the captain, led the way up to a double-barred door. A long time after he had rapped, there was the sound of falling chains and the door swung open. A second Greek servant of no less beauty bowed the new-comer and his companion within. The noise of the streets was suddenly cut off. Soft dusk and quiet proved that the doors of Amaryllis had been shut upon unhappy Jerusalem. The second servant drew a cord and a roller of matting lifted and showed a skylight. Philadelphus the pretender was in the andronitis of a Greek house. It was typical. None but a Greek with the purest taste had planned it. Walls and pavement were of unpolished marble, lusterless white. A marble exedra built in a semicircle sat in the farther end, facing a chair wholly of ivory set beside a lectern of dull brass. At either end of the exedra on a pedestal formed by the arms, a brass staff upheld a flat lamp that cast its luster down on the seat by night. Against an opposite wall built at full length of the hall, was a pigeonholed case, which was stacked with brass cylinders. This was the library of the Greek. At a third side was a compound arch concealed by a heavy white curtain. There were low couches spread with costly white material which were used when Amaryllis set her table in her andronitis, and at the arches leading into the interior of the house there were draperies. But the chamber, with all its richness, had a splendid emptiness that made it imposing, not luxurious. After a single admiring survey of the hall in which he had been left alone, the pretended Philadelphus fortified himself against his most critical test. Without a sound, without even so much as the rustling of a garment to announce her, a woman emerged from a passage leading into the interior of the house. He confronted the only person in Jerusalem who might know him as an impostor. The woolen chiton of her countrywomen draped a figure almost too slender, yet perfect in its delicate modeling. Though her eyes were black, her hair was fair and brilliant with a wash of gold powder. Her features were Hellenic, cold, pure and classic, and for all her youth and beauty there was an atmosphere about her of middle-age, immense experience, and old sagacity. The pretender braced himself for the scrutiny the eyes made of him. "You are that Philadelphus, as my servant tells me?" she asked. "I am he." She inclined her head. "Welcome; in the name of all the need of you!" After a silence he came closer and lifted her hand to his lips. He added nothing, but presently raised his eyes softened with feeling and unexpressed appreciation. "Certainly you have suffered, lady," he said finally in a subdued tone. "But please God you will not suffer alone hereafter." Amaryllis' non-committal front changed. "You are gentler of speech than is common among the Maccabees," she said. "Nevertheless the Maccabees are the more touched by devotion," he maintained. He led her to the exedra, unslung his wallet and laid it on the lectern before them. "When thou hast leisure, perchance thou wilt find interest in these papers here." She thanked him and there was a moment's silence. Under his lashes the impostor saw that he had not filled her fancied picture of the Maccabee made from long years of correspondence. She was disappointed; her intuition was perplexed. He would complete his work and get away in time. "My wife is here?" he asked. "She came yesterday," Amaryllis responded, clapping her hands in summons. A female servant of such prepossessing appearance that Philadelphus looked at her again, bowed in the archway. "Send hither the princess," Amaryllis said. "The princess," Philadelphus repeated to himself. "Then, by Ate, I am the prince!" "While we wait," Amaryllis continued, "let us talk of details which you may not have patience to hear after she comes. Jerusalem, as you have learned, is in grave danger--" "Jerusalem should fear the Roman army less than herself. I have seen its disease." "The citizens will hail Titus as a deliverer. But this week's ceremonies are bringing us disaster. Should Titus be forced to lay siege about us, how shall we feed this multitude of a million on the supplies gathered for only a third of that number?" "Gathered and burned." "Even so. But of your creature comforts. My house is open to your chief enemy. It must be so. You must be hidden--not concealed, but disguised. You know my weakness for people of charm and people of ability. My house is full of them. The master of this place is indulgent; he permits me to add to my collection whatever pleases me in the way of society. Therefore, you are come as a student of this wonderful drama to be enacted in Jerusalem presently. You may live under part of your name. Substitute, however, your city for your surname. Be Philadelphus of Ephesus. No one then will question your presence here. "I have bound to me by oath and by fear one hundred Idumeans who will rise or fall with you. They are of John's own army and alienated to you without his knowledge. Hence they are in armor and ready at any propitious moment. This house is provisioned and equipped for siege; everything is prepared." "At what cost, my Amaryllis?" he asked tenderly. She drew away from him quickly, as if his tone had touched a place of deeper disappointment. "That I do not remember. I am your minister; you need no other. More than the one would be multiplying chances for betrayal." "And what wilt thou have out of all this for thyself?" he asked. Slowly she turned her face back to him. "I would have it said that I made a king," she said. There was a step in the corridor leading into the andronitis, and, smiling, Amaryllis rose. Philadelphus got upon his feet and looked to catch the first glimpse of the woman who was bringing him two hundred talents. A woman entered the hall. Behind her came a servant bearing a shittim-wood casket. Had Amaryllis been looking for suspicious signs, she would have observed in the intense silence that fell, in the arrested attitude of the pair, more than a natural embarrassment. Any one informed that these were a pair of impostors would have seen that there was no confusion here, but amazement, chagrin and no little fear. Instead, Amaryllis, nothing suspecting, glanced from one set face to the other and laughed. "Poor children! Married fourteen years and more than strangers to each other! I will take myself off until you recover." She signed to the servant to follow her and passed out of the hall. Philadelphus then put off his stony quiet and gazed wrathfully at the woman who had entered. Hers was a fine frame, broad and square of shoulder, tall and lank of hip as some great tiger-cat, and splendid in its sinuosity. She had walked with a long stride and as she dropped into the chair she crossed her limbs so that her well-turned ankles showed and the hands she clasped about her knees were long and strong, white and remarkably tapering. Her features were almost too perfect; her beauty was sensuous, insolent and dazzling. Withal her presence intimated tremendous primal charm and the mystery of undiscovered potentialities. And she was royal! No mere upstart of an impostor could have assumed that perfect hauteur, that patrician bearing. But the pretended Philadelphus was not impressed by this beauty. "How now, Salome?" he demanded. "What play is this?" The Ephesian actress motioned toward the shittim-wood casket. "For that," she said calmly. Her voice became, instantly, her foremost charm. It was a deep voice; the profoundest contralto with an illimitable strength in suggestion. "Where is--what is that?" "Two hundred talents." Philadelphus took a step toward her. "What!" he exclaimed evilly. "Whose two hundred talents?" "Mine." There was silence in which the man's fingers bent, as if he felt her throat between them. Then he recovered himself. "But--this woman--where is she?" The actress lifted her shapely shoulders. "Where is the Maccabee?" she asked in return. He made no answer. "Did you get that treasure here--since yesterday?" he asked at last querulously. "No, by Pluto! I got it in the hills near to Emmaus. You would have had it in another day." She laughed impudently, in spite of the murderous blackening in his face. "Then, since you are such a shrewd thief, why did you come here at all, since you had the gold?" he demanded, astonished in spite of his rage. She waved a pair of jeweled hands. "They said that the Maccabee was strong and ambitious and forceful, that he would be king over Judea. Knowing you, I believed he would still come to Jerusalem in spite of you. How did you do it? In his sleep? Now, I," she continued with an assumption of concern, "failed in that detail. She was guarded by a monster. I could not get near her. But I got the casket." "She will come here then!" Philadelphus exclaimed. "What of it! Amaryllis does not know her; no one else does. And I have her proofs--and her dowry!" After a silence in which she read the expression on his face, she rose and came near him with determination in her manner. "You will have the wisdom not to recognize her," she said, "lest I suddenly discover that you are not the Philadelphus I expected." He made rapid survey of her advantage over him, and submitted. "But there will be no need of waiting for such an issue," he fumed, after a silence. "I am here and not the Maccabee, whose crown you coveted. We shall get out of this perilous city." "So?" she said, lifting her finely penciled brows. "No, we shall not." "Why?" he stormed. "Because," she answered, "John of Gischala may yet be king of Judea--and John hath a queen's diadem for sale at two hundred talents--or a heart which I can have for nothing." There was malevolent and impotent silence in the andronitis of Amaryllis, the Greek. Chapter IX THE YOUNG TITUS They who stood on the wall by the Tower of Psephinos in Coenopolis of Jerusalem on a day in March, 70 A.D., saw prophecy fulfilled. Since the hour in which the Roman eagles had appeared above the horizon to the west in their circling over the rebellious province of Judea there had not been one day of peace. Then their coming had meant the approach of an enemy. But in a short time such implacable and fierce oppressors, with such genius for ferocity and bloodshed, had developed among the Jews' own factions that the miserable citizens had turned to the tyrant Rome for rescue. They who had risen against Florus and had driven him out would have willingly accepted him again in place of Simon bar Gioras and John of Gischala, before two years had elapsed. Now, their plight was so desperate that they clambered daily upon the walls of their unhappy city to look for the first glimpse of the approaching enemy, Titus, whom they had learned to call the Deliverer. Near noon of this day in March certain citizens on the wall beside Hippicus saw a flash down the road to the west beyond the Serpent's Pool near Herod's monuments. Again they saw it and again, until they observed that its appearance was rhythmic, striking through a soft colored cloud of Judean dust. Out of that yellow haze, rolling nearer, they saw now the glittering Roman standards emerge, one by one; saw the spiky level of shouldered spears; saw the shapes of horses, saw the shapes of men; heard the soft thunder of six hundred horse on the packed earth, heard the music of six hundred whetting harnesses; heard like a tender, far-off song the winding of a Roman bugle and heard then in their own hearts, the shout: "He has come! The Deliverer!" It was the hour of the City's last hope. On the near side of the Pool of the Serpent, they saw the body of horse break into a light trot and, wheeling in that fine concord in which even the dumb beasts were perfect, turn the broadside of the splendid column to Jerusalem as it swept up Hill Gareb to the north. The citizens clambered down from the wall by Hippicus and, speeding silently but with moving lips and shining eyes through alleys and byways, came finally to an angle in Agrippa's wall that stood out toward Gareb. Here was built the Tower of Psephinos. Dumb and callous as beasts to the blows and commands of the sentries there mounted, the citizens clambered up on the fortifications and, with their chins on the battlements that stood shoulder-high, gazed avidly at the sight they saw. Scattered confidently over the uneven country the six hundred had broken file and were in easy disarray all over Gareb. Spears were at rest, standards grounded, many were dismounted, whole companies slouched in their saddles. The Jews, long used to rigid military discipline among the Romans, looked in amazement. Then a light click of a hoof attracted their attention to the bridle-path immediately under the overhanging battlements. There a solitary horseman rode. Not a scale of armor was upon his horse; not a weapon, not even a shield depended from his harness. His head was uncovered and a sheeny purple fillet showed in the tumbled, dusty black hair. There was no guard on the hand that held the bridle; the cloak that floated from his shoulders was white wool; the tunic was the simple light garment that soldiers usually wear under armor; the shoes alone were mailed. It seemed that the young Roman had stripped off his helmet, breast-plate and greaves to ride less encumbered or to appear less warlike. But the Jews who looked at him understood. Here was Titus come in peace! The horse went with loosened rein, while the young Roman's eyes raised to the great wall towering over him had more of admiration and a generous foe's appreciation of his enemy's strength than of the note-making search of a spy in them. "Ha! By Hector, that penurious Herod was a builder!" they seemed to say. "There is enough stone insolence in these walls to trouble Rome for a while!" Rod after rod of the slowly rising ground he traversed; rod after rod of the tall fortification passed under his inspection, and now the twin Women's Towers rose upon the ashes and scarped rock to the north. Titus spoke to his horse and rode faster. Meanwhile silent dozens climbed panting and dumbly resisting the sentries up beside the first Jews. They were citizens who dared not rejoice aloud. They followed the young Roman with brightened eyes, saying each within his heart: "Thus David came up against Saul, unto Israel!" But there was an increase of uproar in the city below, as if news of the coming of Titus had spread abroad. Titus was now almost a mile from the nearest of his soldiers. He passed the Gate of the Women's Towers. Hedges, gardens, ditches and wind-breaks of cedars of Lebanon from time to time obscured him. When he came in sight again, he had placed obstruction between himself and retreat. The next instant the Gate of the Women's Towers swung in. Out of it rushed a sortie of motley soldiery, brandishing weapons and shouting the war-cries of Simon and John. The citizens on the walls pressed their hands to their temples and watched, transfixed with horror. Jerusalem's defenders had gone out against the Deliverer! The attack had been seen by the disorganized troops on Gareb and the rapid trumpet-calls showed formation. But between the time of their movement and the moment of their relief a company could have been unhorsed. Meanwhile Titus, with nothing less than Fate preserving him for its own work, dodged javelins and, enraging the white stallion that he rode, kept out of reach of hand-to-hand encounter with his assailants. Back and forward he rode, his horse carrying him at times out of range of missiles; again, all but surrounded by the unorganized enemy. About his head whizzed axes and spears, wild, and frequently slaying their own. Far up the slope of Gareb the six hundred gathered itself and swept in mass down upon the conflict. Between them and Titus lay two furlongs. To join his column with all honor to himself, he had to work back over the wadies he had crossed and circle the gardens that stood in his way. But a hedge pressed too close upon the space he must pass, between it and the enemy, before he could return to his men. An ax glanced beside his ear; he wavered in his saddle. Then, that happened which a Roman of that day could not be forced to do and forget. Titus wheeled his horse and, plunging his spurs into its sides, fled on into the open country to the north, with the jeers of the men of Simon and John following him. His troops rushed down upon his assailants. But the wary soldiers turned when the Roman had fled and the Gate of the Women's Towers closed upon them. Up from the visitors within the wall rose a shout: "A sign, a sign! An omen! Thus shall the children of God overthrow the heathen in battle!" But one of the Jews on the wall thrust his fingers under his turban and seized his hair. "Jerusalem is fallen! Woe! Woe to the wicked city!" He turned in his place and leaped a good twenty feet to the ground. When he raised himself the look of a maniac had settled on his face. Tearing his garments from him as he went, he entered a narrow street that made its ascent toward Zion by steps and cobbled slants. Here he came upon great crowds of terror-stricken citizens who had rushed together as the news spread abroad over Jerusalem that the men of Simon and John had gone out against the Deliverer. No definite news of the outcome of the sortie had reached them and they were moving in a dense pack down toward the walls to hear the worst. The whole hurrying mass seemed to vibrate with suspense and dread. The maniac met them. "Woe, woe to Jerusalem!" he cried. A lean, apish, half-naked, lash-scarred idiot in the street, instantly, as if in echo to that mad cry, shouted in a voice of the most prodigious volume: "A voice from the east, a voice from the west, a voice from the four winds, a voice against Jerusalem and the Holy house, a voice against the bridegrooms and the brides and a voice against this whole people!" The temper of the crowd had reached that point of tension that needed only a little more strain to become panic. Some one received the discordant cries of the maniacs with piercing rapid screams. Instantly the choked passage filled with frantic uproar. Scores attempting to flee blindly trampled over those transfixed with fear. They fought, men with women, youths with old age, children with one another. Hundreds attracted by the tumult rushed in on the panic and added fresh victims and new death. Out of the horror rose the fearful cries of the madmen: "Woe, woe to this wicked city!" Meanwhile, the soldiers of Simon and John came to prevent citizens from gathering in bodies, and with sword and spear drove into the struggle and added murder to it all. The spirit of terror then issued out of that bloody alley and seized upon street by street. Far and wide the tumult ran, growing in volume with every accession, until the raging and humiliated Titus, among his six hundred, heard Jerusalem howl like a beaten slave and hushed his pagan curses to listen. Late that same afternoon, the Esquiline Gate, inaccessible, despised and sealed, was broken open from within and under it and down its difficult and dangerous approach poured a silent multitude, numbering thousands. They were abandoning the Rock of David to its fate. Among them went the last remnants of that sect of Christians who had tarried long after their brethren had been warned away, hoping against hope. They were not missed among the numbers in Jerusalem, for the Passover hosts still poured through the gates to the south and took their places in the unhappy city. And with these that same afternoon Laodice and her old servant came into Jerusalem. It was the eighth day after they had applied to the priest at Emmaus whither they had fled in their search for the frosts, a good three leagues north of the direct road to Jerusalem. They had stopped at the Lavatory outside the walls, washed themselves and had purchased the white garments of the purified. Old Momus carried with him the price of the lambs, of the fine flour and the oil for their cleansing and the two were ready to present themselves for their purification at the Temple. But all the roar and disorder of the great city in its warfare and its discord confused them. Ascalon had not a thousandth part of this turmoil at its busiest season. Neither was there a servant in a purple turban with the gold star to meet them and they were bewildered and lost. The rest of the visitors to the Passover hurried into the heart of the city; wave after wave of new-comers replaced them; but the young woman and her dumb old servant stood aside just within reach of the shadow of the immemorial portal and waited. Time and again wolfish Idumean soldiers who were numerous about the place noted the pair and commented to one another or spoke insolently to the shrinking girl who hid ineffectually behind her veil. Hour after hour they stood with growing distress and no friendly face in all that army of hurrying, restless, quarreling Jews welcomed them. The afternoon waned. Laodice thought of the darkness and trembled. An old man fumbling a talisman of bone drew near them. Laodice took courage and approached him. "I pray thee, sir, I seek Amaryllis, the Seleucid." The old man turned large, grave eyes upon her. "Daughter, what dost thou know of this woman?" he asked. "My husband knows her; I do not. I am to join him under her roof." The old man looked reassured. "Follow this street unto one intersecting it on the summit of Zion. That will be a broad street and a straight one, terminating on a bridge. Go thence to the hither side of that bridge, pass down the ravine and cross to the other side against Moriah. There thou shalt see a new Greek house. It is the residence of Amaryllis." Laodice thanked her informant and began the pursuit of the cloudy directions to her destination. Twice before she brought up at the sentry line before the house of the Seleucid, she asked further of other citizens. Many times she met affront, once or twice she perilously escaped disaster. At last, near sunset, she stood before the dwelling-place of the one secure citizen of the Holy City. A sentry dropped his spear across her path and she had not the countersign to give him. There she and her helpless old attendant stood and looked hopelessly at the refuge denied them. Presently a man appeared in the colonnade across the front of the house and descending to the sentry line called to him the officer in command. They stood within a few paces of Laodice and she heard the soldier address the man as John, and heard him deliver a report of the day. When the soldier withdrew to his place, Laodice stepped forward and called to the Gischalan. He stopped, noted that she was beautiful and waited. "I would speak with the Lady Amaryllis," she hesitated. "Have you the countersign?" he asked. "No; else I should have entered. But Amaryllis will know me." "Enter then," the Gischalan said. In a moment she was admitted at the solid doors and led into a vestibule. Here, a porter took charge of Momus and showed him into a side passage, while Laodice followed her conductor through a corridor into an interior hall of splendid simplicity. Lounging on an exedra was a young woman in a woolen chiton, barefoot and trifling with the Greek ampyx that bound her golden hair. Laodice put up her veil and looked with hurrying heart at her hostess. Before she could get a preliminary idea of the woman she was to meet, John spoke lightly: "Be wearied no longer. I have brought you a mystery--a stranger, without the countersign, asking audience with you." "Go back to the fortress," the young woman answered. "Sometime you will find strangers awaiting you there, also without the password. You will lose Jerusalem trifling with me. I have spoken!" John filliped her ear as he passed through into a corridor which must have led into the Temple precincts. Under the light, Laodice saw that he was a middle-aged Jew, not handsome, but luxuriant with virility. His face showed great ability with no conscience, and force and charm without balance or morals. Here, then, thought Laodice, is the first of Philadelphus' enemies. The idler in the exedra, meanwhile, was awaiting the speech of her visitor. "Art thou she whom I seek?" Laodice asked. "Amaryllis, the Seleucid?" "I am called by that name." "I was bidden," Laodice continued, "by one whom we both know, to seek asylum with thee." "So? Who may that be?" Laodice whispered the name. "Philadelphus Maccabaeus." The Greek's eyes took on a puzzled look. Then she surveyed the girl and as a full conception of the beauty of the young creature before her formed in the Greek's mind, the perplexity left her expression. Her air changed; a subtle smile played about her lips. "He sent you to me for protection?" "Until he arrives in Jerusalem," Laodice assented. "But he is already here." It was the moment that Laodice had avoided fearfully ever since she had gathered from that winsome stranger by the roadside that his companion was her husband. Although, after that fact had been made known to her, she had felt that she ought to join Philadelphus and proceed with him to the Holy City, she had endured the exposure of the hills, the want and discomfort of insufficient supplies and the affronts of wayfarers, that she might spare herself as long as possible her union with the unsafe man who had become even more hateful by comparison with the one who had called himself Hesper. "Perchance thou wilt lead me to him," Laodice said finally. Amaryllis made no immediate answer. It would have been a natural impulse for her to wish to inquire for the girl's business with the man that the Greek as hostess was expected to conceal. But Amaryllis had her own explanation for this visit. It had been plain to less observant eyes than hers that the newly arrived Philadelphus was not delighted with the bride he had met. The Greek summoned a servant. "Go summon thy master, Prisca; and haste. I doubt not I have for him a sweet relief." The woman bowed. "If it please thee, madam, the master is without in the vestibule, returning from the city." Amaryllis signed to the ivory chair before her. "Sit, lady," she said to Laodice. "He will come at once." The young woman dropped into the seat and gazed wistfully at her hostess. Instinctively, she knew that in this woman was no relief from the darkened life she was to lead with her husband. The Greek's face, palely lighted by a thoughtful smile, vanished in sudden darkness. Laodice saw instead an image of a strong intent face, brightening under the sunrise, saw it relax, soften, grow inexpressibly kind, then pass, as a tender memory taking leave for ever. She was brought to herself by the Greek's rising suddenly. The Ephesian appeared at the arch, tossing mantle and kerchief to the porter as he entered. Laodice rose to her feet with difficulty. It was he, indeed! He was kissing Amaryllis' hand. The Greek was smiling an accusing, conscious smile. She indicated Laodice. The Ephesian's face showed startlement, suspicion and a quick recovery. He bowed low and waited for explanation. "Then I will go," Amaryllis said with amusement in her eyes, "if you are acting pretenses for my sake." [Illustration: Amaryllis the Greek.] She turned toward the arch which led into the interior of the house. The pretender glanced again at Laodice and again at the Greek. "What is the play, lady?" he asked. Amaryllis looked at Laodice standing stony white at her place, and lost her confident smile. "Is this not he?" she asked. "Is this Philadelphus Maccabaeus?" Laodice asked. The Ephesian's face changed quickly. Enlightenment mixed with discomfiture appeared there for an instant. "I am he," he said evenly. "Then," Laodice said, "I am she whom thou hast expected." Philadelphus smiled and dropped his head as if in thought. "One always expects the pleasurable," he essayed, "but at times one does not recognize it when it comes. Who art thou, lady?" "Pestilence, war and the evil devices of men have desolated me," she said coldly. "I have only a name. I am Laodice." "Laodice!" he repeated amiably. "A familiar name; eh, Amaryllis?" Laodice waited. Philadelphus looked again at her and appeared to wait. "I am Laodice," the girl repeated, a little disconcerted, "thy wife." "So!" Philadelphus exclaimed. There was such well-assumed astonishment in the exclamation that she raised her eyes quickly to his face. There was another expression there; one wholly incredulous. "Now did I in the profligacy of mine extreme youth marry two Laodices?" he said. "For another Laodice, wife to me, joined me some days since." Laodice gazed at him without comprehending. "I say," he repeated, "that my wife Laodice joined me some time ago." "Why, I--I am Laodice, daughter to Costobarus, and thy wife!" she exclaimed, while her eyes fixed upon him the full force of her astonishment. He turned to Amaryllis. "What labyrinth is this, O my friend," he asked, "in which thou hast set my feet?" "I do not know," Amaryllis laughed suddenly. "Call the princess." Philadelphus summoned a servant and instructed her to bring his wife. For a short space the three did not speak, though Laodice's lips parted and she stroked her forehead in a bewildered way. Then Salome, late actress in the theaters at Ephesus, came into the hall. Amaryllis bowed to her and the impostor gave her a chair. He turned to Laodice and with the faintest shadow of a grimace motioned toward the new-comer. "This," he said, "is Laodice, daughter of Costobarus." Laodice blazed at the insolent beauty who stared at her with curious eyes. "That!" she cried. "The daughter of Costobarus!" The fine brown eyes of the woman smoldered a little, but she continued to gaze without the least discomposure. "Who is this, sir?" she asked of Philadelphus. "That," said Philadelphus evenly, to the actress, "is Laodice, daughter of Costobarus." "I do not understand," the actress said disgustedly. "You are clumsy, Philadelphus, when you are playful. If this is all, I shall return to my chamber." She rose, but Laodice sprang into her path. "Hold!" she cried. "Philadelphus, hast thou accepted this woman without proofs?" Philadelphus smiled and shook his head. "And by the by," he asked, "what proof have you?" Up to that moment Laodice had burned with confident rage, feeling that, by force of the justice of her cause, she might overthrow this preposterous villainy, but at Philadelphus' question she suddenly chilled and blanched and shrank back. A new and supreme disadvantage of her loss presented itself to her at last. She could not prove her identity! Meanwhile, seeing Laodice falter, the woman's lip curled. "Weak! Very weak, Philadelphus," she said. "You must invent something better. The success of a jest is all that pardons a jester." "She robbed me!" Laodice panted impotently. "Robbed me, after my father had given her refuge!" "Of what?" the Greek asked. "My proofs--and two hundred talents!" "Lady," the actress said to Amaryllis, "my husband's emissary, Aquila, was a pagan. He had with him, on our journey, this woman and her old deformed father who fled when the plague broke out among us. She hoped, I surmise, that we should all die on the way. Even Samson gave up secrets to Delilah, and this Aquila was no better than Samson." Oriental fury fulminated in the eyes of Laodice. Philadelphus, fearing that she was about to spring at the throat of her traducer, sprang between the two women. In his eyes shone immense admiration at that moment. There was an instant of critical silence. Then Laodice drew herself up with a sudden accession of strength. "Madam," she said coldly to Amaryllis, "with-hold thy judgment a few days. I shall send my servant back to Ascalon for other proof. _He_ can go safely, for he has had the plague." Philadelphus started; the actress flinched. "Friend," Philadelphus said in his smooth way, "I came upon this woman by the wayside in the hills. I and a wayfarer cast a coin for possession of her--and the other man won. Give thyself no concern." Laodice flung her hands over her face and shrank in an agony of shame down upon the exedra. Amaryllis looked down on her bowed head. "Is it true?" she asked. After a moment Laodice raised herself. "God of Israel," she said in a low voice, "how hast Thy servant deserved these things!" There was a space of silence, in which the two impostors turned together and talking between themselves of anything but the recent interview walked out of the chamber. After a time Laodice lifted her head and spoke to the Greek. "If thou wilt give me shelter, madam, for a few days only, I promise thee thou shalt not regret it," she said. The girl was interesting and Amaryllis had been disappointed in Philadelphus. Nothing tender or compassionate; only a little curiosity, a little rancor, a little ennui and a faint instinctive hope that something of interest might yet develop, moved the Greek. "Send your servant to Ascalon for proofs," she said. "I shall give you shelter here until you are proved undeserving of it. And since the times are uncertain, do not delay." Chapter X THE STORY OF A DIVINE TRAGEDY The following morning, there was a rap at the door of the chamber to which Laodice had been led and informed that it was her own. She had passed a sleepless night and had risen early, but the knock came late in the morning. She opened the door. Without stood a ten year old girl, of the most bewitching beauty, as barely clad as ever the children of her blood went over the green meadows of Achaia. Her golden hair was knotted on the back of her pretty head and held in place by an ampyx. On her feet were tiny sheepskin buskins; about her perfect little body, worn carelessly, was a simple chiton, out of which her dimpled shoulders and small round arms showed pink and tender as field-flowers. Nothing could have been more composed than her gaze at Laodice. "We breakfast in the hall, now. You are to join us," she said. Laodice stepped, out of the chamber into the court and followed her little guide. "The mistress and her guests rise late," the child went on. "That perforce starves the rest of us until mid-morning. Eheu! It is the one injustice in this house." Laodice dumbly wondered if she were to be classed with the house servants while she waited until the return of her devoted old mute. She was led into a long narrow room, showing the same simple elegance that marked all the house of Amaryllis, the Greek. Down the center were two tables, separated by a cluster of tall plants that almost screened one from the other. At the first table place was laid for one. At the other, she found by the talk and laughter the rest of the company were gathered. The little girl led Laodice to the single place, seated her, and kissing her hand to her with an almost too-practised bow, fled around the cluster of tall plants. There she heard her childish voice imperiously ordering a servant to attend the mistress' latest guest. Prisca appeared and silently served Laodice with melon, honey-cakes and milk. Other of the house-servants were visible from time to time. This, then, manifestly was not the breakfast of the menials. She glanced toward the cluster of tall plants. Through an interstice she was able to see all the persons seated at the other table. There first was the blue-eyed, golden-haired girl. Beside her was a youth, slim, dark, exquisitely fashioned, with limbs and arms as strong as were ever displayed in the games, yet powerful without brutality, graceful without weakness--marks of the ideal athlete that had long since disappeared with the coming of the Roman gladiator. Opposite was a grown man, tall, broad and deep chested, with prominent eyes wide apart and a large mouth. There was a singleness of attitude in him, as in all persons reared to a purpose. It was that certain self-centeredness which is not egotism, yet a subconsciousness of self in all acts. He was the finished product of a specific, life-long training, and the confidence in his atmosphere was the confidence of one aware of his skill and prepared at all times. Besides these three, there were two women, both in the garments of the ancient atelier. One was bemarked with clay; the other was stained with paint. Laodice knew at a glance that she looked at a gathering of artists. "Evidently a gift from John," the little girl was saying. "He can not see that our lady does anything but collect curiosities in this her search after art, and so he must needs add a contribution in this Stygian monster we saw yesterday evening." Laodice knew that they discussed Momus. "Perhaps," the athlete said, "he bought this left-handed catapult thinking he might throw the discus farther than I can throw it." "Well enough," the woman with paint on her tunic put in; "she sent the monster packing. He went out of the gates post-haste last night, they say." "The pretty stranger that came with him stayed, I observe," the athlete said. "Pst!" the girl said in a low voice. "Where are the man's eyes in your head, that you do not see her?" "Looking at you!" the athlete answered. "Too soon!" the child retorted. "A good six years before I shall know what your looks mean!" "Is she, this pretty stranger, something of John's taste?" the woman who had blue clay on her garment asked. "Tut!" the athlete broke in. "John never departed from his ancient barbarism to that extent. That, unless I misjudge my own inclinations in a similar matter, is something this mysterious Philadelphus hath arranged to relieve the tedium of--" "Tedium!" the girl exclaimed. "By Hector, this Jewish wife of his would open his Ephesian eyes were she to let loose all I suspect in her!" "Brrr! But you are suspicious!" the athlete shivered. The little girl shaped her lips into a kiss and the athlete leaning across the table snatched it from her before she could avoid him. The women caught him by the back of his tunic and pulled him down in his chair. "Sit down!" they whispered. "Don't you see that Juventius is about to speak?" The athlete glanced at the grown man, who had looked down into his plate at the youth's frolic with the child, with the utmost disdain and boredom in his expression. Now that the silence became noticeable, he spoke in an affected voice, but one of the deepest music. "Alas, these Jews!" he said. "How little they know about art! How long has it been since he introduced one of the Temple singers into our lady's hall to show what a piercing high note could be reached by a male voice? And he had the creature sing to prove his contention. I thought I should die! It was worse than awful; it was criminal!" The athlete laughed. "Any singer, then, but Juventius therefore is a malefactor!" he said. "No, it does not follow," Juventius protested in all seriousness, while the child flashed a look of intense amusement at the athlete. "But," waving a pair of long white hands, "none should trifle with music. It is one of the graces of Nature, divine and elemental. Wherefore, anything short of a perfect production becometh a mockery and a mockery against divine things is blasphemy. Ergo, the poor musician is in danger of Hades!" "The monster is safe, safe!" the girl protested. "He does not sing, and from what I caught through the crack of the door, the pretty stranger had better not. My lady, the princess, had a merry time with my lord, the prince, at breakfast this morning, all about this same pretty one. So this is why she breakfasts with us--the second table." Laodice heard this with a sinking heart. This was a strange house in which to live at no definite status, with a future blank and inscrutable. "Is it, then, that you are wary of offending the over-nice exactions of music, that you do not sing?" the athlete demanded of Juventius. "Song," replied the singer gravely, "is originally the expression of the highest exaltation. To sing before the high mark of feeling is reached is an insincerity." "Alas, Juventius," the girl was saying, "how much difficulty you lay up for yourself in determining the limits of art! Teach broadly and the fulfilment of your laws will not be such a task for the overworked and irritable gods of art." "Child!" Juventius cried passionately. "Your ignorance outreaches your presumption!" "Fie! Fie!" the athlete put in comfortably. "Let us make a truce, for I announce to you the opportunity each to have whatever you wish. We are to have at the proper moment, according to the Jews, a celestial visitation which will enable us to have what we most desire." "You announce it!" the girl scoffed indignantly. "I have heard of that ever since I was born!" "I, too, have heard it," said Juventius. "Well," said the unabashed athlete, "the Pharisee that brings Amaryllis her fruit is so full of it that he gets prophecies mixed with his prices and the patriarchs with his fruit. He says that there are those that declare he is already in the city." "That he has been seen?" Juventius asked, after a little silence. "No; merely suspected. They say that things go on in the Temple which seem to show that some resident of their Olympus already inhabits the air." "I saw Seraiah to-day," one of the women said in a low voice. "Silent as ever? Spotless as ever? Mysterious as ever?" the athlete asked. The woman who had spoken shook her head at him as if alarmed. "I can not bear to hear him ridiculed," she said. "Somehow it seems blasphemous. They say he marks every one who laughs in his hearing." "They are not many," the girl said. "For the most part, the citizens of Jerusalem feel as apprehensive about him as you do." "I wonder that John will stay in the Temple with a god in it," Juventius said, as if he had not heard the rest of the discussion. "John!" the athlete exclaimed. "John is an adventurer that believes in nothing, has no cause and furthers this warfare for loot and the possible chance of escape when the conflict comes." "Simon is different," another said. "Now he is wild and mad and insolent and foolhardy, because he believes that, no matter what tangle the situation is in, the celestial emissary he expects will straighten it out for him." "In short, he means to work such a complexity here that the man who unravels it must needs be divine." At this moment the door that cut off the rest of the house from this dining-room opened smartly and the supposed Philadelphus stepped in. He closed the door behind him and glanced at the filled table. Those there seated rose. He spoke to each one by name, and after they had greeted him, they filed out into the court and the servants began to remove the remnants of their meal. Laodice rose at sign of this concerted deference to Philadelphus but sat down again, with her lips compressed. However they had disposed her, she would not accept the menial attitude. She had not finished her honey-cakes. He came round to her, drew up a chair and sat down beside her. She ignored him, making a feint that was not entirely successful at interest in her fruit. "Who art thou, in truth?" he asked finally. "Laodice," she answered coldly. He sighed and she added nothing more. "What can your purpose be in this?" he asked. She ignored the question. After a longer silence, he said in an altered and softened tone: "What an innocent you are! Certainly this is your first attempt! What marplot told you that such a thing as you have essayed was possible?" She put aside her plate and her cup, and turned to him. "By your leave I will retire," she said. "Not yet," he answered, smiling. "It is my duty as a Jew to help you while there is time." She settled back in her chair and looked at the cluster of plants while he talked. "Nothing so damages the beauty of a woman as trickery. No bad woman is beautiful very long. There comes a canker on her soul's beauty, in her face, that disfigures her, soon or late. Whoever you are, whatever your condition, you are lovely yet. Be beautiful; of a surety then you must be good." It was the same old hypocritical pose that the bad man assumes to cloak himself before innocence. Laodice remembered the incident in the hills. "Where," she asked coldly, "is he who was with you at Emmaus?" The pretender started a little, but the increase of alarm on his face showed that he realized next that here was a peril in this woman which he had overlooked. "Gone," he said unreadily, "gone back to Ephesus." She did not know what pain this announcement of that winsome stranger's desertion would waken in her heart. Her eyes fell; her brows lifted a little; the corners of her mouth became pathetic. The pretender, casting a sidelong glance at her, saw to his own safety that she had believed him. "He was a parasite," he sighed, "living off my bounty. But even that did not invite him when he neared the peril of this city. So he turned back. I--I do not blame him," he added with a little laugh. "Blame him?" she said quickly. "You--you do not blame him?" "No! Any place, any condition is more desirable than residence in Jerusalem at this hour." "If one seeks but to be comfortable. But here is a place for work and for achievement," she declared. "Too desperate an extreme. Nothing can be done here," he observed, shrugging his shoulders. She gazed at him with immense contempt. "That from a son of Judas Maccabaeus!" she exclaimed. He looked disconcerted. "Why not?" he urged. "It is neither rational nor practical to attempt the impossible. Jerusalem is doomed. I would but add myself to the sacrifice did I interfere between destruction and its sure prey." After a silence in which she confronted him with many emotions showing on her face, she said with infinite pity and disappointment: "O Philadelphus, you to throw greatness away!" "Where, O my mysterious genius, are my army, my engines, my subsistence, my advantage and the prize?" "What was that dowry which was stolen from me to purchase for you but these things? I brought it for this purpose. Another than myself delivered it to you; the end is achieved; what use will you make of it?" "There is no nation here for that dowry to defend, no crown for it to support. But for this same madness which possesses my lady, the princess, I should depart this day for a safer venture, in some safer country!" She faced him intently. "And you will do nothing for Judea?" she asked. "What can be done?" he asked, throwing out his hands with a careless gesture. "Oh," she exclaimed with a rush of passionate feeling, "that I were you! You, with the materials for empire-building at your feet! You, with the hour beseeching you, with a people searching for you, with a treasury filled for you, with ancient prophecy establishing you, ancient precept teaching you, and the cause of God arming you! Philadelphus, son of a great patriot, what are you saying! What can there be done! Oh rather, how dare you not do! What have you about you but the inevitable end of Judah, living contrary to God's plan for it! It is the conscience of Israel rising against its sin and submission! It is the blood of David rebelling against the heathen yoke! It is the hour foretold by Isaiah and Jeremiah and Ezekiel and Daniel and the Twelve, when Israel shall repent and be chastened and return to the heritage of Jacob. Be the repairer of the breach! Be the restorer of the paths to dwell in, my husband! Go out and let Israel behold you! Help them to wipe out the shame of Babylonia and Persia and Macedonia and Rome! Make Jerusalem not only a sanctuary but a capital! Restore the glory of David and the peace of Solomon, for those were God's days and Judah can not prosper except as it returns to them! Philadelphus--" Laodice halted abruptly in her appeal, breathless with feeling. The amusement had gone out of his face and his expression was one of mingled discomfort and surprise at her speech. "Since you are a thinking woman," he answered, "I must answer you soberly. Even I, expecting disorder and uproar in Jerusalem, when I came from Ephesus, was not prepared for this chaos! Never was such a time! Order is not possible in this extreme. It is unthinkable. Nothing human can save Jerusalem!" She laid her hand upon him. "Nothing human!" she repeated quickly. "Seest not that this is the time of the Messiah? Be ready to be helped of God!" Philadelphus drew away from her uneasily and looked at her from under lowered brows. "They say," he said in a suppressed voice, as fearing his own words, "that He has come and gone!" She looked at him blankly. He was glad he had thought of this; it would divert her from a discourse momently growing unpleasant for him. And yet he was afraid of the thing he had said. "What dost thou say?" she asked. "He is come and gone--they say." "Come and gone!" He nodded irritably. It made him nervous to dwell on the subject. "Who say?" she demanded. "Many! Many!" he whispered. "It is not--do you believe it?" she persisted, with strange terror waiting upon his answer. He moved uneasily but he answered the truth. It was superstition in him that spoke. "Something in me says it is true," Philadelphus whispered. She stood transfixed; then all her horror rose in her and cried out against the story. "It can not be!" she cried. "See the misery and oppression, here, tenfold! Nothing has been done! Nobody heard of Him! He could not fail! What a blasphemy, what a travesty on His Word, to come and fulfil it not and go hence unnoticed! It can not be!" "But, but--" he protested, somehow terrified by her denial, "only you have not heard. Everywhere are those who believe it and I saw--I saw--" The growing violence of dissent on her face urged him to speak what his shamed and guilty tongue hesitated to pronounce. "I saw in Ephesus one who saw Him; I saw in Patmos one who had reclined on His breast!" "A--a--woman?" she whispered. "No! No!" he returned in a panic. "A man, a prisoner, old and white and terrible! But it was in his youth! He told me! And the one in Ephesus, a red-beard, hunchbacked and half-blind and even more terrible than the first! He saw Him after He was dead!" "Dead!" Her lips shaped the word. "They--yes! He was crucified!" Her lips parted as if to speak the word, but her mind failed to grasp it certainly. She stood moveless in an actual pain of horror. "But He rose again from the dead," he persisted, "and left the earth to its own devices hereafter. And so behold Jerusalem! "And there was one woman," he added, "who had been a scarlet woman. She had anointed His feet with precious oil and wiped them with her hair. And I saw her also--I sought them all out, because they could do miracles and foretell events. Thousands upon thousands believe in them." "Crucified!" she whispered. "They say," he went on, "that He pronounced judgment on Jerusalem and that it now cometh to pass!" The accumulated effect of the calamitous recital was to stun her. She gazed at him with unintelligent eyes, and her lips moved without speaking. For one reared in constant contemplation of God's nearness to His children, acquainted with divine politics, divine literature and divine law, cut off from the world and devoted wholly to religion, the story of a divine tragedy carried with it the full force of its fearful import. Philadelphus' narrative meant to her the crumbling of earth and the effacement of Heaven. She cried wildly her unbelief when words returned to her. But under the fury of her denunciation, unconsciously directed against the conviction that the story was true, she felt her hope of a restored Kingdom of David wavering toward a fall. While she stood thus, Amaryllis, languid and pre-occupied, entered the room with John of Gischala at her side. The Greek noted Philadelphus with a quick accession of interest. John's attention had been instantly arrested by the presence of the other man. Philadelphus turned with fine ease to meet the man whom he must regard as his enemy and Laodice shrank back in an attempt to get out of sight of the trio. "Welcome!" said Amaryllis to Philadelphus. "A fortunate visit that makes possible an amnesty for two of my friends at once. This, John, is Philadelphus of Ephesus, a seeker of diversion out of mine own country come to see the end of this great struggle thou wagest against Rome. And thou, Philadelphus, seest before thee, John of Gischala, the arbiter of Judea's future. Be friends." With a comprehensive sweeping glance John inspected the man before him. "John of Gischala," he repeated in his feline voice, "the oppressor John. Art thou not afraid of me, sir?" "Dost thou meditate harm for me, sir?" Philadelphus smiled. "Art thou, in that case, against me, sir?" John parried. "On that hingeth his answer," Amaryllis said, glancing at Laodice. "And here is this same pretty stranger who bewitched thee yesterday. Know her as Laodice. Let that be parentage, history, ambition and religion for her. She, too, seeks diversion in Jerusalem, and is my guest for a while." The Gischalan took Laodice's hand and held it. "Welcome, thou," he said. "I will tolerate another man under thy roof if thou wilt but make this pretty bird of passage a permanency," he said to the Greek, after a silent study of Laodice's beauty. "Let her be a hostage dependent on thy good behavior. Lapse, and I shall send her back to Olympus where they keep such nymphs." Philadelphus smiled at Laodice, but the shock of their recent talk had shaken her too much to enter into this idle chaff on the lips of those upon whom the fortunes of Israel depended at that very hour. John looked at her for a long time. "Amaryllis veils thee in the enchantment of mystery. I think she is tired of me and would have me interested in another woman. She does all things well. Who art thou, in truth?" The Greek lifted her head and gazed with overt anxiety at the girl; Philadelphus turned toward her uneasily. Here was an opportunity for Laodice either as a disappointed adventuress or as a supplanted wife, to take revenge by exposing this pair of conspirators pledged to undermine the Gischalan. But the girl had no such thought. "I am Laodice," she said unreadily. "What history I have belongs to another. What future shall be mine depends on others. I wait." "If you mean to throw me off, Amaryllis, I shall not miss you," said John. The Greek smiled and plucking Philadelphus' sleeve led both men away. "Do not commit yourself," she said to John, "there is yet another woman under this roof. You shall have a choice." They disappeared in the direction of her hall. Laodice, stunned, amazed and shaken, stood still. The stock of her troubles amounted to a sum of such magnitude that she could not grasp it clearly. The entire structure which her life training and all her purposes, the hope of her house and her husband's, the future of Judea and the King to come, had constituted, had been attacked and threatened to crumble and be swept away in a few hours' time. Out of the wreck she rescued one hope. Momus would return from the west with proofs in a few days' time--only a few days! Chapter XI THE HOUSE OF OFFENSE On his way to the oaken door that was for ever double-barred, in that small hall which led to the apartments of Amaryllis' corps of artists, Philadelphus met Salome, the actress. He would have passed her without a word, but the woman, armed with the nettle of a small triumph over the man who held her in contempt, could not forbear piercing him as he passed. "Hieing away to excite your disappointment further?" she said. "Has the forlorn lady convinced you, yet, that she is indeed your wife?" "Had I that two hundred talents, I would confess her!" he declared. "Cruel obstacle! But that two hundred talents is locked away safely, out of your reach. Why do you not run away with this pretty creature?" Philadelphus glowered at her. "I have been known to make way with those who stood in my way," he declared. "I sleep with my door locked," she answered, "and I ever face you. I need never be afraid, therefore." For a moment he was silent, while she sensed that overweening hate and menace which charged the air about him. "It is not all as it should be," he said finally. "You are not rid of me. I shall stay." "You should," she responded comfortably. "You are a show of domesticity which lends color to our claim of wedded state. But you may go or stay. As usual, you are not essential." "I have been known to be superfluous. However it may be, I get much pleasure in the companionship of this lovely creature, the single flaw in the fine fabric of your villainy. Do not fear her convincing me. She might convince others." There was no response; after a silence he said as he moved on: "I shall warn her to feed a morsel of her food to the parrots ere she tastes it, however." He was gone. The woman felt of the keys that swung under the folds of her robes. Then she, too, went on. The oaken door was still fast closed when Philadelphus reached it, but he knew that the girl, who lived within, came out to walk in the sunshine of Amaryllis' court at certain hours while the household was engaged within doors. He had not long to wait. She came out in a little while, and glanced up and down the hall; but he had heard the turn of the bolt and had stepped into shadow in time. Reassured that no one was near, she emerged and passing down the hall entered the court. And there presently he joined her. He sat down on one of the stone seats and smiled at her. "Do I appear excited?" he asked. She glanced at him indifferently. "No," she said. "I have this day seen destruction resolved for the city." She took his easy declaration with a frown. If it were true he should not show that flippancy; if it were not he should not have jested. "I saw," he continued, "Titus and his beloved Nicanor ride around the walls. Though they were the full length of a bow-shot from me, I knew what they talked about. Now, this young Nicanor is a gad that tickles Titus when his soft heart would urge him into tendernesses toward the enemy. But for Nicanor, Titus would have withdrawn his legions long ago and left Jerusalem to die of its own violences. "On the day that you came into Jerusalem, Titus, as a display of amicable intentions, rode up to the walls without arms or armor, trusting to the Jews' soldierly honor in refusing to attack an unarmed man. But the Jews have never been instructed in the nice points of military courtesy, so they went out against him by thousands. And but for the fact that he is practised in dodging arrows and his horse is used to running away, Emperor Vespasian would have to leave the ægis to the unlovely Domitian. "Any Roman but Titus would remember this against the Jews until he had put the last one in bondage, but Titus is not a Roman. I think some-times that he is a Christian, since it is their boast to love their enemies. Whatever his feelings after that ignominious adventure of a few days ago, forth he rides this morning; beside him the Gad, Nicanor; behind him, that sweet traitor, Josephus. "The Darling of Mankind rode so meditatively, so dejectedly, that I knew by his attitude, he said: 'Alack, it galls me to go against this goodly city!' "By the swagger of the Gad I knew he said: 'Dost gall thee, in truth? Then truly, alack! Withhold thy hand until the city comes out against thee, so thou canst hush thy conscience saying that they began it!' "Saith the Darling, 'But there be babes and innocent men and women within those walls, who, deserving most of all, shall suffer the greatest!' "'By Hecate!' quoth the Gad, 'there is not a yearling within that city possessing the power to pucker its lips but would spit upon thee!' "'It would be sacred innocence!' declares Titus. "'Or an old man that would not burn thine ears with malediction!' "'That would be holy dotage!' "'Or a fine young man but would pale thee on a pike!' "'Then let some one whom they hate less venomously, beseech them to their own salvation,' implores the Darling. "Whereupon the Gad beckons insinuatingly to Josephus. "'Josephus,' says he, 'let us, being more lovable men than Titus, go up unto these walls and give the Jews a chance to be kind.' "Josephus turns pale, but Nicanor rides upon Jerusalem. And at that what should a miscreant Jew do but string an arrow and plunge it nicely, like a bodkin in a pincushion, in the fat shoulder of the Gad! Alas! It was the ruin of the Holy City! When Titus, pale with concern, reaches his friend kicking on the ground, does the Gad curse the Jews and inveigh against the hardy walls that contain them? Not he! He struggles about so that he may look into the eyes of Titus and commands him to make war on them instantly under pain of the accusation of partiality to them against his friends! And behold, war is declared. I, with mine own eyes, saw siege laid effectively about our unhappy city!" She gazed at him with alarmed, angry, accusing eyes. "And yet you do nothing!" she said to him. He smiled and let his lazy glance slip over her, but he made no response. "O Philadelphus," she said to him, "how you affront opportunity!" "There are more captivating things than such opportunity. I have known from the beginning that there was nothing here." She looked at him with unquiet eyes. Why, then, had he written so confidently to her father, if he had not believed in the hope for Judea? "From the beginning?" she repeated with inquiry. "You wrote my father from Cæsarea--" "Your father?" he repeated, smiling with insinuation. "My father!" "Who is your father?" he asked. She turned away from him and walked to the other end of the garden. He had never meant to aspire to the Judean throne! He had simply written so determinedly to Costobarus, that the merchant of Ascalon would have no hesitancy in giving him two hundred talents! In these past days, she had learned enough that was blameworthy in this Philadelphus to make him more than despicable in her eyes. Again, as hourly since the last interview in the depression in the hills beyond the well, the fine bigness of that lovable companion of his, that had vanished for all time from her life, rose in radiant contrast. She turned back to her husband, with the pallor of longing and homesickness in her face. "Does this other woman see no fault in this, your idleness?" she demanded. "She! By the Shades, she sees nothing in me but fault! I would get me up like a sane man and go out of this mad place, but she hath locked up her dowry away from me, which was the simple cause that invited me to join her, and bids me go without her. And I might--but for one other attraction, dearer than the treasure, which also I would take with me." "Even if she forces you into deeds, I shall forgive her," she declared at last. He smiled a baffling smile and she looked at him in despair. The very charm of his personal appearance awakened resentment in her; his deft and easy complaisance angered her because it could be effective. She hated the superficial excellence in him which made him a pleasant companion. He had refused to discuss her identity further, except to prevent her in her own attempts to identify herself. He did not refer to the incidents of their journey to Jerusalem, but she felt that he was conscious of all these things, and her resentment was so great that she put it out of sight, lest at the time when she should be proved she would have come to hate him to the further thwarting of their work for Israel. "It is sweet to have you concerned for me. Now you may understand how much I am troubled for your own welfare. Do not regard me with that unbending gaze. I am, first and before all else, your friend." "You have changed," she said slowly. "I did not find in you this solicitude in the hills." "Unhappiness," he sighed, "makes most men law-less. I should be even now as bad, were I not sure of the sympathy you feel for me." She looked at him with large disdain. "Does not this woman treat you well?" she asked with the first glimmer of sarcasm in her eyes. "Her displeasure in me is that I do not make her a queen; yours, however, that I can not save this doomed nation! Her ambitions are for herself; yours are for me. Which waketh the response in my heart, lady?" "What have I lived for?" she burst out. "For what was I brought up and schooled? For what have I sacrificed all the light and desirable things of my youth, but for--" "Nay! Do not show me, yet, that you are only bent on being queen!" he exclaimed. "I care for nothing but the rescue of Judea!" she cried passionately. "There is nothing left to me but that!" "Then your ambitions are still for me. Alas, that the Messiah has come and gone!" It was his first reference to the great calamity he had told to her a short time before. Its recurrence after she had resolved to regard it as an impossible and blasphemous tale brought a chill to her heart. "If I can prove to you that there is no hope for Jerusalem, what then?" he asked suddenly. She flung off the question with a gesture. "Answer me. What then?" "It is unimaginable what shall come to pass when God deserts His own." "No need for imaginings. Look at Jerusalem and observe the fact. And if we be abandoned, what fealty do we owe to a God that deserts us? If you believe or not you are lost. Let us go out and live." "If God has deserted us," she said scornfully, "how shall we be happier elsewhere than here?" "Every god to its own country. The Olympians are a jovial lot. I have seen Joy's very self in heathendom." She moved away but he rose and followed her. "Whoever you are," he said in another tone, "your heritage of innocence and earnestness is plain as an open scroll upon your face. Nothing in all the world so appeals to the generosity in the heart of a man as the purity of the woman who is pure. I have said that I am your friend. I do not hold it against you that you doubt that word. Nothing remains but the deed to confirm it. This place is lost--as good as a heap of ashes and splintered rock, this hour! Come away! I'll sacrifice the treasure to protect you!" "Philadelphus," she said gravely, "we were sent hither to succeed or to suffer the penalty of our failure. My father died that we might have this opportunity. We must use it, or perish with it!" He shook his head and walked away a step or two. "You have not the true meaning of life," he said. "Indeed how few of us understand! Obstacles are not an incentive toward attaining impossible things. They are barriers set up by the kindly disposed gods to inform man that he is opposing destiny when he aspires to things he should not have. We were not made to fling ourselves against mighty opposition throughout the little daylight we have; to wound ourselves, to deny ourselves, to alienate that winsome sprite Pleasure, to attain something which was not intended for us by the signs of the obstructions placed in our paths. Who are we that we should achieve mightily! What are we when the gods have done with us, but a handful of dust! Who saves himself from age and unloveliness and ultimate imbecility, by all the superhuman efforts he may exert! A pest on the first morose man that made dismal endeavor a virtue!" She looked at him with amazement, though until that hour she believed that this man could astonish her no more. "Misfortune comes often enough without our knocking at her door," he continued. "Mankind is the only creature with conceit enough to seek to emulate the gods. It is wrong to think that to be moral is to be miserable. Nature's scheme for us, faithfully fulfilled, is always pleasurable. We have only to recognize it, and receive its benefits. Nothing on earth is luckier than man, if he but knew it. A murrain on ambition! Let us be glad!" How could she be glad with such a man! The time, the call of the hour, the need of her nation, the obligation to her dead father--all these things stood in her way. How had she felt, were this that engaging stranger who had called himself Hesper, urging her to be glad with him! She felt, then and there, the recurrence of guilt which the sight of the reproachful face of Momus had brought to her when she found herself forgetting her loyalty in the presence of that winsome man. The thought stopped the bitter speech that rose to her lips. She looked away and made no answer. He was close beside her. "Come away and let this woman who wishes the kingdom have it. She had liefer be rid of me than not." She gazed at him with a peculiar blankness stealing over her face. "Oh, for the quintessence of all compounded oaths to charge my vow!" he said. "For what?" she asked. "My love, Phryne!" At the old pagan name with which he had affronted her that morning in the hills, Laodice drew back sharply. "Dost thou believe in me?" she asked. "Believe what?" "That I am thy wife." "Tut! Back to the old quarrel! No! But by Heaven, thou art my sweetheart!" She stopped at the edge of an exclamation and looked at him with widening eyes. "Come, let us get out of this place. I can get the dowry! Let her stay here and be queen over this place if she will. I had rather possess you than all the kingdoms!" But Laodice flung him off while a flame of anger crimsoned her face. "Thou to insult me, thy lawful wife!" she brought out between clenched teeth. "Thou to offer affront to thine own marriage! I to live in shame with mine own husband!" The insult in his speech overwhelmed her and after a moment's lingering for words to express her rage, she turned and fled back to her room and barred her door upon him. After sunset the lights leaped up in the hall of Amaryllis the Greek. Presently there came a knock at Laodice's door. The girl, fearing that Philadelphus stood without, sat still and made no answer. A moment later the visitor spoke. It was the little girl who acted as page for the Greek. "Open, lady; it is I, Myrrha." Laodice went to the windows. "Amaryllis sends thee greeting and would speak with thee, in her hall," the girl said. Reluctantly Laodice, who feared the revelation which the light might have to make of her stunned and revolted face, followed the page. The Greek was standing, as if in evidence that the interview would not be long. She noted the intense change on the face of her young guest and watched her narrowly for any new light which her disclosure would bring. "I have sent for thee," the Greek began smoothly, "to tell thee somewhat that I should perhaps withhold, that thou shouldst sleep well, this night. But it is a perplexity perhaps thou wouldst face at once." Laodice bowed her head. "It is this: Titus and his friend, Nicanor, approached too close the walls this day, and Nicanor was wounded by an arrow. In retaliation, perfect siege hath been laid about the walls. None may come into the city." "And--Momus, my servant," Laodice cried, waking for the first time to the calamity in this blockade, "he can not come back to me?" "No. If he attempts it, he will be captured and put to death." Laodice clasped her hands, while drop by drop the color left her face. "In God's name," she whispered, "what will become of me?" Amaryllis made no answer. "Can--can I not go out?" Laodice asked presently, depending entirely on the Greek as adviser. "You can--but to what fortune? Perhaps--" She stopped a moment. "No," she continued, "you have never been in a camp. No; you can not go out." "What, then, am I to do?" Laodice cried with increasing alarm. Amaryllis shrugged her shoulders. "I can advise with John," she said. "Doubtless he will allow you to remain here until you can provide yourself with other shelter." Laodice heard this cold sentence with a chill of fear that was new to her. Faint pictures of hunger and violence, terrifying in the extreme, confronted her. Yet not any of them frightened her more than the offered favor of the Gischalan. Her indignation at the woman who had supplanted her swept over her with a reflexive flush of heat. "God of my fathers, judge her in her lies, and pour the fire of Thy wrath upon her!" she exclaimed vehemently. Amaryllis gazed curiously at the girl. In her soul, she asked herself if there might not be unsounded depths of fierceness in this nature which she ought not to stir up. "Thou hast hope," she said tactfully. "She hath no such beauty as thine!" "Nothing but my proofs!" Laodice broke in. "And Philadelphus is a young man." "Rejecting her only because I am fairer than she! He is no just man!" Laodice cried hotly. "Softly, child," the Greek said, smiling; "thou hast said that he is thy husband." Laodice turned away, her brain whirling with anger, fear and shame. "Well?" said the Greek coolly, after a silence. "Where shall I go?" Laodice asked. "Thou hast been too tenderly nurtured to go into the streets. I shall ask John to shelter thee until thou canst care for thyself." Laodice looked at her without understanding. "Thou canst not stay here for long because the wife to Philadelphus is in a way a power in my house and she will not suffer it. But never fear; Jerusalem is not yet so far gone that it would not enjoy a pretty stranger." The curious sense of indignation that possessed Laodice was purely instinctive. Her mind could not sense the actual insult in the Greek's words. "I would advise you to be kind to Philadelphus." "But, but--" Laodice cried, struggling with tears and shame, "he has this day offered insult to his own marriage with me, by asking that I live in shame with him till it could be proved that I am his wife!" The Greek's smile did not change. "If we weigh all the unpleasantness of wedded life in too delicate a balance, my friend, I fear there would be little, indeed, that would escape condemnation as humiliating." Laodice raised her scarlet face to look in wonder at the Greek. The cold smiling lips dismayed her for a moment. "And thou seest no shame in this?" she faltered. "Thou sayest he is thy husband; why resent it?" "Dost thou not see--see that--what am I but a shameless woman, if I live with him, though I be married to him thrice over!" "After all," said the Greek, after a silence which said more than words, "it is the consciousness of your own integrity which must influence you; not what others think of you. It is not as if your husband thought better of you than you really are." "And you believe that I--" Laodice began and stopped, bewildered. Amaryllis, smiling, moved toward the inner corridor of her house. At the threshold of the arch she called back: "Please yourself, my friend," and was gone. Laodice was, by this time, stunned and intensely repelled. The hand on which Amaryllis had laid hers in passing tingled under the touch. Unconsciously she shook off the sensation of contact. The whole clear white interior of the hall became instantly unclean. Her standards of right and wrong were shaken; the wholesale assaults on her ideals left her shocked and unconfident. She felt the panic that all innocent women feel when suddenly aroused to the unfitness of their surroundings. When she turned to hurry to her room, a flood of scarlet rushed into her cheeks and she shrank back, shaken with surprise and delight. Before her stood a man, pale and thin, with his eyes upon her. Chapter XII THE PRINCE RETURNS Joseph, the shepherd, son of Thomas of Pella, moved out of the green marsh before sunset, as he had planned to do, but not for the original motive. The sheep, indeed, would not have flourished in that dampness, rich as it was in young grass, but, more than that, there was no shelter for the wounded man who lay by the roadside. The shepherd, who knew the hills of Judea as far as the Plain of Esdraelon as well as he knew the stony streets of the Christian city, located the nearest roof as one which a fagot-maker had occupied two years before. It was some distance up in the hills to the west. Since the scourge of war had passed over Palestine, there were scores of such hovels, vacant and abandoned to the bats and the small wild life about the countryside, and the boy doubted seriously if the thatch that covered it were still whole. But he attracted the attention of a pair of robust young Galileans on the way to the Passover, and, by their help, carried the wounded man to shelter in this hut. Urge, the sheep-dog, rushed the sheep out of the sedge and hurried them after his master, and in an hour Joseph was once more settled, his sheep were once more nosing over the rocky slants of a hill, his dog once more flat on his belly, watching. But it was a different day, after all. The hut of the fagot-maker was the four walls and a roof and the earth that floored it, but it was wealth because it was shelter. It had two doors which were merely openings in the sides and between them lay the man on sheep-pelts with a cotton abas, which one of the Galileans had left, over him. At one of these doors, sitting sidewise, so that he could watch in or out, sat Joseph. All night the man on the sheepskins spoke to the blackened thatch above him of the siege of Jerusalem and the treachery of Julian of Ephesus. He read letters from Costobarus and instructed Aquila over and over again. Then he tossed a coin and spent hours counting the hairs in the long locks that fell from the shining head of the moon down upon his breast, at midnight. At times the boy, with the exquisite beauty of sleep on his heavy lids, would creep over from his vigil at the door and lay his cool hand on the sick man's forehead. And the sick man would speak in a low controlled voice, saying: "Naaman being a leper, my friend, why was not the law fulfilled against him?" But the soothing influence of that touch did not endure. Again, he took census of the fighting-men of Judea, by the Roman statistics which he had from the decurion, and searched through his tunic for his wallet to write down the result. Failing to find it, he raised himself to shout for Julian to return his property. Again the cool hands would stroke the fevered forehead and the sick man would say: "Good my Lord, they fetched snow from the mountains to cool this wine." But how white the hands of that fair girl in the hills! Why, these hands beside hers were as satyrs' hooves to anemones! Her lashes were so long, and he knew that her lips were as cool as the heart of a melon; but that husband of hers knew better than he! And he, grandson of the just Maccabee, allied by marriage to the noble line of Costobarus through his daughter, Laodice, the bride with the greatest dowry in Judea, had staked his soul on the toss of a coin and had lost it! At this the shepherd boy straightened himself and gave attention. But he was wholly lost, the sick man would go on, rolling his head from side to side; he could not join Laodice because he had loved a woman of the wayside and could not cast out that love; he was not a Jew because he had rather linger with this strange beauty in the hills than hasten on the rescue of Jerusalem; he had not apostatized, though he was as wholly lost as if he had done so; he hated the heathen and would not be one of them. He would abide in the wilderness and perish, if this young spirit that abode by his side, with a face like Michael's and a form so like the shepherd David's, would only suffer the darkness to come at him. "Unless I mistake," the little shepherd said at such times, "there is more than a wound troubling this head." Thus day in and day out the shepherd watched by the sick man who had no medicine but the recuperative powers of his strong young body. So there came a night when the boy, rousing from a doze into which he had dropped, saw the sick man stretched upon his pallet motionless as he had not been for days. The shepherd felt the forehead and the wrists and sank again into slumber. At dawn he rose from the earth which had been his bed throughout this time and went forth to attend his flocks, and when he was gone, the sick man opened his eyes. He looked up at the blackened rafters; he looked out at either door and frowned perplexed, first at the hills, then at the valley. He raised his head and dropped it suddenly with great amazement and much weariness. Finally he ventured to lift a wilted and fragile hand and looked at it. It was not white; but it was unsteady as a laurel leaf beside a waterfall. After a moment's rest from the exertion he parted his lips to speak, but a whisper faint as the sound of the air in the shrubs issued from them. He listened but there was no answer. There was the activity of birds and insects, moving leaves and bleating sheep without, but it was all blithely indifferent to him. Finally he extended his arms and pressing them on his pallet tried to rise, but he could have lifted the earth as easily. Falling back and dazed with weakness, he lay still and slept again. When he awoke rested sufficiently to think, he recalled that he had been twice stabbed by Julian of Ephesus by the marsh on the road to Jerusalem. He had probably been carried to this place and nursed back to life by the householder. Then he remembered. In his search after cause for his cousin's attack upon him, he readily fixed upon Julian's rage at the Maccabee's preëmption of the beautiful girl in the hills. Instantly, the disgrace of violence committed in a quarrel between himself and his cousin over the possession of a woman, appealed to him. And even as instantly, his defiant heart accepted its shame and persisted in its fault. It is an extreme of love, indeed, if no circumstance however impelling raises a regret in the heart of a man; for he flung off with a weak gesture any chiding of conscience against cherishing his dream, and abandoned himself wholly to his yearning for the girl in the tissue of moonbeams. There was a quiet step on the earth at the threshold. Joseph, the shepherd, stood there. The two looked at each other; one with inquiry and weakness in his face; the other with good-will and reassurance. "Boy," said the Maccabee feebly, "I have been sick." "Friend, I am witness to that. I am your nurse," the boy replied. After a little silence the Maccabee extended his hand. The boy took it with a sudden flush of emotion, but feeling its weakness, refrained from pressing it too hard, and laid it back with great care on his patient's breast. The Maccabee looked out at the door, away from the full eyes of his young host. He was touched presently, and a cup of milk was silently put to his lips. He drank and turning himself with effort fell asleep. When he awoke again, after many hours, it was night. In the door with his head dropped back between his shoulders gazing up at the sky overhead, sat the boy. "Where," the Maccabee began, "are the rest of you?" The boy turned around quickly, and answered with all seriousness. "I am all here." "Did you," the Maccabee began again, after silence, "care for me alone?" "There has been no one here but us," the boy said, hesitating at the symptoms of gratitude in the Maccabee's voice. "Us?" "You and me." After another silence, the Maccabee laughed weakly. "It requires two to constitute 'us' and I am, by all signs, not a whole one!" "But you will be in a few days," the boy declared admiringly. "You are an excellent sick man." The Maccabee looked at him meditatively. "I am merely perverse," he said darkly; "I knew it would be so much pleasure to my murderer to know that I died, duly." The shepherd repressed his curiosity, as the best thing for his patient's welfare, and suggested another subject rather disjointedly. "I have been thinking," he said, "about Jerusalem. I was there once upon a time." "Once!" the Maccabee said. "You are old enough to attend the Passover." "But our people do not attend the feast. We are Christians." The Maccabee moved so that he could look at the boy. He might have known it, he exclaimed to himself. It was just such an extreme act of mercy, this assuming the care of a stranger in a wilderness, as he had ever known Christians to do in that city of irrational faiths, Ephesus. "Well?" he said, hoping the boy would go on and spare him an expression on that announcement. "I can not forget Jerusalem." "No one forgets Jerusalem--except one that falls in love by the wayside," the man said. Again the boy detected a ring of unexplained melancholy in his patient's voice, and talked on as a preventive. "Urban, the pastor, took me there. It was in the days of mine instruction for baptism. He went to Jerusalem to trial, but there was disorder in the city about the procurator, who was driven out that day, and Urban was not called. But he remained, lest he be accused of fleeing, and then it was he took me over the walks of Jesus." "Jesus--that is the name," the Maccabee said to himself. "They are born, given in marriage, fall or flourish, live and die in that name. Likewise they pick up a wounded stranger and care for him in that name. They are a strange people, a strange people!" "They would not let us into the Temple," Joseph went on, "because I am an Arab, born a Christian. So I could not see where Jesus was presented, in infancy. But we went to the synagogues where He taught; we went out upon Olivet to Gethsemane where He suffered in the Garden; we climbed that hill to the south from which He looked upon the City and wept over it, and prophesied this hour. Then we sought the ravine where Judas betrayed Him with a kiss, and afterward Urban led me over the streets by which He was taken first to Annas and to Caiaphas and thence to Pilate and to Herod. After that, by the Way of the Cross to Golgotha; from there to His Tomb. And when we had seen the Guest-chamber and stood upon the Place of the Ascension, I needed no further instruction." The boy had forgotten his guest. By the rapt light in his eyes, the Maccabee knew that the boy was once more journeying over the stones of the streets of the Holy City, or standing awed on the polished pavements of its lordly interiors, or on the topmost point of her hills with the broad-winged wind from the east flying his long locks. "_If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy_," the Maccabee said, half to himself. The boy heard him, but his patient's words merged with the dream that held him entranced. The Maccabee went on. "So said the Psalmist to himself," he said. "What had he to do for Jerusalem; what did he fear would win him away from that labor for Jerusalem, that he took that vow? It was easy enough to revile Babylon, the oppressor, that stood between him and Jerusalem; but what if he had been the captive of beauty, and chained by the bonds of lovely hair!" The boy turned now and looked at the Maccabee. The eyes of the two met fair. Then the Maccabee unburdened his soul and told of the girl to this child, who was a Christian and a humble shepherd in the starved hills of Judea. "I met her," the boy said after a long silence. "And by what I learned of her spirit that night, she will not be happy to know that you have stepped aside for her sake." "You met her, also; and you loved her, too?" The boy assented gravely. The Maccabee slowly lifted his eyes from the young shepherd's face, till they rested on the slope of sky filled with stars visible through the open door. "And she would have me go on to this city, to the one who awaits me there and whom I shall not be glad to see; take up the labor that will be robbed of its chief joy in its success and live the long, long days of life without her?" The boy made no answer to this; he knew that this white-faced man was wrestling with himself and comment from him was not expected. By the light of the failing fire without, he saw that face sober, take on shadow and grow immeasurably sad. The minutes passed and he knew that the Maccabee would not speak again. Thereafter followed three days of silence, except the essential communication or the mutterings of the Maccabee against his weakness and unsteadiness. On the fourth day the Maccabee declared that he was able to travel. Joseph protested, but not for long. He had learned in the sojourn of his guest that this man was in the habit of doing as he pleased. So the shepherd sighed and let him go reluctantly. "But," he insisted to the last moment, "remember that Pella is a City of Refuge. If Jerusalem ceases to be hospitable, come to Pella." A thought struck him. "She," he said in a low tone, "promised that she would come." "Then expect me," the Maccabee said. The shepherd boy smiled contentedly and blessed the Maccabee and let him go. As long as the man could see, his young host watched him, and at the summit of the hill the Maccabee turned to wave his final farewell. When the path dipped down the other side of the hill, the man felt that more than the sunshine had been cut off by its great shadow. He did not go forward with a light heart. The whole of his purpose had suddenly resolved itself into duty. There had been a certain nervous expectancy that was almost fear in the thought of meeting the grown woman he had married in her babyhood. He had lived in Ephesus with an unengaged heart in all the crowd of opportunities for love, good and bad. He had magnetism, strength, aloofness and a certain beauty--four qualifications which had made him over and over again immensely attractive to all classes of Ephesian women. But whatever his response to them, he had not loved. Love and marriage were things so apart from his activities as to be uninteresting. When finally he was called in full manhood to assume without preliminary both of these things, he was uncomfortable and apprehensive. But after he had met the girl in the hills, his sensations of reluctance became emphatic, became an actual dread, so that he thrust away all thought of the domestic side of the life that confronted him, and bitterly resigned all hope in the tender things that were the portion of all men. The villainy of Julian of Ephesus engaged him chiefly, and his punishment. After that, then the establishment of his kingdom, politics, conquest and power--but not love! Late that afternoon, he stepped out of a wady west of Jerusalem and halted. Ahead of him ran a road depressed between worn, hard, bare banks of earth, past a deserted pool, marged with stone, up shining surfaces of outcropping rock, through avenues of clustered tombs, pillars, pagan monuments which were tracks of the Herods, dead and abandoned, splendid pleasure gardens, suburban palaces lifeless and still, toward the looming Tower of Hippicus, brooding over a fast-closed gate. The Maccabee nodded. It was as he had expected. The city was besieged. It was afternoon, a week-day at the busiest portal of Jerusalem; but save for the fixed and pygmy sentry upon the tower, there was no living thing to be seen, no single sound to be heard. Beyond the mounting hills of the City of David stood up, shouldering like mantles of snow their burden of sun-whitened houses. Above it all, supreme over the blackened masonry of Roman Antonia, stood a glittering vision in marble and gold--the Temple. At a distance it could not be seen that any of those inwalled splendors lacked; Jerusalem appeared intact, but the multitudes at the gate were absent and the voice of the city was stilled. For one expecting to find Jerusalem animated and beholding it still and lifeless, how quickly its white walls, its white houses and its sparkling Temple became haunted, dead crypts and sepulchers. But presently there came across the considerable distance that lay between him and Jerusalem, a sound remarkably distinct because of the utter stillness that prevailed. It was the jingle of harness and the ring of hoof-beats upon stones embedded in the gray earth. A Roman in armor polished like gold, with a floating mantle significantly bordered in purple, rode slowly into the open space, drew up his horse and stopped. The Maccabee looked at him sharply, then quitted his shelter and walked down toward the rider. At sight of him, the horseman clapped his hand to his short sword, but the Maccabee put up his empty hands and smiled at the man of all superior advantage. Then the light of recognition broke over the Roman's face. "You!" he cried. "I, Cæsar," the Maccabee responded. For a moment there was silence in which the Jew watched the flickering of amazement and perplexity on Titus' face. "What do you here, away from Ephesus, and worse, attempting to run my lines?" he demanded finally. The Maccabee signed toward the walls. "My wife is there," he said briefly. The Roman made an exclamation which showed the sudden change to enlightenment. "Solicitous after these many years?" he demanded. "She has two hundred talents," the Maccabee replied. Titus smiled and shook his head. "I ought to keep her there. Rome must get treasure enough out of that rebellious city to repay her for her pains in subjugating it." "Pay yourself out of another pocket than mine. It will take two hundred talents to repay me for all that I have suffered to get it. I want the countersign, Titus. You owe me it." "Will you come out of there, at once?" the Roman demanded. "Not that I suspect you will make the city harder to take, but I should dislike to make war on an old comrade in my Ephesian revels." The Maccabee looked doubtful. "I can not promise," he said. "At least do not hold off the siege until you see me again without the walls. It might lose you prestige in Rome." Titus swung his bridle while he gazed at the Maccabee. "I wish Nicanor were here," he said finally. "He might be able to see harm in you; but I never could. You will have to promise me something--anything so it is a promise--before I can let you in. Something to appease Nicanor, else I shall never hear the last of this." The Maccabee laughed, the sudden harsh laugh of one impelled to amusement unexpectedly. "Assure Nicanor, for me, that I shall come out of Jerusalem one day. Dead or alive, I shall do it! You need not add that I did not specify the date of my exodus. What is the word?" "Berenice. And Jove help you! Farewell." Titus rode on. A little later, after a parley with the Roman sentries and again with the sentries at the Gate of Hippicus, the Maccabee was admitted to the Holy City. About him as he passed through the gates were the soldiers of Simon. They were not such men as he expected to see defending the City of David. There was an extravagant, half-pastoral manner about them, a pose of which they should not have been conscious at this hour of peril for the nation and the hierarchy. He looked at their incomplete, meaningless uniform, at their arms, half savage, at their faces, half mad, and believed that he, with an army rationally organized and effectually equipped, would have little difficulty in subduing the unbalanced forces of Simon. Since siege was laid, he did not expect to be met by Amaryllis' servant in the purple turban. He approached a citizen. "I seek Amaryllis, the Seleucid," he said. The eye of the Jew traveled over him, with some disapproval. "The mistress of the Gischalan?" was the returned inquiry. The Maccabee assented calmly. The young man indicated a broad street moving with people which led with tolerable directness toward the base of Moriah. "Hence to the Tyropean Bridge at the end of this street; thence down beside the bridge into Gihon. Cross to the wall supporting Moriah and builded against it thou wilt find a new house, of the fashion of the Greeks. If thou canst pass her sentries, thou wilt find her within." The Maccabee thanked his informant and turned through the Passover hosts to follow the directions. To a visitor recently familiar with the city, Jerusalem would have been strange; he would have been lost in its ruined and disordered streets. But this man came with only the four corners of the compass to direct him and the Temple as a landmark to guide him. Therefore though he entered upon territory which he had not traversed since childhood he went forward confidently. It was not simple; it was not readily done; but the darkness found him at his destination. When he was within a rod of the house, he was halted by a Jewish soldier. He whispered to the man the word which Amaryllis had sent to him, and the soldier stepped aside and let him pass. In another moment he was admitted to the house of Amaryllis. A wick coated with aromatic wax burned in the brass bowl on a tripod and cast a crystal clear light down upon the exedra and the delicate lectern with its rolls of parchment and brass cylinders from which they had been withdrawn. Opposite, with her arms close down to her sides, her hands clenched, her shoulders drawn up, stood the girl he had played for and won in the hills of Judea! Chapter XIII A NEW PRETENDER A sudden wave of delight, a sudden rush of blood through his veins, swept before it and away for that time all memory of his struggle and his resolution to renounce her. All that was left was the irresistible storm of impulse upon his reserve and his self-control. When she recognized him, she started violently, smote her hands together and gazed at him with such overweening joy written on her face, that he would have swept her into his arms, but for her quick recovery and retreat. In shelter behind the exedra she halted, fended from him by the marble seat. He gazed across its back at her with all the love of his determined soul shining in his eyes. "You! You!" she cried. "But you!" he cried back at her across the exedra. The preposterousness of their greetings appealed to them at that moment and they both laughed. He started around the exedra; she moved away. "Stay!" he begged. "I want only to touch--your hand." Shyly, she let him take both of her hands, and he lifted them in spite of her little show of resistance and kissed them. "We might have saved ourselves farewells and journeyed together," he said blithely. "But I thought you had gone back to Ephesus," she said. "What! After you had told me you were going to Jerusalem? No. I have been nursing a knife wound in a sheep hovel in the hills since an hour after I saw you last." Her lips parted and her face grew grave, deeply compassionate and grieved. If there remained any weakness in his frame before that moment, the spell of her pity enchanted him to strength again. He found himself searching for words to describe his pain, that he might elicit more of that curative sweet. "I was very near to death," he added seriously. "What--what happened?" she asked, noting the pallor on his face under the suffusion which his pleasure had made there. "There was one more in the party than was needed; so my amiable companion reduced the number by stabbing me in the back," he explained. There was instant silence. Slowly she drew away from him. Entire pallor covered her face and in her eyes grew a horror. "Did--do you say that Philadelphus stabbed--you--in the back?" she asked, speaking slowly. "Phila--" he stopped on the brink of a puzzled inquiry, and for a space they regarded each other, each turning over his own perplexity for himself. "Ask me that again," he commanded her suddenly. "I did not understand." She hesitated and closed her lips. Her husband had stabbed this man in the back! Because of her? No! Philadelphus had refused to believe her. Why then should he have committed such a deed? "So you are not ready to believe it of this--Philadelphus?" he asked, venturing his question on an immense surmise that was forcing itself upon him. She looked at him with beseeching eyes. How was she to regard herself in this matter? A partizan of the man she hated, or a sympathizer with this stranger who had already given her too much joy? Was she never to know any good of this man to whom she was wedded? For a moment losing sight of her concern for Judea and her resolution that her father should not have died in vain, she was rejoiced that another woman had taken her place by his side. The quasi liberty made her interest in this stranger at least not entirely sinful. "Who are you?" he demanded finally. How, then, could she tell him that she was the wife of the man who had treacherously attempted his life? How, also, since she was denied by every one in that house, expect him to believe her? The bitterness of her recent interview with Amaryllis rose to the surface again. "I am nothing; I have no name; I am nobody!" she cried. He was startled. "What is this? Are you not welcome in this house?" he demanded. "Yes--and no! Amaryllis is good--but--" "But what?" She shook her head. "Surely, thou canst speak without fear to me," he said gently. "There is--only Amaryllis is kind," she essayed finally. He laid his hand on her wrist. "Is it--the woman from Ascalon?" he asked, his suspicion lighting instantly upon the wife whom he had expected to meet. She flung up her head and gazed at him with startled eyes. He believed that he had touched upon the fact. "So!" he exclaimed. "She has deceived Philadelphus--" she whispered defensively, but he broke in sharply. "Whom hath she deceived?" She closed her lips and looked at him perplexed. Certainly this was the companion of Philadelphus, who had told her freely half of her husband's ambitions, long before he had come to Jerusalem. She could not have betrayed her husband in thus mentioning his name. "Your companion of the journey hither--whom you even now accused--Philadelphus Maccabaeus." There was a dead pause in which his fingers still held her wrist and his deep eyes were fixed on her face. He was recalling by immense mental bounds all the evidence that would tend to confirm the suspicion in his brain. He had told her his own story but had invested it in Julian of Ephesus. His wallet, with all its proofs, was gone; the Ephesian had examined him carefully to know if any one in Jerusalem would recognize him; and lastly, without cause, Julian had stabbed him in the back. Could it be possible that Julian of Ephesus, believing that he had made way with the Maccabee, had come to Jerusalem, masquerading under his name? While he stood thus gazing, hardly seeing the face that looked up at him with such troubled wonder, he saw her turn her eyes quickly, shrink; and then wrenching her hands from his, she fled. He looked up. Two women were standing before him. "I seek Amaryllis, the Seleucid," he said, recovering himself. "I am she," the Greek said, stepping forward. "Thou entertainest Laodice, daughter of Costobarus of Ascalon?" he added. The Greek bowed. "I would see her," he said bluntly. Amaryllis signed to the woman at her side. "This is she," she said simply. The Maccabee looked quickly at the woman. After his close communication with the beautiful girl for whom his heart warmed as it had never done before, he was instantly aware of an immense contrast between her and the woman who had been introduced to him at that moment. They were both Jewesses; both were beautiful, each in her own way; both appeared intelligent and winsome. But he loved the girl, and this woman stood in the way of that love. Therefore her charms were nullified; her latent faults intensified; all in all she repelled him because she was an obstacle. The injustice in his feelings toward her did not occur to him. He was angry because she had come; he hated her for her stateliness; he found himself looking for defects in her and belittling her undeniable graces. Confused and for the moment without plan, he looked at her frowning, and with cold astonishment the woman gazed back at him. "Thou art Laodice, daughter of Costobarus?" he asked, to gain time. She inclined her head. "When--when dost thou expect Philadelphus?" he asked next. "Why do you ask?" she parried. "I--I have a message for him," he essayed finally. "Is he here?" "Tell me, who art thou?" the woman asked pointedly. A vision of the girl, flushed and trembling with pleasure at sight of him, flashed with poignant effect upon him at that moment. The warmth and softness of her hands under the pressure of his happy lips was still with him. It would be infidelity to his own feelings to renounce her then. It was becoming a physical impossibility for him to accept this other woman. He hesitated and reddened. An old subterfuge occurred to him at a desperate minute. "I--I am Hesper--of Ephesus," he essayed. "What is thy business with Philadelphus?" the woman persisted. Again the Maccabee floundered. It had been easy to invent a story to keep the woman he loved from discovering that he was a married man, but the point in question was different. Now, filled with dismay and indignation, apprehension and reluctance, his fertile mind failed him at the moment of its greatest need. And the eyes of the Greek, filling with suspicion and intense interest, rested upon him. "I asked," the actress repeated calmly, "thy business with Philadelphus." At that instant a tremendous shock shook the house to its foundations; the hanging lamps lurched; the exedra jarred and in an instant several of the servants appeared at various openings into passages. Before any of the group could stir, a second thunderous shock sent a tremor over the room, and a fragment of marble detached from a support overhead and dropped to the pavement. "It is an attack!" Amaryllis cried. "On this house?" Salome demanded. There was a clatter of arms and several men in Jewish armor rushed through the chamber from the passage that led in from the Temple. "I shall see," said the Maccabee, and followed the men at once. Without he saw the night sky overhead crossed by dark stones flying over the wall to the east. Warfare had begun. But the attack was simply preliminary and desultory. It ceased while he waited. Presently it began farther toward the north. The catapult had been moved. The Maccabee hesitated in the colonnade. The beautiful girl in the house of Amaryllis was in no further danger. The interruption had saved him at a critical moment. He walked down the steps and out into the night. "Liberty!" he whispered with a sigh of relief. "Now what to do?" Chapter XIV THE PRIDE OF AMARYLLIS The night following the wounding of Nicanor, John spent on his fortifications expecting an attack. It was one of the few nights when the Gischalan kept vigil, for he refused to contribute fatigue to the prospering of his cause. Sometime in mid-morning he appeared in the house of Amaryllis and sent a servant to her asking her to breakfast with him. The Greek sent him in return a wax tablet on which she had written that she was shut up in her chamber writing verse, but that she had provided him a companion as entertaining as she. When he passed into the Greek's dining-room, the woman who called herself wife to Philadelphus awaited him at the table. When he sat she dropped into a chair beside him and laid before him a bunch of grapes from Crete, preserved throughout the winter in casks filled with ground cork. "It is the last, Amaryllis says," she observed. "And siege is laid." John looked ruefully at the fruit. "Perhaps," he said after thought, "were I a thrifty man and a spiteful one, I would not eat them. Instead, I should have the same cluster served me every morning that I might say to mine enemies, with truth, that I have Cretan grapes for breakfast daily. They will keep," he added presently, "for it is tradition that stores laid up for siege never decay." "Obviously," said the woman, "they do not last long enough." John plucked off one of the light green grapes and ate it with relish. "Since thou doubtest the tradition, I shall not have these spoil." "But you destroy even a better boast over your enemy. Then you could say to him, 'We can not consume all our food. Behold the grapes rot in the lofts!'" John smiled. "Half of the lies go to preserve another's opinion of us. How much we respect our fellows!" "Be comforted; there are as many lying for our sakes! But how goes it without on the walls?" "Against Rome or against Simon?" "Both." "Ill enough. But when Titus presses too close Simon will lay down his hostility toward me; and when Titus becomes too effective, we are to have a divine interference, so our prophets say." "I observe," the woman said, "we Jews at this time are relying much on the prophets to fight our battles. Behold, our stores will hold out, we say, because it is said; and we shall fight indifferently, because Daniel hath bespoken a Deliverer for us at this time!" John, with his wine-glass between thumb and finger, looked at her. "I should expect a heretic to be so critical for us," he said. The woman sat with her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, gazing moodily at the sunlight falling through the brass grill over the windows on the court. She ignored his remark, but answered presently in another tone. "There is nothing to employ a surfeited mind in this city." "No?" he said lightly, while interest began to awaken in his eyes. "The making of enjoyment is here. I have found it so." "Perchance you have," but she halted and resumed her moody gaze at the flood of sunlight. "Are you weary?" he asked. "What is it?" "Idleness! Eating, sleeping--no; not even that; for idleness steals away my appetite and my repose." "Strange restiveness for one reared in the quiet inner chambers of a Jewish house," he observed. Her eyes dropped away to the floor; he saw that she was breathing quickly. "I dreamed of a free life once," she said in a restrained way. "I have not since been satisfied. I dreamed of cities and kings, that were mine! of crises that I dared, of--of things that I did!" There was indignation and pride in the words, too much recollection of an actuality to rise from the reminiscences of a dream. John watched her alertly. "Enough will happen here in time to divert you," he said. She made a motion with her hand that swept the round of masonry about her. "Not until this falls." "Come, then, up into my fortress and see my fellows from Gischala," he offered. "They fled with me from that city when Titus took it and together we came to this place. They are hardened to disaster; they and death are fellow-jesters." "Soldiers?" "Everything! Better athletes than soldiers, better mummers than athletes; villains most engaging of all!" She showed no interest and, after a critical pause, he continued: "They robbed the booth of some costumer whom the Sadducees had made rich and captured a maid whom they held until she had taught them how to use henna and kohl. So I had a garrison of swearing girls until they wearied of the fatigue of stepping mincingly and untangling their garments. It was that which robbed the sport of its pleasure and changed my harem back to a fortress. But while it lasted they were kings over Jerusalem. And what dear mad dangerous wantons they were! What confusion to short-sighted citizens; what affrights to sociable maidens! Even I laughed at them." "What antics indeed!" she murmured perfunctorily. "Now they want new entertainment; something immense and different," he said. She looked up at him; in her eyes he read, "Even as I do!" "But they are not unique in that," he continued. "All the world seeks diversion. Observe the pretty stranger come here fresh from some lady's tiring-room, hunting adventure, bearding thee and wearing thy name!" Her eyes sparkled. "She shall have adventure enough," she declared. "I hear," John pursued, "that she does not expect her servant to return, whom she sent to Ascalon for proofs." "No?" the woman cried, sitting up. "How can she, when the siege is laid?" There was a moment of silence. The woman drew in a deep breath that was wholly one of relief. "Now what will she do?" she asked. "She expects," John answered, "the mediation of the Messiah. It is the talk among the slaves that He is in the city and she has heard it. She seems not to be overconfident, however." "It is her end," the woman remarked with meaning. "Perchance not. She is a good Jew, it seems, whatever else she may be, and every good Jew may have his wishes come to pass if the Messiah come. So it has become the national habit to expect the Messiah in every individual difficulty. Now, according to prophecies, the time is of a surety ripe and the whole city is expectant. She may have her wish." She stared at him coolly. There was implied disbelief in this speech. She debated with herself if it would serve to resent his doubt. Whatever her conclusion she added no more to the discussion of Laodice's hopes. "Are you expectant?" she asked. "I see the need of a Messiah," he responded. "Doubtless. You and Simon do not unite the city; nothing but an united, confident and supremely capable people can resist Rome in even this most majestic fortification in the world--unless miracle be performed, indeed." "Nothing but a divine visitor can achieve union here." "What an event to behold!" she mused. "That would be an excitement! Surely that would be a new thing! No one really ever beheld a god before." "What learned things dreams are! What things of experience!" he remarked with a sly smile. She refused to observe his insisted disbelief in her claim, but went on as if to herself. "Whatever Jove can do, man can do!" she declared. "I never heard that the gods do more than change maidens into trees or themselves into swans for an old mortal purpose that even man's a better adept at. Why can there not rise one who is greater than Alexander and of stouter heart than Julius Cæsar? There is no limit to the greatness of mankind. Behold, here is a city rich beyond even the wealth of Croesus; and a country which the emperor is longing to bestow upon some orderly king! Heavens, what an opportunity! I could pray, Jerusalem should pray, that the hour may bring forth the man!" Her eyes shone with an unnatural yearning. The immense scope of her desires suddenly brought a smile to his lips that he checked in time. He had remembered offering his Idumeans in women's clothing for her diversion. Hunger for power, the next greatest hunger after hunger for love! He felt that he stood in the presence of a desire so immense that it belittled his own hopes. He was not too much of a Jew to have sympathy with the ambition that dwells in the breasts of women. Cleopatra had been an evil that he had admired profoundly, because she had attained that which his own soul yearned after but which had eluded him. Yet he was large enough not to be envious of a success. He was made of the stuff that seekers of excitement are made of. If he could not furnish the intoxication of activity he was a ready supporter of that one who could. "What disorder, then, in the world," she went on, as if she had followed a train of imagination through the triumph of the risen great man. "Rome, the ruler of nations humbled! Conquest from Germany to the First Cataract, from Gaul to the dry rocks of Ecbatana! A world in anarchy, for one greater than Alexander to subjugate! The ancient splendor of Asia, the wisdom of Africa and the virginity of Europe to be his, and the homage of the four corners of the earth to be to him!" John said nothing. Before him, the woman had entirely stripped off her disguise. Now for the purpose! At that moment one of Amaryllis' servants, who had stood guard without the door, dodged apprehensively into the room and fled across to the opposite arch. There he paused, ready for flight, and looked back with wide eyes. John turned hastily but with an impatient gesture fell again to his neglected meal. The actress looked to see what had annoyed him. There passed in from the outer corridor a young man, tall, magnificently formed, covered with a turban and draped in quaint garments, which to her who was familiar with all the guises of the theater seemed to be Buddhistic. He looked neither to the right nor left, but passed with a step infinitely soft and gliding across to the arch, from which the terrified servant vanished instantly. The stranger stayed only a dramatic instant on the threshold and then disappeared into the corridor which led up into the Temple. When he had gone the startled actress retained a picture of a face, fearless, beatified, mystic to the very edge of the supernatural. "Who was that?" she asked of the Gischalan, who was gazing at the color of his wine, sitting in a shaft of sunlight. "Seraiah! But more than that, no one knows. He appeared with the slaying of Zechariah the Just. He haunts the garrisons. Hence his name--Soldier of Jehovah!" "He did not speak; why did he come?" "He never speaks; he goes where he will; no one would dare to stop him!" Then suddenly realizing that he was showing disinterest the Gischalan drew himself up and smiled. "He is mad; I believe he is mad. The city is full of demoniacs." "There is something great about him!" the woman declared. "He seems to be the instrument of miracle." "Is it that?" John asked in an amused tone. She studied him for a moment that was tense with meaning. "Do you know," she began slowly, "that neither you nor Simon, nor any of these who aspire to the control of Jerusalem, have come upon the plan which will best appeal to your distracted subjects?" "Have we not?" he repeated. "We have bought them and bullied them; we are fighting the Romans for them; we are preaching patience in the will of the Lord. What more, lady?" "What have you to offer them in their hope of a Messiah?" she said pointedly. "Messiah! What else is preached in the Temple but the Messiah, or in the proseuchae or the streets or on the walls? We eat, drink, sleep, fight, buy, sell, rob or restore in the name of the Messiah! They are surfeited with religion." "Are they?" she asked sententiously. "But you haven't given them a Messiah." He looked at her without comprehending. "You have a mad city here; you can not reason with it; indulge it, then, as you indulge your lunatics," she suggested. He shook his head, smiling that he did not understand her. She turned again to Seraiah. "Watch him," she insisted. "He possesses me." After a long silence in which John trifled with his wine, she prepared to rise. "Send me the roll of the law," the woman said suddenly. "Posthumus shall bring it. He is another lunatic. Experiment with him and learn how I shall act toward the city." "Well said," she averred; "and I will see your Idumeans. Is it proper for me to appear in the Temple?" The Gischalan's eyes flashed a sudden elation and delight. He bent low and kissed her hand. "And I will fetch somewhat which will divert us," she added and was gone. When a few moments later John passed again into the Greek's apartment, Amaryllis entered from an inner corridor. Before she spoke to the master of the house she addressed a servant who had been a moment before summoned. "Send hither my guest." "The stranger?" John asked. "Is she still with you?" "I mean to add her to my household, if you will," she explained. "Keep her or dismiss her at your pleasure." "It shall be for my pleasure. She has a charm that besets me. It will be entertainment to discover her history." "I see no mystery in her. It is plain enough that there is between her and this married Philadelphus some cause for her coming. His wife is much more engaging." She sighed and dropped into her ivory chair, pushed back the locks of fair hair that had loosened from their fillet and waited languidly. John studied her critically. In the last hour the slowly dissolving bond between them seemed to have vanished, wholly, at once. "O Queen of Kings," he said, "art thou lonely in this mad place?" "I have found diversion," she answered. "With these new guests?" "With these new guests. Observe them; there are a pair of lovers among them, mersed in difficulty, hampering themselves, multiplying sorrow and sure to accomplish the same end as if they had proceeded happily." "Interested no longer in thine own passion? Alas, my Amaryllis, that love is dead that is interested no longer in itself." "O thou bearded warrior, are we then still in the self-centered period of our romance?" "I fear not; I see the twilight." Amaryllis looked down and her face grew more weary. "You have maintained a long fidelity, John," she said. He gazed at her, waiting a further remark, and she went on at last. "I wonder why?" He flung out his hands. "Shall I be faithless to Sheba? Is the charm of the Queen of Kings faded? Shall I turn from Aphrodite or weary of the lips of Astarte?" "Nothing so stamps your love of me as wicked, in your own eyes, as the paganism you fall into when you speak of it!" He laughed. "But it is not that I am lovely which made you a lover--until now," she went on. "I have seen men faithful to women unlovely as Hecate. It is not that. And I am still as I was, but--" He looked down on the triple bands of the ampyx that bound her gold-powdered hair and said: "It is you who have grown weary; not I." She astutely drew back from the ground upon which she had entered. It lay in the power of this Gischalan to refuse further protection to her out of sheer spite if she made her disaffection too patent. "O leader of hosts, canst thou be mummer, languishing poet, pettish woman and spoiled princeling all in one? No! And I shall love the clanking of arms and thy mailed footsteps all the more if thou permittest me to look upon irresponsible folly while thou art absent." "Have thy way. I have mine. Furthermore, I wish to thank thee for the companion thou sentest me at breakfast. He who dines alone with her, hath his table full. Farewell." Chapter XV THE IMAGE OF JEALOUSY The Maccabee resolved that in spite of his heart-hunger, he must not be a frequent visitor to the house of Amaryllis because of the imminent risk of confronting the impostor Julian and the danger of exposure. Not danger to his life, but danger to his freedom to court the beautiful girl, which an unmasking might accomplish. Besides, he had made an extraordinary entry into the Greek's house in the beginning, and he was not prepared to explain himself even now, if he returned. But his longing to look at her again was stronger than his caution. Much had happened since he had left the house of the Greek on the evening of his first day in Jerusalem, and he feared that his absorption in his own plans might result in the loss of her soon or late. So when the evening of the second week to a day of his sojourn in the city came round, unable to endure longer, he turned his steps with considerable apprehension toward the house of Amaryllis. When he was led across the threshold of the Greek's hall, he saw Amaryllis sitting in her exedra, her slim white arms crossed back of her head, her tiring-woman, summoned for a casual attention, busy with a parted ribbon on the sandal of the lady's foot. The Maccabee awaited her invitation. Her eyes flashed a sudden pleasure when she looked up and saw him. "Enter," she said, with an unwonted lightness in her voice that was usually low and grave; "and be welcome." He came to the place she indicated at her side and sat. In silence he waited until the tiring-woman had finished her service and departed. Then it was Amaryllis who spoke. "You left us abruptly on occasion of your first visit." "The siege was of greater interest to you than I was. When I discovered the cause of the disturbance, you would have failed to remember me." "Yet I recall you readily after many days." "The city is in disorder; conventions can not always be observed in war-time. I returned when I could." "Our interest in you as our guest has not abated. Philadelphus is ready to see you, at any time," she said, watching his face. "And in time of war," he answered composedly, "we intend many things in the first place which we do not carry out in the second. I do not care to see--Philadelphus." She lifted her brows. He answered the implied question. "I was a familiar to this Philadelphus; he is young and boastful, talkative as a woman. If he means to be king, as those who knew him in Ephesus were given to believe, it is not unnatural that some of us, without fortune or tie to keep us home, should follow him--as parasites, if you will--to share in the largess which he will surely give his friends if he succeeds." He did not face her when he made this speech, and he did not observe the amusement that crept into her eyes. He could not sense his own greatness of presence sufficiently to know that his claim to be a parasite upon so incapable a creature as the false Philadelphus would awaken doubt in the mind of an intelligent woman like Amaryllis. He felt that he was not covering his tracks well, and put his ingenuity to a test. "The boon-craver therefore should not sit like a dog, begging crumbs, till the table is laid. My hunger would appear as competition, if I showed it him, while he is yet unfed. Of a truth, I would not have him know I am here." "I will keep thy secret," she promised, smiling. "I thank you," he said gravely. "I came, on this occasion, to ask after the young woman, whose name I have not learned--her whom you have sheltered." Amaryllis' smiling eyes darkened suddenly. "Pouf!" she said. "I had begun to hope that you had come to see me!" "I had not John's permission," he objected. "Have you Philadelphus' permission to see her?" He looked his perplexity. "What," she exclaimed, "has she not laid her claim before you yet?" The Maccabee shook his head. "Know, then, that this pretty nameless creature claims to be the wife of this same Philadelphus." He sat up in his earnestness. "What!" he cried. "Even so! Insists upon it in the face of the lady princess' proofs and Philadelphus' denial!" The Maccabee's brows dropped while he gazed down at the Greek. Julian of Ephesus was then the husband that she was to join in Jerusalem! Small wonder she had been indignant when he, the Maccabee, in the spirit of mischief, had laid a wife to Julian's door and had described her as most unprepossessing. And that was why her terror of Julian had been so abject! That was why she had flown to him, a stranger, rather than be left alone with a husband who, it seemed, would be rid of her that he might pursue his ends the better! "What think you of it!" he exclaimed aloud, but to himself. "And I never saw in all my life such pretensions of probity!" the Greek continued. "She is outraged by any little word that questions her virtue; she holds herself aloof from me as if she were not certain that I am fit for her companionship; and she flies with fluffed feathers and cries of rage in the face of the least compliment that comes from any lips--even Philadelphus!" The Maccabee continued to gaze at the Greek. He did not see the woman's search of his face for an assent to her speech. He was struggling with a desire to tell her that he was eager to exchange his wife for Julian's. "Perchance she is right," he said instead. "What know we of this paganized young Jew? He has been separated from his lady from childhood. It is right easy to marry, once we fall into the way." "No, no! Her claim is hopeless. She confesses it. But she maintains the assumption, nevertheless." "Absolutely? No little sign of lapse among thy handsome servants, here?" "I do not see her when she is with the servants," she said astutely. "What will you do with her?" he asked. "She is beautiful, unique, and so eligible to my collection of arts and artists under this roof. She shall stay till fate shows its hand for all of us." "You have housed Discord under your roof, then," he said. "Laodice, the wife to this Philadelphus, will not be a happy woman; and I--I shall not be a happy man. Let me return favor for your favor to me. I will take her away." She laughed, though it seemed that a hard note had entered her voice. "You will permit me, then, to surmise for myself why you came to Jerusalem. You seem to have known this girl before. I shall not ask you; in return for that promise that I may conclude what I will." "If you are too discerning, lady," he answered, while his eyes sought down the corridor for a glimpse of the one he had come to see, "you are dangerous." "And what then?" "I must devise a way to silence you." She lifted her brows. In that very speech was the portrait of the Maccabee that she had come to love through letters. "There is something familiar in your mood," she said thoughtfully. "It seems that I have known you--for many years." He made no answer. He had said all that he wished to say to this woman. She noted his silence and rose. "I shall send the girl to you." "Thou art good," he answered and she withdrew. A moment later Laodice came into the chamber. She was not startled. In her innocent soul she did not realize that this was a sign of the depth of her love for him. He rose and met her half-way across the hall; took her hand and held it while they walked back to the exedra, and gazed at her face for evidence that her sojourn in this house had been unhappy or otherwise; noted that she had let down her hair and braided it; observed every infinitesimal change that can attract only the lover's eye. "Sit," he said, giving her a place beside him. "I came of habit to see you. Of habit, I was interrupted. Is there no way that I can talk to you without the resentment of some one who flourishes a better right to be with you than I can show?" "Where hast thou been," Laodice asked, "so long?" "Was it long," he demanded impulsively, "to you?" "New places, new faces, uncertainty and other things make time seem long," she explained hastily. "Nay, then," he said, "I have been busy. I have been attending to that labor I had in mind for Judea, of which we spoke in the hills that morning." Laodice drew in a quick breath. Then some one, if not herself or the husband who had denied her, was at work for Judea. "There is no nation, here, for a king," he went on. "It is a great horde that needs organization. It wants a leader. I am ambitious and Judea will be the prize to the ablest man. Seest thou mine intent?" "You--you aspire--" she began and halted, suddenly impressed with the complication his announcement had effected. "Go on," he said. "You would take Judea?" "I would." "But it belongs of descent to the Maccabees!" "To Philadelphus Maccabaeus, yes; but what is he doing?" She dropped her head. "Nothing," she said in a half-whisper. "No? But let me tell you what I have done already. Three days ago Titus took revenge upon Coenopolis for her sortie against Nicanor by firing the suburbs. The citizens could not spare water to fight the fire, and after futile attempts they gathered up food and treasure and fled into Jerusalem. Now, a thousand householders in the streets of this oppressed city, with their gods and their goods in their arms, made the pillagers of Simon and John laugh aloud. They fell upon these wandering, bewildered, treasure-laden people and robbed them as readily and as joyously as a husbandman gathers olives in a fat year. Oh, it was a merry time for the men of Simon and the men of John! But I in my wanderings over the city came upon a party of Bezethans, reluctant to surrender their goods for the asking, and they were fighting with right good will a body of Idumeans twice their number. In fact they fought so well, so unanimously, so silently that I saw they lacked the essential part of the fight--the shouting. That I supplied. And when they had whipped the Idumeans and had a chance for flight before reinforcements came, they obeyed my voice in so far as they followed me into a subterranean chamber beneath a burned ruin on Zion. "We were not followed and our hiding-place was not discovered. In fact, their resistance was a complete success. Whereupon, they were ready to unite and take Jerusalem! No--it was not strange! It is the nature of men. I never saw a wine-merchant in Ephesus, who, after clearing his shop of brawlers single-handed, was not ready thereupon to march upon Rome and besiege Cæsar on the Palatine! So it was with these Bezethans. "I, with my voice, expressed the yearnings that they felt in their victorious breasts, and plotted for them. After council and organization we went forth by night and finding Idumean patrols by the score sleepy and inert from overfeeding we robbed them of that which was our own. Then we sought out hungry Bezethans and fed them when they promised to become of our party. Nothing was more simple! By dawn we had a hundred under our ruin, bound to us by oath and the enticements of our larder, and hungry only for fight! Will you believe me when I boast that I have an army in Jerusalem?" She heard him with a strange confusion of emotions. In her soul she was excited and eager for his success; but here was a strong and growing enemy to Philadelphus, who was reluctant to become a king! Her impulsive joy in a forceful man struggled with her sense of duty to the man she could not love. "Why do you tell me these things?" she said uneasily. "It is perilous for any one to know that you are constructing sedition against these ferocious powers in Jerusalem." "Ah, but you fear for me; therefore you will not betray me. None else but those as deeply committed know of it." He had confided in her, and because of it his ambitions took stealthy hold upon her. "But--but is there no other way to take Jerusalem, except--by predatory warfare?" she hesitated. "No," he laughed. "We are fighting thieves and murderers; they do not understand the open field; we must go into the dark to find them." "Then--then if your soldiers have the good of the city and the love of their fellows in their hearts, and if you feed them and shelter them--why shall you not succeed?" she asked, speaking slowly as the sum of his advantages occurred to her. He dropped his hand on hers. "It lacks one thing; if I have discouragement in my soul, it will weaken my arm, and so the arm of all my army." Intuition bade her hesitate to ask for that essential thing; his eyes named it to her and she looked away from him quickly that he might not see the sudden flush which she could not repress. "Tell me," she said, "more of that night--" "That would be recounting the same incident many times. But one thing unusual happened; nay, two things. In the middle of the night, after we had brought in our second enlistment of patriots, we were feeding them and I was giving them instruction. At the entrance, I had posted a sentry; none of us believed that any one had seen us take refuge in that crypt. Indeed, we were all frank in our congratulations and defiant in our security. Suddenly, I saw half of my army scuttle to cover; the rest stood transfixed in their tracks. I looked up and there before me in the firelight stood a young man, whom I had not, I am convinced, brought in with me. He was tall, comely, dressed as I have seen the Hindu priests dress in Ephesus, but in garments that were fairly radiant for whiteness. But his face gave cause enough to make any man lose his tongue. Believe me, when I say he looked as if he had seen angels, and had talked with the dead. His eyes gazed through us as if we had been thin air. So dreadful they were in their unseeing look that every man asked himself what would happen if that gaze should light upon him. He stood a moment, walked as soft-footed and as swiftly as some shade through our burrow and vanished as he had come. In all the time he tarried, he made not one sound!" Laodice was looking at him with awed, but understanding eyes. "It was Seraiah," she said in a low voice. "He entered this place on a day last week. All the city is afraid of him." "So my soldiers told me afterward, between chattering teeth. He almost damped our patriotism. We uttered our bombast, sealed our vows and made our sorties, thereafter, every man of us, with our chins over our shoulders! Spare me Seraiah! He has too much influence!" "Is he a madman?" she asked. "Or else a supernatural man. Would I could manage men by the fall of my foot, as he does. I should have Jerusalem's fealty by to-morrow night. But it was near early morning that the other incident occurred. That was of another nature. We stumbled upon a pair huddled in the shadow of a building. We stumbled upon many figures in shadows, but one of these murmured a name that I heard once in the hills hereabout, and I had profited by that name, so I halted. It was an old man, starved and weary and ill; with him was a gray ghost of a creature with long white hair, that seemed to be struck with terror the instant it heard my voice. At first I thought it was a withered old woman, but it proved to be a man--somehow seeming young in spite of the snow-white hair and wasted frame. I had them taken up, the gray ghost resisting mightily, and carried to my burrow where they now lie. They eat; they take up space; they add nothing to my cause. But I can not turn them out. The old man disarms me by that name." He looked down at her with softening eyes. "And the shepherd held thy hand?" he said softly. She turned upon him in astonishment. How much of joy and surprise and hope he could bring in a single visit, she thought. Now, behold he had met that same delightsome child that had passed like a dash of sunlight across her dark day. "Did you meet the shepherd of Pella?" she asked. Instant deduction supplied her the name that had moved him to compassion. "And did he serve you in the name of his Prophet?" she whispered. "He saved my life in the name of his Christ, but was tender of me in thy name," he replied. "His is a sweet apostasy," she ventured bravely, "if it be his apostasy that made him kind. And I--I owe him much, that he repaired that for which I feel at fault." He smiled at her and stroked her hand once, soothingly. "Let us not remember blames or injury. It damages my happiness. But of this apostasy that the shepherd preached me. I passed the stones of the Palace of Antipas to-day, a ruin, black and shapeless. Thought I, where is the majesty of order and the beauty of strength that was this place? And then," his voice fell to a whisper, "beshrew the boy's tattle, I said, the footprints of his Prophet before the throne of Herod are erased." "Even then," she whispered when he paused, "you do not forget!" "No! Why, these streets, that should ring for me with the footsteps of all the great from the days of David, are marked by the passage of that Prophet. I might forget that Felix and Florus and Gessius were legates in that Roman residence, but I do not fail to remember that they took that Prophet before Pilate there. By my soul, the street that leads north hath become the way of the Cross, and there are three crosses for me on the Hill of the Skull!" She looked at him gravely and with alarm. What was it in this history of the Nazarene which won aristocrats and shepherds alike? She would see from this man if there were indeed any truth in the story that Philadelphus had told her. "I have heard," she began, faltering, "I have heard that--" She stopped. Her tongue would not shape the story. But after a glance at her, he understood. "And thou hast heard it, also?" he whispered. "Thou believest it?" It seemed that to acknowledge her fear that the King had come and gone would establish the fact. "No!" she cried. "It is enough," he said nervously. "We do not well to talk of it. I came for another reason. Tell me; hast thou other shelter than this house?" "No," she answered. "Hast thou talked with this Philadelphus, here?" he asked after silence. She assented with averted face. "Is he that one who was with me in the hills?" he persisted. Again she assented, with surprise. His hands clenched and for a moment he struggled with his rage. "This house is no place for you!" he declared at last. "What manner of house is this?" she asked pathetically. "It is so strange!" "Why did you come here?" "Because there was nowhere else to go." He was silent. "Who is this Amaryllis?" she asked. "John's mistress." She shrank away from him and looked at him with horror-stricken eyes. "Hast thou not yet seen him, who buys thy bread and meat and insures this safe roof?" he persisted. "And--and I eat bread--bought--bought by--" she stammered. "Even so!" Her hands dropped at her sides. "Are the good all dead?" she said. "In Jerusalem, yes; for Virtue gets hungry, at times." She had risen and moved away from him, but he followed her with interested eyes. "Then--then--" she began, hesitating under a rush of convictions. "That is why--why I can not--why he--he--" He knew she spoke of Philadelphus. "Go on," he said. "Why I can not live in safety near him!" He, too, arose. Until that moment it had not occurred to him that Julian of Ephesus, as repugnant to her as she had shown him ever to be, might prove a peril to her life as he had been to the Maccabee who had stood in his way. "What has he said to you?" he demanded fiercely. "How do you live, here in this house?" She threw up her head, seeing another meaning in his question. "Shut in! Locked!" she said between her teeth. "But even then you are not safe!" She drew back hastily and looked at him with alarm. What did he mean? He was beside her. "Tell me, in truth, who you are," he said tenderly, "and I shall reveal myself." Then, indeed, Amaryllis had told him her claim and had convinced him that it was fraudulent. "And she told you?" she said wearily. "Tell me," he insisted. "I have truly a revelation worth hearing!" She made no answer. "You owe it me," he added presently. "Behold what damaging things I have intrusted to you. You can ruin me by the droop of an eyelash." "I should have told you at first who I am," she said finally. "I will not betray what you told me in ignorance--" "But Amaryllis told me this before you came." "Nevertheless, tell me no more; if I must be a partizan, I shall be a partizan to my husband." "There is nothing for you here, clinging to this man," he continued persuasively. "This woman brought him a great dowry. She is ambitious and therefore jealous. You will win nothing but mistreatment, and worse, if you stay here for him." "It is my place," she said. After a moment's helpless silence, he demanded bitterly: "Dost thou love that man?" The truth leaped to her lips with such wilful force that he read the reply on her face, though her eyes were down and by intense resolution she restrained the denial. He was close to her, speaking quickly under the pressure of his earnestness. "I have sacrificed name, birthright, fortune--even honor--that I might be free to love thee!" She drew back from him hurriedly, afraid that his very insistence would destroy her fortitude. "Let me not have bankrupted myself for a trust thou wilt not give!" "It--it is not mine to give," she stammered. "Otherwise--otherwise--" he prompted, leaning near her. But she put him back from her, desperately. "Go, go!" she whispered. "I hear--I hear Philadelphus!" He turned from her obediently. "It is not my last hope," he said to himself. "Neither has she suffered her last perplexity in this house. I shall come again." He passed out into the streets of Jerusalem. Chapter XVI THE SPREAD NET Beginning with the moment that the Maccabee first entered her hall, Amaryllis struggled with a perplexity. Certain discrepancies in the hastily concocted story which that stern compelling stranger who had called himself Hesper of Ephesus had told had started into life a doubt so feeble that it was little more than a sensation. Love and its signs had been a lifelong study to her; she knew its stubbornness; she was wise in the judgment of human nature to know that love in this stranger was no light thing to be dislodged. And to finish the sum of her perplexities, she felt in her own heart the kindling of a sorrowful longing to be preferred by a spirit strong, forceful and magnetic as was that of the man who had called himself Hesper of Ephesus. With the egotism of the courtezan she summarized her charms. Even there were spirits in that fleshly land of Judea to whom the delicate refinement of her beauty, the reserve of her bearing and the power of her mentality had appealed more strongly than a mere opulence of physical attraction. She had her ambitions; not the least of these was to be loved by an understanding nature. The greater the congeniality, the greater the attraction, she argued; but behold, was this iron Hesper, the man of all force, to be dashed and shaken by the rich loveliness of Laodice, who was simply a woman? "Such attachments do not last," she argued hopefully. "Such attachments make unfaithful husbands. They are monotonous and wearisome. She is but a mirror giving back the blaze of the sun, one-surfaced and blinding. It is the many lights of the diamond that make it charming." She had arrived at no definite resolution when she met Laodice in the hall that led to the quarters of the artists, as the Greek went that way for her day's observation of their work. "What an unrefreshed face!" the Greek said softly, as the light from the cancelli showed the weariness and distress that had begun to make inroads on the animation of the girl's beauty. "No woman who would preserve her loveliness should let her cares trouble her dreams." "How am I to do that?" Laodice asked with a flare of scorn. "Do I perceive in that a desire for advice or an explanation of a situation?" "Both." Amaryllis smiled thoughtfully at the girl, while the light of sudden intent appeared on her face. "You are unhappy, my dear, through your prejudices," she began. "We call convictions prejudices when they are other than our own beliefs. By that sign, you shall know that I am going to take issue with you. I am, perhaps, the ideal of that which you would not be. But no man will say that my lot is not enviable." "Are you happy?" Laodice asked in a low voice. "Are you?" the Greek returned. "No," she went on after a pause. "A woman has the less happy part in life, though the greater one, if she will permit herself to make it great. It was not her purpose on earth to be happy, but to make happy." "You take issue with Philadelphus in that," Laodice interposed. "It is his preachment to me that all that is expected of all mankind is to be happy." "He is a man, arguing from the man's view. It is inevitable law that one must be gladder than another. Woman has the greater capacity for suffering, hence her feeling for the suffering of others is the quicker to respond. And some creature of the gods must be compassionate, else creation long since had perished from the earth." Laodice made no answer. This was new philosophy to her, who had been taught only to aspire at great sacrifice as long as God gave her strength. She could not know that this strange and purposeful creed might some day appeal to her beyond her strength. "Yet," Amaryllis added presently in a brighter tone, "there is much that is sweet in the life of a woman." Laodice played with the tassels of her girdle and did not look up. What was all this to lead to? "I have spoken to Philadelphus about you," the Greek continued. "He has no doubt of this woman who hath established her claim to his name by proofs but without the manner of the wife he expected. Yet he can not turn her out. The siege hath put an end to your efforts in your own behalf and it is time to face your condition and make the best of it. John feels restive; I dare not ask too much of him. My household was already full, before you came." Laodice was looking at her, now with enlightenment in her face. "Philadelphus," Amaryllis continued, following up her advantage, "is nothing more than a man and you are very lovely." "All this," Laodice said, rousing, "is to persuade me to--" "There are two standards for women," the Greek interposed before Laodice finished her indignant sentence. "Yours and another's. As between yours, who would have love from him whom you have married, and hers, who hath love from him whom she hath not married, there is only the difference of a formula. Between her condition and yours, she is the freer; between her soul and yours, she is the more willingly faithful. If woman be born to a purpose, she fulfils it; if not she hath not consecrated her life to a mistake. You overrate the importance of marriage. It is your whole purpose to preserve yourself for a ceremony. It is too much pains for too trivial an end. At least, there are many things which are farther reaching and less selfish in intent. And who, by the way, holds the longest claim on history? Your kind or this other? The world does not perpetuate in its chronicles the continence of women; it is too small, too personal, too common to be noted. Cleopatra were lost among the horde of forgotten sovereigns, had she wedded duly and scorned Mark Antony; Aspasia would have been buried in a gynaeconitis had she wedded Pericles, and Sappho--but the list is too long; I will not bury you in testimony." Laodice raised her head. "You reason well," she said. "It never occurred to me how wickedness could justify itself by reason. But I observe now how serviceable a thing it is. It seems that you can reason away any truth, any fact, any ideal. Perhaps you can banish God by reason, or defend crime by reason; reason, I shall not be surprised to learn, can make all things possible or impossible. But--does reason hush that strange speaking voice in you, which we Jews call conscience? Tell me; have you reasoned till it ceases to rebuke you?" "Ah, how hard you are to accommodate," Amaryllis smiled. "I mean to show you how you can abide here. I can ask no more of John. Philadelphus alone is master of your fate. I have not sought to change you before I sought to change Philadelphus. He will not change so long as you are beautiful. This is life, my dear. You may as well prepare for it now." Laodice gazed with wide, terrorized eyes at the Greek. She saw force gathering against her. Amaryllis shaped her device to its end. "And if you do not accept this shelter," she concluded, "what else is there for you?" Hesper, many times her refuge, rose before the hard-pressed girl. "There is another in Jerusalem who will help me," she declared. "And that one?" Amaryllis asked coolly. "Is he who calls himself Hesper, the Ephesian," Laodice answered. "Why should you trust him?" the Greek asked pointedly. "He--when Philadelphus--you remember that Philadelphus told you what happened--" "That he tossed a coin with a wayfarer in the hills for you?" the Greek asked. Laodice dropped her head painfully. "This Hesper let me go then, and afterward--" "He has repented of that by this time. It is not safe to try him a second time. Besides, if you must risk yourself to the protection of men, why turn from him whom you call your husband for this stranger?" The question was deft and telling. Laodice started with the suddenness of the accusation embodied in it. And while she stood, wrestling with the intolerable alternative, the Greek smiled at her and went her way. Laodice stood where Amaryllis had left her, at times motionless with helplessness, at others struck with panic. On no occasion did homelessness in the war-ridden city of Jerusalem appear half so terrible as shelter under the roof of that hateful house. The little golden-haired girl from the chamber of artists beyond skipped by her. "Hast seen Demetrius?" she called back as she passed. "Demetrius, the athlete, stupid!" Laodice turned away from her. "Nay, then," the girl declared; "if I have insulted you let me heal over the wound with the best jest, yet! John hath written a sonnet on Philadelphus' wife and our Lady Amaryllis is truing his meter for him. Ha! Gods! What a place this is for a child to be brought up! I would not give a denarius for my morals when I am grown. There's Demetrius! Now for a laugh!" She was gone. Where was that ancient rigor of atmosphere in which she had been reared? thought Laodice. Had it existed only in the shut house of Costobarus? Was all the world wicked except that which was confined within the four walls of her father's house? Could she survive long in this unanimously bad environment? But she remembered Joseph of Pella, the shepherd; even then his wholesomeness was not without its canker. He was a Christian! Philadelphus was at her side. She flinched from him and would have fled, but he stopped her with a sign. "My lady objects to your presence in this house," he said. "You have not made it worth my while to insist on your shelter here." "Your lady," she said hotly, "is two-fold evilly engaged, then. She has time to ruin you, while she furnishes John with all the inspiration he would have for sonnets." "So she refrains from furnishing John with my two hundred talents, I shall not quarrel with her. You have your own difficulties to adjust, and mine, only in so far as they concern you." His voice had lost none of its smoothness, but it had become hard and purposeful. "I have come to that point, Philadelphus, where my difficulties and not yours concern me," she replied. "I had nothing to give you but my good will. You have outraged even that. Hereafter, no tie binds us." "No? You cast off our ties as lightly as you assumed them. With a word you announce me wedded to you; with another you speak our divorcement. And I, poor clod, suffer it? The first, yes; but the last, no. You see, I have fallen in love with you." She turned her clear eyes away from him and waited calmly till she could escape. "You have spent your greatest argument in persuading me to be a king. Kings, lady, are essentially tyrants, in these bad days. Wherefore, if I am to be one, I shall not fail to be the other. And you--ah, you! Will you endure the oppressor that you made?" There was enough that was different in his manner and his words for her to believe that something worthy of attention was to follow. She looked at him, now. "This roof, since the alienation of John to my wife, is mine empire. Within it, I am despot. From its lady mistress, the Greek, to the meanest slave, I have homage and subjection. Even thou wilt be submissive to me--for having lost one wife through indulgence, I shall be most tyrannical to the one yet in my power!" She drew herself up in splendid defiance. "I have not submitted!" she said. "I will not submit!" "No? Nothing stands in your way now but yourself. Your supplanter hath removed herself. And I shall make your submission easy." She turned from him and would have hurried back into the Greek's andronitis, but he put himself in her way. "Listen!" he said, suddenly lifting his hand. In the stillness which she finally was able to observe over the tumultuous beating of her enraged heart, a profound moan of great volume as from immense but remote struggle came into the corridor. Through it at times cut a sharp accession of sound, as if violence heightened at intervals, and steadily over it pulsated the throb of tireless siege-engines. It was the groan of the City of Delight in mortal anguish. "This," he said in a soft voice touching his breast, "or that," motioning toward the dying city. "Choose. And by midnight!" While she stood, gazing at him transfixed with the horror of her predicament, there was the sweeping of garments, the soft tinkle of pendants as they struck together, and Salome, the actress, was beside the pair. Close at hand was Amaryllis. The Greek showed for the first time discomfiture and an inability to rise to the demand of the occasion. The glance she shot at Laodice was full of cold anger that she had permitted herself to be surprised in company with Philadelphus. Philadelphus drew back a step, but made no further movement toward withdrawing. Laodice would have retreated, but the actress stood in her way. With a motion full of stately indignation, Salome turned to Amaryllis. "It so occurs, madam, that I can point out to you the disease which saps my husband's ambition. You observe that he is diverted now, as all men are diverted six weeks after marriage--by another woman. I am not a jealous woman. I am only concerned for his welfare and the welfare of the city of our fathers. For it is not himself that his luxurious indolence affects; but all the unhappy city which is suffering while he is able to help it. He must be saved. And I shall go with him out of this house into want and peril, but he shall be saved." Laodice said nothing. She stood drawn up intensely; her brows knitted; her teeth on her lip; her insulted pride and growing resolution effecting a certain magnificence in her pose. "I can find her another house," Amaryllis said. "Also my husband can find it," the woman broke in. "Let the streets do their will with the woman of the streets. Bread and shelter are too precious to waste on the iniquitous this hour." Amaryllis turned to Laodice. "What wilt thou do?" she asked. "The streets can offer me no more insult than is offered me in this house," she said slowly. It was in her mind that there were certainly unprotected gates at which she could get out of the city and return to Ascalon. At least the peril for her in this house was already too imminent for her to remain longer. She continued to Amaryllis: "Lady, you have been kind to me--in your way. You have been so in the face of your doubt that I am what I claim to be. How happy, then, you would have made my lot had I not been supplanted and denied! For all this I thank you. Mine would be a poor gratitude if I stay to make you regret your generosity. Wherefore I will go." She slipped past the three and entered her room. Before Amaryllis could gather resolution to protest, she was out again, clothed in mantle and vitta and, walking swiftly, disappeared into the vestibule. As they sat in the darkening hall, the three heard the doors close behind her. "She will return," said Philadelphus coolly, moving away. Gathering her robes about her, Salome swept out of the corridor and away. Amaryllis stood alone. Somewhere out in the city was Hesper the Ephesian. Amaryllis knew that Laodice would not return. Chapter XVII THE TANGLED WEB Meanwhile Jerusalem was in the fury of barbarous warfare. At this ravine and that debouching upon Golgotha, the Vale of Hinnom and the Valley of Tophet, whole legions of besiegers were stationed. Along the walls the men of Simon and the men of John tramped in armor. From the various gates furious sorties were made by swarms of unorganized Jews who fell upon the Romans unused to frantic warfare, and slaughtered, set fire to engines, destroyed banks and threw down fortifications and retreated within the gates before the demoralized Romans could rally. Catapult and ballista upon the eminences outside the walls kept up an unceasing rain of enormous stones which whistled and screamed in the air and shook Jerusalem to its foundations. The reverberating boom and the tremor of earth were varied from time to time by the splintering crash of houses crushing and the increase of uproar, as scores of luckless inhabitants went down under the falling rock. Giant cranes with huge, ludicrous awkward arms, heaved up pots of burning pitch and oil and flung them ponderously into the city to do whatever horror of fire and torture had not been done by the engines. Hourly the rattle of small stones increased, merely to attract the attention of the citizens to an activity to which they were so accustomed that it was almost unnoticed. At times citizens and soldiers rushed upon a threatened gate or segment of the wall and lent strength to keep the Romans out; at other times the defenses were forsaken while the besieged fell upon one another. Back from the broad summit of Olivet, which was the mountain of peace, the echoes gave all day long the shudder of the struggling city. The sun daily grew more heated; the cisterns and pools within the city began to shrink so rapidly that the inhabitants feared that the enemy had come at the source of the waters of Jerusalem and had cut them off. Hundreds of the wounded were allowed to die, simply as a defense of the wells and store-houses. Burial became too gigantic a labor, and John and Simon ordered the bodies thrown over the walls to prevent pestilence. Titus riding around the city on a day came upon a heap of this outcast dead and turned suddenly white. He rode back to his camp and within the hour there approached the walls under a flag of truce an imposing Jew of middle-age, with a superb beard and a veritable mantle of rich black hair escaping from his turban and falling heavy with life and strength upon a pair of great shoulders. He was simply dressed, but his stately carriage and splendid presence made a kingly garment out of his white gown. Those upon the wall knew him and though they were obliged to respect the banner under which he approached, they gnashed their teeth and greeted him with epithets, poisonous with hate. He was Flavius Josephus, one time patriot and enemy of Rome, but now secure under Titus' patronage, abettor of his patron against his fellow-countrymen. The Maccabee, among the fighting-men on the wall, saw his approach and discreetly stepped behind a soldier that he might not be singled out as a familiar toward which the approaching mediator would logically direct his appeal. He had no desire to be addressed by his name before this precarious mob already mad with rage at a turncoat. And thus concealed the Maccabee heard Josephus appeal to the Jews with apparent sincerity and affection, promise amnesty, protection and justice in his patron's name; heard his overtures greeted with fury and finally saw the Jews swarm over the walls and drive him to fly for his life up Gareb to the camp of Titus. It was not the first incident he had seen which showed him his own fate if it became known that he intended to treat with Rome. He put aside his calculations in that direction as a detail not yet in order, and turned to the organization of his army. Here again he met obstacle. Among his council of Bezethans he found an enthusiasm for some intangible purpose, objection to his own plans and a certain hauteur that he could not understand. "What is it you hope for, brethren?" he asked one night as he stood in the gloom of the crypt under the ruin with fifty of his ablest thinkers and soldiers about him. "The days of Samuel before Israel cursed itself with a king," one man declared. The others were suddenly silent. "Those days will not come to you," he answered patiently. "You must fight for them." "We will fight." "Good! Let us unite and I will lead you," the Maccabee offered. "But after you have led us, perhaps to victory, then what?" they asked pointedly. The Maccabee saw that they were sounding him for his ambitions, and discreetly effaced them. "Do with me what you will; or if you doubt me, choose a leader among yourselves." They shook their heads. "Then enlist under Simon and John and fight with them," he cried, losing patience. Murmurs and angry looks greeted this suggestion, and the Maccabee put out his hands toward them hopelessly. "Then what will you do?" he asked. "It shall be shown us," they replied; and with this answer, with his organization yet uneffected, his plans more than ever chaotic, the Maccabee began another day. Shrewd and resourceful as he believed himself to be, he beheld plan after plan reveal its inefficiency. Forced by some act of the city to abandon one idea, the next that followed found a new intractability. It seemed that there were no two heads in Jerusalem of a similar thought. Whoever was not demoralized by panic was fatally stubborn or mad. The single purpose that seemed to prevail was to hold out against reason. Finally he determined to pick the most rational of his men and shape an army that would be distinctly Jewish and enviable. Nothing Roman should mar its organization. He would have again the six hundred Gibborim of David, and after he had formed them into a body he would trust to the existing circumstances to direct him how to proceed to the assistance of Jerusalem with them. He should be the sole captain, the sole authority, the single commander of them all. He would not have an unwieldy army, but one perfectly devoted. He would lead by his own genius, attract and command by his own personality. With six hundred absolutely subject to his will, trained in endurance and steadfastness, he could achieve more surely than with an undisciplined horde which first of all must be fed. Throughout those days of predatory warfare he made careful selection of material for his army. As yet, while famine had not reduced Jerusalem to a skeleton, he could select for bodily strength and mental balance. He worked swiftly, sparing his men daily to the defense of the city against the Roman and daily sacrificing precious numbers of them to the pit of the dead just over the wall. They were weary days--days of increasing storm and multiplying calamity. Famine in some quarters of the city reached appalling proportions. Insurrections in these regions were so vigorously suppressed that the victims chose to starve and live rather than to revolt and perish. Pestilence broke out among the inhabitants near the eastern wall, against the other side of which the dead had been cast by hundreds; and a general flight from the city was stopped in full flood by the spectacle of some scores of unfortunates crucified by the Roman soldiers and set up in sight of the walls. Simon and John had a disastrous quarrel and during the interval, when the sentries and the fighting-men were killing each other, the Romans possessed the first fortification around Jerusalem, the Wall of Agrippa. The following day Titus pitched his camp within the limits of the Holy City, upon the site of Sennacherib's Assyrian bivouac. At sight of this signal advance, tumult broke out afresh in the city and for days Titus lay calmly by, merely harassing the Jews while he watched Jerusalem weaken itself by internal combat. The Maccabee, steadily training his picked Gibborim, saw these lulls as signs that Titus was still in the hope that the city would submit to occupation and spare him the repugnant task of slaughtering half a nation. In his soul he knew that at no time would Titus be unwilling to receive the voluntary capitulation of the city. So, composed and intent through struggle and terror, he continued to prepare for the day when an organized army could take the unhappy inhabitants out of the bloody hands of the two factionists, Simon and John. During one of the casual attacks on the Second Wall, a lean, lash-scarred maniac that had not ceased to cry night or day for seven years, "Woe unto Jerusalem!" mounted the Old Second Wall, and there pointed to his breast and added, "Woe unto me also!" At that instant a great stone struck him and tumbling with it to the ground, he was crushed into the earth and left so buried for all time. With the hushing of that embodiment of doom, silence fell upon the city and after that, panic; and during that Titus heaved his four legions against the Second Wall and took it. Simon was seized with frenzy, and with a body of crazed Idumeans rushed out upon the banks of the Romans and in one hour's time overthrew the army's work of days and so thoroughly set back the advance of the besieger that Titus resolved that no more insane sorties should be made from the gates. He retired to his camp and in a short time soldiers appeared with tape, stakes, sledges and spades and laid out an immense circle, all but compassing the great city of Jerusalem. The Maccabee saw all this. He stood on the wall above the roar and frenzy and looked across bleached stretches of sunny, rocky earth toward the orderly ranks of soldiers, the simple business, the tranquil speed of Rome making war, and understood that peaceful despatch as deadly. He saw the young general ride down to this circle, dismount and, catching a spade from the nearest legionary, drive it into the earth. When he tossed out the first clay, each of the men in the visible segment of that great cordon struck his implement into the ground. And even as the Maccabee watched, he saw grow up under his eyes a wall! He understood. Titus was walling against a wall; turning upon the Jews that same thing which they had reared against him. As the Maccabee stood gazing transfixed at this grim work, he heard beside him an old voice say, with terrible conviction: "_O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!... For the days shall come upon thee, that thine enemies shall cast a trench about thee, and compass thee round, and keep thee in on every side, and shall lay thee even with the ground, and thy children within thee; and they shall not leave in thee one stone upon another; because thou knewest not the time of thy visitation._" The Maccabee, shaken with the culmination of Rome's resolution and afraid in spite of himself, whirled angrily upon that voice speaking doom at his side. There in the old ragged tunic bound about him with rope, stood the old man he had rescued and had sheltered persistently for many days. The old man faced the young man's rage with supernatural composure and strength. With clenched hands, the Maccabee stood away from him and felt that he threatened with his fists a hoary citadel that armies had beaten themselves against in vain. The Maccabee did not speak to his old pensioner. He felt the futility of words against this thing which seemed to be a revelation, denying absolutely all of his ambitions. He dropped from his position and, pushing his way through the distress upon the city, turned toward the house of Amaryllis. It was a climacteric hour, when men should look well to the protection of all that was near and dear to them. When he was gone a strange, bent figure with long white hair and a gray distorted face came from the shadow of one of the towers and plucked the old Christian's tunic. The Christian turned and seeing who stood beside him said with intense surety in his tones: "It is proven. Accept the Lord Jesus while it is time, my son, for behold the hour of the last day of this city is fulfilled!" The apparition lifted a palsied hand on which the skin was yet fair and young and pointed after the Maccabee, losing himself in the groaning mass in the city. "If I believe, I must tell him!" he said. "Whatever thou hast done against that man must be amended," the Christian declared. The palsied figure shrank and wringing his hands about each other said in a whisper that sounded like wind among dried leaves: "I, who saw the candor of perfect trust in his eyes, once, I can not behold their reproach--I, who love him, and sold him--for a handful of gold!" The old Christian laid his hand on the other's arm. "Another Judas?" he said. The apparition made no answer. "Nay, then; tell it me," the Christian urged. But the other shrank away from him, while distrust collected in his eyes. "I fear thee; the evil man fears the good one, even more than the good man fears the evil one. I will not tell thee." "But thou hast thy bread from this Hesper; thou hast thy shelter from him. He will not injure thee." "Injure me! Not with his hands, perhaps. But he would look at me, he would kill me with his eyes! Thou canst not dream what evil I have done him!" The old Christian looked at him for a time, but with the hopefulness of the spiritually confident. "Christ spare thee, till thou hast the strength to do right!" he exclaimed. But the palsied man covered his face with his hands and groaned. The old Christian took him by the arm and led him down from the wall and back to the cavern under the ruins. "In thy good time, O Lord," he said to himself, beginning with that incident a ministry that should not end. It was dark when the Maccabee came down into the ravine in which the Greek's house was builded. In the shadow the house cast before it he saw some one pass the sentry lines. The soldiers looked after that figure. Presently, emerging into the lesser darkness of the open streets, it proved to be a woman. The Maccabee stopped. By the movements, now hurried, now slow, he believed that the night was full of apprehension for this unknown faring into the disordered city. She was coming in his direction. He stepped into shadow to see who would come forth from shelter at such an hour. The next instant she hurried by his hiding-place and the Maccabee saw with amazement that it was the girl he loved. He sprang out to speak to her, but the sound of his footsteps frightened her and she ran. The whole hilly foreground of Jerusalem was lifted like a black and impending cloud over her, a-throb with violence and strife. Here and there were lights on the bosom of the looming blackness, but they only emphasized the darkness pressing on the outskirts of the radiance. Every area way and alley had its sound. The air was full of footsteps; behind her a voice called to her. She dashed by yawning darkness that was an open alley, hurried toward lights, halted precipitately at signals of danger and veered aside at unexpected sounds. Once she stumbled upon the body of a sleeper who had come down into the darkness of the ravine to pass the night. At her suppressed cry the Maccabee sprang forward, but she caught herself and ran faster. He ceased then to attempt to stop her. Curiosity to know what brought her out into danger at night impelled him to follow near enough to protect her, but unsuspected until she had revealed her mission to him. A hungry dog, probably the last one to escape the execution which had been meted out to all useless consumers of food, barked at her heels and brought her up sharply. The beast in his siege of her circled in the dark around near enough to the Maccabee hidden in the darkness for him to deliver a vindictive kick in the staring ribs of the brute. When the howl of the surprised dog faded up the black ravine, Laodice ran on. The Maccabee, silently pursuing, heard with a contracting heart that she was crying softly from terror and bewilderment. Not yet, however, had she approached the danger of Jerusalem, which John had kept far removed from the precincts of Amaryllis' house. She was entering Akra. The heap of grain, yet burning, showed a dull black-red mound over which towered a column of strong incense. Here, for the night was cool, lay in circles many of the unhoused Passover guests. Here, also, was wakefulness and the hatchment of evil. The running girl was upon them before she knew it. One of the figures that sat with its back to the dull glow saw her approaching. Instantly he rose upon one knee and snatched her dress as she ran. Jerked from her balance, she screamed and threw out her hands to keep from falling upon the shoulders of her assailant. One or two others with unintelligible sounds struggled up, and as she fell, the Maccabee leaped from the darkness, wrenched her from the grasp of her captor, and warding off attack with his knife, fled with her into the darkness. The transfer of control over her had been made so swiftly that in her stupor of terror she hardly realized it. She was struggling silently and strongly in his hold, when he clasped her to him with a firmer impulsive embrace and whispered to her: "Comfort thee, dear heart! It is I, Hesper!" She ceased to resist so suddenly and was so tensely still that he knew the shock of immense reaction was having its way with her. He knew without asking that she had been forced to leave the shelter of the Greek's roof, and though his rage threatened to rise up and blind him he was not entirely unaware of the benefit the inhospitality of others had given him. At last she was with him; entirely in his care. It was a safe shelter into which she was brought, but no luxurious one. There was light enough from the single torch stuck in a crevice in the ancient rock to show that it was habitable. The immense floor was packed hard by the trampling of many feet; overhead, lost in gloom, there must have been a rocky roof, but it was invisible. On the ledges of rocks were belongings by heaps and collections, showing that this was an abiding-place for great numbers. In the far shadows she distinguished long, silent, mummied windrows of men wrapped in blankets, sleeping. Huge gloomy piles of provisions filled up shadowy corners; about under the light was the litter left in the wake of human counsel; over all was the air of repose and occupancy that made a home out of the burrow. Though the place held a great number of refugees, the footstep of the Maccabee wakened resounding emptiness. At the threshold he slackened his step and looked with pathetic anxiety at whatever light on Laodice's face would show her opinion of her refuge. But the uncertain torch revealed nothing and he led her in and across to a solitary place where rugs from some looted house had been folded up for a pallet and spread about for carpets. She sat down and awaited his speech. He motioned to the spacious barrenness about him. "Canst thou content thyself in this place?" he asked, hesitating. She nodded, but feeling that her reply had not shown all that words might, she lifted her face that he might see therein that which she could not trust her lips to say. It was her undoing. Her weakness overwhelmed her and burying her face in the folds of her mantle, she wept. After a dismayed silence, he bent over her and said with a quiver of distress in his voice: "I--I have work, here, to do, but I shall take thee out of the city for better refuge--" That she should seem to be grieving over the nature of the shelter given her, stirred her deeply. She half rose and with the light shining on her face, filled with gratitude in spite of her tears, took his hand in both of hers and pressed it with pathetic insistence. He understood her. He laid a hand unsteady with its tremor of delight and young eagerness upon the vitta and it slipped off her hair. As it dropped, the subtle warm fragrance of the heavy locks, now braided in maidenly style, reached him; the liveliness of her relaxed young figure communicated itself to him without his touch; all the invitation of her helplessness swept him to the very edge of abandoning his restraint. On his dark face a transformation occurred. All the hardness, even his years and his experience vanished from him and a soft recovering flush faintly colored his cheeks. In that sudden bloom of beauty in his face was stamped a realization of the far progress of his triumph. She was in his house and dependent on him, within the very reach of his arms. When she looked up at him again, she read all this in his face, and instantly there returned to her, with warning intensity, the fear of her love of him. The last obstacle but her own conscience that stood between her and his perfect supremacy over her life had suddenly been swept away. She started away from him, and put up her hands to ward off his touch. "If you do that," she said in a tone sharp with distress, "it is sin and I shall be cursed! I shall have to go back to him!" Then she had voluntarily left Julian, perhaps to seek him! "You shall not go back to him!" he exclaimed. "After I have given up everything but my life to have you for myself!" "You must not think of me in that way!" she commanded him vehemently. "I am a married woman! You shall remember that! If you forget it, I will go out into the streets and ask the Idumeans to kill me!" "Nay, peace, peace! I shall do you no harm! You are frightened! I will do nothing that you would not have me do! Be comforted. Not any one in all the world has your happiness at heart so much as I. Believe me!" "Believe _me_!" she insisted. "I am weary of doubt and denial. I am only safe if you recognize me as that which I claim to be. Answer me! You do believe I am the wife of Philadelphus?" "I believed it, at once," he said frankly. "Then--then--" but she flung her hands over her face and slipped down on the rugs. For a moment he hesitated, restraining the impulse to break over the limits she had laid down for him. Then he rose and, summoning one of the women who had taken refuge in the crypt, sent her to remain with the girl, and departed, shaken and uncertain, to his own place. Chapter XVIII IN THE SUNLESS CRYPT The twilight of the cavern rarely revealed enough of the features of her fellows to Laodice for her to identify them or for them to identify her. She lived among them a dusky shadow among shadows. And because of her fear that Philadelphus might be searching for her, she stayed in the sunless crypt day by day until the Maccabee, noting with affectionate distress that she was growing white and weak, bade her take one of the women and venture up to the light. There were, besides the women, two men who took no part in the preparation for war which went on about them in the cavern day and night. While weapons and armor were made and tramping ranks formed and broke before the commands of the lithe dark commander of that fortress and subdued but fierce councils took place around torches--while all this went on, they kept back, even apart from the women, and said nothing. Laodice saw that they were physically unfit; that one was very old and the other very feeble and her heart warmed again to that stern master who saw them fed as abundantly as his most valued men. These, then, were those Christians whom he had taken into his protection because of the Name which had inspired a shepherd boy to save his life. When he commanded Laodice to go up into the sunlight, he approached the corner in which the two useless men hid and bade them, too, to go up into the air. "Let us have no sickness in this place," he said bluntly and turned on his heel and left them to obey. Laodice took one of the older women and timidly climbing the steps from which the rubbish had been pushed away by the climbing hundreds, went through the dusk of the passage that terminated in a brilliancy that dazzled her. And as she walked she heard the footsteps of the two men behind her. Up in the chaos of fallen columns, she stood a moment with her hands pressed over her eyes. Only little by little was she able to permit the full blaze of the Judean sun to reach them. The uproar on Jerusalem after the muffled silence of the underground cavern filled her with terror, and she pressed close to the shelter of the entrance until the woman at her side reassured her. "It is nothing," the woman said, with a dreary patience. "It is as it was yesterday. I come here every day. I know." After a while Laodice looked about her. The entrance to their refuge was about the middle of the ruin and therefore a great many paces back from the streets, so that she did not see Jerusalem's agonies face to face. But she saw enough to make her cold and to turn her shivering and panic-stricken into the darkness of the crypt below. She saw the ascending streets of Zion and the tall fortifications mounting the heights within the city's limits. There she saw the flash of swords, swung afar off, spears brandished and the running hither and thither of defenders on the wall. Below she saw the remote constricted passages between rows of desolate houses, moving with people, sounding with clamor. There she saw combats, terrible scenes of frenzy, deaths and unnamable horrors; starvelings gnawing their nails; shadows of infants pressed to hollow bosoms; old men too weak to walk that went on hands and knees; young men and young women in rags that failed to cover them, and wandering skeletons screaming, "Woe!" Meanwhile huge stones mounted over the walls and fell within the city; three great towers planted beyond the walls, out of range of the Jewish engines and equipped with superior machines, were steadily devastating the entire quarter near which they were erected. Here two-thirds of the forces of Jerusalem were concentrated in a vain effort to resist the dire inroads of these effective engines. Here, the Maccabee and his Gibborim stood shoulder to shoulder with the Idumeans and fanatics of Simon and John, and here the half-mad defenders awakened at last to the fact that only divine interference could save the city against Rome. In the south and the east conflagrations roared and crackled, where burning oil had been scattered over some remaining structures near the walls. When a great ram began its thunder somewhere near the Sheep Gate, there came a hollow booming noise of deafening volume from the charnel pits outside the walls and a black cloud of incredible depth soared up into the skies. Laodice, dumb with horror, looked at the prodigy without understanding, but the woman at her side shuddered. "God help us!" she exclaimed. "They are vultures!" Laodice turned to rush back into the cavern and so faced the two men who stood behind her. One, at sight of her, shrank with a gasp, and, averting his shaggy head till the long white locks covered his face, fled back into the crypt. The other was gazing with unseeing eyes across groaning Jerusalem. "_I am the man_," he was saying aloud, but to himself, "_that hath seen affliction by the rod of His wrath._" The sight of him had a paralyzing effect upon Laodice. She saw, before her, Nathan, the Christian, who had buried her father, who had blessed her, who would know and could testify to a surety that she was the wife of Philadelphus! She slipped by him without a sound and hurried down into the darkest corner of the cavern. Circumstance had found her in her refuge and would drive her away from this sweet home back to that hateful house, to the man she did not love! For many days, with increasing distress, Laodice avoided Nathan, the Christian. With that fascinated terror which at times forces human creatures to examine a peril, she felt irresistibly impelled to try his memory of events, that she might know if indeed he would recognize her. Though she turned cold and flashed white when he came upon her one day in the darkness of their shelter, she felt nevertheless the relief of approaching a solution to her perplexity. "They tell me," he said with the deliberate speech of the old, "that Titus is once more permitting citizens to depart from Jerusalem unharmed." "Then," she said, grasping at this hope, "why do you stay here in this peril?" "Why should I leave it? Even with the singers who wept by the waters of Babylon, I prefer Jerusalem above my chief joy. Except for the time when we of the Way were warned to depart, I have been in Jerusalem all my life. Then, though I had gone as far as Cæsarea on my way to Antioch to join the brethren there, homesickness overtook me and I turned in my tracks, saying no man farewell, and came back." "A weary journey for one so old," she said gently. Would he remember also that it had been dangerous? "Nay, but a journey full of works and reward. And I discovered at the end of it that I had lived in error forty years; that Christ never ceases to prove Himself." Already the forbidden tenets of the Nazarene faith had entered into his words. But feeling somehow that her deflection from uprightness covered her whole life, there was no reason why she should not hear what these people believed and have done with it. "Art thou a Christian?" she asked timidly. "I am a believer in Christ, but whether I may call myself one of the blessed I do not know, for they have had faith. But I demanded a sign. Behold it! The ruin of the City of David!" Her eyes widened with alarm. "Is there no hope?" she exclaimed. He looked at her, even in his old age impressed with the immense importance life and love must have to so beautiful and beloved a woman. Presently he said, as if to himself: "Yea, be thou blessed, O thou Redeemer, that givest life to them to whom life is dear and death approacheth." Her concern for concealment vanished entirely in her rising terror for the future of the Holy City. "I pray thee, Rabbi," she said in a low voice, drawing close to him, "tell me what thy people believe about the city. I have heard--but it can not be true!" "Do not be troubled about the city," he answered. "Ask me rather how to become safeguarded against any disaster, greater even than the fall of cities." "It is not for myself," she protested earnestly, "but for the world. Is there not a King to come to Israel?" "There is, but not yet, my daughter. Of that day and hour no man knoweth. Now is Daniel's abomination of desolation; the generation passeth and the prophecy is fulfilled. Jerusalem is perishing." Seeing the wave of panic sweep over her, he put out a soothing hand. "Yet, do not fear. For such as you the Redeemer died; for your kind the Kingdom of Heaven is built, and the King whom the earth did not receive is for ever Lord of it." The veiled reference to the tragedy which Philadelphus had recounted stood out with more prominence than the promise in his words. "Whom the earth did not receive?" she repeated. "O prophet, as thou boasteth truthful lips and a hoary head, tell me what hath befallen us." "Hear it not as a calamity," he said reassuringly. "Thou canst make it of all things the most profitable, if thou wilt. Forget the city. I, who would forget it but can not, bid thee do this. Behold, there is another Jerusalem which shall not fall. Look to that and be not afraid." Her lips, parted to protest against the vague answer, closed at the final sentence and the Christian pressed his advantage. "Of that Jerusalem there is no like on earth. Against its walls no enemy ever comes; neither warfare nor hunger nor thirst nor suffering nor death. This which David builded is a poor city, a humble city compared to that New Jerusalem. There the King is already come; there the citizens are at peace and in love with one another. There thou shalt have all that thy heart yearneth after, and all that thy heart yearneth after shall be right." In that city would it be right that she love Hesper instead of Philadelphus, and that she should have her lover instead of her lawful husband? While she turned these things over in her mind, he wisely went on with his story. Shrewdly sensing the young woman's anxiety, the old Christian guessed the interest to her of the Messiah's history before His teaching and began with prophecy to support the authenticity of the wonderful Galilean's claim to divinity. It was no fisherman or weaver of tent-cloth who brought forth the declarations of the comforter of Hezekiah, the captive prophet and the priest in the land of the Chaldeans. His was no barbarous manner or slipshod tongue of the market-place and the wheat-fields, but the polish and the clean-cut flawless language of the synagogues and the colleges. Laodice saw in the gesture and phrase the refinement of her father, Costobarus, of the gentlest Judean blood. "I saw Him," he went on in a low voice. Laodice with her intent gaze on the beatified face put her hand to her heart. "Forty years ago," the old voice continued, "I saw Him first in Galilee. There He was disbelieved and cast out. He came then unto Jerusalem and I saw Him there heal lepers, cast out evil spirits, cure the blind and the sick and the palsied. And in the house of Jairus and at Nain, I saw Him raise the dead. "I saw Him come to Jerusalem. Multitudes followed Him and accompanied Him, casting their mantles and palm-branches in the way that His mule might tread upon them." The old man pointed south toward the single summit from which Christ approaching could overlook Jerusalem. "On that hill," he said, "while the multitudes hailed Him and the sound of Alleluia shook the air, He reined in His meek beast and looked upon this city, and wept over it. When He spoke, He said, _If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace! but now they are hid from thine eyes. For the days shall come upon thee, that thine enemies shall cast a trench about thee, and compass thee round, and keep thee in on every side, and shall lay thee even with the ground, and thy children within thee; and they shall not leave in thee one stone upon another; because thou knewest not the time of thy visitation._ [Illustration: "And there His enemies crucified Him."] "And three days later, I saw the Rock of David and all that multitude follow Him unto the Hill of the Skull and there His enemies crucified Him!" After a paralyzed silence, Laodice whispered with frozen lips, "In God's name, why?" But he wisely did not pause with the calamity. He had the whole of the beginnings of Christianity to tell, a long narrative that contained as yet no dogma. Paul had seen the great light on the road to Damascus, and accepting apostleship to all the world had fought a good fight and had come unto his crown of righteousness; Peter had established the Church and had fed the sheep and had been offered up by the Beast who was Nero; John the Divine was seeing visions of the Apocalypse in the Island of Patmos; Herod Antipas, "that fox," had passed to his own place, prisoner and exile, sacrifice to a mad Cæsar's imaginings; Judas had hanged himself; Pilate had drowned himself; thousands of the saints had died for the faith by fire and sword and wild beasts; kings had been converted and of the believers in Rome it was said, _Your faith is spoken of throughout the whole world_. Laodice sat with clasped hands, intent on each word as it fell from the lips of the aged teacher, seeing at one and the same time the Kingdom of Heaven constructed and her dream of an earthly empire falling. "He said," the Christian continued, "_They that are whole need not a physician; but they that are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance._" Repentance was a rite for Laodice, a payment of offering, a process to the righteously inclined, a thing that could in no wise purify the sinner as to make him worthy of association with the upright. The old Christian's use of the word was different; he had said that the Messiah came to the sinner, and not to the righteous. Had the young Jewess been less in need of comfort in her own consciousness of spiritual delinquency she would have set down the old teacher as one of the idlest dealers in contradiction. But now she listened with keener zest; perchance in this doctrine there was balm for her hurt. She made some answer which showed the awakening of this new interest and then with infinite poetry and earnestness he began to unfold the teachings of Christ. A woman came to them with wine and food, for the midday had come, but neither noticed it. In his fervor to enlighten this tender soul, the old man forgot his weariness; in her wonder at the strangely gentle doctrine which had contradicted all the world's previous usage, the girl forgot her prejudice. She listened; and with such signs as change of expression, flushes of emotion, movements of surprise and brightenings of interest to encourage him, the old Christian talked. When he had progressed sufficiently to round out the theory of Christianity, she had grasped a new standard. The contrast between the old and the new made itself instantly felt. On one hand was the simple and logical; on the other the complex and dogmatic. The Christian was able to measure proportionately how much should be laid upon her mind for study at once and while she still waited, he rose from his place. "There is more; yet there are other days," he said. But she caught his hand as he rose and with a sudden yearning in her eyes whispered: "O Rabbi, what said He of love?" "Love?" he repeated, with a softening about his lips. "The Master blessed love between man and woman." "But, but--" she faltered, "if one love another than one's wedded spouse, then what?" His face grew grave. "That is not lawful even among you, who are still of the old faith." "But suppose--" He laid a kindly hand on the one that held his. "Suffer but sin not. He that endureth unto the end shall be saved." "What end?" "Death." She was silent while she gazed at him with change showing on her gradually paling face. "Then--then what is in thy faith for the forlorn in love?" she exclaimed. "Peace, and the consciousness of the joy of Christ in your steadfastness," he said. She rose. How much longer had she to live? "And thou sayest we die?" "_Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul_," he said gently. Fear Hesper, then, but not the Roman. While she stood in the immense debate of heart and conscience he laid a tender hand on her head. "Perchance in His mercy thou shalt be welcomed there first by thy father, whom I buried, and by thy mother." The sudden recurrence to that past tragedy and the unfolding of his recognition fairly swept Laodice off her feet with shock and alarm. If he noted her feeling, he was sorry he had not succeeded in comforting her with a promise of reunion with her beloved in that other land. He took away his tremulous hand from her hair. Leaving her transfixed with all he had said, he moved painfully away, stiffened by long sitting while he discoursed. Chapter XIX THE FALSE PROPHET It was a different Amaryllis that the pretended Philadelphus faced now, from the one who had welcomed him on his arrival in Jerusalem months ago. Then she had been so cold and self-contained that it would have been effrontery to discuss her hopes with her. Now, with the avarice of love in her eyes, with wishfulness and defeat making their sorry signs on her face, she was a creature that even the humblest would have longed to help. Philadelphus sat opposite her in the ivory chair which was hers by right. She sat in the exedra and listened eagerly to the things he said with her finger-tips on her lips and her eyes gazing from under her brow as her head drooped. She had ceased long ago to debate idly on the actual identity of the man who had called himself Hesper of Ephesus. There was another question that absorbed her. Of late, it had been brought home to her that the charm of Laodice for the stranger from Ephesus, to whom the Greek knew the girl had fled, had been her purity. Why should it matter so much about virtue? she had asked herself. Why should it weigh so immeasurably more than the noble gifts of wit and beauty and strength and charm? Behold, she was wise enough to educate a barbarous nation, beautiful enough to bewitch potentates--for a time--strong enough to take a city; yet Hesper, who best of all could appreciate the value of these things, had turned from her to Laodice, who was merely chaste. The greater part of the jealous and bitter passion that had shaken her then was dumb regret that the measure of charm was so irrational--and that she had not believed in it, in time, in time! Now, however, since she had become convinced that Laodice had gone to Hesper for refuge, hope had awakened in her, but so filled with uncertainty and lack of confidence in another's weakness that it was little more than a torture to her. If Laodice had gone to this winsome stranger, either claiming to be the wife of Philadelphus or acknowledging the imposture, there was now no difference between Laodice and herself! But, she asked herself, was it not possible that this lovely girl who had shown signs of illimitable fortitude, could live in the shelter of the captivating Hesper as uprightly as she had lived under the roof of the man she called her husband? In one exigency, the hopes of Amaryllis budded; in the other, her intuitive belief in the strength of Laodice discouraged her. And while she alternately hoped and doubted, Philadelphus, in the chair opposite her, talked. "It follows that you and I must work together to gain diverse ends. If our fortunes are to be tragic, we are undoing each other in this conjunction. Since I in all frankness prefer it to turn out comedy, let us make no error. Are you weary of John? Do you seek a new diversion?" She looked at him, at first puzzled, then with a frown. It leaped to her lips, grown impatient with suffering, to tell him all that she had evolved of the histories of himself, his lady and of Hesper; but there seemed to be an element of recklessness in that which threatened to do away with a means for her success. He did not wait for her answer. "And I," he said with mock intensity, "am done to death with weariness--with my moneyer, this lady of mine. Let us be diverted while we live, for by the signs we shall all die soon." "Where," he began when her mind wandered entirely from him, "dost thou think the mysterious man hath taken my other wife? "I would I knew," he continued, conducting his inquiry alone. "It will be right simple to have her beauty spoiled in this hungry town, unless he takes tenderest care of her." There was still no comment, but the lively sparkle in the Greek's eye showed that he had touched upon a jealous spot. "And by the by," he pursued, "what does this stranger, whom I can not remember having known, look like? A villain?" She answered now in a voice filled with rancor. "Win away the girl from him and thou wilt know thyself to be the better man; but study how much he hath outstripped thee and thou shalt decide for thyself, then, that he is handsomer, more winsome, stronger and more profitable. Describe him for thyself." "Out upon you! How irritable misfortune makes most of us! Now, here is my lady. She would fail to see the humor in my fetching back this pretty impostor. Alas! Were I Deucalion or Pyrrha or whoever else it was that repeopled the world, I should have left jealousy out of the make-up of wives. It is a needless element. It gives them no pleasure, and Jove! how inconvenient it is for husbands! Now, I am not jealous of my wife. In fact, had any man the hardihood to supplant me, I should not discourage him; I should not, by my soul!" "Why," she burst out again, irritated beyond control at his manner, "do you not leave this place?" He swung his foot idly and smiled. "I shall when I can take with me this dear pretty impostor who is so determined to have me," he answered lightly. "Will you?" she asked eagerly. "Is that why you remain?" "And for my lady's dowry. She keeps the key. But had I the girl cloaked and hooded for flight, I might go, even without the treasure. The times are precarious, you observe." She rose almost precipitately and hurried over to the swaying curtain of some heavy white material like samite, covering that which appeared to be a blind arch in the wall. She drew the hanging aside. It had hidden the black mouth of a tunnel, closed by a brass wicket which was locked. "Here," she said rapidly, "is what strengthens John in his folly. This is a passage that leads under the Temple through Moriah into Tophet. The whole city is underlaid with these galleries, but this is the only one which leads to safety." She dropped the curtain and approached him. "But thou canst not go out of that passage alone!" He smiled, and then with that boyish impulsiveness that he had cultivated to cover the evil in his nature, he thrust out his hand to her. "Here is my hand on it!" he exclaimed. "Go, then, and cease not till you have found her. Then, by any or all the gods, I shall see that you do not go out of that passage empty-handed." He smiled at her radiantly and went at once to his chambers. When he reached the apartments, he found them silent and deserted. He seized upon the opportunity as most propitious for a search for the possible hiding-place of the dowry of two hundred talents. When he opened first the great press in which his lady kept her raiment he was confronted by emptiness. Dismayed, he turned to look into the room and found the chests for the most part open and rifled. On the brazier, now cold, lay a wax tablet. He snatched it up and read: Received of Julian of Ephesus the appended salvage in good repair. Items: One wife, Two hundred talents. JOHN, KING OF JERUSALEM. He went back to the andronitis of Amaryllis. "I have lost interest in the treasure," he said whimsically. "But I'll go out and look for the girl. I--I should like to discover of a truth if the passage leads out of Jerusalem." Amaryllis closed her lips firmly. Philadelphus read in the look that he could not escape without Laodice. Without further speech, he went to the vestibule, took his cloak and kerchief from the porter and went out into the city. It was nearly midnight when he passed into the streets. The tumult of assault on the walls had ceased. The long lines of beacon-fires on the walls showed only a few men in arms posted there. Without there came no sound of activity in the camp of the Roman. The streets below, lighted up by the ever-burning beacons, showed its usual restless tramping of houseless, hungry ones. But there was no talk; each one who walked the passages went wrapped in his own dismal thoughts; the thousands took no notice of one another. Jerusalem was as silent as a city stricken with plague. From the summit of Zion, which Philadelphus mounted, he could see three Roman war-towers, planted along the outer works, dimly lighted, and manned by a vigilant garrison of legionaries. These had been a dread and a destruction which the Jews had been unable to overthrow; coigns of vantage from which the enemy had been able to deal the sturdiest blows of the campaign. They had permitted no rest to the defenders on the wall; they had spread ruin by fire and carnage, by arrow and sling for days. Sorties against them had resulted in the death of their assailants, only. Jewish engines accomplished nothing against them. The three, alone, were taking Jerusalem. Philadelphus looked at their tall shapes, black against the remote illumination of the Roman camp, and inwardly hoped that they would hold off complete destruction of the city, until he had found the desirable woman. No one noticed him; men passed him like shadows with their eyes ever on the ground; no one spoke; nothing disturbed the deadly quiet of the falling city. But the next minute, Philadelphus, who walked alertly, saw people step out into gutters or press against walls, as if to allow some one to pass. Awakening interest ran abroad over the street ahead of him. A lane between the wandering multitude opened almost by magic. Through it, walking swiftly, his head up, his mystic eyes ignited, came Seraiah, soldier of Jehovah. There was no sound of his footfall. His garments flashed in the light of the beacons, but there was not even a whisper of their motion. But he had changed. There was fierce, superhuman intent in the despatch of his gait and in the uplift of his superb head. After him, as he passed, ran whispers. Each one stopped and looked. He went down the uneven slope of Zion as some great shade borne on a swift air. Two or three bold ones began to move after him. Others followed. The little nucleus grew. Philadelphus was caught in it. Numbers were added as courage grew with numbers. From intersecting streets people came. Some, although oppressed by the silence, asked what it was and were silenced quickly. Others began to mutter unintelligible predictions, and their neighbors shook their heads without understanding that which was said. The news of Seraiah's mysterious progress communicated itself to rank and rank and spread abroad. Faces appeared against a background of lights at barred windows, along the balustrades of house-tops, from areas and ruins. Philadelphus, fascinated and astonished at this curious demonstration, was contented to pass with it. Silence, except for the rustling of garments and the multitudinous footfall, fell about the vicinity. Ahead of them, Seraiah moved. His steps, finely balanced, passed over obstructions where most of his followers stumbled, and when he turned across Akra and faced the Old Wall, the excitement became painful. His pace was flying; many of his followers were running. It seemed that he was going against the Wall. Dozens anticipated that course and skirting through short ways clambered up on the fortifications and clung there though menaced by the sentries until Seraiah appeared. At a narrow point in the street that ended against the wall, Seraiah met that Jew who had become a maniac on the day Jerusalem attacked Titus. Without warning the maniac leaped up into an intensely rigid posture; his legs spread, his lean arms upstretched at painful tension, his mouth wide, his eyes dilated immensely in their hollow depths. Seraiah passed him as if no man stood in his way. Instantly the maniac wheeled, as a huge spread-eagle wind-vane on its staff, and stood at gaze, the broad uninterrupted light of the beacon shining down on him and the mysterious man. The street ended short of the wall. About the base of the fortification was an open space, in which was planted a scaling-ladder. Seraiah climbed this, an infinitesimal detail on the great blank of blackened stone. Hundreds, rushing upon the wall, though a goodly distance from the point at which the strange man had mounted, climbed it and beat off the sentries. And the foremost who reached the top saw the Roman Tower directly opposite Seraiah shudder suddenly and sink in a roaring cloud of dust upon itself to the earth. Instantly the maniac below broke the tense silence with a scream that was heard in the paralyzed Roman camp: "It is He, the Deliverer! Come!" Of the thousands of Jews that heard the madman's cry, every heart credited it. Hundreds melted away suddenly, as if stricken with terror at what they might see; other hundreds scrambled down from their places to run purposelessly, crying aimless things to the night over the city; yet others covered their faces with their arms and fell in their places, expecting the end of the world; and of the rest, the less imaginative, the more composed and the more curious, remained on the walls to see enacted a further miracle. Uproar had broken out instantly among the four stolid legions of Titus on the Assyrian bivouac. Lights flashed out everywhere; great running to and fro could be distinguished; rapid trumpet-calls and the prolonged roll of drums from company quarters to quarters were echoed back from Antonia and from Hippicus. The startled shouts of commanders; the nervous dropping of arms; the sharp excited response to roll-call; the sound of sentries challenging, the curt response by countersign, showed everywhere irregularities and the symptoms of panic in the immovable ranks of Titus. Seraiah meanwhile had disappeared from his place as mysteriously as he had come. Many of the Jews who remained on the wall believed that he had passed into the Roman camp and was troubling it. The fall of the tower, and the confusion it had wrought in the Roman camp, never occurred to them to have been fortuitous incidents with which Seraiah had nothing to do. Of the thousands that witnessed that miracle, most of them were convinced that the hour had come. Meanwhile Jerusalem was roaring with excitement. The city was ready for a Messiah. Seraiah had arisen at the psychological moment. Earlier the Jews would have been too critical to accept him readily; later they would have reviled him for coming too late. Whatever his advent lacked in thunders, in darkness, voices, and shaking of the earth, had been passed by his miraculous work against the Romans. Philadelphus, who had seen the fall of the tower, and had dropped down from the wall as soon as he had explained it all to himself, came upon new disorders. Great concourses of awakened Jews were hurrying to the walls to see what had happened, or to behold the Roman army wiped out by the Angel of Death as the army of Sennacherib had perished. Others collected at the end of the Tyropean Bridge and watched the pinnacle of the Temple for the miracle which should restore the city. But the burned ruin where the Herodian palace had stood was the center of the most characteristic frenzy. There thousands were congregated. A great bonfire had been kindled and above the multitude, on a colossal architrave fallen at one end from the giant columns that had supported it, stood a figure, redly illuminated by the fire, tiny as compared to the immense ruin of its high place, but Titan in its control over the wild mob below it. It was a woman, a Jewess, dressed in faithful imitation of the archaic garb of the prophetesses, mantled with a storm of flying black hair, stripped of veil or cloak, and splendidly defiant of the restrictions laid upon woman long after the days of Deborah. Over the heads of the panting multitude she shook a pair of arms that glistened for whiteness, and bewitched by the spell of their motion. From under her half-fallen lids shot gleams of fire that transfixed any upon whom they fell; from her supple body shaken at times with the power of its own dynamic force her hearers caught the grosser infection of physical excitement; they swayed with her as blown by the wind; they ceased to breathe in her periods; they groaned as the intensity of her fervor pressed upon them for response that they could not shape in words; they wept, they shouted, they prophesied, and over them swept ever the witchery of her wonderful voice, preaching impiety--the worship of Seraiah! Philadelphus looked at this frantic work with a creeping chill. He knew the sorceress. Salome of Ephesus, who could send the sated theaters wild with her appeal to their senses, had found enchantment of a half-mad city not hard. Aside from the impiety, in fear of which his own irreligious spirit stood, he saw suddenly opened to him the immense scope of her influence. Not Simon, not John, not Titus, had discovered the logical appeal to the city's unbalanced impulses. But the reckless woman, robing herself in the ancient garb of the days to which the citizens would revert, assuming the pose of a woman they had sanctified, preaching the dogma they would hear, showing them the sign that helped them most, held Jerusalem, at least for that hour, in her hands. He realized at once that to attempt to denounce her would expose him to destruction at the wolfish hands of the frenzied mob. There were not soldiers enough in the city to destroy her influence, for she had achieved in her followers that infatuation that goes down to death before it relinquishes its conviction. Her control was complete. Seraiah was the anointed one, but the prophetess, the instigator, the founder of the worship, as follows in all apostasies, was the final recipient of the benefits of that devotion. Philadelphus walked away from the sight of Salome's triumph. He had surrendered instantly his hope of regaining the treasure. The whole of mad Jerusalem had ranged itself with her to protect it. And Laodice was not yet found. Chapter XX AS THE FOAM UPON WATER The madness on Jerusalem poured like an overwhelming flood into the cavern under the ruin of the Herodian palaces. There was Hesper, with most of his Gibborim gathered, preparing to proceed to the defense of the First Wall in Akra against which the Roman would hurl himself in the morning. For days he had controlled his men only by the force of his fierce will. Restlessness, little short of turbulence, had changed his six hundred from earnest recruits to bright-eyed, contentious, irresponsible enthusiasts whom only intimidation could manage. They seemed to be balanced, prepared, ready at the least whisper in the wind to scatter madly, each in his own direction, after a vagary, albeit the end were destruction. Throughout these latter days the Maccabee had become strained and unnatural in his manner. There was a vehemence in all he did which seemed to be a final resolution against despair. His decisions were arbitrary; his methods extreme. Laodice, sensing something climacteric in his atmosphere, kept aloof from him, and regarded him from the dusk of her corner with wonder and a pity that she could not explain. The Christian on the other hand seemed always in an unobtrusive way to be at the Maccabee's elbow. The apparition with the long white hair, however, ran away and was found on the streets by the Christian and brought back to the cavern, where he hid in a dark shadow in the remote end of the crypt and was not seen. Of late the cavern was always full of suppressed excitement; unpremeditated conferences among the Gibborim, which Hesper harshly forbade; and general sharp resentment against imposed regulations and military drill. On several occasions the six hundred were sent in defense of the walls only by sheer force of their leader's will-power. And there they fell in at once with the irregular methods of the Idumeans and fanatics that fought each after his own liking, and the careful instruction of the Maccabee was disregarded. Only so long as he cowed them, they obeyed him; and he seemed to feel, as they seemed to indicate, that when that thing happened which all Jerusalem indefinitely expected and could not name, his control over them would be lost beyond restoration. On the night of the fall of the Roman tower, the Maccabee's forces had been withdrawn for rest to their retreat and at midnight were formed again for return to the fortifications. By the strange inscrutable spread of rumor, sweeping with the air, the tidings of the miracle and the rise of Seraiah poured in upon the restive hundreds that the Maccabee was attempting to form in his fortress. It came like the gradual velocity of a burning star across the sky. From the ranks nearest the exit from the burrow the murmur issued, growing into intelligible sound, mounting to the wildness of hysteria and prevailing wholly over the Gibborim in the space between heart-beats. Everywhere they cast down their spears and their weapons, everywhere they gazed at him with brilliant threatening eyes and cried in loud voices so that the things each mad mind put into expression were lost in a great unintelligible raving. Laodice, the Christian and that white-haired trembler in his refuge, saw the Maccabee raise himself to his full height and lifting his sword confront in one grand effort at command a mob of six hundred madmen! Perhaps that manifestation of iron courage and strength, which the crazy lot somehow realized, saved him from death. Instead of falling upon him they turned away from the scene of the last vain effort for their own salvation and rushed, trampling one another, into the mad city of Jerusalem. From without, the hoarse uproar of their desertion was heard to merge with the great tumult over the Holy City. Tense silence fell in the crypt. The light of the torch wavered up and down the tall figure of the Maccabee as he stood transfixed in the attitude of command that had achieved nothing. It seemed the final inclination beyond the perpendicular that precedes the fall. The Christian started from his place and hurried toward the tense figure in the torch-light. Laodice, unconscious of what she did, approached him with an agony of distress for him written in her face. The white-haired apparition crept out a little way on his knees and putting aside his tangled locks gazed with burning eyes at the defeated man. Laodice, in her anxiety, moved into the range of the Maccabee's vision. The next instant he had thrown away his sword and had caught her in a crushing embrace to him. His voice, blunted and repressed as if something had him by the throat, was stunning her ear. "And thou!" he was saying. "What from thee, now? Hate! Curses! Ingratitude! Hast thou poison for me, or a knife? Or worse, yet, scorn? Speak! It is a day of enlightenment! I'll brook anything but deceit!" She stopped him in the midst of his vehement despair, by laying her hands on his hair. There surged to her lips all the eloquence of her love and sympathy, but beside her old Nathan stood--an embodiment of her conscience, watching. Twice she essayed to put into words the comfort of her submission to his love. Twice her lips failed her; but the third time she turned to the Christian. "Rabbi, what shall I do?" she implored. "Tell me out of thy wisdom!" "What is it?" he asked, feeling that there was more than sympathy for the defeated man in her heart. "What would thy Christ have me to do?" she insisted. "This stranger, here, is the joy of my heart; I am like to die if I can not give him the love that I feel for him this hour!" The startled Christian looked at her with suspicion growing in his eyes. "Art thou a wife? Wedded to another than this man?" he asked gravely. "Wedded," she whispered, "to one who hath denied me, affronted me and cast me out of his house! In this man I have found favor from the beginning. He has been tender of me, he has sheltered me, and he has strengthened me against himself to this hour. There has been nothing sinful between us!" The old Christian's face grew immeasurably sad. "There is but one thing for you to do," he said. She wrenched herself away from the Maccabee, who had been angrily protesting against her carrying his case to another for decision, and confronted Nathan. "But he rejected me!" she cried with earnestness. "That alone is enough among our people for divorcement!" The Christian shook his head sadly. He was not happy to lay down this prohibition before them who suffered. "There is no help in thy faith for such as I am. In that thy religion fails!" she cried. "Love, now, is all in all to thee, daughter. It is but the speech of thy young blood running through thy veins, the claim of thy youth to thy use upon earth. Resist it; for when thy years are as many as mine thou wilt lose thy rebellious spirit and the fervor will have died out of thy heart. Then, if thou hast fallen in this hour, how vain and worthless it will seem to thee! Divine fires in the heart of men never become changed in value. Love purely and thou wilt never repent; but I say unto thee thou fashionest for thyself humbled and shamed old age if thou transgressest the Law!" "What mercy, then, since thou preachest mercy, in filling me with this weakness if my life must be darkened resisting it, and my future show no relief for it?" she insisted passionately. It was the cry old as the world. He looked at her sadly, hopelessly. "As for God, His way is perfect," he said. "_How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!_ Thou shalt struggle with the truth, my daughter, but without fail and most readily thou shalt know when thou hast sinned!" She was past the influence of argument. Impulse controlled her now entirely. She would see if there were not an intelligence, even a religion which would see her sorrow from her own heart's position. She listened now to the words of her lover. "He is an exclaimer, a prophet of doom!" he was crying. "Love me and let us die!" Without in the entrance of the crypt some great-lunged fanatic was calling the multitude to harken to the prophetess. The Maccabee's lips were against her cheek as he continued to speak. "It is the end! There is no help for us. Love me, and let me be happy an hour before we perish! The Nazarene is right! The city is cursed! God's wrath is upon us. The hour is still ours. Love me and let us die!" Without the great voice, like an unwearying bell, was calling: "A sign! A sign! Behold the Deliverer! Come all ye who would share his triumph and hear! Hear! Come ye and be fed, ye hungry; be drunken, ye thirsty; love and be loved, ye forlorn!" Laodice stiffened in the Maccabee's clasp. "Dost thou hear?" she whispered. "It may be true!" He shook his head that he had bowed upon her shoulder. "Let us go," she urged. "Perchance he has comfort for us. Come, Hesper; let us see what he has for the forlorn." "Who?" he asked dully. "They say the Deliverer has come." He shook his head again, but with her two hands she lifted his face from its refuge, and urging with her eyes and her hands and her lips she led him toward the stairs. The Christian looked after them. "_For there shall arise false Christs; and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect_," he said sorrowfully. The horror of the city augmented hour by hour. The Jerusalem Laodice locked upon now was infinitely more afflicted than the one she had seen in the daylight days before. The walls were now outlined by fire which illuminated all the city that lay directly beneath the beacons. To the north gnomish outlines by hundreds against the flames showed where the soldiers of the factionists were placing the topmost stones upon an inner wall or curtain erected just within the Old Wall, which was by this time shaking and cracking under the assaults of a great siege-engine without. Titus, awakened by the fall of his tower, had immediately renewed the attack, although the morning was still some hours distant. But the citizens were no longer disinterested, no longer wrapped in hopelessness and dull misery. Hungry, sleepless, houseless, diseased and mad though they were, their hollow eyes gleamed now with hope that was almost defiant. Around the Maccabee and Laodice roared the comment of the multitude. "They say he climbed to the summit of the outer wall overlooking Tophet and remains there a target for the Roman arrows, which rebound from him!" cried one. "One of John's men says that the heads of the arrows are blunted and the most of them snapped in two when they are picked up." "The Romans have ceased to shoot at him!" "They say that his footprints in the dust on the Tyropean Bridge are Hebrew letters writing 'Elia' in gold!" "It is said that the inner Temple is rocking with trumpet blasts and that John is struck dead!" "They say that those who believe in him shall ask for whatever they would have and have it!" "The breaches in the First Wall have been healed; the old rock is back in its place!" "They say that the dead beyond the wall in Tophet are prophesying!" "There is a bolt of lightning fixed in the sky over Titus' camp. We are called to go forth and see it fall!" A voice swept by distantly crying that a woman had eaten her child. Crazed Posthumus, self-elected guardian of the Law, with the sacred roll under his arm, declaimed, without any of his audience attending, that prophecy which this horror fulfilled. All Jerusalem was in the streets; all Jerusalem poured into the immense open space where some palatial ruin stood, and melted in the giant concourse that gathered to hear the prophetess. Laodice and the Maccabee were unable to see the woman; only her voice, mystic, musical, pitched at a singing monotone, intoning rather than speaking, reached them from the distance. The long harangue, delivered as a chant, had long ago had a mesmerizing effect on her audience. Absolutely she controlled them; along the dead level of her preaching they maintained a low continuous murmur, accompanied by a slight slow swaying of the body; in the climaxes of the appeal they responded with cries and wild gestures, flinging themselves about in attitudes characteristic of their frenzy. In their faces was the reflection of a peculiar light that proved that derangement had settled over Jerusalem. It was the end of the reign of reason. "It is the abomination of desolation. Even so, it is finished! It is the time, it is full time, and Michael hath come. There are seventy weeks; behold them. The transgression is finished and the end hereto of all sins. Approacheth the hour for the reconciliation for iniquity and to bring in everlasting righteousness and to seal up the vision and prophecy and to anoint the most Holy! Prepare ye!" Somewhere in the city a voice that was heard even by the fighting-men on the wall in Akra cried: "The Sacrifice has failed! The Oblation is ceased! There is no Offering for the Altar; none is left to offer it!" The vast gathering heard it, and immediately from the high place of the prophetess came back the words, prompt and effective: "_And he shall confirm the covenant with many for one week: and in the midst of the week he shall cause the sacrifice and the oblation to cease!_" Posthumus, buried in the midst of the crowd, was shouting, but over him the splendid mesmerism of the prophetess' voice soared. "_The hands of the pitiful women have sodden their own children; they were their meat in the destruction of the daughter of my people ... The punishment of thine iniquity is accomplished, O daughter of Zion; ... and for the overspreading of abominations he shall make it desolate, even until the consummation, and that determined shall be poured upon the desolate_!" Among the crowd now growing frantic, people began to cry: "A sign! A sign!" Others shouted: "Lead us!" "Persecute and destroy them in anger from under the Heaven of the Lord!" "Lead us!" they still shouted. They were hungry; they had been abstinent; they had surrendered their riches and their comforts. It was not independence but necessities that they wanted now. The primal wants were at the surface. "Come up and be filled!" she cried. "Ask and it shall be given unto you! Eat of the grapes and the honey; drink of wine and warm milk; sleep as kings; be housed in mansions; be rulers; command potentates! Let kings bow at your footstools! Be replenished; be great! Suffering hath been your portion since the earth was; but the end is come. Draw nigh and have your recompense. Laugh, you whose eyes have trickled down with the waters of affliction! You in the low dungeon come forth and range all the free boundaries of the world. Whosoever hath gravel between his teeth, let them be grapes! He who sitteth alone, gather company and revel unto him! Feast, ye hungry; be drunken, ye thirsty; love and be loved, ye forlorn!" Laodice leaned forward suddenly and hung on the woman's words. "The time for sacrifice and humiliation is paid out! It was a long time! Now, behold in the generosity of his repentance, ye shall ask and nothing shall be denied. Speak! Ask! The whole world, Heaven and earth and the delights of all the years are yours, now and for all time!" At Laodice's side was Amaryllis. The Greek's face was pale but lighted with a certain enlightenment that was almost threatening. Startled and frightened Laodice moved back from the Greek, who moved with her, without a glance at the Maccabee. The voice of the prophetess swept on: "Ye have bowed to tyrants and bent your necks to murderers; ye have waged wars for pillagers and shared not in the spoils. Why are ye hungry now? Who is full-fed in these days of want, yourselves or your masters? A sword, a sword is drawn; uphold the arm that wields it!" "Sedition!" Amaryllis whispered, as the mob began to murmur and stir at this new doctrine. "For behold, he shall go forth with great fury to destroy and utterly to make away many!" Amaryllis bent so she could whisper in Laodice's ear. "John hath taken him a new woman to keep him cheerful this hour. I was not daring enough. Philadelphus' wife hath supplanted me. Your place with him is vacant. Go back and possess it!" "Why was appetite and desire and thirst of power and the love of riches lighted in you, but to be satisfied?" The prophetess' words swept in after Laodice's sudden fear of returning to Philadelphus. "We have expiated the sin of Adam, the greed of Jacob and the fault of David. The judgment is run out; ye have come to your own! Verily, I say unto you, if ye follow me in the name of him who hath come unto you, the world shall be yours!" Amaryllis still continued to whisper, and Laodice, fearing that the Maccabee might hear, drew farther away. He stood where she had left him, with his head lowered, waiting--at last a creature dependent on another's will. "Listen!" Amaryllis said. "I have been seeking you since midnight! Philadelphus' doubt was awakened in this woman. He questioned her, so minutely that she betrayed ignorance of many things she should have known had she been the real daughter of Costobarus. And when finally he taxed her with imposture, she robbed him of the dowry and fled to John. Convinced that you are his wife, he set forth and hath since searched for you without ceasing! See, over there! He seeks you, now!" Laodice looked the way the Greek pointed and saw Philadelphus, standing with lifted head and stretched to his full height, as if searching over the crowd for her. Panic seized her. She wrenched herself from the Greek's hold and, forgetting even the protection of Hesper who was within touch of her, she threw herself into the crowd behind her and struggled out of the press. Nathan, the Christian, saw her turn and followed instantly in the path she made. Once out, she turned in a bewildered manner this way and that. What refuge, now, for her, indeed, but the cavern under the ruin and the care of Hesper, until the end which should swallow them all! A trembling hand was laid on her arm. She whirled, expecting to find Philadelphus. Beside her, his old face radiant with emotion, stood Momus! Chapter XXI THE FAITHFUL SERVANT Within the Roman lines was a bent and deformed figure of an old waif that the soldiers had picked up attempting to run the lines into Jerusalem the second day after the siege had been laid about the Holy City. The old man, though wrinkled and twisted and bowed, had fought with such terrible savagery and had incontinently laid in the dust in succession three of the camp's best fighting-men, that the Roman soldiers, for ever partizan to the strong man, had finally with great difficulty succeeded in trussing the old belligerent and had brought him before Titus. There they laid the twisted old burden before the young general and shamelessly told how he, thrice the age of the vanquished men, had finished them with despatch. It was evident that the old man was a Jew; it became also apparent that he was dumb and partly deaf, and further to their amazement and admiration, they discovered that his right leg and arm were too stiff for ordinary use and that he had done his wonderful execution with terrific left limbs. This saved his life and gave him a partial liberty. Titus, however, admitted to Carus that the old man's distress at being kept out of Jerusalem was pitiable enough to urge the young general to deport him and get him out of sight. For it was manifest that the old minotaur was in deep trouble. But his paralyzed tongue would not serve him, and his menial ignorance had not provided him with the means of telling his desire by writing. Titus was unable to understand from his signs anything further than that he wished to get into the city. The young general in one of his outbursts of generosity would have permitted this, but that Nicanor happened in at an evil moment and drew such pictures of calamitous effect in passing the old servant into Jerusalem that Titus was forced reluctantly and irritably to be convinced of the folly of his kindness. So here, through the terrible days of the siege, old Momus at times desperate and savage, at others piteously suppliant, wore on the sentries' peace of mind and stood like a shadow, for ever watching the white walls of the besieged city. The Romans were now within the city. Only Zion and the Temple held against them. A wall built with the thoroughness of David, the ancient, and solidified by the mortising of Time, ran directly from Hippicus to the Tyropean Valley, joining the tremendous fortifications of Moriah and so cut off Zion from the advance of the army. Securely intrenched within that quarter and the Temple, Simon and John began the last resistance which should tax Roman endurance and Roman patience as it had not been taxed before. Titus no longer lagged. Famine had long since become a powerful ally and the honor of the Flavian house rested upon his immediate subjugation of the rebellious city. He no longer expected capitulation; yet he did not neglect to be prepared for it and to encourage it. Though the heart of the historian Josephus broke, he did not fail to serve his patron as mediator, though without hope. Titus himself, as from time to time the horror of his work impressed itself upon him, made overtures to the factionists, neglecting no art or inducement which should convince the seditious that their resistance was foolhardy, even mad. At such times, Nicanor's face became contemptuous and Carus himself frowned at the young general's attitude. But the spirit of a Roman and the traditions of a soldier even could not prevent the young man from weakening at times before the charnel pit in Tophet where countless thousands of vultures fattened with roaring of wings and hissing of combat. But under an ever-thickening veil of horrid airs, the struggle went on. The Roman Ides of July arrived. Titus had erected banks upon which his engines were raised to batter the walls of the Temple. From Titus' camp, the Romans on sick leave, the commissaries, those attached to the army who were not fighting-men, and old Momus, saw first, before the attack on the Temple began, a soft increasing dun-colored vapor rise between the Temple and Antonia. It issued from the cloister at the northwest which joined the Roman tower. As they watched, they saw that vapor grow into a pale but intensely luminous smoke, as if fine woods and burning metals were consumed together. In a moment the whole north-west section was embraced in a sublime pall of fire. John was burning away the connection between the Temple and the tower and was making the sacred edifice four-square. As soon as it became confirmed, in the minds of the watchers in the Roman camp, that the Temple had been fired, the old mute among them seemed to become wholly unbalanced. Without warning, he leaped upon the nearest sentry who, not expecting the attack, went down with a clatter of armor and a shout of astonishment. The next instant the old man was making across the intervening space between the camp and Jerusalem as fast as his stiff legs could carry him. The purple sentry sprang to his feet and strung an arrow, but before he could send it singing, the old minotaur was mixed with a second soldier in such confusion that the first sentry hesitated to shoot lest he should kill his fellow. Another moment and a second soldier was struggling in the impediment of his armor in the dust and the old mute was again hobbling straight away toward the walls of Jerusalem. He was now a fair mark for the first sentry, but that Roman's rancor died after he had seen his own disgrace covered by the overthrow of his fellow. Two of Titus' scouts next stood in the path of the running old man. One went to the ground so suddenly and so violently that the watchers, now breaking into howls of delight, knew that he had been tripped. The other stood but a moment longer, than he, too, rolled into the dust. The old man might have gone no farther at this juncture, for at every latest triumph he left a crimson soldier murderous with shame. But before the arrow next strung to overtake him could fly, Titus, Carus and Nicanor, accompanied by their escort, rode between the fugitive and the men he had defeated. "There goes our minotaur," Carus said quietly. Titus drew up his horse and looked. Nicanor with a sidelong glance awaited the young Roman's command to his escort to ride down the fugitive. But he waited, and continued to wait, while Titus with lifted head and with indecision in his eyes watched the deformed old shape hobble on toward the Wall of Circumvallation. "Shall we let him go?" Nicanor inquired coldly. "If some of my legionaries or those erratic Jews fail to get him between here and Jerusalem, he shall get into Jerusalem. But by Hector, he will earn his entry!" They saw the old man mount by the causeway of earth which the Romans had built over the siege wall for the passage of the troops, saw him an instant outlined against the sky on the summit, and the next instant he disappeared. Titus touched his horse and rode at a trot toward the causeway himself. He would see the end of this mad venture. In the hour of sunrise the sentinel above the North Gate in the Old Wall saw among the ruins of the houses of Coenopolis a figure dodging painfully hither and thither. It was not habited in the brasses of the Roman armor. Also, it hobbled as if lame and ran toward the gate fast closed below the sentry. The Jew, too intensely interested in the great climax enacting in the city below, ceased to remark on this figure. Presently, however, he looked again into ruined Coenopolis. He saw there this un-uniformed figure wrapped in fierce embrace with a young legionary. Almost before the sentry's astonishment shaped itself into exclamation, the legionary was tumbled aside as if crushed and the old figure hobbled on. Suddenly there appeared in the path of the wayfarer a galloping horseman, who drew his mount back on his haunches, then spurred him to ride down the old man. The sentry on the Old Wall made a choked sound, unslung his bow and sent an arrow singing. There was a shout and the figure of the horseman plunged from his saddle face down on the earth. The wayfarer flung himself away and rushed toward the wall, only a little distance away. But all Coenopolis seemed to swarm now with legionaries, afoot or horseback. The Jewish sentry rushed to the edge of the tower overhanging the gate. "Open!" he shouted below. "One cometh!" With a rattle and clang of falling bars and chains the gate of the Old Wall swung. Disregarding the known wishes of Titus, two of the legionaries simultaneously let fly their javelins. But the mute, hobbling uncertainly, was not a steady mark and under the whistle of arrows received and sent, he blundered up the causeway leading to the Gate of the Old Wall, and the portal slowly and ponderously closed behind him. Wild howls of derision and exultation went up from the Jews. Many of the soldiers clambered down to satisfy their curiosity about the latest addition to the starving garrison. But he proved to be a deformed old man, mute and weary, who was distressed for fear he would be detained by them and who hobbled out into the besieged city and posted as fast as his legs could carry him toward the house of Amaryllis, the Seleucid. But at the edge of a great open space where the Herodian palaces had stood he came upon a concourse which seemed to be all Jerusalem. It was a gaunt horde, shouting, raging, prophesying and drowning the roar of battle at the Temple fortifications with the sound of religious frenzy. Momus, fresh from the orderly camp of Titus, was struck with terror. He would have retreated and followed some side street toward his destination, when he caught sight of a girl on the very outskirts of this mob. Momus laid a trembling hand on her arm. She threw up her head with a start. Chapter XXII VANISHED HOPES The tremulous old man, weakened from his long and superhuman struggle to enter the doomed city, held Laodice to his breast while she stroked his rough cheeks and murmured things that he did not hear and which she did not realize in the rush of her helplessness and dismay. At the corner of Moriah and the Old Wall, the tumult was infernal. Out of the suffocating sallow smoke from the tuns of burning tar heaved over the fortification upon the engines and their managers, the stones from the catapults soared into view and fell upon the sun-colored marbles that paved the Court of the Gentiles. Clouded by the vapor, targets for the immense missiles, the Jews heaving and writhing in personal encounters appeared black and inhuman. Every combatant shouted; the great stones screamed; the boiling pitch hissed and roared, and the thunder of the conflict shook the Temple to its very foundations. Without, the Romans planted scaling ladders, mounted them and were pitched backward into the moat regularly. Regularly, the ladders were set up again after struggle, mounted without hesitation and thrown down again, with an inevitability which furnished a grim travesty to the struggle. The two remaining towers were set in position against the base of Moriah and resumed execution. One after another the engines of the Romans were hauled into position, and worked unceasingly until covered with burning oil from the battlements above and consumed. Others were hauled into place; fresh detachments of Romans seized upon the scaling-ladders or mounted to the towers, and the roar of the conflict never abated. Meanwhile on the slopes of Zion the whole of Jerusalem, gaunt, dying and demoniacal, was packed in the ruins of the palace of Herod. Old Momus with triumph and tearful exultation was holding out to Laodice a heavy roll of writings, dangling important seals, ancient papers showing yellow beside the fresh parchment, and an old record dark with long handling. Here were the proofs of her identity! Laodice shrank from him with a gasp that was almost a cry. Behold, the faithful old servant had suffered she knew not what to bring such evidence as would force her to do that which she believed she could not do and survive! Momus sought to put the papers in her hands, but she thrust them away and he stood looking at her in amazement and sorrow. Nathan, the Christian, stood close to her. From the opposite side, Philadelphus rounded the outskirts of the mob, searching. He did not see her. She flung herself between Momus and Nathan and cowered down until Philadelphus had passed from sight. When she lifted her head, Momus was gazing at her with the light of shocked comprehension growing in his eyes. Nathan, the Christian, touched her. "Who was that man?" he asked gravely. She rose and laid her hands on the Christian's shoulders. "My husband," she said. Something had happened at the Temple. She saw the Jews at the wall recoil from the dust of battle, rally, plunge in and disappear. From out that presently shone now and again, then with increasing frequency and finally in great numbers, the brass mail of Roman legionaries. Titus' forces had scaled the wall. From her position, she saw running toward them John of Gischala, with his long garments whipping about him, wrapping his tall figure in live cerements. He was disarmed and bleeding. She saw next Amaryllis, with compassionate uplifted hands stop in his way; saw next the Gischalan thrust her aside with a blow and the next instant disappear as if the earth had swallowed him. Nathan was speaking to her. "How often, O my daughter, we recognize truth and deny it because it does not give us our way! God put a sense of the right in us. We transgress it oftener than we mistake it!" The roar of the turning battle and the mob about her drowned his next words, except, "You can not be happy in iniquity; neither blessed; but you are sure to be afraid. Right has its own terror, but there is at least courage in being right, against your desires." He was talking continuously, but only at times did the wind from the uproar sweep his fervent words to her. "Christ had His own conflict with Himself. What had become of us had He listened to the tempter in the wilderness, or failed to accept the cup in the Garden of Gethsemane! How much we have the happiness of Christ in our hands! Alas! that His should be a sorrowful countenance in Heaven! "The love of a man for a woman was near to the Master's heart! How can you feel that you must love and be loved in spite of Him! Pity yourself all you may you can not then be pitied so much as He pities you! "Love as long and as wilfully as you will, and then it is only a little space. The time of the supremacy of Christ cometh surely, and that is all eternity! Which will you do--please yourself for an hour, or be pleased by the will of God through all time? Love is in the hands of the Lord; you can not consign it longer than the little span of your life to the hands of the devil." Momus, in whose mind had passed an immense surmise, was again at her side. "O daughter of a noble father," his dumb gaze said, "wilt thou put away that virtue which was born in thee and let my labor come to naught?" But the preaching of Nathan and the reproach of Momus were feeble, compared to the great tumult that went on in her soul. She had seen John of Gischala cast Amaryllis aside. Even the Greek's sympathy was hateful to him. Yet when Laodice had first entered the house of Amaryllis, the woman had been obliged to dismiss John from her presence for his own welfare and the welfare of the city. Why this change? Amaryllis was no less beautiful, no less brilliant, no less attractive than she had once been; but the Gischalan had wearied of her. Laodice recalled that she had not been surprised to see the man throw Amaryllis aside. It seemed to be the logical outcome of love such as theirs. How, then, was she to escape that which no other woman escaped who loved without law? In the soul of that stranger who had called himself Hesper, were lofty ideals, which had not been the least charm which had attracted her to him. Was she, then, to dislodge these holy convictions, to take her place in his heart as one falling short of them, or were they still to exist as standards which he loved and which she could not reach? In either event, how long would he love--what was the length of her probation before she, too, would encounter the inevitable weariness? It occurred to her, then, how nearly the natural law of such love paralleled the religious prohibition that the Christian had shown to her. However harsh and unjust the sentence seemed, it was rational. With her own eyes she had seen its predictions borne out. Already the relief of the sorrowing righteous possessed her. She turned to the Christian. "Take me to my husband," she said. "Now! While I have strength." Momus caught the old Christian by the arm and, signing eagerly that he would lead, hurried away in advance of the two down into the ravine and crossed to the house of Amaryllis. There were no soldiers to stop them about the house. When no response was made to her knock, Laodice opened the door and passed in. Her old conductors followed her. Amaryllis sat in her ivory chair; opposite her in the exedra was Philadelphus. At sight of him, the last of the soft color went out of Laodice's face. A curve of despair marked the corners of her mouth and she seemed to grow old before those that looked at her. Philadelphus and the Greek sprang to their feet, the instant the group entered. Laodice waited for no preliminary. Amaryllis' design was patent to her; it was part of her sorrow that now Hesper would be free to the devices of this deceitful woman. So she did not look at the Greek. She addressed Philadelphus in a voice from which all hope and vivacity had gone. "I have brought proofs. Behold them!" Nathan, the Christian, stood forth. "I, Nathan of Jerusalem, met and talked with this Laodice, daughter of Costobarus, in company with Aquila, the Ephesian, three men-servants in all the panoply and state of a coming princess three leagues out of Ascalon, her native city. I buried by the roadside her father, who died of pestilence on their journey hither. I bear witness that she is the daughter of Costobarus and thy wedded wife." A great light sprang into the face of the Greek. Philadelphus, nervous, albeit the news he heard filled him with pleasure, stood and waited. The Christian stepped back and Momus, bowing, approached and handed the leather roll into the none too steady hands of the Ephesian. He opened it and drew forth parchments. Aloud he read a minute description of Laodice from the rabbi of the synagogue in Ascalon; under the great seals of the Roman state, he found and read the oath of the prefect, that such a maiden as the rabbi had described had been married before him to Philadelphus Maccabaeus fourteen years before. Then followed the depositions of forty Jews and Gentiles who were nurses, tradesmen and other people like to have daily contact with the young woman in her house, setting entirely at naught any claim that Laodice was other than the wife who had been supplanted by an adventuress. Philadelphus did not read them all. Before he made an end he dropped the documents and flung wide his arms. But Laodice with a countenance frozen with suffering held him off for a moment. "Go," she said to the old Christian, "unto Hesper and lead him into the belief of the Lord Jesus Christ which is mine." The old Christian approached the fountain in the center of the andronitis and taking up water in his palm sprinkled a few drops on her hair while she knelt. "In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, I baptize thee, Laodice. Amen!" While she knelt, he said: "I shall search for him also. Christ have mercy on thee now and for ever. Farewell." He was gone. Chapter XXIII THE FULFILMENT When Nathan, the Christian, stepped into the streets once more there was an immense accession of tumult about him. He turned to look toward the corner of the Old Wall in time to behold Jews in armor and Romans in blazing brass rush together in a great cloud of dust as the Old Wall went in and Titus swept down upon Jerusalem. At the same instant from the ruined high place upon Zion came a roar of stupendous menace. The Christian, with sublime indifference to danger, kept his path toward the concourse from which he had taken Laodice. As he ascended the opposite slope of the ravine, he saw, descending toward the battle, the front of a rushing multitude, as irresistible and as destructive as a great sea in a storm. He saw that the mob was turning toward Akra, and to avoid it, the Christian climbed up to the Tyropean Bridge, and from that point viewed the whole of Jerusalem sweeping down upon the heathen. At the head of the inundation passed a melodious voice crying: "An end, an end is come upon the four corners of the land! Draw near every man with his destroying weapon in his hands for the glory of the Lord! For His house is filled with cloud and the Court is full of the brightness of the Lord's glory! A sword! A sword is sharpened! The way is appointed that the sword may come! For the time for favor to Zion is here; yea, the set time is come!" After this poured a gaunt horde numbering tens of thousands. They bore paving-stones, stakes, posts, railings, garden implements, weapons from kitchens, from hardware booths and from armories; anything that one man or a body of men could wield; torches and kettles of tar; chains and ropes; knotted whips, and bundles of fagots; iron spikes, instruments of torture, anything and everything which could be turned as a weapon or to inflict pain upon the Roman, who believed at this moment that Jerusalem was his! The Christian overlooked this ferocious inundation and shook his head. On a mound near him stood the spirit of the mob concentrated and personified. It was crazed Posthumus. He was screaming: "It is finished; the law is run out! All prophecy is fulfilled!" And over his head he was swinging a parchment fiercely burning. It was the Scroll of the Law! After uncounted minutes, vibrating with roar, the terrible flood rushed by. Feeble arms clasped the Christian about the knees and he looked down on the tangled white locks of the palsied man, who had searched for him until he had found him. The Christian laid his hand on the man's head but did not speak. At the breach in the Old Wall, the watchers on that almost deserted street saw the brazen wave of four legions gather and sweep forward to gain ground in the city before the mob swept down on them. Between the two warring bodies, one orderly, prepared but apprehensive, the other mad and perishing, was a considerable space. Fighting still went on at the breach in the walls, but the supreme conflict of a comparatively small body of soldiers and an uncounted horde was not yet precipitated. Ordinarily, the Roman army could have reduced any popular insurrection with half that number of men. But at present the legionaries confronted desperate citizens who were simply choosing their own way to die. Reason and human fear long since had ceased to inspire them. They were believing now and following a prophet because it was the final respite before despair. There was no alternative. It was death whatever they did, unless, in truth, this splendid sorceress was indeed the Voice of the Risen Prince. Force would be of no avail against them. Madness had flung them against Rome; only some other madness would turn them back. The Christian, from his commanding position, expected anything. It was the moment which would show if the false prophet would triumph. If the four legions went down before the multitude, it would mean the ascendancy of a strange woman over Israel, and the obliteration of the faith in Jesus Christ in the Holy Land. It can not be said that the Christian watched the crisis with a calm spirit. He did not wish to see the heathen overthrow the ancient people of God, nor could he behold the triumph of a false Christ. He put his hands together and prayed. A figure appeared between the two bodies of combatants, rushing on intensely, to grapple. It was a tall commanding form, clothed in garments that glittered for whiteness. By the step, by the poise of the head, the Christian recognized Seraiah. The front of the multitude fell on their faces at that moment as if he had struck them down. Out of the forefront, the prophetess appeared. The Christian heard her splendid voice out of the uproar, and while he gazed, he saw mad Seraiah turn away from her, with the front of the mob turning after him, as a needle turns to the pole. In that fatal moment of pause, out of which the warning cry of the prophetess rang wildly, the Roman tribune, in view for a moment under the blowing veils of smoke, flung up his sword, the Roman bugle sang, and the brassy legions of Titus hurled themselves upon the halted mob. The Christian dropped his head into the bend of his elbow and strove to shut out the sound. The nervous arms of the palsied man at his feet gripped him frantically. Up from the corner of the Old Wall, came the prolonged "A-a-a-a!" of dying thousands. Jerusalem had fallen. The foremost of the mob, turning with Seraiah, escaped the onslaught of the Romans, and as the mad Pretender strode toward the broad street from which the Tyropean Bridge crossed to the demesnes of the Temple, they followed him fatuously, blind to the death behind them and the oncoming slaughter in which they might fall. Seraiah passed above the spot where the sorrowful Christian stood, crossed the great causeway leading toward the Royal Portico and after him six thousand blind and insane enthusiasts followed, expecting imminent miracle. Above them towered the heights of Moriah, now veiled in smoke. Up the great white bank of stairs they rushed after him, facing an ordeal which must mean a baptism in fire, and on through a curtain of luminous smoke into a gate pillared in flame, up into the Royal Portico, resounding with the tread of the advancing Destroyer, out into the great Court of Gentiles wrapped in cloud through which the Temple showed, a stupendous cube of heat, through the Gate Beautiful where the Keeper no longer stood, thence into the Women's Court, raftered with red coals, up smoking stones tier upon tier till the roof of the Royal Portico was reached. At the brink of the pinnacle, they saw through tumbling clouds Seraiah towering. He was looking down through masses of smoke upon the City of Delight, perishing. They who had followed watched, uplifted with terror and frenzy, and while they waited for the miracle which should save, the roof crumbled under them and a grave of thrice heated rock received them and covered them up. Below, Nathan, the Christian, seized upon the shoulders of the Maccabee as he was dashing after the thousands. His face was black with terror for Laodice. He struggled to throw off Nathan, crying futilely against the uproar that Laodice was perishing. "Comfort thee!" the Christian shouted in his ear. "She is saved. She sent me to thee." The Maccabee stopped, as if he realized that he need not go on, but had not comprehended what was said to him. Nathan dragged him out of the way, still choked with people struggling to pass on to the Temple or to flee from it. Half-way down the Vale of Gihon, where speech was a little more possible, the Maccabee, who had been crying questions, made the old man hear. "Where is she? Where is she?" "She has returned to her husband. In love with thee, she has done that only which she could do and escape sin. She has gone to shelter with him whom she does not love!" The Maccabee seized his head in his hands. "It is like her--like her!" he groaned. In the Christian's heart he knew how narrowly Laodice had made her lover's mark for her. "It is her wish," Nathan continued, "that I teach thee Christ whom she hath received." "How can I receive Him, when He sent her from me?" the unhappy man groaned, unconscious of his contradictions. "How canst thou reject Him when His teaching led thy love to do that which thine own lips have confessed to be the better thing?" "Then what of myself, when I love where I should not love?" the Maccabee insisted. "You may suffer and sin not," the Christian said kindly. The unhappy man dropped to his knees. "O Christ, why should I resist Thee!" he groaned. "Thou hast stripped me and made me see that my loss is good!" The Christian laid his hands on the Maccabee's head. "Dost thou believe?" he asked. "Will Christ accept me, coming because I must?" "It is not laid down how we shall baptize in the thirst of a famine," Nathan said, "yet He who sees fit to deny water never yet hath denied grace." But the Christian's hand extended over the kneeling man was caught in a grip steadied with intense emotion. The unknown had seized him. But for his feeling that this interruption was necessary to the welfare of another soul, the Christian would not have paused in his ministry. The phantom straightened himself with a superb reinvestment of manhood. "Thou, son of the Maccabee, Philadelphus!" he exclaimed to the kneeling man. The Ephesian's arms sank. "Who art thou that knoweth me?" he asked in a dead voice. "I am all that plague and sin hath left of thy servant Aquila," the phantom declared. The Maccabee lifted his face for what should follow this revelation. It was only a manifestation of his subjection to another will than his own. He was not interested--he who was hoping to die. "Hear me, and curse me!" Aquila went on. "But save thy wife yet. I say unto thee, master, that she whom thou hast sheltered in the cavern is thy wife, Laodice!" The Maccabee struggled up to his feet and gazed with stunned and unbelieving eyes at this wreck of his pagan servant, who went on precipitately. "Her I plotted against at the instigation of Julian of Ephesus. Her, my mistress, Salome the Cyprian, robbed and hath impersonated thus long to her safety in the house of the Greek. This hour, through ignorance of thine own identity, through my fault, she hath gone reluctantly to his arms. Curse me and let me die!" The Maccabee seized the hair at his temples. For a moment the awful gaze he bent upon Aquila seemed to show that the gentler spirit had been dislodged from his heart. Then he cried: "God help us both, Aquila! My fault was greater than thine!" He turned and fled toward the house of the Greek. The four legions of Titus swept after him. Aquila lifted his eyes for the first time and gazed at Nathan. "I cursed thee for sparing me to such an existence as was mine! Behold, father, thou didst bless me, instead. I am ready to die." "Wait," the Christian said peacefully. A moment later, the Maccabee dashed into the andronitis of Amaryllis. After him sprang a terrified servant crying: "The Roman! The Roman is upon us!" A roar of such magnitude that it penetrated the stone walls of Amaryllis' house, swept in after the servant. Quaking menials began to pour into the hall. Among them came the blue-eyed girl, the athlete and Juventius the Swan. These three joined their mistress who stood under a hanging lamp. Into the passage from the court, left open by the frightened servants, swept the prolonged outcry of perishing Jerusalem. Over it all thundered the boom of the siege-engines shaking the earth. The slaves slipped down upon their knees and began to groan together. The silver coins on the lamp began to swing; the brass cyanthus which Amaryllis had recently drained of her last drink of wine moved gradually to the edge of the pedestal upon which she had placed it. The dual nature of the uproar was now distinct; organized warfare and popular disaster at the same time. The Roman was sweeping up the ancient ravine. Jerusalem had fallen. The gradual crescendo now attained deafening proportions; the hanging lamp increased its swing; the silver coins began to strike together with keen and exquisitely fine music. Juventius the Swan, with his dim eyes filled with horror, was looking at them. The peculiar desperate indifference of the wholly hopeless seized him. His long white hands began to move with the motion of the lamp; the music of the meeting coins became regular; he caught the note, and mounting, with a bound, the rostrum that had been his Olympus all his life, began to sing. The melody of his glorious voice struggled only a moment for supremacy with the uproar of imminent death and then his increasing exaltation gave him triumph. The great hall shook with the magnificent power of his only song! The Maccabee confronted Amaryllis, with fierce question in his eyes. She pointed calmly at the heavy white curtain pulled to one side and caught on a bracket. The brass wicket over the black mouth of the tunnel was wide. Without a word, the Maccabee plunged into it and was swallowed up. Amaryllis looked after him. "And no farewell?" she said. The thunder of assault began at her door. Juventius sang it down. The athlete and the girl crept toward the mouth of the black passage, wavered a moment and plunged in. After them tumbled a confusion of artists and servants who were swallowed up, and the hall was filled only with music. The woman by the lectern and the singer on the rostrum had chosen. To live without beauty and to live without love were not possible to the one who had known beauty all his life, to the one who had learned love so late--after she had been beggared of her dowry of purity. There was hardly an appreciable interval between the time of the desertion of her artists and the thunder of assault at her door, but in that space there passed before Amaryllis that useless retrospect which is death's recapitulation of the life it means to take. And out of that long procession, she singled one conviction which made the step of the Roman on her threshold welcome. It was an old, old moral, so old that it had never had weight with her, who believed it was time to reconstruct the whole artistic attitude of the world. And that was why she waited impatiently at her doorway for death, which was a kinder thing than life. Chapter XXIV THE ROAD TO PELLA There was no incident in the Maccabee's long struggle through the inky blackness of the tunnel leading under Moriah. It was night when the first new air from the outside world reached him. So he rushed into great open darkness, lighted with stars, before he knew that he had emerged from the underground passage. Entire silence after the turmoil which had shaken Jerusalem for many months fell almost like a blow upon his unaccustomed ears. The air was sweet. He had not breathed sweet air since May. The hills were solitary. Week in and week out, he had never been away from the sound of groaning thousands. Not since he had assumed his disguise to Laodice in the wilderness had he been close to the immemorial repose of nature. All his primitive manhood rushed back to him, now infuriated with a fear that his love was the spoil of another. All instinct became alert; all his intelligence and resource assembled to his aid. It came to him as inspiration always occurs at such times, that if the pair proceeded rationally, they would move toward a secure place at once. Pella occurred to him in a happy moment. He took his bearings by the stars and hurried north and east. He came upon a road presently, almost obliterated by a summer's drift of dust and sand. It had been long since any one had gone up that way to Jerusalem. There was no moon to show him whether there were any recent marks of fugitives fleeing that way. He did not expect that Julian of Ephesus would have courage to halt within sight of the glow on the western horizon which was the burning from the Temple. He expected the Ephesian to flee far and long, and in that consciousness of the cowardice of his enemy he based his hope. But he ran tirelessly, seeking right and left, led on by instinct toward the Christian city in the north. At times, his terror for Laodice made him cry out; again, he made violent pictures of his revenge upon Julian; and at other moments, he believed, while drops stood on his forehead from the effort of faith, that his new Christ would save her yet. There were moments when he was ready to die of despair, when he wondered at himself attempting to trace Julian with all the directions of wild Judea to invite the fugitives. Why might they not have fled toward Arabia as well, or even toward the sea? Perhaps they had not gone far, but had hidden in the rock, and had been left behind. Conflicting argument strove to turn him from his path, but the old instinct, final resource after the mind gives up the puzzle, kept him straight on the road to Pella. He came upon the rear of a flock of sheep, heading away from him. A Natolian sheep-dog, galloping hither and thither in his labor at keeping them moving, scented the new-comer. There was a quick savage bark that heightened at the end in an excited yelp of welcome. The shepherd, a dim figure at the head of the flock, turned in time to see his dog leaping upon the Maccabee. "Down, Urge," the shepherd cried. "Joseph, in the name of God," the Maccabee cried, "where is Laodice?" He threw off the excited dog and rushed toward the boy, who turned back at the cry with extended hands. "True to thy promise, friend, friend!" the boy cried. "She is here!" The Maccabee stiffened. "Is there one with her?" he demanded fiercely. "A man and her servant." The Maccabee threw off the boy's hands. "Where?" he cried. "Ahead of the sheep," the boy said a little uncertainly. The Maccabee dashed through the flock and rounding a turn in the road came upon Laodice walking; behind her Momus; at her side was Julian of Ephesus. Immense strain had sharpened their sense of fear until it was as acute as an instinct. Before the sound of the Maccabee's furious approach reached Julian, the Ephesian whirled. Towering over him, the very picture of retribution, was the man he had left, apparently dead by his hand, by the roadside in the hills of Judea months and months before. For an instant, Julian stood petrified. Over his lips came a faint, frozen whisper that Laodice heard--that was proof enough to her, the moment after. "Philadelphus--Maccabaeus!" When his outraged kinsman put out vengeful hands to seize him, the Maccabee grasped the air. Julian of Ephesus had vanished! * * * * * Among the rocks at the base of the cliff that sheltered Christian Pella from the rude winds of the Perean mountains, the procurator of the city, Philadelphus Maccabaeus, and his wife, Laodice, sat side by side in the morning sun. There was a path little wider than a man's hand wandering along below them toward a well in the hollow of the rocks. Along this way, in early morning, Joseph, the shepherd, was in the habit of driving his sheep to drink. And hither the procurator and his wife came to visit the boy from time to time. Within their hall, there was too much state. Something in the wild open of Judea with its winds gave them all an ease whenever they wished to talk with Joseph. But the shepherd was not in sight. The pair sat down and waited for him. Laodice rested against her husband's arm, laid along the rock behind her. Presently he freed that arm and with the ease of much usage withdrew the bodkins from her hair. The heavy coil dropped over his breast down to his knee. With delicate touches he began to free from the splendid tangle a single strand of glistening white hair. When she saw it shining like spun silver across the back of his hand, she looked up at him. With infinite care he searched her face, while she waited with questioning in her tender eyes. "This," he said, lifting the hand that supported the silver threads, "is the sole evidence that thou hast seen the abomination of desolation." "And that came the night I journeyed away from Jerusalem, without you," she declared. "But, my Philadelphus," she said, turning herself a little that she might hide her face away from him, "had I stayed with you against my conscience, I had been by this time wholly white." He kissed her. "I did not expect you to stay," he said. "I knew from the beginning that you would not. Ask Joseph. He will bear me out." Low on the slope of the hill, the shepherd approached, calling his sheep that trailed after him contentedly by the hundreds. The excited bark of Urge, the sheep-dog, came up faintly to them. While they leaned watching them, old Momus, bent and broken, stood before them. Laodice hurriedly drew away from her husband's clasp. It was a habit she had never entirely shaken off, whenever the mute appeared, in spite of the old man's pathetic dumb protest. He handed a linen scroll to his master. It read: The captives whom thou hast asked for freedom at Cæsar's hand are this day sent to thee, Philadelphus, under escort. They should reach thee a little later than this messenger. However, it is Cæsar's pain to inform thee that the Greek Amaryllis as well as the actress Salome were not to be found. Julian of Ephesus, who named the woman for us, is here at Cæsarea, but being a Roman citizen, is not a captive. However it shall be seen to that his liberty is sufficiently curtailed for the welfare of the public. Also, I send herewith a shittim-wood casket found with John of Gischala when he was captured in a cavern under Jerusalem. It contains treasure and certain writings which identify it as property of thy wife. There were other features in it which, coming to my hand first, made it advisable that the State should not know of its existence. And privately, it will be wise in thee to destroy them. The Maccabee stopped at this point and looked at Laodice. "What does he mean?" he asked. "My father put your last letter in the case," she said, with a little panic in her face. The Maccabee laughed, and went on, Those that go forward to thee are Nathan of Jerusalem and Aquila of Ephesus. To thy wife my obeisances. To thyself, greeting. CARUS, TRIBUNE. THE END 
44241	----	file was produced from images generously made available by the Jewish National and University Library, Digitized Book Repository) JERUSALEM EXPLORED BEING A Description of the Ancient and Modern City. Cambridge: PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS. JERUSALEM EXPLORED BEING A Description of the Ancient and Modern City, WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS CONSISTING OF VIEWS, GROUND PLANS, AND SECTIONS, BY ERMETE PIEROTTI, DOCTOR OF MATHEMATICS, AND ARCHITECT-ENGINEER, CIVIL AND MILITARY, TO HIS EXCELLENCY SURRAYA PASHA OF JERUSALEM. TRANSLATED BY THOMAS GEORGE BONNEY, M.A., F.G.S. FELLOW OF ST JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. VOLUME II.--PLATES. [Illustration: Printer's logo] LONDON: BELL AND DALDY, FLEET STREET. CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON, BELL, AND CO. M.DCCC.LXIV. [The right of Translation is reserved.] CONTENTS. PLATE I. PANORAMA OF JERUSALEM, SEEN FROM THE MOUNT OF OLIVES. II. PLAN OF MODERN JERUSALEM. III. PLAN OF ANCIENT JERUSALEM. IV. FOUR SECTIONS OF ANCIENT JERUSALEM, SHEWING THE UNDERGROUND CONSTRUCTIONS IN COMPARISON WITH THE PRESENT LEVEL OF THE CITY. V. ANCIENT CITADEL OF THE JEBUSITES, AFTERWARDS THAT OF DAVID, THEN THAT OF THE PISANS. THE JAFFA GATE. VI. THE TOWERS PHASÆLUS AND MARIAMNE. THE TOWER HIPPICUS IS CONCEALED BY PHASÆLUS. VII. GATE OF DAMASCUS. VIII. VIEWS OF THE ROYAL CAVERNS, AND OF THE GROTTO OF JEREMIAH. IX. PLANS AND SECTIONS OF THE ROYAL CAVERNS, AND OF THE GROTTO OF JEREMIAH. X. DETAILS OF ANCIENT MASONRY--OF THE CONSTRUCTION OF ANCIENT CONDUITS--OF THE POOLS--OF THE WELL OF JOAB, AND OF SOLOMON'S RESERVOIRS AT ETHAM. XI. THE HARAM ES-SHERIF. XII. PLAN OF LAND BELONGING TO THE DAUGHTERS OF SION, AND OF THE SUBTERRANEAN PASSAGE COMMUNICATING WITH MORIAH, DISCOVERED BY PIEROTTI--SECTIONS RELATING TO THIS LAND AND TO MOUNT MORIAH. XIII. VIEW OF THE ARCH OF THE ECCE-HOMO, WITH THE SMALLER ARCH TO THE NORTH, DISCOVERED BY PIEROTTI. XIV. VIEW OF THE BARRACK OF THE HARAM ES-SHERIF. XV. REMAINS OF ANCIENT MASONRY, CALLED THE RUINS OF THE TOWER ANTONIA. XVI. VIEW OF THE POOL OF BETHESDA. XVII. ANCIENT JEWISH WORK IN THE NORTH-EAST OF THE HARAM WALL, NEAR S. MARY'S GATE. XVIII. EASTERN VIEW OF THE GOLDEN GATE. XIX. WESTERN VIEW OF THE GOLDEN GATE. XX. VIEW OF THE SOUTH GATE OF THE HARAM ES-SHERIF (BAB EL-HULDAH). XXI. WESTERN VIEW OF EL-AKSA, NEAR THE SOUTH-WESTERN ANGLE. XXII. WAILING-PLACE OF THE JEWS. A PORTION OF THE ANCIENT WALL OF THE TEMPLE ENCLOSURE. XXIII. FAÇADE OF THE MOSQUE EL-AKSA. XXIV. SECTION OF THE MOSQUE OF EL-AKSA, AND OF ITS SUBSTRUCTIONS. XXV. UNDERGROUND WORKS OF THE MOSQUE OF EL-AKSA, THE MONOLITH IN THE UNDERGROUND WORKS. XXVI. NORTH-EASTERN VIEW OF KUBBET ES-SAKHARAH, AND OF KUBBET ES-SILSILEH. XXVII. SECTION OF KUBBET ES-SAKHARAH--VIEW OF THE INTERIOR OF THE GOLDEN GATE. XXVIII. FOUR MOSAICS IN THE INTERIOR OF KUBBET ES-SAKHARAH, AND MOSQUE EL-AKSA. XXIX. DETAILS OF THE CAPITAL OF THE MONOLITH IN THE UNDERGROUND WORKS OF EL-AKSA; OF THE ORNAMENTATION OF THE GOLDEN GATE; AND OF THE SIX CAPITALS WHICH CROWN THE COLUMNS OF THE MOSQUES. XXX. PLAN AND SECTION OF LAND SURROUNDING THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION AND THE HOSPITAL OF THE KNIGHTS OF S. JOHN. XXXI. VIEW OF THE POOL AMYGDALON, AND OF THE DOMES OF THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION. XXXII. FRONT OF THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION. XXXIII. GATE OF THE ENTRANCE-DOOR TO THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION. XXXIV. PLAN OF THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION WITH ITS LEVELS, AND SECTION OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE--PLAN AND SECTION OF THE TOMB IN ITS ANCIENT AND IN ITS PRESENT STATE. XXXV. INTERIOR VIEWS OF THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION, VIZ. GREAT DOME, CALVARY GREEK CHAPEL, CHAPEL OF S. HELENA. XXXVI. DETAILS OF SEVEN CAPITALS IN AND NEAR THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION. XXXVII. ENTRANCE TO THE HOSPITAL OF S. JOHN. XXXVIII. RUINS OF THE CHURCH OF S. MARY THE GREAT. XXXIX. PLANS AND SECTIONS OF THE ARMENIAN CHURCH OF S. JAMES, AND MOSAICS. XL. VIEW OF THE CHURCH OF S. ANN. PROPERTY OF FRANCE. XLI. PLANS AND SECTIONS OF THE FRENCH CHURCH OF S. ANN. XLII. INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH OF S. ANN, AND FOUR DETAILS OF ORNAMENTATION. XLIII. TWO DOORS IN THE TEKHIYEH EL-KHASSEKI-SULTANE, COMMONLY CALLED THE HOSPITAL OF S. HELENA. XLIV. ANCIENT GATE OF SARACENIC ARCHITECTURE IN THE DESCENT OF SILLA, AND A VIEW OF A FOUNTAIN IN THE TYROPOEON VALLEY. XLV. VIEW OF THE COENACULUM, AND OF THE SO-CALLED TOMB OF DAVID. XLVI. PLAN AND SECTION OF THE COENACULUM; THE SO-CALLED TOMB OF DAVID; AND OF THE UNDERGROUND WORKS OF MOUNT SION. XLVII. PLAN AND SECTION OF THE TOMBS OF ACELDAMA. XLVIII. SOUTH-EASTERN EXTREMITY OF THE VALLEY OF SILOAM. XLIX. VIEW OF THE VALLEY OF JEHOSHAPHAT. L. FRONT OF THE TOMB OF THE VIRGIN MARY. LI. PLANS AND SECTIONS OF THE TOMB OF THE VIRGIN MARY, AND OF THE CAVE OF THE AGONY. LII. MOUNT OF OLIVES AND THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE. LIII. PLAN AND SECTION OF MOSQUE SITUATED ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES, AND DETAILS OF FIVE CAPITALS. LIV. PLAN AND SECTIONS OF THE TOMBS OF THE PROPHETS SITUATED IN THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.--VIEW, PLAN, AND SECTION OF THE TOMB OF LAZARUS AT BETHANY. LV. VIEW OF THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS. LVI. PLAN AND SECTIONS OF THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS, AND OF OTHER TOMBS; THAT OF JEHOSHAPHAT, AND ONE LIKE THAT OF OUR LORD. LVII. ANCIENT JEWISH SYNAGOGUE IN THE VALLEY OF THE KIDRON, TOWARDS THE NORTH. LVIII. VIEW OF THE TOMBS OF THE JUDGES, AND OF OTHER TOMBS TO THE NORTH OF JERUSALEM. LIX. PLANS AND SECTIONS OF THE TOMBS OF THE JUDGES, AND OF THE OTHER TOMBS. LX. PLAN AND SECTION OF S. PELAGIA'S TOMB ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.--DETAILS OF SEPULCHRES IN THE VALLEY OF JEHOSHAPHAT, AND OF SOME OTHERS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF JERUSALEM. LXI. DETAILS RELATING TO THE TOMBS. LXII. POOL OF MAMILLAH, OR SERPENTS' POOL (ACCORDING TO JOSEPHUS), NEAR THE MONUMENT OF HEROD ON THE WEST OF THE CITY. LXIII. PLAN AND SECTION OF THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY CROSS TO THE WEST OF JERUSALEM, AND DETAILS OF THE MOSAICS. PLATE I. PANORAMA OF JERUSALEM, SEEN FROM THE MOUNT OF OLIVES. REFERENCES 1. Hill of Evil Counsel. 2. Aqueduct of Solomon. 3. Mount of Rephaim. 4. Cave of S. Peter's Repentance. 5. Mount Sion. 6. Tomb of David. 7. Scene of the Last Supper. 8. Harem es Sherîf. 9. Court of the Mosque Kubbet es-Sakharrah. 10. Mosque el Aksa. 11. Kubbet es-Sakharah. 12. Jewish Hospital. 13. Armenian Convent. 14. Church of S. James. 15. English Church. 16. Castle of David. 17. Greek Convent of S. John the Baptist. 18. Minaret of Ibrahim's Mosque. 19. The Western Mountains. 20. Tower of the Church of the Resurrection. 21. Church of the Resurrection. 22. Hospice of Saladin. 23. Greek Convent of S. Basil. 24. Latin Convent of S. Saviour. 25. Minaret of the Serai. 26. Tekhie el-Kasyeki Sultane. 27. Residence of the Governor of Jerusalem. 28. Barrack of the Haram es-Sherîf. 29. A building belonging to the Daughters of Sion. 30. Minaret. The ancient Palace of Herod. 31. Church of S. Ann. 32. Mount Gihon. 33. Convent of the Dancing Dervishes. 34. Herod's Gate. 35. Ancient Church of S. Mary Magdalene. 36. Bastion of Godfrey of Bouillon. 37. Kerm es Sheikh. 38. S. Mary's Gate. 39. Saracenic Ruin. 40. Golden Gate. 41. Cemetery. 42. Way of the Capture. 43. Valley of the Kidron. 44. Place where S. Stephen was stoned (?). 45. Gethsemane. 46. Arab Tower. 47. Tomb of Absalom. 48. Mount of Offence. 49. Tomb of the Virgin Mary. 50. Mount of Olives. [Illustration: PLATE I., Panorama of Jerusalem, seen from the Mount of Olives. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE II. PLAN OF MODERN JERUSALEM. REFERENCES. THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF MODERN JERUSALEM. (Beginning with the North.) A. Ancient Jewish Tombs. B. Tomb of Simon the Just. C. Sheikh Jerrak. D. Remarkable Rock. Site of an ancient Church of Eudoxia. E. New Protestant Church. F. Russian Garden. G. Cisterns. H. Church. I. Hospice for Male and Female Pilgrims. J. House of the Ecclesiastical Mission. K. Hospital. L. Coach-houses. M. Porter's Lodge. N. Blockhouse of the Guard. O. Mohammedan Cemetery. P. Ruins of the Church of S. Babylas. Q. Ruins. R. Cave. S. New Greek Plantations. T. Greek Convent of S. George. U. Cistern. V. Mill. X. Castle of the Sparrow (Kasr el-Asfur). Y. Protestant Cemetery. Z. Protestant School for Boys. W. Staircase cut in the Rock. (A. Scene of the Last Supper. (B. Tomb of David (Neby Daûd). (C. Christian Cemetery. (D. Cavern of Mount Sion. (E. American Cemetery. (F. House of Caiaphas. (G. Place where the Virgin died. (H. Cave of S. Peter's Penitence. (I. Ruins of an Ancient Tomb. (J. Tomb of S. Onuphrius. (K. Remarkable Tomb of Aceldama. (L. Pool of Bîr-Eyûb. (M. Ancient Jewish Pool filled up. (N. Tomb of the Prophet Isaiah. (O. Pool of Siloam. (P. Fountain of the Virgin. (Q. Scarped Rock. (R. Monolith of Siloam. (S. Remains of an Ancient Conduit. (T. Way of the Capture. (U. Remarkable Tomb. (V. Tomb of Zachariah. (X. Tomb of S. James (Diwan Faroon). (Y. Bridge of the Capture. (Z. Tomb of Absalom. (W. Tomb of Jehoshaphat. a. Water-Conduit. b. Site of the Ancient Church dedicated to the Pater Noster. c. Site of the Ancient Church dedicated to the Creed. d. Tomb of S. Pelagia. e. Site of the Ascension. f. Place where Jesus wept over Jerusalem.? g. Ancient Olive. h. Place where Judas betrayed Jesus. i. Place where the Apostles fell asleep. j. Arab Tower. k. Cave of the Agony. l. Tomb of the Virgin. m. Place where S. Stephen was stoned. n. Pool called Hammam Sitti-Miryam. o. Pool of the Pilgrim. p. Ditch cut in the Rock. q. Cemetery (Turbet ez-Zahara). r. Cotton Grotto (Megharet el-Kotton). s. Cisterns. CIRCUMFERENCE OF THE MODERN CITY. (Beginning at the North). t. Damascus Gate (Bab el-`Amûd). u. Gate of Herod (Bab ez-Zahari). v. S. Mary's Gate (Bab Sitti-Miryam). x. Saracenic Ruin. y. Golden Gate (Bab ed-Dahariyeh). z. Gate of Jehoshaphat (according to De Saulcy). w. Sirah Bridge, or Bridge of Paradise. (a. Gate of Jehoshaphat (according to Pierotti), closed. (b. Triple gate, closed. (c. South Gate (Bab el-Huldah), closed. (d. Dung Gate (Bab el-Mugharibeh). (e. Sion Gate (Bab en-Neby Daûd). (f. Jaffa Gate (Bab el-Khalil). (g. The Office of the Quarantine. (h. The Custom-house. Greek Shops. INTERIOR OF THE CITY. (Beginning of the West.) 1. Castle of David. 2. Pool filled up. 3. Present residence of the Latin Patriarch. 4. House of the Anglican Bishop. 5. Greek Convent of S. John Baptist. 6. Pool of Hezekiah. 7. Hospice of the Copts. 8. Latin Hospital of S. Louis. 9. Coptic Convent. 10. Greek Catholic Convent. 11. Greek Convent of S. Demetrius. 12. New residence of the Latin Patriarch. 13. Mohammedan Tomb. 14. Ancient Ruins. 15. Ancient Mosque. 16. Greek Convent of S. Basil. 17. Greek Convent of S. Theodore. 18. Casa Nuova (Deir Jedidi). 19. Latin Convent of S. Saviour. 20. Greek Convent of S. George of the Hospital. 21. Latin School for Boys. 22. Greek Convent of S. Michael. 23. Latin Sisters of S. Joseph. 24. Greek Convent of S. Nicholas. 25. Temporary residence of the Russian Bishop. 26. Greek School for Boys. 27. Greek School for Girls. 28. Greek Convent of the Virgin Woman. 29. Greek Convent of S. Constantine. 30. Residence of the Greek Patriarch. 31. Greek Convent of S. Catharine. 32. Greek Convent of S. Euthymius. 33. Greek Convent of the Virgin Child. 34. Hospice of Saladin (el-Kanki). 35. Church of the Resurrection. 36. Vestibule of the Church of the Resurrection. 37. Ground anciently belonging to the Knights of S. John. 38. Lesser Mosque of Omar. 39. Greek Convent dependent on the Church of Gethsemane. 40. Land formerly belonging to the Church of S. Mary the Great. 41. Ruins of the Church of S. Mary the Great. 42. Ancient Bazaar. 43. Greek Convent of S. Abraham. 44. Land for the Russian Consulate on the site of the ancient Church of S. Mary Latin. 45. Convent and Court of the Abyssinians. 46. Cistern of S. Helena belonging to the Copts. 47. Latin House, called that of the Prince. 48. Greek Convent of S. Charalampes, where Jesus met the Daughters of Sion. 49. Prussian House. 50. Gate of Judgment, with an ancient pillar. Second Fall of Jesus. 51. Residence of the Spanish Consul. 52. Protestant School for Girls. 53. Protestant School for Carpenters. 54. New Greek Convent. 55. Foundation of Ancient Towers. 56. Mohammedan Convent of Dervishes. 57. Interior of the Cotton Grotto. 58. Convent of the Dancing Dervishes, ancient Church of S. Peter. 59. Mohammedan Tombs. 60. Ancient Church of S. Mary Magdalen. 61. Ancient Walls. 62. Church of S. Ann, the property of France. 63. Ruins of the Convent of the Sisters of S. Benedict. 64. Bath (Hammam Sitti Miryam). 65. Sheep Pool (Birket Israïl). 66. Mohammedan Bath. 67. Remains of Ancient Masonry, called the Tower Antonia. 68. Barrack of the Haram es-Sherîf. 69. Scala Sancta. 70. Chapel dedicated to the Flagellation. 71. Ancient Church, dedicated to the Nativity of Mary. 72. Hospice of the Flagellation. 73. Convent of the Daughters of Sion. 74. Spring discovered by Pierotti, July 12, 1860. 75. Subterranean Passage discovered by Pierotti, June 3, 1860. 76. Ruined Mosque, the ancient Palace of Herod. 77. Minaret. 78. Arch, called that of the Ecce Homo. 79. Hospice of the Kusbeck Dervishes. 80. Austrian Hospice. 81. Ruined Church of the Spasma. 82. First Fall of Christ, upon ground belonging to Armenian Catholics. 83. Residence of the Governor of Jerusalem. 84. School of Saladin. 85. Fountains. 86. Military Hospital. House of Dives. 87. Spot where Jesus met his Mother. 88. Spot where Simon the Cyrenian took the Cross. 89. House of Veronica. 90. Prussian Consulate. 91. Prussian Hospice. 92. Hospital of S. Helena (Tekhie el-Kasyeki Sultane). 93. House of the Dervishes. (Ancient Saracenic.) 94. Ancient German Hospital. 95. Bazaar of the Haram es-Sherîf. 96. Bath (Hammam es-Shefa). 97. Ancient Bridge, according to Williams and Pierotti. 98. Hospital of Omar. 99. Tribunal of the Kadi (Mehkemeh). 100. Jews' Wailing-place. 101. Gate Mugharibeh. 102. Ancient Pier, called Robinson's Bridge. 103. Ancient Walls. 104. Jewish Hospital, called the Rothschild. 105. Jewish Synagogue. 106. Jewish Hospice. 107. Polish Synagogue. 108. Synagogue. 109. Ancient Gate. 110. English Hospital. 111. English property. 112. Prussian Hospital. House of the Prussian Deaconesses. 113. English Church and Houses. 114. House of S. James the Less. 115. Ruins of the Prison of S. Peter. 116. Armenian Convent. 117. Church of S. James. 118. Residence of the Armenian Patriarch. 119. Armenian Garden. 120. Barrack of Mount Sion. 121. Armenian Hospice for Pilgrims. 122. Armenian Seminary. 123. Armenian House. Pilgrims. 124. Quarter of the Lepers. 125. House of Anna (Deir ez-Zeitun). 126. Greek Convent of S. George. 127. Large and Ancient Synagogue. 128. New buildings of the Jews. [Illustration: PLAN OF MODERN JERUSALEM, PLATE II. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE III. PLAN OF ANCIENT JERUSALEM. REFERENCES. (Beginning at the North.) A. Ancient Synagogue. B. Pool of Kidron. C. Fosse of the Ancient City, to the North. D. Channel of the waters of Gihon. E. Pool of the Serpents, or Bethora. F. Restored Pool. G. Remains of Ancient Jewish Walls. H. Monument of Ananus. I. Solomon's Pool. King's Pool. J. Reservoir of Siloam. Pool of Scelah. K. Pool for Blood. L. Monolith. Ancient Tomb. M. Jewish Tombs. N. Monument erected by Absalom (not the pyramidal part). O. Golden Gate of the time of Justinian. P. Gate of the time of Crusaders. Q. Triple Gate of the time of Justinian. R. Huldah Gate. S. Tomb of David and of the other Kings. GATES OF THE CITY OF NEHEMIAH. I. Sheep Gate. II. Tower of Hananeel. III. Tower of Meah. IV. Fish Gate. V. The Old Gate. VI. Ephraim Gate. VII. Eastern Gate. VIII. Water Gate. IX. Fountain Gate. X. Valley Gate. XI. Dung Gate. XII. Steps of the City of David. XIII. The Broad Wall. XIV. The Tower of the Furnaces. XV. Sheepfold Gate. GATES OF THE CITY BELONGING TO PERIODS BEFORE THE TIME OF NEHEMIAH, AND AFTER THE TIME OF HEROD. a. Double Gate, or Gate between the Two Walls. b. Corner Gate. c. Sheep Gate. d. Gennath Gate. e. North Gate. f. Gate of the Essenes. INTERIOR OF THE CITY (ACCORDING TO PIEROTTI). 1. Fortress of Sion. 2. Hippicus. 3. Phasael. 4. Mariamne. 5. Millo. Descent to Silla. Street of David. 6. Amygdalon. 7. Tower Psephinus. 8. Women's Tower. 9. Corner Tower. 10. Pool of Struthium. 11. Tower Baris, or Antonia, or Citadel of Antiochus Epiphanes. 12. Roman Arch, not earlier than the time of Adrian. 13. Passage called by Josephus Strato's Tower. 14. Ancient Prætorium. 15. Remains of the Walls of the Prætorium. 16. Pavement, or Gabbatha. 17. Way of the Cross (according to Pierotti). 18. Passage of Herod. 19. Threshing-Floor of Araunah the Jebusite. 20. Altar of Burnt Offerings. 21. Cistern for Blood. 22. Place of the Ashes. 23. Cisterns for receiving the Blood. 24. Position of Solomon's Palace. 25. Basilica of S. Mary, of the time of Justinian. 26. "Stoa Basilica," early underground Buildings of Jewish construction restored by Justinian. 27. Substructions of the Aksa of the time of Justinian. 28. Ancient Pillar. 29. Herodian Wall. 30. Foundations of the Eastern Tower of the Bridge of the time of the Maccabees. 31. Palace of the Senate. 32. Bridge now existing (according to Williams and Pierotti). 33. Xystus. 34. Palace of King Agrippa, overlooking the Temple. 35. Sepulchre of Jesus Christ. 36. Golgotha. [Illustration: PLAN OF ANCIENT JERUSALEM, Plate III. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE IV. FOUR SECTIONS OF ANCIENT JERUSALEM, SHEWING THE UNDERGROUND CONSTRUCTIONS IN COMPARISON WITH THE PRESENT LEVEL OF THE CITY. REFERENCES. SECTION (A) (B). A. Mount Scopus. B. Ancient Jewish Tomb. C. Pool of the Kidron. D. The North-west Mountains. E. Cistern. F. Way. G. Ancient Tomb. H. Ancient level of the Brook Kidron. I. Present level of the Brook Kidron. K. Supposed Water-Conduit of Hezekiah, according to Williams. L. Monument of Helena, according to De Barrère and Pierotti. M. Ancient level of the Lower City. N. Place covered with ruins and earth. O. Sewers of the Tyropoeon Valley. P. Cistern. Q. North Gate, according to Josephus. R. Damascus Gate. S. Tower Psephinus of Schultz. T. Height of Bezetha. U. Russian property. V. Tower Psephinus of Barclay. X. Tower Psephinus of Pierotti. Y. Present level of the City. Z. Ancient level of the Upper City. W. Church of the Resurrection. a. Latin Convent of S. Saviour. b. Fountain. c. Level of the Haram es-Sherîf. d. Residence of the Latin Patriarch. e. Jaffa Gate. f. Tower Hippicus. g. English Church. h. Street of David. i. Bridge uniting Moriah and Sion, now existing. (K). Aqueduct of Solomon. l. Church of S. James. m. Dung-Gate. n. Zion Street. (O). Subterranean passage. p. Conduit for blood. (Q). Fountain of the Virgin. (T). Water Conduit. (M). Upper Pool of Siloam. s. Water Conduit. t. Lower Pool of Siloam. u. Valley of Hinnom. v. Valley of Rephaim. x. Height of Bezetha. y. Scene of the Last Supper. (Z). Aceldama. (1). Hill of Evil Counsel. 2. Tophet. 3. Brook Kidron. 4. En-Rogel = Bîr-Eyûb. SECTION (G) (H). (A). Mount Scopus. D. The north-west Mountains. H. Ancient level of the Brook Kidron. I. Present level of the Brook Kidron. 5. Ancient Mohammedan Cemetery. 6. Kerm es-Sheikh. 7. Ditch of the City, cut in the rock. 8. Present Wall of the City. 9. Ancient level of the Northern valley. N. Place covered with ruins and earth. T. Height of Bezetha. X. Tower Psephinus of Pierotti. 10. Pool of Bethesda. 11. Subterranean Passage made by Herod. W. Church of the Resurrection. 12. Court of the Mosque Kubbet es-Sakharah. 13. Kubbet es-Sakharah. e. Jaffa Gate. 14. Cistern of Araunah. 15. Cisterns for Blood. 16. Haram es-Sherîf. 17. Mosque el-Aksa. 18. Underground works of el-Aksa. 19. Ophel. 20. Present wall of the City. 1. Church of S. James. p. Conduit for Blood. (2). Fountain of the Virgin. 3. Brook Kidron. 21. Mount Sion. 22. Village of Siloam. u. Valley of Hinnom. x. Height of Bezetha. 23. Height of the Mount of Offence. 24. Mount of Offence. 4. En-Rogel = Bîr-Eyûb. SECTION (D) (C). 23. Mount of Olives. 24. Place where Jesus wept over Jerusalem. 25. Height of the Mount Scopus. 26. Jewish Cemetery. H. Ancient level of the Brook Kidron. I. Present level of the Brook Kidron. N. Place covered with ruins and earth. T. Height of Bezetha. 8. Present Wall of the City. p. Conduit for Blood. 27. Cistern of Blood. 12. Court of the Mosque Kubbet es-Sakharah. 14. Cistern of Araunah. 28. Dome of the Chain. 13. Kubbet es-Sakharah. 29. Mount Moriah. 30. Acra. 31. Bazaar of the Haram. 32. Tyropoeon Valley. 33. Mount Sion. W. Church of the Resurrection. 34. Pool of Amygdalon. (K). Hezekiah's Canal. 35. Valley of Gihon. 36. Upper Pool = Birket Mamillah. 37. Monument of Herod. SECTION (E) (F). L. Monument of Helena. M. Ancient level of the City. 38. Tyropoeon Valley. 8. Present Wall of the City. N. Place covered with ruins and earth. W. Church of the Resurrection. 39. Mosque of Omar. 40. Ground anciently belonging to the Knights of S. John. 41. Mount Gareb. u. Valley of Hinnom. v. Valley of Rephaim. 42. Hill of Evil Counsel. (1). Hill of Evil Counsel. ((S)). Conventional Signs. ((a)). Rock. ((b)). Place covered with ruins and earth. ((c)). Buildings of the City. ((d)). Mountains. ((e)). Water-Conduits. ((f)). Sewers. ((g)). Supposed Water-Conduits. ((h)). Conduit for Blood. ((i)). Ancient level of the City. ((h)). Subterranean passages. ((k)). Ancient or Remarkable Edifices. [Illustration: PLATE IV. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE V. ANCIENT CITADEL OF THE JEBUSITES, AFTERWARDS THAT OF DAVID, THEN THAT OF THE PISANS. THE JAFFA GATE. 1. Jaffa Gate. 2. Present Wall of the City. 3. The Custom House. 4. Citadel. 5. Barrack of Mount Sion. 6. Minaret of the Citadel. 7. Road from Bethlehem. 8. Road from Jaffa. 9. Mount Sion. 10. Valley of Gihon. [Illustration: PLATE V. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--E. Walker, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE VI. THE TOWERS PHASÆLUS AND MARIAMNE. THE TOWER HIPPICUS IS CONCEALED BY PHASÆLUS. 1. Citadel Gate. 2. Citadel. 3. Tower Phasælus. 4. Tower Mariamne. 5. Breast-work of a ditch. 6. Upper Road of Sion. [Illustration: PLATE VI. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE VII. GATE OF DAMASCUS. 1. Cistern. 2. Cistern in which the Author found the Old Northern Gate mentioned by Josephus. 3. Northern Road. 4. Road going round the City. 5. Elevation of the ground. 6. Ancient Wall of Herod. Masonry of Herod's Wall. 7. Path leading into the Royal Caves. 8. Dome of the Church of the Resurrection. [Illustration: PLATE VII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE VIII. VIEWS OF THE ROYAL CAVERNS, AND OF THE GROTTO OF JEREMIAH. Fig. 1. Royal Caverns. 1. Present City Walls. 2. Rock. 3. Outer Cave. 4. Ancient Entrance of the Inner Cave. 5. Present lower level of the ground. Fig. 2. Cave of Jeremiah. 1. Rock = Cave. 2. Inner Cave. 3. Place of Prayer. 4. Cemetery of Dervishes. [Illustration: PLATE VIII. E. Pierotti, Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE IX. PLANS AND SECTION OF THE ROYAL CAVERNS, AND OF THE GROTTO OF JEREMIAH. Fig. 1. Royal Caverns. 1. Ancient Entrance into the Caves. 2. Present Entrance. 3. The place from which the Jews quarried stones. 4. Large and deep Excavations, from which the Monolith of the Mosque el-Aksa was taken. 5. Fountain. 6. Overhanging rocks. 7. Chiselled rock, with the places from which blocks have been extracted. A. Present Wall of the City. B. } } C. } } Positions corresponding with the different Levels of the Section. D. } } &c.} Fig. 2. Grotto of Jeremiah. 8. Entrance. 9. Ancient Room of the period of S. Helena. 10. Cemetery of Dervishes. 11. Mohammedan Tomb of a Dervish. 12. Dervishes' Cooking-place. 13. Premises for food. 14. Place of Prayer. 15. Chiselled rock, with the places from which blocks have been extracted. 16. Pilaster. 17. Mill. 18. Modern Wall. [Illustration: PLATE IX. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE X. DETAILS OF ANCIENT MASONRY--OF THE CONSTRUCTION OF ANCIENT CONDUITS--OF THE POOLS--OF THE WELL OF JOAB, AND OF SOLOMON'S RESERVOIRS AT ETHAM. Fig. 1. Wall of the City of the time of Solomon. Fig. 2. Restoration of the Wall in the time of Nehemiah. Fig. 3. Wall of the time of Herod. Fig. 4. Roman Wall. Fig. 5. Wall restored by Solyman. Fig. 6. Wall of the Pool of Bethesda. a. General Conformation of the Stones composing the Wall of the Pool. b. Surface of the Wall. c. Joinings of the Stones covered with mosaic work. d. Wall with the whole of its surface rendered level. e. Section of the Wall without mosaic. f.} Details of the Conformation of the Wall. g.} Fig. 7. Section of the Wall of the Well Bir-Eyub. Fig. 8. Section of an arched Conduit. Fig. 9. Section of a Conduit roofed with slabs of Stone. Fig. 10. Section of Conduits with Pipes. Fig. 11. Plan and Section of the Pools of Solomon. a-b. Direction for finding the Sealed Fountain at Etham. I. First or Western Pool. II. Central Pool. III. Third or Eastern Pool. 1. Road to the Convent of St George. 2. Roads from Bethlehem to Hebron. 3. Castle. 4. Basin into which the Waters of the Sealed Fountain flow. 5. Fountain. 6. Conduits for Water. 7. Place from which the Waters are directed to Jerusalem. 8. Aqueduct leading to Jerusalem. [Illustration: PLATE X. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XI. THE HARAM ES-SHERIF. Beginning at the South-West corner of the Haram. A. Ancient Pier, supposed by Dr Robinson to be part of a Bridge. B. Wailing Place of the Jews. C. Wall of the time of Herod. D. Foundations of an ancient Tower (Asmonean period). E. Vaulted Gallery (Strato's Tower of Josephus). F. Arch of the Ecce Homo. G. Church of the Nativity of the Virgin. H. Pool of Bethesda. I. Wall of the date of Solomon in the foundations of the enclosure. J. Golden Gate. K. S. Mary's Gate. L. Subterranean Passage. M. Levelled Rock. N. Northern side of the ancient Tower Antonia. O. Remains of the wall of the Prætorium. P. Position of the Citadel of Antiochus Epiphanes. Q. Platform of the Kubbet es-Sakharah. R. Position of the Courts of the ancient Temple. S. Site of the ancient Temple. T. Site of the Holy of Holies. U. Site of the Holy Place. V. Altar of Burnt-offerings. W. Court of the Women. X. Court of the Israelites. Y. Court of the Levites. Z. Court of the Gentiles. a. Cistern which received the Blood of the Victims (the Cistern of the Threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite). b. The place of the Ashes. c. Conduit for the Blood. d. Cistern for the Blood. e. Great vaulted Chamber (anciently below the Stoa Basilica). f. Pointed Arch of the date of the Crusades (Gate of Jehoshaphat). g. Triple Gate of the time of Justinian. h. Gate of Huldah. i. Vaults below the Aksa. j. Monolith in the Vaults. m. Plan of the ancient Basilica of Justinian, as first discovered by Williams. n. Parts added by the Saracens. o. Armoury of the Crusaders. p. Site of Justinian's Hospice. Beginning at the Western side, near the Southern end. 1. Gate of the Mogarabins (Bâb el-Mogharba). 2. Gate of the Chain (Bâb es-Silsileh). 3. Gate of the Cotton Merchants (Bâb el-Katannin). 4. Gate of Iron (Bâb el-Kadid). 5. Gate of the Inspector (Bâb el-Nadhir). 6. First Fall of Christ. 7. Via Dolorosa. 8. Spring discovered by Pierotti. 9. Vault and Conduit discovered by Pierotti. 10. Barrack of the Haram es-Sherîf. 11. Gate of the Serai (Bâb es-Serai). 12. Gate of the Flocks (Bâb el-Ghavârineh). 13. Minaret of the Serai. 14. Scala Sancta. 15. Bâb el-Davater. 16. Ruined Bath. 17. Bâb el-Hotta. 18. Bâb es-Sabbat. 19. Houses of the dates of the Crusades, of Solyman, and of Selim. 20. Mohammedan Place of Prayer. 21. Stairs leading to the Barrack of the Haram. 22. Chamber of the Dervishes who guard the Haram. 23. Council-chamber of the Effendis. 24. Storehouse belonging to the Kubbet es-Sakharah. 25. Small Mosque dedicated to Fatima (daughter of Mohammed). 26. Small Mosque dedicated to the Angel Gabriel. 27. Kubbet es-Sakharah, commonly called the Mosque of Omar. 28. Bâb el-Garb (Western Gate). 29. Bâb el-Kibli (Gate of Prayer). 30. Bâb el-Jenni (Gate of Paradise). 31. Bâb el-Daûd (Gate of David). 32. Bir er-Arruah (Well of the Souls). 33. Sacred Rock of Solomon (Mohammedan tradition). 34. Kubbet es-Silsileh (Dome of the Chain). 35. Place where Saladin reposed after entering Jerusalem. 36. Stairs of valuable Marbles. 37. Wezn (the Invisible Balance). 38. Bâb el-Khadar. Cradle of Jesus. 39. Tombs of the Sons of Aaron (Mohammedan tradition). 40. Place reserved for the Women. 41. Chapel of S. John and Zacharias. 42. Ancient Wooden Pulpit. 43. Impression of the Foot of Jesus Christ. 44. Columns of Proof. 45. Minaret of the Mogarabins. 46. Great Storehouse of the Aksa. 47. Cultivated Fields. 48. Dung Gate. 49. Cactus Plantation. 50. Jewish Hospital (Rothschild's). 51. Pier (the Bridge of Dr Robinson). 52. Small Jewish Synagogue. 53. Mekhemeh (Mohammedan Tribunal). 54. Small Saracenic House. 55. Hammam es-Shefa (Bath). 56. Fountain (without Water). 57. Ruined Bath. 58. Bazaar of the Haram. 59. Entrance to the Hammam es-Shefa. 60. Tekhiyeh el-Khasseki-Sultane (Hospital of S. Helena). 61. School of Saladin (in ruins). 62. House with a façade of Saracenic Architecture. 63. Ancient Building of the date of Saladin, now a Government Prison. 64. Saracenic Fountain (without water.) 65. Military Hospital (House of Dives). 66. Place where Simon the Cyrenian met our Saviour. 67. Place where the Virgin Mary met our Saviour. 68. Palace of the Governor. 69. Property of the Armenian Catholics. 70. Property of the Kusbeck Dervishes. 71. Hospice for Austrian Italy. 72. Property of the Daughters of Sion. 73. Hospice of the Flagellation and Chapel. 74. Remains of an Ancient Tower (commonly called the Tower Antonia). 75. Property of the Church of S. Ann belonging to France. 76. Saracenic Fountain (without water). 77. Pool of the Virgin. 78. Ruin of a small Saracenic Monument. 79. Throne of Solomon (Mohammedan tradition). 80. Tomb of Yacûb Pasha and his Wife. [Illustration: HARAM ES-SHERIF, Plate XI. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XII. PLAN OF LAND BELONGING TO THE DAUGHTERS OF SION, AND OF THE SUBTERRANEAN PASSAGE COMMUNICATING WITH MORIAH, DISCOVERED BY PIEROTTI--SECTIONS RELATING TO THIS LAND AND TO MOUNT MORIAH. Fig. 1. Building belonging to the Daughters of Sion. V. Spring discovered by Pierotti. X. Water-conduit. 1. Sewer. 2. Mohammedan properties. 3. To Gate of Herod, and Bezetha. 4. To Hospice of the Flagellation. 5. To Bezetha. 6. Convent of the Daughters of Sion. 7. Greek property. 8. Latin property. 9. Via Dolorosa (traditional). 10. Arch discovered by Pierotti. 11. Arch called that of the Ecce Homo (posterior to the death of Christ). 12. Ancient Christian Chapel. 13. Convent of the Kusbeck Dervishes. 14. Subterranean passage discovered by Pierotti. 15. Ancient Gate, closed. 16. Sewer discovered by Pierotti. 17. Descent into vault. 18. Barrack of the Haram es-Sherîf. 19. To Haram es-Sherîf. 20. Minaret of Haram es-Sherîf. 21. Gate, closed. 22. Rock. Haram es-Sherîf. 23. Western Sewer} discovered by 24. Eastern Sewer} Pierotti. Fig. 2. (G) (H). Longitudinal Section. Fig. 3. (I) (L). Transverse Section. Fig. 4. (M) (N). Section of the Arch of the Ecce Homo. Fig. 5. (M) (N). View of the Arch of the Ecce Homo. (S'.S'). Conventional Signs. (a'). High Rock. (b'). Levelled Rock. (c'). Heaps of Ruins. (d'). Water. Cistern. Spring. (e'). Modern Walls. (f'). Walls of the City. (g'). Jewish Walls. (h'). Roman Walls. (i'). Walls of the Haram es-Sherîf. See PLATE XI. Fig. 1. (B) (A). Longitudinal Section of the Haram es-Sherîf. 1. Ophel. 2. Walls of the City. 3. Ruined Houses. 4. Mosque el-Aksa. 5. Rock. 6. Staircase leading to the vaults of the Mosque el-Aksa. 7. Birket es-Sultan. Cistern. 8. Water-channels. 9. Court of the Mosque of Kubbet es-Sakharah. 10. Kubbet es-Sakharah. 11. Cistern for blood, formerly the cistern of the threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite. 12. Cisterns for blood. 13. Kiblet dedicated to the Fatma. 14. Kiblet dedicated to the Angel Gabriel. 15. Houses of the times of the Crusaders, of Solyman, &c. 16. Little Sakharah. 17. Barrack of the Haram es-Sherîf. 18. Houses of the time of Saladin. 19. Northern Valley. 20. Barrack of the time of Ibrahim Pasha. 21. Mount Bezetha. a. South Gate of the time of Justinian. b. Staircase leading into the Cistern. c. Fountain. d. Kiblet of Saladin. Invisible scales. e. Kiblet of Zachariah. f. Gallery of Herod discovered by Pierotti. Fig. 2. (C) (D). Transverse Section of the Haram es-Sherîf. 22. Mount Sion. 23. Tyropoeon Valley. 24. Descent to Silla. 25. Acra. 26. Bath. Hammam es-Shefa. 27. Spring. Hammam es-Shefa. 28. Dome of Moses. 15. Houses of the times of the Crusaders, of Solyman, &c. 31. Channels. 29. Site of Mohammed's Ascension. 10. Kubbet es-Sakharah. 11. Cistern for blood. 30. Dome of the Chain--Kubbet es-Silsileh. 9. Court of the Mosque of Kubbet es-Sakharah. 32. Cisterns for receiving the blood and ashes. 33. Golden Gate. 34. Mount Moriah. 35. Mohammedan Cemetery. 3. Wall of Haram es-Sherîf. Fig. 3. (F) (G). Ancient Section. 36. Temple, properly so called. 37. Court of the Levites. Azarath Cohanîm. 38. Court of the Israelites. Azarath Yisrael. 39. Tower Antonia, by Pierotti. 40. Remains of the Wall of the Prætorium, and position of the same. 41. High Rock. Fig. 4. Section of the City. g. Mount Gihon. h. Valley of Gihon. i. Mount Sion. k. Tyropoeon Valley. l. Mount Acra. m. Large Valley. n. Mount Moriah. o. Valley of the Kidron. p. Mount of Olives. Fig. 5. Section of Mount Moriah. q. Ophel. n. Moriah. r. Northern Valley. s. Mount Bezetha. (S). Conventional Signs. (a). Rock. (b). Heaps of Ruins. (c). Walls of the early Arab period. (d). Distant Houses. (e). Ancient Walls. (f). Water-conduits. (g). Conduit for blood. [Illustration: PLATE XII. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XIII. VIEW OF THE ARCH OF THE ECCE-HOMO, WITH THE SMALLER ARCH TO THE NORTH, DISCOVERED BY PIEROTTI. 1. Arch of Ecce-Homo (?) Roman arch posterior to the death of Christ. 2. Mohammedan room, or place of prayers for the Mohammedans. 3. Arch discovered by Pierotti. 4. Cistern. 5. Niche of the period of the Crusades. 6. Convent of the Daughters of Sion. [Illustration: PLATE XIII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XIV. VIEW OF THE BARRACK OF THE HARAM ES-SHERIF. 1. Barrack of the Haram es-Sherîf. 2. Northern corner of the Tower Antonia, according to Pierotti. 3. Houses of the time of Saladin. 4. Entrance to the Haram es-Sherîf. 5. Mosque of the Little Sakharah. 6. Levelled rock. [Illustration: PLATE XIV. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XV. REMAINS OF ANCIENT MASONRY, CALLED THE RUINS OF THE TOWER ANTONIA. 1. Via Dolorosa. 2. Masonry of the Jewish period. 3. House of the period of the Crusades. 4. Saracenic Window. 5. Tower of the Ancient Arab period. 6. Common Arab wall. [Illustration: PLATE XV. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XVI. VIEW OF THE POOL OF BETHESDA. 1. Ancient Masonry of the Southern Wall of the Pool. 2. Mouths of the Sewers coming from the West. 3. Ancient Masonry of the Northern Wall of the Pool. 4. Heap of Ruins and Rubbish. [Illustration: PLATE XVI. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XVII. ANCIENT JEWISH WORK IN THE NORTH-EAST OF THE HARAM WALL, NEAR S. MARY'S GATE. 1. Ancient Saracenic Monument. 2. Ancient Jewish Stone in the North-east corner of Haram es-Sherîf. 3. The largest stones of the Herodian period. 4. Stones of the period of Solomon. 5. Restoration of the Wall. 6. Recent Restoration of the Wall by the natives. 7. Arab Wall of the time of Solomon. 8. Modern Mohammedan Tombs. 9. Eastern Slope of the Mount Moriah. [Illustration: PLATE XVII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XVIII. EASTERN VIEW OF THE GOLDEN GATE. 1. Stones of the time of Solomon. 2. Wall of the time of Sulyman. 3. Wall of the time of Justinian. 4. Golden Gate, closed with a native Wall. 5. Modern Mohammedan Tombs. 6. Inclination of Mount Moriah. [Illustration: PLATE XVIII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XIX. WESTERN VIEW OF THE GOLDEN GATE. 1. Wall of the time of Justinian. 2. Ornaments of Justinian. 3. Native House. 4. Modern native Construction. 5. Haram es-Sherîf. [Illustration: PLATE XIX. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XX. VIEW OF THE SOUTH GATE OF THE HARAM ES-SHERIF,(BAB EL-HULDAH.) 1. Ornaments of the time of Justinian. 2. Inverted Inscription of Antoninus Pius. 3. Window through which the Underground Gallery can be seen. 4. Huldah Gate, closed. 5. Gate of the time of the Crusaders, closed. 6. Wall of the time of Justinian. 7. Ophel. [Illustration: PLATE XX. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXI. WESTERN VIEW OF EL-AKSA, NEAR THE SOUTHWESTERN ANGLE. 1. Mount of Olives. 2. Mount Viri-Galilæi. 3. Mosque of the Ascension of Jesus Christ. 4. Arab Tower. 5. Mount of Offence. 6. Place where Jesus wept over Jerusalem. 7. Mosque el-Aksa. 8. Minaret of the Mogarabins. 9. Mosque of Abu-Bekr: Wall of the period of the Crusades. 10. Arab Ruins. 11. The Bridge, according to Dr. Robinson. 12. Tyropoeon Valley. [Illustration: PLATE XXI. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXII. WAILING-PLACE OF THE JEWS. A PORTION OF THE ANCIENT WALL OF THE TEMPLE ENCLOSURE. This Wall is of the date of Herod the Great, and is the best specimen of the Masonry of that period to be found in Jerusalem. The Jews come to pray and weep before it every Friday. [Illustration: PLATE XXII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXIII. FAÇADE OF THE MOSQUE EL-AKSA. 1. Ancient Piers. 2. Piers of a much later date. 3. Steps leading to a Storehouse. 4. Opening into the Cistern Birket es-Sultan. 5. Haram es-Sherîf. [Illustration: PLATE XXIII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXIV. SECTION OF THE MOSQUE OF EL-AKSA, AND OF ITS SUBSTRUCTIONS. 1. Position of the Ancient Choir, thrown down by an earthquake. 2. Ancient Jewish Wall. A.} } B.} Capitals found by Pierotti. } C.} D. Wooden Roof of the Mosque el-Aksa. E. Wall of the time of Justinian. F. Aperture in the Wall leading to Subterranean Passage on the West. G. Walled-up Door. H. Monolith. L. Side-doors of the Mosque. M. Tombs of Aaron's Sons, according to Mohammedan traditions. [Illustration: PLATE XXIV. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXV. UNDERGROUND WORKS OF THE MOSQUE OF EL-AKSA. THE MONOLITH IN THE UNDERGROUND WORKS. Fig. 1. Underground Works. a. Vaulted underground Works, originally Jewish building. Restoration by Justinian (as shewn by Rev. G. Williams) b. Pillars of the time of Justinian. c. Wall erected by Justinian. f. Monolith. Fig. 2. Monolith. d. Dome vaulting of the time of Justinian. e. Staircase resting on the Rock. f. Monolith. g. Smaller Monolith. h. Rusticated Stones of the time of Herod. [Illustration: PLATE XXV. E. Pierotti, Delt.--E. Walker, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXVI. NORTH-EASTERN VIEW OF KUBBET ES-SAKHARAH, AND OF KUBBET ES-SILSILEH. 1. Mosque Kubbet es-Sakharah. 2. Ladder used by Pierotti for his observations. 3. Minaret of Kadhi. 4. Kubbet es-Silsileh, Dome of the Chain. 5. Bâb el-Daûd, David's Gate. 6. Cistern (the Place of the Ashes). 7. Bâb el-Jenni, Gate of Paradise. 8. Mount Moriah (anciently the Threshing-floor of Araunah). [Illustration: PLATE XXVI. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXVII. SECTION OF KUBBET ES-SAKHARAH--VIEW OF THE INTERIOR OF THE GOLDEN GATE. Fig. 1. Kubbet es-Sakharah. A. Bâb el-Kibli, Gate of Prayer. B. Bâb el-Jenni, Gate of Paradise. C. Threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite. D. Upper Chamber of the Cistern of the Threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite. E. Hole now covered with a stone. F. Lower Chamber of the Cistern of the Threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite. G. Water-Conduit. H. Conduit for Blood. Fig. 2. Golden Gate. H. Modern Arabic Construction. I. Marble Pillar, Monolith. L. Marble Pillar, Monolith. [Illustration: PLATE XXVII. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt.--L. Cornelissen, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXVIII. FOUR MOSAICS IN THE INTERIOR OF KUBBET ES-SAKHARAH, AND MOSQUE EL-AKSA. Fig. 1. Interior of Kubbet es-Sakharah. Fig. 2. Interior of Mosque el-Aksa. Fig. 3. Interior of Mosque el-Aksa. Fig. 4. Interior of Kubbet es-Sakharah. a. Red. b. Yellow. c. Black. d. White. [Illustration: PLATE XXVIII. E. Pierotti, Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXIX. DETAILS OF THE CAPITAL OF THE MONOLITH IN THE UNDERGROUND WORKS OF EL-AKSA; OF THE ORNAMENTATION OF THE GOLDEN GATE; AND OF THE SIX CAPITALS WHICH CROWN THE COLUMNS OF THE MOSQUES. Fig. 1. Ornamentation of the Golden Gate. Fig. 2. Capital in the Kubbet es-Sakharah. (a). Ornamentation in the Kubbet es-Sakharah. Fig. 3. Capital of the Monolith. Fig. 4. Capital in the Gate of Huldah. Fig. 5. Capital found among rubbish in the vaults in the South-eastern corner of the Haram es-Sherîf. Fig. 6. Capital in the Kubbet es-Sakharah. Fig. 7. Capital in the Mosque el-Aksa. Fig. 8. Capital found among rubbish in the vaults in the South-eastern corner of the Haram es-Sherîf. [Illustration: PLATE XXIX. E. Pierotti, Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXX. PLAN AND SECTION OF LAND SURROUNDING THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION AND THE HOSPITAL OF THE KNIGHTS OF S. JOHN. A. Ordinary Native Houses. B. Greek House of the Convent of S. John. C. Private Greek House. D. Greek Convent of S. Constantine. E. Greek House of the Convent of S. Constantine. F. Greek Convent of S. Charalampes. G. Latin House. H. Prussian House. I. Mohammedan House. K. Latin House called that of the Prince. L. Greek Convent of S. Charalampes. M. Ancient House of the Canons of the Holy Sepulchre. N. Coptic Convent. O. Cistern of S. Helena belonging to the Copts. P. Ancient House of the Canons of the Holy Sepulchre. Q. Ancient Hospice of Saladin (el-Kanki). R. Latin Convent of the Church of the Resurrection. S. Terrace-roof of the Greek Convent of S. Constantine. T. Greek Convent of S. Abraham. U. Greek Houses. V. Land belonging to the Russian Consulate on the Site of the Church of S. Mary Latin. X. Convent of the Abyssinians. Y. Land of the Abyssinians. Z. Dome of the Church of the Resurrection. W. Greek Dome of the Church of the Resurrection. a. Dome of the Golgotha. b. Dome of the Chapel of S. Helena. c. Ruins of the Church of S. Mary the Great. d. Land formerly belonging to the Convent of S. Mary the Great. e. Ancient Bazaar. f. Corn Market. g. Ancient Bazaar of the Street of David. h. Greek Convent of S. John Baptist. l. Lesser Mosque of Omar. Ancient Jewish Walls. m. Minaret of Omar. n. Greek Convent dependent on the Church of Gethsemane. o. Vestibule of the Church of the Resurrection. p. Ground anciently belonging to the Knights of S. John. q. Land formerly belonging to the Convent of S. Mary the Great. p. q. Greek Chapels. r. Tower of the Church of the Resurrection. s. Armenian Chapel of S. John. t. Coptic Chapel. u. Greek Chapel of Melchizedek. v. Greek Chapel. 1. Street to Jaffa Gate. 2. Street of Mount Sion. 3. Christian Bazaar. 4. Street of Coptic Hospice. 5. Street of Greek Convent of S. Constantine. 6. Street of Latin Convent of S. Saviour. 7. Street to the North. 8. Street to Residence of the Spanish Consul. 9. Greek Convent of S. Charalampes, where Jesus met the Daughters of Jerusalem. 10. Gate of Judgement, with an ancient pillar: second Fall of Jesus. 11. Street to Damascus Gate. 12. Via Dolorosa. 13. Street to Hospital of S. Helena. 14.} 15.} Street of Tyropoeon Valley. 16. Street from Damascus Gate to Bazaar. 17.} 18.} Covered Bazaar. 19. Street of David. 20. Street to Sion Gate. 21. Arches. 22. Street to Church of the Resurrection. 23. Sewer of Amygdalon. 24. Sewer of English Church (S). Conventional Signs. (a). Ancient Jewish Walls. (b). Hezekiah's Wall according to Pierotti. (c). Second Wall of the time of Solomon according to Pierotti. (d). Walls of the time of Amalfi Merchants. (e). Walls of the time of S. Helena, of the Crusaders, and of Saladin. (f). Modern Arab Walls. (g). Place covered by Ruins and Earth. (h). Rock. (i). Sewers. [Illustration: PLATE XXX. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXXI. VIEW OF THE POOL AMYGDALON, AND OF THE DOMES OF THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION. 1. Dome of the Church of the Resurrection. 2. Places from which the lead has been stripped, on the side of the Greek property. 3. Dome of the Greek Chapel. 4. Tower of the Church of the Resurrection. 5. Minaret of the Hospice of Saladin. 6. Minaret of Omar. 7. Terrace-roof of the Greek Convent of S. Constantine. 8. Greek Convent, by whose members the Church of Gethsemane is served. 9. Hospice of the Copts. 10. Pool Amygdalon. 11. Hospice of Saladin. [Illustration: PLATE XXXI. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXXII. FRONT OF THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION. 1. Dome of the Greek Chapel. 2. Chapel of the Agony. 3. Entrance to the Chapel of S. Mary of Egypt. 4. Staircase of the Chapel of the Agony. 5. Doors of the Church of the Resurrection. 6. Greek Chapel of the Forty Martyrs. 7. Greek Convent of S. Abraham. 8. Greek Terrace-roof. 9. Dome of the Calvary. 10. Greek Convent of S. Constantine. [Illustration: PLATE XXXII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXXIII. GATE OF THE ENTRANCE-DOOR TO THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION. 1. Vestibule of the Church of the Resurrection. 2. Closed Door of the Church. 3. Entrance of the Church. 4.} Byzantine ornamentation incorporated in the Door } at the time of the Crusades. 5.} [Illustration: PLATE XXXIII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXXIV. PLAN OF THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION WITH ITS LEVELS, AND SECTION OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE--PLAN AND SECTION OF THE TOMB IN ITS ANCIENT AND IN ITS PRESENT STATE. Fig. 1. Plan of the Church of the Resurrection. A. Vestibule of the Church. B. Greek Convent of S. Abraham. E. Greek Convent of S. Constantine. F. Hospice of Saladin (el-Kanki). G. Coptic Convent. H. Land of the Russian Consulate. I. Convent and Court of the Abyssinians. 1. S. James's Chapel. 2. Chapel of the Resurrection. 3. Chapel of the Forty Martyrs. 4. Entrance to the Chapel of S. Mary Egypt. 5. Chapel of the Agony. 6. Closed Door of the Church. 7. Entrance of the Church. 8. Divan of the Turks. 9. The Stone of Unction. 10. Where the three Marys stood at the Crucifixion. 11. A Staircase leading to the Armenian Chapel. 12. Chambers belonging to different Communions. 13. Monument of the Holy Sepulchre. 14. Chapel of the Angel. 44. Openings where the Fire is given out on Easter Eve. 15. Holy Sepulchre. 16. Abyssinian Chapel. 17. Syrian Chapel. 18. Tombs of Joseph of Arimathæa[Arimathea] and Nicodemus. 19. Latin Convent. 20. Latin Chapel. 21. Altar with a fragment of the Column of the Flagellation. D. Latin Organ. C. Greek Passage. 22. Where Christ appeared to S. Mary Magdalene. 23. Common Court. 24. Christ's Prison. 25. Longinus' Chapel. 26. Chapel of the Division of the Garments. 27. S. Helena's Chapel. 28. Road traversed by Our Lord on His way to Calvary. 29. Chapel of the Invention of the Cross. 30. Chapel of the Crowning with Thorns. 31. Staircase of the Greeks. 32. Where Mary withdrew after her Son's death. 33. Where the Hole of the Cross is said to be. 34. Fissure made at the Death of Christ. 35. Altar of the dolorous Mary. 36. The Place where Christ was Crucified. 37. Staircase of the Latins. 38. Entrance of Adam's Chapel. 39. Greek Chapel. 40. The Centre of the Church of the Resurrection. 41. Throne of the Greek Bishop. 42. Throne of the Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem. 43. Sanctum Sanctorum of the Greeks. I. } II. } III. } IV. } V. } VI. } Stations of the Evening Procession VII. } of the Latins. VIII. } IX. } X. } XI. } XII. } Fig. 2. Levels in the Interior of the Church of the Resurrection. a. Upper Level of the Southern Road of the Church. b. Upper Levels of the Vestibule of the Church. c. Chapel of the Agony. d. The Place where the Hole of the Cross is said to be. e. The Place where Christ was Crucified. g. Latin Chapel. h. Longinus' Chapel. i. Greek Chapel. k. Interior of Christ's Tomb. m. Christ's Prison. p. Tombs of Joseph of Arimathæa and Nicodemus o. p. Level of the Church within the large Dome. r. Lower Level of the Tomb of Joseph of Arimathæa and Nicodemus. s. Chapel of the Invention of the Cross. Fig. 3. Section of Christ's Tomb. 44. Openings where the Fire is given out on the Easter Eve. 45. Staircase leading to the roof of the Monument of the Holy Sepulchre. 46. Where the Angel stood at the Resurrection. 47. Door of the Holy Sepulchre. 48. Armenian Picture. 49. Greek Picture. 50. Latin Picture. 51. The Place from which Christ is supposed to have Risen from the Tomb. 52. The Place where the Angel is supposed to have descended. Fig. 4. Ancient Holy Sepulchre. o. q. Longitudinal Section. m. n. s. (o). Portion destroyed by Hakem. n. s. r. (q). q. Portion destroyed by Constantine. (o). o. s. Portion existing at present. (S). Conventional Signs. (a). Walls of the time of Constantine. (b). Walls of the time of the Crusaders. (c). Ordinary Walls of the Arabs. (d). Low Walls. (e). Rock. (f). Section of Rock. (g). The Path traversed by Our Lord to Calvary, and of the Procession of the Latins. [Illustration: PLATE XXXIV. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXXV. INTERIOR VIEWS OF THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION, Viz. GREAT DOME, CALVARY, GREEK CHAPEL, CHAPEL OF S. HELENA. Fig. 1. Monument of the Holy Sepulchre. 1. Large Dome of the Church. 2. Monument of the Holy Sepulchre. 3. Awning. 4. Chambers of the different Communions. 5. Greek Gallery. 6. Latin Gallery. 7. Window (closed), formerly looking on to the Mohammedan terrace-roof. 8. Greek Gallery. 9. The place through which Christ is said to have passed on rising from the tomb. Fig. 2. Chapel of Calvary. 10. The place where Christ was Crucified. 11. Altar of the Agony of the Virgin Mary. 12. Fissure rent by the earthquake at the death of Christ. 13. Hole in which the Cross is said to have been fixed. 14. Where Mary withdrew after her Son's death. Fig. 3. Greek Chapel. 15. Iconostasis of the Greeks. 16. Throne for the Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem. 17. Throne for the Greek Bishop. 18. The Centre of the Church of the Resurrection. Fig. 4. S. Helena's Chapel. 19. Road followed by our Lord on his way to Calvary. 20. Armenian Altar. 21. Window of S. Helena. 22. Chapel of the Invention of the Cross. 23. Dome of the time of the Crusaders. [Illustration: PLATE XXXV. E. Pierotti, Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXXVI. DETAILS OF SEVEN CAPITALS IN AND NEAR THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION. Fig. 1. } } In S. Helena's Chapel. Fig. 2. } Fig. 3. On the North of the Greek Chapel. Fig. 4. At the North end of the Christian Bazaar, on the West of the Church of the Resurrection. Fig. 5. On the South of the Greek Chapel. Fig. 6. In the Tower. Fig. 7. On the North of the Greek Chapel. [Illustration: PLATE XXXVI] E. Pierotti, Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXXVII. ENTRANCE TO THE HOSPITAL OF S. JOHN. 1. Arch of the time of the Knights of S. John. 2. Ruins of the Church of S. Mary the Great. 3. Ancient Window of the Church of S. Mary the Great. [Illustration: PLATE XXXVII. E. Pierotti, Photo & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXXVIII. RUINS OF THE CHURCH OF S. MARY THE GREAT. 1. One of the Choirs of the Church of S. Mary. 2. Door of the Ancient Vestry. 3. Staircase leading to the Convent. 4. Convent of S. Mary the Great. 5. Entrances to the Interior Court. 6. Ancient Site of the Church of S. Mary the Great. [Illustration: PLATE XXXVIII. E. Pierotti, Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XXXIX. PLANS AND SECTIONS OF THE ARMENIAN CHURCH OF S. JAMES, AND MOSAICS. 1. Portico. 2. Church of S. James. 3. Altars. 4. Throne for the Armenian Patriarch of Jerusalem. 5. Door of the Chapel of S. Stephen. 6. Altar of the Latins for the Commemoration of the Feast of S. James. 7. Site of the Martyrdom of S. James. 8. Door of the Treasury. 9. Tomb of the Armenian Patriarch Magar. 10. Altar. 11. Passage of the Gallery. 12. Throne for the Armenian Patriarch Magar. 13. Iron Barrier. 14. Treasury. 15. Chapel of S. Stephen. 16. Passages to the Armenian Convent. 17. Chapel of S. Miazim. 18. Ancient Stones. 19. Staircase of the Gallery. 20. Entrance to the Chapel of S. Miazim. C. Ancient Mosaics. D. Modern Mosaics. (S. C.) Conventional Signs. a. Ancient Wall. b. Less ancient Wall. c. Modern Wall. d. Less modern Wall. e. The Black colour in the Mosaics. f. The Red colour. g. The Yellow colour. [Illustration: PLATE XXXIX. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XL. VIEW OF THE CHURCH OF S. ANN. PROPERTY OF FRANCE. 1. Principal Entrance to the Church. 2. Remains of Minaret. 3. Closed Door. 4. Lateral Entrance. 5. Closed Door. 6. Ancient Window. 7. Land, the property of the Church. 8. Ruins of the Convent of the Sisters of S. Benedict. 9. Continuation of Land the property of the Church. 10. Dome of the Church. [Illustration: PLATE XL. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--E. Walker, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XLI. PLANS AND SECTIONS OF THE FRENCH CHURCH OF S. ANN. 1. Staircase to the Minaret. 2. Staircase to the Subterranean Church. 3. Traditional site of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary. 4. Places of Prayer for the Mohammedans. a. Stone Staircase. b. Opening commanding a view of the Subterranean Church. c. Small Opening. d. Principal Entrance to the Church. e. Ancient Cistern. [Illustration: PLATE XLI. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XLII. INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH OF S. ANN, AND FOUR DETAILS OF ORNAMENTATION. 1. Interior of the Church of S. Ann. 2. Modern Wall. 3. Ornamentation of the Principal Front of the Church. 4. Ornamentation of the Principal Entrance. 5. Ornamentation of Window in the Principal Front. 6. Capital in the Interior of the Church. [Illustration: PLATE XLII. E. Pierotti, Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XLIII. TWO DOORS IN THE TEKHIYEH EL-KHASSEKI-SULTANE, COMMONLY CALLED THE HOSPITAL OF S. HELENA. Two Doors situated in the Northern Front. Fig. 1. Eastern Door. Fig. 2. Western Door. The Mosaics are of different colours. [Illustration: PLATE XLIII. E. Pierotti, Delt.--A. Newman, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XLIV. ANCIENT GATE OF SARACENIC ARCHITECTURE IN THE DESCENT OF SILLA, AND A VIEW OF A FOUNTAIN IN THE TYROPOEON VALLEY. Fig. 1. Saracenic Gate. Fig. 2. Fountain in the Tyropoeon Valley. [Illustration: PLATE XLIV. E. Pierotti, Delt.--A. Newman, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XLV. VIEW OF THE COENACULUM, AND OF THE SO-CALLED TOMB OF DAVID. 1. Principal Entrance. 2. Mohammedan Houses. 3. Coenaculum. 4. Dome of the Tomb of David. 5. Modern Mohammedan Houses. 6. Christian Cemetery. [Illustration: PLATE XLV. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XLVI. PLAN AND SECTION OF THE COENACULUM; OF THE SO-CALLED TOMB OF DAVID; AND OF THE UNDERGROUND WORKS OF MOUNT SION. 1. Staircase leading to the Upper Court. 2. Upper Court. 3. Mohammedan Chambers. 4. Lower Court. 5. Passage to the Tomb of David. 6. Mohammedan Chapel, dedicated to the Tomb of David. 7. Representation of the Sarcophagus of David. 8. Coenaculum. 9. Staircase leading to the Tomb of David. 10. Place of the Mohammedan Priest. 11. Staircase leading to upper Chambers. 12. Chambers. 13. Underground Works of Mount Sion, in front of the Tomb of David. 14. Subterranean Passage covered with stone and earth. 15. Staircase leading to underground Works. S. Conventional Signs. a. Ancient Wall. b. Wall of the time of S. Helena, or of the Crusaders. c. Modern Arab Wall. d. Rock. e. Place covered with earth. f. Christian Tombs. g. Underground Works. [Illustration: PLATE XLVI. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XLVII. PLAN AND SECTION OF THE TOMBS OF ACELDAMA. Fig. 1. Ancient Tombs. Fig. 2. Tomb of S. Onuphrius. 1. Cultivated land. 2. Ancient Walls. 3. Tombs. 5. Tombs. [Illustration: PLATE XLVII. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XLVIII. SOUTH-EASTERN EXTREMITY OF THE VALLEY OF SILOAM. 1. City of Mount Sion. 2. Mount Sion. 3. Mosque el-Aksa. 4. Ophel. 5. Valley of Hinnom. 6. Mount of Offence. 7. Valley of the Kidron. 8. Cave. 9. Ancient Arab Building. 10. Bir-Eyub. En-Rogel. 11. Kidron. 12. Walls and Ruins. [Illustration: PLATE XLVIII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE XLIX. VIEW OF THE VALLEY OF JEHOSHAPHAT. 1. Mount Moriah. 2. Valley of Jehoshaphat. 3. Mount Scopus. 4. Tomb of Absalom. 5. Tomb of S. James. 6. Tomb of Zacharias. 7. Ruined Tomb. 8. Cave. Ancient Tomb. 9. Jewish Cemetery. 10. Arab House. 11. Mount of Olives. 12. Mount of Offence. 13. Road to Siloam. 14. Road to the Kidron. [Illustration: PLATE XLIX. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE L. FRONT OF THE TOMB OF THE VIRGIN MARY. Principal Entrance of the time of the Crusaders. [Illustration: PLATE L. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LI. PLANS AND SECTIONS OF THE TOMB OF THE VIRGIN MARY, AND OF THE CAVE OF THE AGONY. Fig. 1. Plan of the Tomb of the Virgin Mary, and of the Cave of the Agony. 1. Bridge over the Kidron. 2. Vestibule of the Church. 3. Closed Doors. 4. Armenian Vestry. 5. S. Joseph's tomb.? (Armenian.) 6. S. Ann's Tomb.? (Greek.) 7. S. Joachim's Tomb.? (Greek.) 8. Greek Altar of S. Nicholas. 9. Altar of the Copts. 10. Cistern. (Armenian, Greek.) 11. Greek Vestry 12. Greek Altar of S. Stephen. 13. Syrian Altar. 14. Armenian Altar. 15. Tomb of the Virgin Mary.? 16.} Places of Prayer for the Mohammedans. 17.} 18. Greek Altar dedicated to the Virgin Mary. 19. Greek Altar. 20. Cave of the Agony. 21. Latin Altar. 22. Site of the Agony. 23.} Latin Altars. 24.} 25. Opening in the Rock above. Fig. 2. Longitudinal Section. Fig. 3. Oblique Section. Fig. 4. Section of the Cave of the Agony. (S). Conventional Signs. a. Ancient Walls. b. Modern Walls. c. Rock. d. Place covered with Ruins and Earth. e. Cultivated Land. [Illustration: PLATE LI. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt.. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LII. MOUNT OF OLIVES AND THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE. 1. Mount of Olives. 2. Mount Viri-Galilæi[Galilei]. 3. Site of the Ascension of Jesus. 4. Minaret. 5. Arab Tower. 6. Arab Tower. 7. Place where Judas betrayed Jesus. 8. Gethsemane. 9. Tomb of the Virgin Mary. 10. Valley of the Kidron. [Illustration: PLATE LII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LIII. PLAN AND SECTION OF MOSQUE SITUATED ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES, AND DETAILS OF FIVE CAPITALS. Fig. 1. Plan of Mosque. Fig. 2. Section of Mosque. 1. Mosque. Chapel of the Ascension. 2. Site of the Ascension of Jesus. 3. Place of Prayer. 4. Greek Altar. 5. Syrian Altar. 6. Coptic Altar. 7. Armenian Altar. 8. Remains of an ancient Column. 9. Little Pool and Cistern. 10. Cistern. 11. Capitals. 12. Columns in the exterior of the Mosque. 13. Pavement. 14. Stone. c. Ancient perimeter of the Basilica. Conventional Signs. a. Place covered with earth. b. Ruins. c. Cistern. d. Ancient Walls. [Illustration: PLATE LIII. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LIV. PLAN AND SECTIONS OF THE TOMBS OF THE PROPHETS SITUATED IN THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.--VIEW, PLAN, AND SECTION OF THE TOMB OF LAZARUS AT BETHANY. Fig. 1. Tombs of the Prophets.? 1. Entrance. 2. Opening in the Rock above. 3. Places covered with earth. 4. Incomplete excavations in the Rock. 5. Ancient Walls. 6. Rock. 7. Tombs. Fig. 2. Plan and Section of the Tomb of Lazarus. 1. Entrance. 2. Tomb of Lazarus. 3. Ancient Chapel of the times of the Crusaders. 4. Place covered with ruins and earth. 5. Mosque of Bethany. 6. Rock. 7. Road to Jericho. 8. Arab Houses. Fig. 3. View of the Tomb of Lazarus. [Illustration: PLATE LIV. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LV. VIEW OF THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS. The Description given in the Text. [Illustration: PLATE LV. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--T. Picken, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LVI. PLAN AND SECTIONS OF THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS, AND OF OTHER TOMBS; THAT OF JEHOSHAPHAT, AND ONE LIKE THAT OF OUR LORD. Fig. 1. Plan of the Tombs of the Kings. a. b. Entrance of Vestibule. c. Entrance. x. y. Groove in which the chain worked to move the stone closing the entrance, x. Place where the end of the chain was drawn out in order to raise the stone y. } Position of the stone when the entrance was closed. u. } Fig. 2. Inner stone door. n. Stone support of the door. Fig. 3. The stone used in closing the entrance of the Tomb, with the grooves in which it and the chain worked. Fig. 4. Sketch of the Plan of the Tomb of Jehoshaphat. Fig. 5. Tomb, like that of our Lord, situated on the South of Jerusalem. u. y. Position of the stone when the entrance was closed. [Illustration: PLATE LVI. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LVII. ANCIENT JEWISH SYNAGOGUE IN THE VALLEY OF THE KIDRON, TOWARDS THE NORTH. 1. Prominent parts of each side of the Synagogue. 2. Ruins. 3. Mass of rock on which the Rabbins used to read Prayers. [Illustration: PLATE LVII. E. Pierotti, Delt.--E. Walker, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LVIII. VIEW OF THE TOMBS OF THE JUDGES, AND OF OTHER TOMBS TO THE NORTH OF JERUSALEM. Fig. 1. Tombs of the Judges. a. Entrance. Fig. 2. Cover of a Sarcophagus, from the Tombs of the Kings. Fig. 3. Ornaments on the two sides. b. } Corresponding parts of Fig. 2 and Fig. 3. c. } Fig. 4. Single Ornaments of the Cover of the Sarcophagus. a. e. f. Corresponding parts of Fig. 2 and Fig. 4. Fig. 5. View of a Tomb situated near Jerusalem on the North-West. Fig. 6. General idea of the Tombs of Samuel at Ramah and of Rachel at Ephrata. Fig. 7. Plan and Section of a Tomb situated on the North of Jerusalem, near the Tombs of the Kings. [Illustration: PLATE LVIII. E. Pierotti, Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LIX. PLANS AND SECTIONS OF THE TOMBS OF THE JUDGES, AND OF THE OTHER TOMBS. Fig. 1. Longitudinal Section of the Tombs. 1. Vestibule. 2. Entrance. 3. Subterranean Chamber, in which may be seen Sepulchres in an unfinished state. Fig. 2. Transverse Section. Fig. 3. Plan of the Tombs. a. First entrance Chamber. M. Passage leading into the other Sepulchral Chambers. N. Staircase leading into the Subterranean Chamber. Fig. 4. Tomb situated on the North of Jerusalem, in the opening of the Valley of Kidron. a. b. Water-conduit hewn in the Rocks. Fig. 5. Plan of the Tomb situated on the North-West of Jerusalem (for the Façade of which see Plate LVIII. Fig. 5). Fig. 6. Tomb situated on the North-West of Jerusalem near the Tombs of the Judges. [Illustration: PLATE LIX. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LX. PLAN AND SECTION OF S. PELAGIA'S TOMB ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.--DETAILS OF SEPULCHRES IN THE VALLEY OF JEHOSHAPHAT, AND OF SOME OTHERS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF JERUSALEM. Fig. 1. Plan of S. Pelagia's Tomb. 1. Room built at the time of the Crusades. 2. Tomb of S. Pelagia. 3. Ancient Jewish Tomb, the retreat of S. Pelagia. Fig. 2. Section of S. Pelagia's Tomb. Fig. 3. Tomb of Absalom. Fig. 4. Tomb of S. James. 4. Opening corresponding with a Sepulchral Chamber. 5. Opening into which both the Jews and the Arabs used to throw stones, in order to indicate their hatred of the wicked son Absalom. 6. Tomb of Jehoshaphat. Fig. 5. Tomb of Zacharias. 7. Jewish Tomb. Fig. 6. An entrance door into the Tomb of Aceldama (for the Plan of which see Plate XLVII.). (a). Broken ornaments. n. Cultivated land. 8. Rock. Fig. 7. Another entrance into the Tomb of Aceldama. Fig. 8. Ornaments of the Tomb of S. Onuphrius (for the Plan of which see Plate XLVII.). 9. Heaps of earth. [Illustration: PLATE LX. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--R. M. Bryson, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LXI. DETAILS RELATING TO THE TOMBS. Fig. 1. Details of the Tomb of Absalom. a. b. Monolithic portion of the Monument. c. d. Portion formed of Masonry. Fig. 2. A Capital of the Tomb of Absalom. Fig. 3. A Capital of the Tomb of Zacharias. Fig. 4. A Capital of the corner-pillar of the Tomb of Zacharias. Fig. 5. Monolith of Siloam. Fig. 6. Ornaments of the Tombs of the Kings. [Illustration: PLATE LXI. E. Pierotti, Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LXII. POOL OF MAMILLAH, OR SERPENTS' POOL (ACCORDING TO JOSEPHUS), NEAR THE MONUMENT OF HEROD ON THE WEST OF THE CITY. 1. Mount Gihon, position of the buildings of the Prussian Mission. 2. Corner of the North-Western Wall of Jerusalem. 3. Wall of Jerusalem. 4. Mount of Olives. 5. Road to the Convent of the Holy Cross. 6. Ancient Mohammedan Cemetery. 7. Ancient Saracenic Monument. 8. Pool of Mamillah; "the Upper Pool." [Illustration: PLATE LXII. E. Pierotti, Photo. & Delt.--E. Walker, Lith. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] PLATE LXIII. PLAN AND SECTION OF THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY CROSS TO THE WEST OF JERUSALEM, AND DETAILS OF THE MOSAICS. Fig. 1. Plan of the Church. 1. Vestibule. 2. Mosaic pavement stained (with blood?). 3. Mosaics (details given in Fig. 3). 4. Throne for the Greek Bishop. 5. Iconostasis. 6. Greek Altar. 7. Choir. 8. Passage leading to the Sanctuary. 9. The place from which the Tree for the Cross of Jesus Christ was taken.? Fig. 2. Longitudinal Section of the Church. Fig. 3. Details of Mosaics. (S.C.) Conventional Signs. a. Ancient Wall. b. Wall of later times. c. Small Walls. d. Mosaics. e. Things made of Wood. f. White colour. g. Brown. h. Black. i. Yellow. k. Red. m. Pale Yellow. [Illustration: PLATE LXIII. E. Pierotti, Mest. & Delt. Cambridge. Deighton, Bell & Co.--London. Bell & Daldy. Day & Son, Lithrs. to the Queen.] TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: Missing punctuation added to lists and Table of Contents. Missing spaces added between words, where appropriate. Figure numbers in Roman numerals were changed to Arabic numbers for consistency. Items in some descriptions of Plates are out of order and were retained as printed. Table of Contents was moved before the description of Plate I to keep all the plates and their descriptors in order. Description of Plate II: 'of' changed to 'at' ...(Beginning at the West.)..., and 'Brdge' changed to 'Bridge' in item w. Description of Plate III: duplicate word 'and' was removed from item 32. Description of Plate IV: changed 'Psephiuns' to 'Psephinus' and 'Mohammedam' to 'Mohammedan.' Item '((j)). Subterranean passages' is mis-identified as a duplicate ((h)) both on Plate IV and the description of Plate IV. Descriptions of Plates VIII and IX: numbers were changed from Roman to Arabic to match the plates, and for consistency with remainder of the book. Description of Plate XII: changed 'Mahommedan' to 'Mohammedan.' Removed carat over 'I' in HARAM ES-SHERIF, for consistency with remaining capitalized text of the word. (Lower case versions contain the carat, and were unchanged.) Moved Illustration of Plate XXX so that it follows the description of the plate, for consistency with the remainder of the book. Punctuation and text of the illustration attribution credits were standardized. 
46208	----	http://mormontextsproject.org/ for a complete list of Mormon texts available on Project Gutenberg, to help proofread similar books, or to report typos. Special thanks to Renah Holmes and Samuel Shreeve for proofreading. A VOICE FROM JERUSALEM, OR A SKETCH OF THE TRAVELS AND MINISTRY OF ELDER ORSON HYDE, Missionary of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, TO GERMANY, CONSTANTINOPLE, AND JERUSALEM, CONTAINING A DESCRIPTION OF MOUNT ZION, THE POOL OF SILOAM, AND OTHER ANCIENT PLACES, AND SOME ACCOUNT OF THE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE EAST, AS ILLUSTRATIVE OF SCRIPTURE TEXTS, WITH A SKETCH OF SEVERAL INTERVIEWS AND CONVERSATIONS WITH JEWS' MISSIONARIES, ETC., WITH A VARIETY OF INFORMATION ON THE PRESENT STATE OF THAT AND OTHER COUNTRIES WITH REGARD TO COMING EVENTS AND THE RESTORATION OP ISRAEL. * * * * COMPILED FROM HIS LATE LETTERS AND DOCUMENTS, _The last of which bears date at Bavaria, on this Danube, Jan._ 18, 1842. * * * * LIVERPOOL: PUBLISHED BY P. P. PRATT STAR OFFICE, 36, CHAPEL STREET. * * * * PRINTED BY JAMES AND WOODBURN, 14, HANOVER STREET. INTRODUCTION. The circumstances which gave rise to this mission of Elder Hyde are quite peculiar and extraordinary; and in an American publication are thus described by himself: "Something near eight years ago, Joseph Smith, a prophet and servant of the Most High God, did predict upon my head, that I should yet go to the city of Jerusalem, and be a watchman unto the house of Israel, and perform a work there which would greatly facilitate the gathering together of that people: the particulars of which it is not necessary to mention here. "Year after year has passed away since that period, and my labours in the ministry have been confined to the Gentiles on both sides of the Atlantic. "In the early part of March last (1840), I retired to my bed one evening as usual, and while contemplating and enquiring out, in my own mind, the field of my ministerial labours for the then coming season, the vision of the Lord, like clouds of light, burst upon my view. The cities of London, Amsterdam, Constantinople, and Jerusalem all appeared in succession before me, and the Spirit said unto me, 'Here are many of the children of Abraham whom I will gather to the land that I gave to their fathers, and here also is the field of your labours.' "A strict observance of the movements of the Jews, and a careful examination of their faith relative to their expected Messiah--the setting up of his kingdom among them, and the overthrow of the present kingdoms and governments of the Gentiles, will serve to open the eyes of many of the uncircumcised, when faithfully laid before them, that the great day of the Lord comes not upon them unawares as a thief. "Take, therefore, proper credentials from my people, your brethren, and also from the governor of your state, with the seal of authority thereon, and go ye forth to the cities which have been shown unto you, and declare these words unto Judah, and say: 'Blow ye the trumpet in the land: cry, gather together; and say, assemble yourselves, and let us go into the defenced cities. Let the standard be reared towards Zion. Retire! stay not; for I will bring evil from the north and a great destruction. The lion is come up from his thicket, and the destroyer of the Gentiles is on his way, he is gone forth from his place to make thy land desolate, and thy cities shall be laid waste without inhabitant. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her that her warfare is accomplished--that her iniquity is pardoned, for she hath received at the Lord's hand double for all her sins. Let your warning voice be heard among the Gentiles as you pass, and call ye upon them in my name for aid and for assistance. With you it mattereth not whether it be little or much; but to me it belongeth to shew favour unto them who show favour unto you. Murmur not, therefore, neither be ye sorrowful that the people are slow to hear your petition; but do as has been told you. All things shall work together for your good if you are humble and keep my commandments; for it must needs be that all men be left without excuse, that a righteous retribution may be awarded to all.' "Many other things were shown and told me in the vision which will be made public at the proper time and places. The vision continued open for a number of hours, that I did not close my eyes in sleep." In obedience to the foregoing, Elder Hyde proceeded to lay the circumstances before the authorities of the church, and before the governor of the state of Illinois, who gave their hearty sanction to the mission, and from whom he obtained the following documents: _Letter of commendation from the Conference at Nauvoo, to Elders Orson Hyde and John E. Page, appointing and confirming their appointment to the work whereunto they have been called._ "To all people unto whom these presents shall come, GREETING. Be it known that we, the constituted authorities of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, assembled in Conference, at Nauvoo, Hancock county, and State of Illinois, on this sixth day of April, in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and forty, consider an important event at hand--an event involving the interest and fate of the Gentile nations throughout the world. From the signs of the times, and from declarations contained in the oracles of God, we are forced to come to this conclusion. The Jewish nation have been scattered abroad among the Gentiles for a long period; and, in our estimation, the time of the commencement of their return to the "holy land" has already arrived. As this scattered and persecuted people are set among the Gentiles as a sign unto them of the second coming of the Messiah, and also, of the overthrow of the present kingdoms and governments of the earth by the potency of his Almighty arm, in scattering famine and pestilence like the frosts and snows of winter, and in sending the sword, with nation against nation to bathe it in each others blood; it his highly important, in our opinion, that the present views and movements of the Jewish people be sought after, and laid before the American people for their consideration, their profit and their learning; feeling it to be our duty to employ the most efficient means in our power to save the children of men from the "abomination that maketh desolate," we have, by the counsel of the Holy Spirit, appointed Elders Orson Hyde and John E. Page, the bearers of these presents, faithful and worthy ministers of Jesus Christ, to be our agents and representatives in foreign lands, to visit the cities of London, Amsterdam, Constantinople and Jerusalem, and also other places which they may deem expedient; to converse with the priests, rulers, and elders of the Jews, and obtain from them all the information possible; and communicate the same to some principal papers for publication, that it may have a general circulation throughout the United States. As Messrs. Hyde and Page have willingly and cheerfully accepted the appointment to become our servants and the servants of the public in distant and foreign countries for Christ's sake, we do confidently recommend them to all religious and christian people, and to ladies and gentlemen making no profession, as worthy members of society, possessing much zeal to promote the happiness of mankind; fully believing that they will be forward to render them all the pecuniary aid they need, to accomplish this laborious and hazardous mission, for the general good of the human family. Ministers of every denomination upon whom these gentlemen shall call, are requested to hold up their hands, and aid them by their influence, with an assurance that such as do this shall have the prayers and blessings of a "poor and an afflicted people," who have tested the depths of their sincerity, and love for their religion, by the sacrifice of their blood upon a land, shadowed by the stripes and stars of political and religious liberty. Given under our hands at the time and place before mentioned." (Signed) JOSEPH SMITH, JR., CHAIRMAN. ROBERT B. THOMPSON, Clerk. * * * * From the Governor of Illinois. QUINCY, ILLINOIS, April 30th, 1840. Having been informed that the Revd's. Orson Hyde and John E. Page, elders in the church denominated Later Day Saints, are about to depart on their mission to Europe--and having heard the former gentleman preach--and having been made acquainted to some extent with the characters of both, it affords me pleasure to say, that I was much pleased with the sermon delivered by Mr. Hyde; and the reputation of both Gentlemen for talents and christian-like deportment, so far as I have been made acquainted, are unexceptionable; and as such, believe them to be entitled to the respect and kind treatment of all. (Signed) THOMAS CARLIN, Governor of Illinois. * * * * UNITED STATES OF NORTH AMERICA, State of Illinois, } ss: I, Alexander P. Field, Secretary of State, of the State of Illinois, one of the United States of North America, and keeper of the great seal of said State, do hereby certify that Thomas Carlin, who took and signed the foregoing certificate, is now, and was at the time of signing the same, Governor of the State aforesaid, duly elected and qualified to office, with full power by the laws of this State to issue certificates as aforesaid; that said certificate is in due form of law, and that full faith and credit are due his official attestations. In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, and the great seal of State, at the city of Springfield, this twenty-second day of May, in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and forty, and of the independence of the United States, the sixty-fourth. (Signed.) A. P. FIELD, Secretary of State." A SKETCH OF THE TRAVELS AND MINISTRY OF ELDER ORSON HYDE. * * * * LETTER I. _Trieste, January_ 1, 1842. DEAR BRETHREN OF THE TWELVE, As the blushing orb of light from his eastern temple sends forth, this morning, over Alpine heights, his streaming columns of golden brightness to greet the earth with a happy new year, welcome its arrival, and crown it with a celestial radience, I might be justly charged with ingratitude towards a gracious and merciful Providence, and a want of generosity and reciprocal kindness towards my brethren, did I neglect to acknowledge the kind aid and protection which heaven has granted me in answer to your faith and prayers. Permit me, therefore, to commence my letter by wishing you all _"a happy new year;"_ and through you, allow me to extend the same wish to all the saints, both in England and America; but _particularly to my wife and dear little children._ I am happy to improve the opportunity, which this hour affords, of writing to you, and that happiness is increased by a firm conviction, that a letter from your unworthy brother, in the Lord, will be received by you with a friendship and cordiality corresponding to that which now animate my bosom. Since it has pleased the Lord to grant unto me health and prosperity--to protect me from the dangers of the climates--from the plague and pestilence that have carried death and mourning on their wing, and return me again in safety to a land of civilised life, these things demand my highest gratitude, as well as demonstrations of praise and thanksgiving, to His exalted name. As a member, therefore, of your honourable quorum, bearing, in common with you, the responsibility under which HEAVEN has laid us, to spread the word of life among the perishing nations of the earth, allow me to say, that, on the 21st of October last, "my natural eyes, for the first time, beheld" Jerusalem; and as I gazed upon it and its environs, the mountains and hills by which it is surrounded, and considered, that this is the stage upon which so many scenes of wonders have been acted, where prophets were stoned, and the Saviour of sinners slain, a storm of commingled emotions suddenly arose in my breast, the force of which was only spent in a profuse shower of tears. I entered the city at the west gate, and called on Mr. Whiting, one of the American missionaries at that place, to whom I had a letter of introduction from Monsieur Muratt, our consular agent at Jaffa. Mr. W. said, that in consequence of the unsettled state of his family, (having just removed to the house which he then occupied,) he was sorry to say it would not be convenient for him to invite me to share his hospitality; but very kindly went with me to the Latin Convent, which is a sort of hotel or home for strangers, and there engaged for me my board and lodging at a reasonable compensation, and said that he would keep a little watch to see that I was well taken care of. This expression of kindness did not escape my notice. After I had been there an hour or two, Mr. Sherman, another American missionary, accompanied by a Mr. Gager, from America, who, I think, was a licentiate from the Presbyterian or Congregational Church, called on me, and after some considerable conversation upon the state of affairs in general, in America, I introduced to them the subject of my mission to that place; and observed, that I had undertaken to do a good work in the name of the Lord, and had come there for a righteous purpose, and wished their co-operation and friendly aid. They assured me that they should be happy to render me any assistance in their power to do good. I thanked them for their kindness, and observed, that as I had had little or no rest since I left Beyrout, I felt worn down with fatigue and a want of sleep, as well as being almost overcome by the excessive heat, and that I also wished to arrange some documents which I had, and then I should be happy to enjoy the privilege of an interview with them, and with Mr. Whiting at the same time. They said they would indulge me in my request at almost any time. I had sent a lengthy communication to the Jews in Constantinople, in the French language, but had reserved a copy of it in the German. As this document set forth, clearly and plainly, the object of my mission there, I translated it into English in order that I might lay the facts before them in as clear a point of light as possible. Accordingly, after wearied nature had sufficiently reposed under sleep's balmy and refreshing shade, I called on Mr. Whiting, according to previous arrangements, and Messrs. Sherman and Gager soon came in. After the usual salutations were passed, and all quietly seated, I expressed to them my gratitude for that opportunity of bearing testimony to the glorious reality, that the Lord was about to visit his people, and also my gratitude to HIM whose hand had been stretched out for my safety and protection, and also to bear me onward to the place where mercy, with all her celestial charms, was embodied in the person of his own Son. I then took the liberty of reading the document containing the object of my mission there, and were it not for its length I would here insert it. After it was read, all sat in private meditation until Mr. Gager interrupted the silence by asking wherein the doctrines of our church differed from the doctrines of the established orthodox churches. I replied as follows: "There are so many different kinds of orthodox doctrines, all differing one from the other, that it might be difficult to determine which one to be the standard by which ours should be tried; but, said I, with your permission, I will set forth and explain to you the principles of our faith, and then you can determine for yourselves wherein they differ from others." So, beginning at the Ministration of the Angel of the Lord, I expounded unto them many things concerning the rise of the church, its organization and ordinances, and form and order of its government, after which Mr. Sherman spake as follows: "Now, we are here trying to do all the good we can, and have been for some length of time; and what more would you have us do, or what more can we do?" I replied after the following: "It appears to me, even allowing your cause to be just and right, that your time is spent here to little or no purpose; not, however, that I would be understood as charging you with idleness or inattention; but the strong and deep-rooted prejudices which reign in the breasts of the people here against you, that they will not even allow you to educate their children, when you propose to do it gratuitously, must render your labours extremely limited; and, further, the genius of your policy does not admit of your making that exertion which the Saviour of the world required his servants to make in former days. You receive a salary from a home institution, and by that institution you are directed to remain here whether the people will hear you or not; whereas the Saviour taught his disciples to depart, and shake the dust from their feet, against that house, city, or people, that would not hear them, and not spend their labour for that which did not profit." To this, Mr. Gager replied, "Although the fruits of our labours do not immediately appear, we ought not to be discouraged. We may labour, and other men may enter into our labours. The husbandman, after he hath sowed his seed, waiteth patiently until it hath received the former and latter rains; and, as the days of miracles are past, we cannot expect men to act now under the immediate direction of the Saviour as they then did." I might have here observed, that it would be a great tax upon the patience of the husbandman, if it did not quite exhaust it, to sow his seed year after year, and reap no fruits of his labour. But-- I replied, that miracles had truly ceased; but, said I, why have they ceased? Mr. Gager said, because they were not necessary. I made answer, that Jesus formerly said to the people, "according to thy faith be it done unto thee;" and said I, I presume he is of the same mind still; but the people have no faith in the power of God, therefore no miraculous favours are shown them; and because the religious world have lost sight of their high privileges, the horizon of their minds beclouded, and faith driven from their hearts by the vain and foolish traditions of uninspired men, the Lord hath sent an holy Angel from the Temple of Light, bearing to the earth truth's unfaded laurels, and has boldly asserted the rights and privileges of all who would seek the face and favour of the MOST HIGH. But against this heavenly message, streaming from the bosom of a compassionate God, with the purest love and good-will to a fallen race, and beaming in the face of men with a celestial radiance, is arranged the cold-hearted prejudices of an unbelieving world. Well did the Saviour ask this question, "When the son of man cometh, shall he find faith on the earth?" With this testimony have I come to Jerusalem; and in the name of my master, who here bore our sins, in his own body, on the tree, I warn all men, so far as I have opportunity, to beware how they lift their hands or their voices against it, for, by the voice of the Lord from Heaven, am I made a witness of the eternal reality of what I have declared. Mr. Whiting then asked if we acknowledged any to be christians except those who embraced our doctrines and joined our church? To this I replied in the following manner: "We believe there are many in all the different churches, with many who are externally attached to no church, who serve the Lord according to the best light and knowledge they have, and this service is unquestionably acceptable in his sight; and those who have died in this condition have no doubt gone to receive the reward of their labours in the mansions of rest. But should He be pleased to send more light and truth into the world, or revive those principles of truth, which have been made to yield their sovereignty to the opinions of men, and they refuse to receive them, or walk in them, their service would cease to be acceptable to the Lord, and with no degree of propriety could we acknowledge them true christians; and we do know, and are sure, that the Lord has caused more light to shine, and that he will hold none guiltless who refuse to walk in it after the means of obtaining it are brought to their knowledge and placed within their reach." These were hard sayings. They observed, that they could not say that these things were not as I had said; but to them they appeared incredibly strange. I then requested that some of them would do me the favour of an introduction to some of the principal Jews in the place: but this request was greeted with a number of _hems_, which commonly mean no more than to allay a little irritation, or tickling in the throat; but on this occasion, from the peculiarity of their tone and cadence, I judged they wished to be a little metaphorical, and so used the term figuratively to mean the following: "We have our scruples about complying with your request, lest it might detract from our influence and popularity." They observed that Mr. Johns, the English Consul, might be the most proper man to grant me the desired favour. I replied, that I knew as little of Mr. Johns as I did of any Jew in Jerusalem, but that I would not insist upon my request being granted. Mr. Whiting then remarked, that he should have no particular objections to do it, but that it could not be well attended to until a day or two hence. This reminded me of a circumstance in England, where duty once led me to call upon a clergyman to do me a little favour, but he said he could not grant it, because I had not come recommended by any one with whom he was acquainted. I replied, that I was very sorry to be so unfortunate on that occasion, as to be recommended by none but my master, who was the Saviour of the world. The two are not exactly similar, yet the former reminded me of the latter. I thanked Mr. W., however, for his kindness, and our interview closed. The fact is, God has one system of etiquette, and reciprocity and this sign-seeking generation has another. The former is hospitality and kindness to the stranger; but the latter is--be very cautious and particular that you render him no assistance, neither show him favour unless he come recommended by our party, or by some others who are honourable and orthodox, like ourselves. But no man is justifiable in the eye of humanity, in the eye of the gospel, or in that eye that never sleeps, in rejecting the reasonable petition of a stranger, though he do not come clothed with letters from the chief priests, scribes, and elders of the people; and it is what no gentleman will do, unless his frankness and liberality have become blasted by the chilling winds of a sectarian atmosphere. With what feelings of commingled pity and contempt does every Latter Day Saint, whose mind has thoroughly canvassed the principles of our faith, and in whose heart dwells that "unction from the Holy One," look upon that want of generosity and frankness, which he is often compelled to witness, when he knows that in his own bosom, independent of a boasting spirit, or any desire of vain glory, are jewels of light, truth, and knowledge, as far superior in lustre to any thing which they possess, as the purest diamond is to the common pebble of the rivulet! I concluded, however, that I would try to discharge my duty before God, without subjecting any one to the humble mortification of giving me an introduction. For myself, I feel not very jealous of my popularity where the cause of truth requires me to hazard it, and am not so very particular. If my name be only recorded in heaven, on the list of the sanctified, it will abundantly compensate me for the sacrifice which duty calls me to make of it among men. Let them, therefore, look upon me as they may, a deceiver or a deceived, a wise man or a fool, I feel very thankful to the Lord for what mine eyes have seen, mine ears have heard, and, more than all, for what my soul has experienced; and it is my constant prayer to an over-ruling Providence, that his free grace may be amply sufficient to bear me triumphantly through life's conflicting scenes, that my poor heart may swell the notes of praise and thanksgiving for ever and ever to HIM who died to save me and wash me from my sins, in his own most precious blood. Summoning up, therefore, what little address I had, I procured a valet d'place, or lackey, and proceeded to the house of Mr. Simons, a very respectable Jew, who, with some of his family, had lately been converted and joined the English Church. I entered their dwelling. They had just sat down to enjoy a dish of coffee; but immediately arose from the table to meet me. I spake to them in German, and asked them if they spoke English; they immediately replied "Yes," which was a very agreeable sound to my ear. They asked me, in German, if I spoke English. I replied, "Ya, Mein Herr." I then introduced myself to them, and, with a little apology, it passed off as well as though I had been introduced by the Pacha. With that glow of warmth and familiarity, which is a peculiar trait in the German character, they would have me sit down and take a dish with them; and as I began to relate some things relative to my mission, the smiles of joy which sat upon their countenances, bespoke hearts not altogether indifferent. There are two ministers of the Church of England there. One was confined to his bed by sickness, and the other, a German, and a Jew by birth, soon came in. After an introduction, I took the liberty to lay open to him some of our principles, and gave him a copy of the communication to the Jews in Constantinople to read. After he had read it, he said that my motives were undoubtedly very good, but questioned the propriety of my undertaking, from the fact that I claimed God had sent me. If, indeed, I had gone to Jerusalem under the direction of some missionary board, or society, and left God out of the question altogether, I should have been received as a celestial messenger. How truly did our Saviour speak, when he said, "I am come in my father's name, and ye receive me not; but if another were to come in his own name, him ye would receive." I replied, however, that so far as I could know my own heart, my motives were most certainly good; yet, said I, no better than the cause which has brought me here. But he, like all others who worship a God "without body or parts," said that miracles, visions, and prophecy had ceased. The course which the popular clergy pursue at this time in relation to the Divine economy, looks to me as though they would say; "O Lord! we will worship thee with all our hearts, serve thee with all our souls and be very pious and holy. We will even gather Israel, convert the heathen, and bring in the millennium, if you will only let us alone that we may do it in our own way, and according to our own will. But if you speak from heaven to interfere with our plans, or cause any to see visions or dream dreams or prophecy whereby we are disturbed or interrupted in our worship, we will exert all our strength and skill to deny what you say, and charge it home upon the devil or some wild fantastic spirit, as being its author." That which was looked upon by the ancient saints, at among the greatest favours and blessings, viz., Revelation from God and communion with him by dreams and by visions, is now looked upon by the religious world as the height of presumption and folly. The ancient saints considered their condition most deplorable when Jehovah would not speak to them; but the most orthodox religionists of this age deem it quite heterodox to even admit the probability that he ever will speak again. O, my soul! language fails to paint the absurdity and abomination of such heaven-opposing, and truth-excluding dogmas; and were it possible for those bright seraphs that surround the throne above, and bask in the sunbeams of immortality, to weep over the inconsistency and irrationality of mortals, the earth must be bedewed with celestial tears. My humble advice to all such is, that they repent and cast far from them these wicked traditions, and be baptized into the new and everlasting covenant, lest the Lord speak to them in his wrath, and vex them in his sore displeasure. After some considerable conversation upon the priesthood and the renewal of the covenant, I called upon him to repent and be baptized for the remission of his sins, that he might receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. What! said he, _I_ be baptized! Yes, said I, _you_ be baptized. Why, said he, I have been baptized already! I replied something after the following: "You have, probably, been sprinkled, but that has no more to do with baptism than any other ordinance of man's device; and even if you had been immersed, you would not have bettered your condition, for your priesthood is without power. If, indeed, the catholic church had power to give you an ordination, and by that ordination confer the priesthood upon you, they certainly had power to nullify that act, and take the priesthood from you; and this power they exercised when you dissented from their communion, by excluding you from their church. But if the catholic church possessed not the priesthood, of course your claims to it are as groundless as the airy phantoms of heathen mythology: so view the question on which side you may, there is no possible chance of admitting the validity of your claims to it. Be it known, therefore, that ordinances performed under the administration of such a priesthood, though they may even be correct in form, will be found destitute of the seal of that authority by which heaven will recognise his own in the day when every man's work shall be tried: though a priesthood may be clothed with the wealth and honours of a great and powerful nation, and command the respect and veneration of multitudes whose eyes are blinded by the thick veil of popular opinion, and whose powers of reflection and deep thought are confused and lost in the general cry of "great is Diana of the Ephesians," yet all this does not impart to it the divine sanction, or animate it with the spirit of life and power from the bosom of the living God; and there is a period in future time, when, in the smoking ruins of Babel's pride and glory, it must fall and retire to the shades of forgetfulness, to the grief and mortification of its unfortunate votaries. In consequence of his great volubility, I was under the disagreeable necessity of tuning my voice to a pretty high key, and of spacing short between words; determining that neither his greatness nor learning should shield him from the shafts of a faithful testimony: but there is more hope of those Jews receiving the fullness of the gospel, whose minds have never been poisoned by the bane of modern sectarianism, which closes the mouth of deity, and shuts up in heaven all the angels, visions, and prophecyings. Mrs. Whiting told me that there had been four Jewish people in Jerusalem converted and baptized by the English minister, and four only; and that a part of the ground for an English church had been purchased there. It was by political power and influence that the Jewish nation was broken down, and her subjects dispersed abroad; and I will here hazard the opinion, that by political power and influence, they will be gathered and built up; and, further, that England is destined, in the wisdom and economy of heaven, to stretch forth the arm of political power, and advance in the front ranks of this glorious enterprise. The Lord once raised up a Cyrus to restore the Jews, but that was not evidence that he owned the religion of the Persians. This opinion I submit, however, to your superior wisdom to correct, if you shall find it wrong. There is an increasing anxiety in Europe for the restoration of that people; and this anxiety is not confined to the pale of any religious community, but it has found its way to the courts of kings. Special ambassadors have been sent, and consuls and consular-agents have been appointed. The rigorous policy which has hitherto characterised the course of other nations towards them, now begins to be softened by the oil of friendship, and modified by the balm of humanity. The sufferings and privations under which they have groaned for so many centuries, have at length touched the mainsprings of Gentile power and sympathy; and may the God of their fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, fan the flame by celestial breezes, until Israel's banner, sanctified by a Saviour's blood, shall float on the walls of Old Jerusalem, and the mountains and valleys of Judea reverberate with their songs of praise and thanksgiving to the Lamb that was slain! The imperial consul of Austria, at Galatz, near the mouth of the Danube, to whom I had a letter of introduction from his cousin in Vienna, told me, that, in consequence of so many of their Jewish subjects being inclined of late to remove to Syria and Palestine, his government had established a general consulate at Beyrout for their protection. There are many Jews who care nothing about Jerusalem, and have no regard for God. Their money is all the god they worship; yet there are many of the most pious and devout among them, who look towards Jerusalem as the tender and affectionate mother looks upon the home where she left her lovely little babe. You will discover by this letter, and more particularly by the one written from Alexandria, to Elder Pratt in Manchester, England, that, through the goodness of the Lord, I have been enabled to accomplish that which was told me prophetically, several years ago, by Brother Joseph Smith. Though the blustering snow-storm has thrown the gorgeous folds of his crimson mantle over the mountain tops, which half encircle us on our north and east as we lie here in quarantine, yet their sides towards the base, beautifully terraced and thickly set with vines and olives, though not in their summer dress, present a widely-extended scene of rural beauty and loveliness. All the irregularities and deformities of nature (if, indeed, there are any,) are completely lost in the distant view, though we gaze through the ship's powerful magnifier; so, when the eye of imagination surveys the saints far in the west, their faults and foibles are lost in the distance, (if, indeed, any they have,) and nothing but their virtues appear, which render the society very inviting and extremely desirable. The simple unrestrained language of my heart is--I want to see my brethren, for in their bosoms, I am sure, is a corresponding echo which,-- Like the harp, when the zephyr is sighing To the breath of that zephyr, in music replying, Friendship can tremble with feelings as true. I have just been upon deck to witness the king of day retiring in his robes of state to the western portions of his kingdoms, to proclaim there, in _propria persona_, the advent of 1842, after opening and lighting up the glory of the new year in the east. As his golden disk was sinking behind the western rim of the deep blue waters of the Adriatic, and throwing back, in rich profusion, his soft and glowing beam upon the clear blue sky, with a radiance and splendour peculiar to none but him, thought I, oh, that thou couldest take a thought or good wish from me and bear it on the pathway of one of thy golden beams to my dear little family, which perhaps at this moment is pouring his noon-day splendour obliquely upon the home where they dwell. But another thought succeeded--I will not be a Parsee. There is a Being whose throne is high, and whose glorious image shines forth in the mirror of all his works to feast the mental eye and heal the wounded heart, "His ear is not heavy that he cannot hear, neither is his arm shortened that he cannot save;" to HIM, therefore, will I send a thought on the wing of my evening devotion, and breathe an aspiration that his favour may gladden and cheer the cot where dwell all my earthly hopes and earthly riches: therefore, tarry not for me thou glorious orb of light, but speed thy course onward in the circuit of the heavens, to dye the sheen of other climes, and to roll in the hour when the dead, small and great, shall stand before God. Jerusalem at this time contains about twenty thousand inhabitants; about seven thousand are Jews, and the remainder mostly Turks and Arabs. It is enclosed by a strong wall from five to ten feet thick. On those sides which are most accessible, and consequently most exposed to an attack, the wall is thickest, and well mounted with cannon; it is from twelve to thirty feet in height. The city is situated at the south-eastern extremity of an inclined plane, with the valley of Kedron on the east, and the valleys of Hinnom and Gihon on the south and west, all converging to a point in the valley of Jehosaphat, south-east of the city: from the eastern gate of the city to the top of Mount Olivet, as you pass through the valley of Kedron, is just about one English mile. On the top of this mount you have a fair view of the Dead Sea and river Jordan, which are about fifteen miles in the distance. As I stood upon this almost sacred spot and gazed upon the surrounding scenery, and contemplated the history of the past in connection with the prophetic future, I was lost in wonder and admiration, and felt almost ready to ask myself--Is it a reality that I am here gazing upon this scene of wonders? or, am I carried away in the fanciful reveries of a night vision? Is that city which I now look down upon really Jerusalem, whose sins and iniquities swelled the Saviour's heart with grief, and drew so many tears from his pitying eye? Is that small enclosure in the valley of Kedron, where the boughs of those lonely olives are waving their green foliage so gracefully in the soft and gentle breeze, really the garden of Gethsemane, where powers infernal poured the flood of hell's dark gloom around the princely head of the immortal Redeemer? Oh, yes! The fact that I entered the garden and plucked a branch from an olive, and now have that branch to look upon, demonstrates that all was real. There, there is the place where the Son of the Virgin bore our sins and carried our sorrows--there the angels gazed and shuddered at the sight, waiting for the order to fly to his rescue; but no such order was given. The decree had passed in heaven, and could not be revoked, that he must suffer, that he must bleed, and that he must die. What bosom so cold, what feelings so languid, or what heart so unmoved that can withhold the humble tribute of a tear over this forlorn condition of the Man of Sorrows? From this place I went to the tombs of the prophets in the valley of Jehosaphat, and on my way around the city, I entered the pool of Siloam and freely washed in its soft and healing fountain. I found plenty of water there for baptizing, besides a surplus quantity sent off in a limpid stream as a grateful tribute to the thirsty plants of the gardens in the valley. The pool of Bethsda, which had five porches, yet remains in the city, but in a dilapidated state, there being plenty of water to meet the demands of the city of a better quality, and more convenient--this vast reservoir is consequently neglected. This pool was unquestionably as free and accessible to all the people of Jerusalem as the Thames is to the Cockneys, or the Mississippi to the people of Nauvoo; and from its vast dimensions, it would certainly contain water enough to immerse all Jerusalem in in a day: so the argument against the doctrine of immersion, on the ground that there was not water enough in Jerusalem to immerse three thousand persons in in one day, is founded in an over anxiety to establish the traditions of men to the subversion of a gospel ordinance; and it will be borne in mind also, that the day of Penticost was in the month of May, just at the close of the rainy season, when all the pools and fountains in and about the city were flush with water. What were anciently called Mount Zion and Mount Calvary, are both within the present walls of the city. We should not call them mountains in America, or hardly hills; but gentle elevations or rises of land. The area of what was called Mount Zion, I should not think contained more than one acre of ground; at least as I stood upon it and contemplated what the prophets had said of Zion in the last days, and what should be done in her, I could no more bring my mind to believe that the magnet of truth in them which guided their words, pointed to this place, any more than I could believe that a camel can go through the eye of a needle, or a rich man enter into the kingdom of God. But on the land of Joseph, far in the west, where the spread eagle of America floats in the breeze and shadows the land--where those broad rivers and streams roll the waters of the western world to the fathomless abyss of the ocean--where those wide-spreading prairies (fields of the wood) and extensive forests adorn the land with such an agreeable variety, shall Zion rear her stately temples and stretch forth the curtains of her habitation. The record of Mormon chimes in so beautifully with the scriptures to establish this position, that an honest and faithful examination of the subject is all that is required to expel every doubt from the heart. The customs and manners of the people of the east are so similar to what they were in the days of our Saviour, that almost everything which the traveller beholds is a standing illustration of some portion of scripture: for example, I saw two women grinding wheat at a little hand-mill, consisting of two small stones with a little rude tackling about it, the whole of which one man might take in his arms and carry almost any where at pleasure. One would turn the top stone until her strength was exhausted, and then the other would take her place, and so alternately keep the little grinder in operation. It appears that our Lord foresaw the perpetuity of this custom, even to the time of his second coming; for he said, "Two women shall be grinding at the mill; one shall be taken and the other left; and for aught I know, these two I saw were the identical ones. I also saw the people take a kind of coarse grass and mix it with some kind of earth or peat that had been wet and reduced to the consistency of common mortar, and then lay it out in flattened cakes to dry for fuel. I then, for the first time in my life, saw the propriety of our Saviour's allusion, "If God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, &c." I might swell this letter to a volume upon these subjects, but I forbear for the present. One may read of the customs of the East, but it is not like seeing them. To read of a good dinner may brighten up a man's ideas about eating, especially if he be a little hungry; but to sit down at the luxurious board and eat is far more satisfactory. The two cases are not exactly parallel, yet the latter serves to illustrate the former. As I walked about the environs of the town, my spirit struggled within me in earnest prayer to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, that he would not only revolutionize this country, but renovate and make it glorious. My heart would lavish its blessings upon it in the greatest prodigality in view of what is to come hereafter. After returning to the city, I found my feet and legs completely coated with dust; for the whole face of the country was like an ash bed in consequence of the great length of the dry season. I then thought how very convenient it must have been for the ancient disciples to fulfil one injunction of the Saviour, "shake off the dust of your feet." Syria at present is in a very unsettled state. The Drewzes and Catholics are fighting almost constantly. They sometimes kill hundreds and hundreds of a day. In some sections it is not unfrequent that the traveller meets some dozen or twenty men by the way-side without heads, in a day. In a letter from Bavaria, I stated that hostilities had recommenced between the Turks and Egyptians; I took the statement from a German paper, but it was a mistake. The hostilities were between the lesser tribes in Syria. The American missionaries at Beyrout and Mount Lebanon have received official notice through Commodore Porter, our minister at Constantinople, from the Grand Sultan, that hereafter they can have no redress by law for any violence, outrage, or cruelty, that may be practiced upon them by the people; and advises them to leave the country. This course is approved of by Commodore Porter. I read the correspondence between him and Mr. Chassan, our consul at Beyrout; but all is going on in the providence of God. Syria and Palestine must ferment and ferment, work and work, until they work into the hands of Abraham's children to whom they rightly belong; and may the God of their fathers bless the hand that aids their cause. I must now begin to think of coming to a close. I have nearly three weeks yet to remain in quarantine. The time seems long; yet I endeavour not to let it run to waste. When our ship shall have obtained her prattique, I shall proceed, if the Lord will, directly to Germany over the Alps, and try to light up a fire there. Will you give me your prayers that God may bless my exertions, and that I may be enabled to conduct myself with that dignity and propriety in all things which become a man of God, and which the purity and virtue of the cause I advocate, so justly merits; and further, that in my great weakness celestial strength may appear. My kind respects to the presidency of the church, and a happy new year to all absent and enquiring friends. With the most kind and tender feelings towards you, and with a heart that will burst with blessings on your heads when your faces I behold, allow your _unworthy_ brother in Christ to close by the following lines which he offers you as a farewell token until Providence shall permit us again to meet: Where the sun leaves his last golden ray, Far over the sea's swelling tide, Will friends, dear and true, for me pray, That I in the Lord may abide? Though distance and time do us part, And scenes new and strange roll between, Your memory is dear to my heart, And friendship's bright star gleams the same. In the west, let its ray pour a light On the circle of Zion's true sons, To greet them with joy in the sight Of Him who has said we are one. To share in the spoils of my love, Her daughters, though last, are not least; For surely, 'twas blest from above Which graced the end of the feast. ORSON HYDE. * * * * DEAR BROTHER PRATT, In consequence of the great distance to Nauvoo, and the uncertainty of this letter reaching our brethren there, should I address it to them, I have thought proper to address it to you, with this request, that you will publish it by itself in pamphlet form, as soon as possible, and send a copy to each one of the twelve, three to the presidency of the church, and one to my wife. I wrote her a lengthy letter from this place, and sent it by an American ship bound directly to New York, and should have sent this along with it if it had been ready. I wish you, also, to send five copies to my brother, Abijah Hyde, Oxford, Newhaven County, and State of Connecticut, that he may send one to each of my other brothers, and one also to each of my sisters, and that I wish them and their families to consider themselves embraced within the circle of every good wish expressed in it. The size of the edition I leave with you to determine. You know that I, like yourself and every other Latter Day Saint preacher, have no salary except the voluntary contributions of the people where we labour; and having been absent from my family nearly two years, my arm and my purse have been too short to render them much assistance. I wish you, therefore, to forward a sufficient number of copies to each branch of the church any where this side of the Atlantic, that all who wish for a copy may have one; and whatever any brother, sister, or friend, shall be disposed to give in return, for the benefit of my wife and children, will be most gratefully received by them, and no less so by me. It can be handed to the agent to whom you shall send the copies, and he can forward it to you through the post, or otherwise as you shall direct, which will enable you to pay the printer; and the balance (should there be any) I will advise you in due time how to convey it to my family. But should you discover any impropriety in the plan, or should it be inconsistent for you to carry it into execution, you are at liberty to use the document as your better wisdom may direct you, only send it in some form to Nauvoo as soon as possible. Perhaps I feel too anxious about my family, but where the heart has only few objects to share its sympathies, upon those few objects the sun of affection shines with warmer and more brilliant ray. My family is my earthly all; and of late my feelings concerning them are very peculiar. It is nearly a year since I have heard anything of them, and being confined here in quarantine, perhaps I have become childish. My kind respects to yourself and family, to brothers Snow and Adams, and to all the Saints in England; may God bless you all: pray for me. I am your brother in Christ, ORSON HYDE. P.S. In justice to the American missionaries at Jerusalem, I must say, however, particularly of Mr. Whiting, with whom I became most acquainted, that as men, their conduct towards me was both courteous and civil; and when I left Mr. W.'s house I could not withhold my blessing from himself and family--his interesting wife and lovely little girls, who all speak fluently the English and Arabic. A kind word or action towards a stranger in a strange land is not soon forgotten. May the Lord bless them and their families with his salvation, through the knowledge of the truth, was my desire then, and is my prayer still. Note.--Expecting a letter or letters from you to be lodged in Bavaria for me, I have addressed a note there requesting them (if any) to be forwarded to me at this place; but as my note went on shore in the bustle without the postage being paid, and having to pass through different kingdoms, I do not expect it will be forwarded. I hope, however, to get news from you and the church when I get there myself. I hope also to hear something from my wife. I feel that a word from her would be more precious than gold; yet I am afraid to hear lest she may be in trouble, or some of her friends dead--a father or mother perhaps, or brother or sister. Yet I try to comfort myself with the thought that my long absence is the cause of all my bad feelings. The Lord knows, and I pray that he may bind up every broken heart. Fare-thee-well; thy brother in the Lord, O. H. * * * * LETTER II. _Trieste, January_ 17, 1842. DEAR BRETHREN AND SISTERS AT NAUVOO, I have just written a lengthy letter to the Twelve, and sent it by way of Elder Pratt, in England. In that, and in a former one written to him from Alexandria in Egypt, is contained an account of my mission to Jerusalem. I feel, however, as though I wished to write a few lines more on this the last day of my confinement on ship board, where I have spent the last fifty-six days: six days in the harbour of Alexandria--twenty-two days on our passage--and twenty-eight here in quarantine. To-morrow, if the Lord will, the the jubilant song, with its thrice welcome melody, will greet the ears of a poor captive exile, the prison doors give way, and he be permitted once more to breathe the air of freedom in a land where he is not annoyed by the sight of the star and crescent, the turban and the covered face--all of which are an abomination in my sight. The thoughts which I record will, no doubt, be scattering, and like "the gleaning of grapes when the vintage is done;" or like a few indolent belated stragglers going to the place of worship on a Sabbath morning after the more conscientious and faithful have broken the silence which hovered around the place of their devotion, and greeted the morning with their prayers and joyful acclamations of praise to the Lord their God. It is now rapidly advancing to the close of two _long_ years since I had the pleasure of mingling my voice with yours in ascribing honour and thanksgiving to that Being whose arm alone has been my support, and whose kind angel has swept the misty vapours far away which dispondency would feign cast over the star of hope, and nearly one year since I have heard ought direct from you. While in Bavaria, I saw a statement in a German paper that Brother Joseph had been apprehended and confined in prison. I knew not but that it might be so; yet I was inclined to set it down among the numerous deaths which he has suffered, the imprisonments which he has endured, and the various runaways of which he has been guilty, according to the flood of newspaper slang which has been poured forth upon a deceived public: but as time allows nothing to remain stationary, you may judge of my anxiety to hear from you, particularly when the happiness or misery of my own dear wife and little children is identified with your own. I sometimes fancy myself in your midst, in my hours of silent meditation, gazing upon a large concourse of saints. I see many, _very_ many strange faces that I never saw before; while others with whom I was familiarly acquainted, I do not see. Being anxious to know where they are, I inquire after them; but am told, with a sigh that contains no fiction, that time--that cruel and unfeeling destroyer of the human race, has borne them on his untiring wing to a long and sleepy mansion, to await the hour when the voice of the Archangel and the trumpet of God shall bid their sleeping dust arise, and come forth to receive the reward of their labours. O, ye precious souls! your debt is paid, and I cannot but embalm your memory with a tear as these lines slip from my pen. There, for instance, sits a brother looking steadily upon his little daughter. His melancholy mien bespeaks a heart wadeing deep in sorrow: he puts his handkerchief to his face and bursts into tears. I ask the cause of that; and am told, that that brother has lately lost his wife; and as he looked upon the young and tender flower, and recognised in her the kind and affectionate features of the companion of his youth who now sleeps in the arms of death, he immediately contrasted all her virtues with every unkind word that he might have given her, and every ungenerous action; and the thought that his children are bereft of a mother, and his own bosom of its dearest friend, swells his heart to a burst of grief; and every unkind word which he might have given her in the warmth of the moment, now rushes upon his memory, pierces his soul, and adds an additional pang to the flood of grief which overwhelms him. "Husbands," whoever you are, "love your wives, and be not bitter against them." The delicacy of their sex, the vivid perceptibility of their mind, and the soft and engaging virtues of their heart, which weave themselves into the rugged recesses of man's masculine temperament and constitute him a fit member of society, render them entitled to the warmest affections of your heart, and to the generous protection of your arm. In another part sits a sister clad in deep mourning, with a number of little children about her. The solemnity which sits upon the countenance, and the sad melancholy which lingers in her eyes, declare that her mourning is not all on the outside. She looks upon the little ones and beholds in them the generous and manly features of their sire, but his place his vacant: And pray, where is he? Oh! as the sturdy oak of the forest is laid low by the shaft from heaven, so has their dear father fallen by an arrow from the bow of a strong archer, and these young and tender branches which have sprung forth from his roots, only are left to perpetuate his name. None but God knows the anguish of that sister's heart, as she hides her face, and pours forth her grief in flowing streams of tearful eloquence. But stay, my hand, open not those wounds afresh when thou hast no balm to bind them up: but may the Lord, whose province it is to comfort all that mourn, and to bind up the broken-hearted, soothe the sorrows of those afflicted ones, and pour the oil of consolation into their grieved and wounded spirit. When, oh! when shall human grief and woe come to a final end? Thank kind heaven, there is a time when these must cease. In the times of the restitution of all things, when the son of the virgin shall have disarmed death of his power and triumphed over every foe of man; then shall the tree of life spread wide its branches, bloom in eternal spring, and exhale his rich and life-giving odours to the breeze, carrying life, health, and joy upon its balmy wing to every department of God's creation. "Behold we bring you glad tidings of great joy which shall be unto all people." I have not performed this long journey without encountering _some few_ hardships, but I will not mention them; suffice it to say, that I am well at present. The past is over and gone, and I leave the future with my master. You certainly have an interest in my prayers day and night, and I hope you will send up a good wish occasionally for me; yes, even for me. I need it. My heart is full, and I can write no more upon these matters. Let me now tell you something about a thunderstorm at sea. I have crossed the Atlantic three times--once the German and Black seas, and all about the Levante, besides sailing much on the American waters; but never, no, never before did I witness nature in such a rage on the deep, as once on this last voyage off the island of Candia, about the 7th of December. The sun sat behind the rising bulwarks of a dark and gloomy cloud as though he would not look upon the scene that awaited us: this said to the experienced tar, "there is danger on the deep." About six o'clock in the evening, the breath of the monster reached us: all hands aloft furling sails. The sky became suddenly black--the sea began to roll in upon our weather-beam and lash the hull of our ship, tossing her from surge to surge with as much ease as a giant would sport with an infant. The scene became grand. Our vessel stood on her course--wind on her larboard quarter, and under fore and close-reefed maintopsail only; while thunders loud and long uttered their voices from on high, and rolled through the vaulted canopy as if clothed with the official mandate from Jehovah for the sea to give up its dead. The lightnings issued from the womb of darkness in fiery streams of blazing vengeance to light up the terror of the storm. A feeling of solemnity and awe rolled across my bosom as I gazed upon the troubled deep, raging in the wildness and fury of a tempest. The spray of the clipped surge was frequently whirled on the wing of the eddying currents like mighty cascades upon our deck, while the rain descended like torrents from the mountains. Abroad on the deep, the crested billows rolled high their fleecy heads, and threw up thin sheets of foam in great majesty, coruscating in the lightning's glare; and for a few minutes it really appeared to me that the elements had engaged in a pitched battle--the crown of sovereignty to be awarded to the victor. The winds howled through our almost naked shrouds like a thousand winged spirits waiting to chaunt our requiem; but under the providential care of HIM who governs the winds and the waves, and who formed the ocean from his palm, our gallant barque bore us safely out the gale. Then said I-- "God speed thee, good ship, on thy pathway of foam, The sea is thy country, the billow thy home." When the light of the next morning had dawned upon us, I arose and went out upon deck, and found our lady of the deep attired in full dress, bearing us over the bosom of the gently rolling billow, apparently as careless and unconcerned as though nothing had happened; and, safely has she brought us into port, so I will sing-- Now on Europe's shores we're landed, Far away from ocean's roar; Where howling winds and rolling surges, Disturb our anxious hearts no more. Still is every note of tempest, Calmly sleeps the peerless wave; An emblem of our friends departed, Whose dust reposes in the grave. Thanks to Him who holds the billow, And rides aloft on fleecy clouds; Let heaven, earth, and seas adore him, With all the vast unnumber'd crowds. Worthy! worthy is the Saviour! Who, for sinners, once was slain; Swell! oh, swell! the joyful anthem, All ye wretched sons of men. Come unto this bleeding fountain, Meek and lowly you must be; Bear the cross and wash in Jordan, Then from guilt he'll set you free. My poetic organ is not largely developed, so for the correctness of the measure and rhyme of these few lines I will not be responsible. When in Bavaria I wrote brother Joseph a long letter; it was sometime in August last. I hope he received it, for I think it would do him good--at least it was written with that intention; and I sent one to my wife at about the same time: the answers I hope to receive when I get to Bavaria again. Fare you well; I love you all, I pray for you all, and by the grace of God, I always shall. I am your brother, far away, and yet near, ORSON HYDE. * * * * _Regenshurgh, January_ 30, 1842. TO BROTHER PRATT ALONE, Sir,--I have thought proper to send this letter to you also, for the same reasons as are assigned in the other. You will therefore publish them both together, if you shall think proper to do any thing with them. The whole was written in Trieste, except these last lines. Not having a convenient opportunity to send them from that place, I brought them with me here to Regensburgh. I now have the pleasure of acknowledging the receipt of your two letters, and one from my wife and brother Joseph, dated 14th November last. I was thrice glad to hear from you all: I laughed and cried altogether. I have no room here to reply, but you may hear from me again by and by. Dear Brother,--I have not forgotten looking at you through the crevices of a prison, neither have I forgotten what my thoughts were at that time; but if I had had the strength of a Sampson, then was the time that I would have used it for your deliverance. I need not be particular to explain my own situation at that time; "but God be thanked that I am where I am." If enemies are strong and many, nail your flag to the spanker gaff, keep close to the wind, and if your metal is not heavy enough, the artillery of heaven will play upon them. ORSON HYDE. * * * * LETTER III. [A] [Footnote A: This letter and the following are of much earlier date than the two preceding, and have either wholly or in part appeared previously in the _Millennial Star_.] _Alexandria, Nov._ 22, 1841. DEAR BROTHER PRATT, A few minutes now offer for me to write, and I improve them in writing to you. I have only time to say that I have seen Jerusalem precisely according to the vision which I had. I saw no one with me in the vision; and although Elder Page was appointed to accompany me there, yet I found myself there alone. The Lord knows that I have had a hard time, and suffered much, but I have great reason to thank him that I enjoy good health at present, and have a prospect before me of soon going to a civilized country, where I shall see no more turbans or camels. The heat is most oppressive, and has been all through Syria. I have not time to tell you how many days I have been at sea, without food, or how many snails I have eaten; but if I had had plenty of them, I should have done very well. All this is contained in a former letter to you, written from Jaffa. I have been at Cairo, on the Nile, because I could not get a passage direct. Syria is in a dreadful state--a war of extermination is going on between the Drewzes and Catholics. At the time I was at Beyrout, a battle was fought in the mountains of Lebanon, near that place, and about 800 killed. Robberies, thefts, and murders, are daily being committed. It is no uncommon thing to find persons in the street without heads. An English officer in going from St. Jean d'Acre to Beyrout, found ten persons murdered in the street, and was himself taken prisoner, but was rescued by the timely interference of the Pacha. The particulars of all these things are contained in a former letter. An American traveller, named Gager, a licensed minister of the Congregational or Presbyterian Church, left Jerusalem in company with me. He was very unwell with the jaundice when we left, and at Damietta we had to perform six days' quarantine before we ascended the Nile. On our passage up he was taken very ill with a fever, and became helpless. I waited and tended upon him as well as our circumstances would allow; and when we landed at Bulack, I got four men to take him to the American consul's, in Cairo, on a litter; I also took all his baggage there, and assisted in putting him upon a good bed--employed a good faithful Arabian nurse, and the English doctor. After the physician had examined him, he told me that he was very low with a typhus fever, and that it would be doubtful whether he recovered. Under these circumstances I left him to obtain a passage to this place. After I had gone on board a boat, and was just about pushing off, a letter came from the doctor, stating that poor Mr. Gager died in about two hours after I left him. He told me before we arrived at Cairo, that he was 27 years of age, and his friends lived in Norwich, Connecticut, near New London, I think. There are many particulars concerning his death which would be interesting to his friends, but I have no time to write them now. On Sunday morning, October 24th, a good while before day, I arose from sleep, and went out of the city as soon as the gates were opened, crossed the brook Cedron, and went upon the Mount of Olives, and there, in solemn silence, with pen, ink, and paper, just as I saw in the vision, offered up the following prayer to him who lives for ever and ever: "O Thou! who art from everlasting to everlasting, eternally and unchangeably the same, even the God who rules in the heavens above, and controls the destinies of men on the earth, wilt Thou condescend, through thine infinite goodness and royal favour, to listen to the prayer of thy servant which he this day offers up unto thee in the name of thy holy child Jesus, upon this land where the Sun of Righteousness sat in blood, and thine _Anointed One_ expired. "Be pleased, O Lord, to forgive all the follies, weaknesses, vanities, and sins of thy servant, and strengthen him to resist all future temptations. Give him prudence and discernment that he may avoid the evil, and a heart to choose the good; give him fortitude to bear up under trying and adverse circumstances, and grace to endure all things for thy name's sake, until the end shall come, when all the saints shall rest in peace. "Now, O Lord! thy servant has been obedient to the heavenly vision which thou gavest him in his native land; and under the shadow of thine outstretched arm, he has safely arrived in this place to dedicate and consecrate this land unto Thee, for the gathering together of Judah's scattered remnants, according to the predictions of the holy prophets--for the building up of Jerusalem again after it has been trodden down by the Gentiles so long, and for rearing a temple in honour of thy name. Everlasting thanks be ascribed unto thee, Father! Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast preserved thy servant from the dangers of the seas, and from the plague and pestilence which have caused the land to mourn. The violence of man has also been restrained, and thy providential care by night and by day has been exercised over thine unworthy servant. Accept, therefore, O Lord, the tribute of a grateful heart for all past favours, and be pleased to continue thy kindness and mercy towards a needy worm of the dust. "O Thou, who didst covenant with Abraham, thy friend, and who didst renew that covenant with Isaac, and confirm the same with Jacob with an oath, that thou wouldst not only give them this land for an everlasting inheritance, but that thou wouldst also remember their seed for ever. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, have long since closed their eyes in death, and made the grave their mansion. Their children are scattered and dispersed abroad among the nations of the Gentiles like sheep that have no shepherd, and are still looking forward for the fulfilment of those promises which thou didst make concerning them; and even this land, which once poured forth nature's richest bounty, and flowed, as it were, with milk and honey, has, to a certain extent, been smitten with barrenness and sterility since it drank from murderous hands the blood of Him who never sinned. "Grant, therefore, O Lord, in the name of thy well-beloved Son, Jesus Christ, to remove the barrenness and sterility of this land, and let springs of living water break forth to water its thirsty soil. Let the vine and the olive produce in their strength, and the fig tree bloom and flourish. Let the land become abundantly fruitful when possessed by its rightful heirs; let it again flow with plenty to feed the returning prodigals who come home with a spirit of grace and supplication; upon it let the clouds distil virtue and richness, and let the fields smile with plenty. Let the flocks and the herds greatly increase and multiply upon the mountains and the hills; and let thy great kindness conquer and subdue the unbelief of thy people. Do thou take from them their stony heart, and give them a heart of flesh; and may the sun of thy favour dispel the cold mists of darkness which have beclouded their atmosphere. Incline them to gather in upon this land according to thy word. Let them come like clouds and like doves to their windows. Let the large ships of the nations bring them from the distant isles; and let kings become their nursing fathers, and queens with motherly fondness, wipe the tear of sorrow from their eye. "Thou, O Lord, did once move upon the heart of Cyrus to shew favour unto Jerusalem and her children. Do thou now also be pleased to inspire the hearts of kings and the powers of the earth to look with a friendly eye towards this place, and with a desire to see thy righteous purposes executed in relation thereto. Let them know that it is thy good pleasure to restore the kingdom unto Israel--raise up Jerusalem as its capital, and constitute her people a distinct nation and government, with David thy servant, even a descendant from the loins of ancient David, to be their king. "Let that nation or that people who shall take an active part in behalf of Abraham's children, and in the raising up of Jerusalem, find favour in thy sight. Let not their enemies prevail against them, neither let pestilence or famine overcome them, but let the glory of Israel overshadow them, and the power of the highest protect them; while that nation or kingdom that will not serve thee in this glorious work must perish, according to thy word--'Yea, those nations shall be utterly wasted.' "Though thy servant is now far from his home, and from the land bedewed with his earliest tear, yet he remembers, O Lord, his friends who are there, and family, whom for thy sake he has left. Though poverty and privation be our earthly lot, yet ah! do Thou richly endow us with an inheritance where moth and rust do not corrupt, and where thieves do not break through and steal. "The hands that have fed, clothed, or shown favour unto the family of thy servant in his absence, or that shall hereafter do so, let them not lose their reward, but let a special blessing rest upon them, and in thy kingdom let them have an inheritance when thou shalt come to be glorified in this society. "Do Thou also look with favour upon all those through whose liberality I have been enabled to come to this island; and in the day when thou shalt reward all people according to their works, let these also not be past by or forgotten, but in time let them be in readiness to enjoy the glory of those mansions which Jesus has gone to prepare. Particularly do thou bless the stranger in Philadelphia, whom I never saw, but who sent me gold, with a request that I should pray for him in Jerusalem. Now, O Lord, let blessings come upon him from an unexpected quarter, and let his basket be filled, and his storehouse abound with plenty, and let not the good things of the earth be his only portion, but let him be found among those to whom it shall be said, 'Thou hast been faithful over a few things, and I will make thee ruler over many.' "O my father in heaven! I now ask thee in the name of Jesus to remember Zion, with all her stakes, and with all her assemblies. She has been grievously afflicted and smitten; she has mourned; she has wept; her enemies have triumphed, and have said, 'Ah, where is thy God?' Her priests and prophets have groaned in chains and fetters within the gloomy walls of prisons, while many were slain, and now sleep in the arms of death. How long, O Lord, shall iniquity triumph, and sin go unpunished? "Do Thou arise in the majesty of thy strength, and make bare thine arm in behalf of thy people. Redress their wrongs, and turn their sorrow into joy. Pour the spirit of light and knowledge, grace and wisdom, into the hearts of her prophets, and clothe her priests with salvation. Let light and knowledge march forth through the empire of darkness, and may the honest in heart flow to their standard, and join in the march to go forth to meet the Bridegroom. "Let a peculiar blessing rest upon the presidency of thy church, for at them are the arrows of the enemy directed. Be thou to them a sun and shield, their strong tower and hiding-place; and in the time of distress or danger be thou near to deliver. Also the quorum of the twelve, do thou be pleased to stand by, for thou knowest the obstacles which we have to encounter, the temptations to which we are exposed, and the privations which we must suffer. Give us, therefore, strength according to our day, and help us to bear a faithful testimony of Jesus and his gospel, and to finish with fidelity and honour the work which thou hast given us to do, and then give us a place in thy glorious kingdom. And let this blessing rest upon every faithful officer and member in thy church. And all the glory and honour will we ascribe unto God and the Lamb for ever and ever. Amen." * * * * On the top of Mount Olives I erected a pile of stones as a witness according to the ancient custom. On what was anciently called Mount Zion, where the temple stood, I erected another, and used the rod according to the prediction upon my head. I have found many Jews who listened with intense interest. The idea of the Jews being restored to Palestine is gaining ground in Europe almost every day. Jerusalem is strongly fortified with many cannon upon its walls. The wall is ten feet thick on the sides that would be most exposed, and four or five feet where the descent from the wall is almost perpendicular. The number of inhabitants within the walls is about twenty thousand. About seven thousand of this number are Jews, the balance being mostly Turks and Armenians. Many of the Jews who are old go to this place to die, and many are coming from Europe into this Eastern world. The great wheel is unquestionably in motion, and the word of the Almighty has declared that it shall roll. I have not time to write particulars now, but suffice it to say, that my mission has been quite as prosperous as I could expect. I am now about to go on board a fine ship for Trieste, and from thence I intend to proceed to Regensburgh, and there publish our faith in the German language. There are those who are ready and willing to assist me. I send you this letter by Captain Withers, an English gentleman, who goes direct to England on board the Oriental steamer. He has come with me from Jerusalem. If I had money sufficient I should be almost tempted to take passage on board of her to England, but this I cannot do. On receipt of this, I wish you to write to me immediately, and direct to Regensburgh, on the Danube, Beyern, or Bavaria. If you know anything of my family, tell me. My best respects to yourself and family, to brothers Adams and Snow, and to all the saints in England. May grace, mercy, and peace, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ, rest upon you all from this time, henceforth, and for ever. Amen. Your brother in Christ, ORSON HYDE. P.S. Mr. Gager died on the 15th instant, at four o'clock in the afternoon. * * * * LETTER IV. _Jaffa, October_ 20, 1841 DEAR BROTHER PRATT, Yesterday I arrived in this place from Beyrout, and just as I was about to start from the American consul's in this place to Jerusalem, at a most enormous price, a company of English gentlemen rode in from Jerusalem with many servants all armed, and they were to return immediately to Jerusalem, and I can go for little or nothing comparatively speaking. I have only time to say a few words; but through the favour of heaven I am well and in good spirits, and expect, in a day or two, to see Jerusalem. My journey has been long and tedious, and consequently expensive. If I get back to England with money enough to buy my dinner, I shall think myself well off. The country is in a terrible state. While I was at Beyrout, a terrible battle was fought in Mount Lebanon, about six hours' walk from Beyrout, between the Drewzes and Catholics. It was said that about four hundred were killed on each side. An English officer, returning from St. Jean d'Acre to Beyrout, was taken by the Drewzes, and would have been killed had not the Pacha come to his rescue. He said that he found ten human bodies in the street on his way without heads. Thefts, murders, and robberies are taking place almost continually. The American missionaries in Beyrout and Mount Lebanon have had notice from the Grand Sultan, through our minister at Constantinople, Commodore Porter, to leave the country, and a prospect that all the missionaries in Syria will have to leave. This is only conjecture, however. But in this, if it do take place, I can see plainly the hand of Providence. The fact is, this land belongs to the Jews; and the present fermentation thereof shows to me that it is fast working back into the hands of its rightful heirs. God will, in due time, drive out the Canaanites, so that no more a Canaanite shall be found in the land, or in the house of the Lord. I find that almost an universal anxiety prevails respecting the return of the Jews. The waters are troubled because the Angel has descended. My heart leaps for joy at the prospect of seeing that land, and there fulfilling my mission. When we left Smyrna for Beyrout, we only took in stores for one week, thinking that would surely be sufficient, as the voyage is usually made in four days; but we were nineteen days on the passage. A number of days I eat snails gathered from the rocks, but the greatest difficulty was, I could not get enough of them. I was so weak and exhausted that I could not go on shore after the slight exertion of drawing on my boots. But that is past; I am now strong and well, and have plenty to eat. I now have nothing but land pirates, in the shape of Arabs, to encounter. An Englishman seems like a brother, let his religion be what it may. Yet I am very partial to the fulness of the gospel; for in it I have great joy. The servants are now waiting for me, and I must gird on my arms and be off. Yet one thing I will notice, which is this: On my passage from Beyrout to this place, the night before last, at one o'clock, as I was meditating on the deck of the vessel, as she was beating down against a sultry schroke wind, a very bright glittering sword appeared in the heavens, about two yards in length, with a beautiful hilt, as plain and complete as any cut you ever saw. And, what is still more remarkable, an arm, with a perfect hand, stretched itself out and took hold on the hilt of the sword. The appearance really made my hair rise, and the flesh, as it were, to crawl on my bones. The Arabs made a wonderful outcry at the sight; O, Allah, Allah, Allah![A] was their exclamation all over the vessel. [Footnote A: Lord, Lord, Lord!] I mention this because you know there is a commandment to me which says, "Unto you it shall be given to know the signs of the times, and the sign of the coming of the son of man." May the Lord bless you all in England and in America. And I pray that he will bless my wife, and my dear little children; God knows that I want to see them--yea, and all the saints. I have many particulars that I would like to write, but time will not allow at this time. You will hear from me again by the first opportunity, if the Arabs don't kill me. There is no post here; letters are sent by private conveyance, through friends, &c. God bless you and the cause of Zion is my last prayer. My love to brothers Snow and Adams, and all the brothers and sisters in the communion: pray for me. Yours, in great haste, ORSON HYDE. * * * * THE GATHERING OF ISRAEL. BY MRS. TINSLEY. _(From the Monthly Chronicle for April.)_ A sound hath pass'd through the nations, heard By the heart alone, when its depths are stirr'd; Mightier than that of storm-lifted seas, Than the tempest's rush amid forrest trees; Mightier than sorrow's earth-born cry, Than the shout of kings to victory; And still, where its tale hath gone, A voice to the breeze is cast, "On to Jerusalem, brothers, on! We have gain'd our home at last! "Lift up thine head, O Israel! yet From the depths of the darkness round thee set; Rejoice, for the chosen of the Lord Have listened once more to His living word; Calling them forth from the nations around, To the hallow'd rest of their father's ground: And still, as the goal is won, Let the thrilling shout be past, On to Jerusalem, brothers, on! We have gain'd our home at last! "Was the scoffer strong in the days of old, Fenced by his idols of dust-won gold, Mocking their hope, while his footsteps trod With the prophet-gather'd hosts of God? Heed him not now in the times that be, For ours is no common destiny; But, with true armour, won From the stores of the mighty past, On to Jerusalem, boldly on! We have gain'd our home at last! "Did the desert of old yield its gushing wave, For the pilgrim-fathers their thirst to lave? Did the vision of God before them stand, Guiding their steps to the promis'd land? And shall we, their children, all forget That this mighty arm is our refuge yet? No! by the hope whereon We have lean'd through the stormy past! On to Jerusalem, brothers, on! We have gain'd our home at last! "There flow the waters that flow'd of yore, Washing no trace from the hallow'd shore; There rise the hills where our fathers bow'd When the voice of God shook the riven cloud; And the boughs of the stately cedar thrill With that holy breath, for it stirs them still: And we, are we call'd upon By a voice to the desert cast? On to Jerusalem, Israel, on! We have gain'd our home at last!" * * * * _Liverpool: James and Woodburn, Printers, 14, Hanover Street._ Transcriber's Note Some obvious printer's errors (e.g. 'injuction' for 'injunction') have been corrected as seemed reasonable. Some unusual spellings (e.g. 'radience,' 'Bethsda') and inconsistent quotation marks in the original have been maintained. 
11357	----	JIMGRIM AND ALLAH'S PEACE by Talbot Mundy To Jimgrim: whose real name, rank, and military distinctions, I promised never to make public. Contents I. "Look for a man named Grim." II. "No objection; Only a stipulation." III. "Do whatever the leader of the escort tells you." IV. "I am willing to use all means--all methods." V. "D'you mind if I use you?" VI. "That man will repay study." VII. "Who gives orders to me?" VIII. "He will say next that it was he who set the stars in the sky over El-Kerak, and makes the moon rise!" IX. "Feet downwards, too afraid to yell"-- X. "Money doesn't weigh much!" XI. "And the rest of the acts of Ahaziah--" XII. "You know you'll get scuppered if you're found out!" XIII. "You may now be unsafe and an outlaw and enjoy yourself!" XIV. "Windy bellies without hearts in them." XV. "I'll have nothing to do with it!" XVI. "The enemy is nearly always useful if you leave him free to make mistakes." XVII. "Poor old Scharnhoff's in the soup." XVIII. "But we're ready for them." XIX. "Dead or Alive, Sahib." XX. "All men are equal in the dark." ------------ Chapter One "Look for a man named Grim." There is a beautiful belief that journalists may do exactly as they please, and whenever they please. Pleasure with violet eyes was in Chicago. My passport describes me as a journalist. My employer said: "Go to Jerusalem." I went, that was in 1920. I had been there a couple of times before the World War, when the Turks were in full control. So I knew about the bedbugs and the stench of the citadel moat; the pre-war price of camels; enough Arabic to misunderstand it when spoken fluently, and enough of the Old Testament and the Koran to guess at Arabian motives, which are important, whereas words are usually such stuff as lies are made of. El Kudz, as Arabs call Jerusalem, is, from a certain distance, as they also call it, shellabi kabir. Extremely beautiful. Beautiful upon a mountain. El Kudz means The City, and in a certain sense it is that, to unnumbered millions of people. Ludicrous, uproarious, dignified, pious, sinful, naively confidential, secretive, altruistic, realistic. Hoary-ancient and ultra-modern. Very, very proud of its name Jerusalem, which means City of Peace. Full to the brim with the malice of certainly fifty religions, fifty races, and five hundred thousand curious political chicaneries disguised as plans to save our souls from hell and fill some fellow's purse. The jails are full. "Look for a man named Grim," said my employer. "James Schuyler Grim, American, aged thirty-four or so. I've heard he knows the ropes." The ropes, when I was in Jerusalem before the war, were principally used for hanging people at the Jaffa Gate, after they had been well beaten on the soles of their feet to compel them to tell where their money was hidden. The Turks entirely understood the arts of suppression and extortion, which they defined as government. The British, on the other hand, subject their normal human impulse to be greedy, and their educated craving to be gentlemanly white man's burden-bearers, to a process of compromise. Perhaps that isn't government. But it works. They even carry compromise to the point of not hanging even their critics if they can possibly avoid doing it. They had not yet, but they were about to receive a brand-new mandate from a brand-new League of Nations, awkwardly qualified by Mr. Balfour's post-Armistice promise to the Zionists to give the country to the Jews, and by a war-time promise, in which the French had joined, to create an Arab kingdom for the Arabs. So there was lots of compromising being done, and hell to pay, with no one paying, except, of course, the guests in the hotels, at New York prices. The Zionist Jews were arriving in droves. The Arabs, who owned most of the land, were threatening to cut all the Jews' throats as soon as they could first get all their money. Feisal, a descendant of the Prophet, who had fought gloriously against the Turks, was romantically getting ready in Damascus to be crowned King of Syria. The French, who pride themselves on being realistic, were getting ready to go after Feisal with bayonets and poison-gas, as they eventually did. In Jerusalem the Bolsheviks, astonishingly credulous of "secret" news from Moscow, and skeptical of every one's opinion but their own, were bolsheviking Marxian Utopia beneath a screen of such arrogant innocence that even the streetcorner police constables suspected them. And Mustapha Kemal, in Anatolia, was rumoured to be preparing a holy war. It was known as a Ghazi in those days. He had not yet scrapped religion. He was contemplating, so said rumour, a genuine old-fashioned moslem jihad, with modern trimmings. A few enthusiasts astonishingly still laboured for an American mandate. At the Holy Sepulchre a British soldier stood on guard with bayonet and bullets to prevent the priests of rival creeds from murdering one another. The sun shone and so did the stars. General Bols reopened Pontius Pilate's water-works. The learned monks in convents argued about facts and theories denied by archaeologists. Old-fashioned Jews wailed at the Wailing Wall. Tommy Atkins blasphemously dug corpses of donkeys and dogs from the Citadel moat. I arrived in the midst of all that, and spent a couple of months trying to make head or tail of it, and wondering, if that was peace, what war is? They say that wherever a man was ever slain in Palestine a flower grows. So one gets a fair idea of the country's mass-experience without much difficulty. For three months of the year, from end to end, the whole landscape is carpeted with flowers so close together that, except where beasts and men have trodden winding tracks, one can hardly walk without crushing an anemone or wild chrysanthemum. There are more battle-fields in that small land than all Europe can show. There are streams everywhere that historians assert repeatedly "ran blood for days." Five thousand years of bloody terrorism, intermingling of races, piety, plunder, politics and pilgrims, have produced a self- consciousness as concentrated as liquid poison-gas. The laughter is sarcastic, the humour sardonic, and the credulity beyond analysis. For instance, when I got there, I heard the British being accused of "imperialistic savagery" because they had removed the leprous beggars from the streets into a clean place where they could receive medical treatment. It was difficult to find one line of observation. Whatever anybody told you, was reversed entirely by the next man. The throat-distorting obligation to study Arabic called for rather intimate association with educated Arabs, whose main obsession was fear of the Zionist Jews. The things they said against the Jews turned me pro-Zionist. So I cautiously made the acquaintance of some gentlemen with gold-rimmed spectacles, and the things they said about the Arabs set me to sympathizing with the sons of Ishmael again. In the midst of that predicament I met Jimgrim--Major James Schuyler Grim, to give him his full title, although hardly any one ever called him by it. After that, bewilderment began to cease as, under his amused, painstaking fingers, thread after thread of the involved gnarl of plots and politics betrayed its course. However, first I must tell how I met him. There is an American Colony in Jerusalem--a community concern that runs a one-price store, and is even more savagely criticized than the British Administration, as is only natural. The story of what they did in the war is a three-year epic. You can't be "epic" and not make enemies. A Chicago Jew assured me they were swine and horse-thieves. But I learned that the Yemen Jews prayed for them--first prayer-- every Sabbath of the year, calling down blessings on their heads for charitable service rendered. One hardly goes all the way to Palestine to meet Americans; but a journalist can't afford to be wilfully ignorant. A British official assured me they were "good blokes" and an Armenian told me they could skin fleas for their hides and tallow; but the Armenian was wearing a good suit, and eating good food, which he admitted had been given to him by the American Colony. He was bitter with them because they had refused to cash a draft on Mosul, drawn on a bank that had ceased to exist. It seemed a good idea to call on the American Colony, at their store near the Jaffa Gate, and it turned out to be a very clean spot in a dirty city. I taxed their generosity, and sat for hours on a ten-thousand-dollar pile of Asian rugs behind the store; and, whatever I have missed and lost, or squandered, at least I know their story and can keep it until the proper time. Of course, you have to allow for point of view, just as the mariner allows for variation and deviation; but when they inferred that most of the constructive good that has come to the Near East in the last fifty years has been American, they spoke with the authority of men who have lived on the spot and watched it happen. "You see, the Americans who have come here haven't set up governments. They've opened schools and colleges. They've poured in education, and taken nothing. Then there are thousands of Arabs, living in hovels because there's nothing better, who have been to America and brought back memories with them. All that accounts for the desire for an American mandate--which would be a very bad thing, though, because the moment we set up a government we would lose our chance to be disinterested. The country is better off under any other mandate, provided it gives Americans the right to teach without ruling. America's mission is educational. There's an American, though, who might seem to prove the contrary. Do you see him?" There were two Arabs in the room, talking in low tones over by the window. I could imagine the smaller of the two as a peddler of lace and filigree-silver in the States, who had taken out papers for the sake of privilege and returned full of notions to exploit his motherland. But the tall one--never. He was a Bedouin, if ever a son of the desert breathed. If he had visited the States, then he had come back as unchanged as gold out of an acid bath; and as for being born there-- "That little beady-eyed, rat-faced fellow may be an American," I said. "In fact, of course he is, since you say so. But as for being up to any good--" "You're mistaken. You're looking at the wrong man. Observe the other one." I was more than ever sure I was not mistaken. Stately gesture, dignity, complexion, attitude--to say nothing of his Bedouin array and the steadiness with which he kept his dark eyes fixed on the smaller man he was talking to, had laid the stamp of the desert on the taller man from head to heel. "That tall man is an American officer in the British army. Doesn't look the part, eh? They say he was the first American to be granted a commission without any pretense of his being a Canadian. They accepted him as an American. It was a case of that or nothing. Lived here for years, and knew the country so well that they felt they had to have him on his own terms." You can believe anything in Jerusalem after you have been in the place a week or two, so, seeing who my informant was, I swallowed the fact. But it was a marvel. It seemed even greater when the man strolled out, pausing to salute my host with the solemn politeness that warfare with the desert breeds. You could not imagine that at Ellis Island, or on Broadway--even on the stage. It was too untheatrical to be acting; too individual to be imitation; to unself-conscious to have been acquired. I hazarded a guess. "A red man, then. Carlisle for education. Swallowed again by the first desert he stayed in for more than a week." "Wrong. His name is Grim. Sounds like Scandinavian ancestry, on one side. James Schuyler Grim--Dutch, then, on the other; and some English. Ten generations in the States at any rate. He can tell you all about this country. Why not call on him?" It did not need much intelligence to agree to that suggestion; but the British military take their code with them to the uttermost ends of earth, behind which they wonder why so many folks with different codes, or none, dislike them. "Write me an introduction," I said. "You won't need one. Just call on him. He lives at a place they call the junior Staff Officers' Mess--up beyond the Russian Convent and below the Zionist Hospital." So I went that evening, finding the way with difficulty because they talk at least eighteen languages in Jerusalem and, with the exception of official residences, no names were posted anywhere. That was not an official residence. It was a sort of communal boarding-house improvised by a dozen or so officers in preference to the bug-laden inconvenience of tents--in a German-owned (therefore enemy property) stone house at the end of an alley, in a garden full of blooming pomegranates. I sent my card in by a flat-footed old Russian female, who ran down passages and round corners like a wet hen, trying to find a man-servant. The place seemed deserted, but presently she came on her quarry in the back yard, and a very small boy in a tarboosh and knickerbockers carried the card on a tray into a room on the left. Through the open door I could hear one quiet question and a high-pitched disclaimer of all knowledge; then an order, sounding like a grumble, and the small boy returned to the hall to invite me in, in reasonably good English, of which he seemed prouder than I of my Arabic. So I went into the room on the left, with that Bedouin still in mind. There was only one man in there, who got out of a deep armchair as I entered, marking his place in a book with a Damascus dagger. He did not look much more than middle height, nor more than medium dark complexioned, and he wore a major's khaki uniform. "Beg pardon," I said. "I've disturbed the wrong man. I came to call on an American named Major Grim." "I'm Grim." "Must be a mistake, though. The man I'm looking for is taller than you--very dark--looks, walks, speaks and acts like a Bedouin. I saw him this afternoon in Bedouin costume in the American Colony store." "Yes, I noticed you. Sit down, won't you? Yes, I'm he--the Bedouin abayi* seems to add to a man's height. Soap and water account for the rest of it. These cigars are from the States." [*Long-sleeved outer cloak.] It was hard to believe, even on the strength of his straight statement--he talking undisguised American, and smiling at me, no doubt vastly pleased with my incredulity. "Are you a case of Jekyll and Hyde?" I asked. "No. I'm more like both sides of a sandwich with some army mule- meat in the middle. But I won't be interviewed. I hate it. Besides, it's against the regulations." His voice was not quite so harshly nasal as those of the Middle West, but he had not picked up the ultra-English drawl and clipped-off consonants that so many Americans affect abroad and overdo. I don't think a wise crook would have chosen him as a subject for experiments. He had dark eyes with noticeably long lashes; heavy eyebrows; what the army examination-sheets describe as a medium chin; rather large hands with long, straight fingers; and feet such as an athlete stands on, fully big for his size, but well shaped. He was young for a major--somewhere between thirty and thirty-five. Once he was satisfied that I would not write him up for the newspapers he showed no disinclination to talk, although it was difficult to keep him on the subject of himself, and easy to let him lose you in a maze of tribal history. He seemed to know the ins and outs of every blood-feud from Beersheba to Damascus, and warmed to his subject as you listened. "You see," he said, by way of apology when I laughed at a string of names that to me conjured up only confusion, "my beat is all the way from Cairo to Aleppo--both sides of the Jordan. I'm not on the regular strength, but attached to the Intelligence--no, not permanent--don't know what the future has in store--that probably depends on whether or not the Zionists get full control, and how soon. Meanwhile, I'm my own boss more or less--report direct to the Administrator, and he's one of those men who allows you lots of scope." That was the sort of occasional glimpse he gave of himself, and then switched off into straight statements about the Zionist problem. All his statements were unqualified, and given with the air of knowing all about it right from the beginning. "There's nothing here that really matters outside the Zionist- Arab problem. But that's a big one. People don't realize it-- even on the spot--but it's a world movement with ramifications everywhere. All the other politics of the Near East hinge on it, even when it doesn't appear so on the surface. You see, the Jews have international affiliations through banks and commerce. They have blood-relations everywhere. A ripple here may mean there's a wave in Russia, or London, or New York. I've known at least one Arab blood-feud over here that began with a quarrel between a Jew and a Christian in Chicago." "Are the Zionists as dangerous as the Arabs seem to think?" I asked. "Yes and no. Depends what you call danger. They're like an incoming tide. All you can do is accept the fact and ride on top of it, move away in front of it, or go under. The Arabs want to push it back with sword-blades. Can't be done!" "Speaking as a mere onlooker, I feel sorry for the Arabs," I said. "It has been their country for several hundred years. They didn't even drive the Jews out of it; the Romans attended to that, after the Assyrians and Babylonians had cleaned up nine-tenths of the population. And at that, the Jews were invaders themselves." "Sure," Grim answered. "But you can't argue with tides. The Arabs are sore, and nobody has any right to blame them. The English betrayed the Arabs--I don't mean the fellows out here, but the gang at the Foreign Office." I glanced at his uniform. That was a strange statement coming from a man who wore it. He understood, and laughed. "Oh, the men out here all admit it. They're as sore as the Arabs are themselves." "Then you're on the wrong side, and you know it?" I suggested. "The meat," he said, "is in the middle of the sandwich. In a small way you might say I'm a doctor, staying on after a riot to stitch up cuts. The quarrel was none of my making, although I was in it and did what I could to help against the Turks. Like everybody else who knows them, I admire the Turks and hate what they stand for--hate their cruelty. I was with Lawrence across the Jordan--went all the way to Damascus with him--saw the war through to a finish--in case you choose to call it finished." Vainly I tried to pin him down to personal reminiscences. He was not interested in his own story. "The British promised old King Hussein of Mecca that if he'd raise an Arab army to use against the Turks, there should be a united Arab kingdom afterward under a ruler of their own choosing. The kingdom was to include Syria, Arabia and Palestine. The French agreed. Well, the Arabs raised the army; Emir Feisul, King Hussein's third son, commanded it; Lawrence did so well that he became a legend. The result was, Allenby could concentrate his army on this side of the Jordan and clean up. He made a good job of it. The Arabs were naturally cock-a-hoop." I suggested that the Arabs with that great army could have enforced the contract, but he laughed again. "They were being paid in gold by the British, and had Lawrence to hold them together. The flow of gold stopped, and Lawrence was sent home. Somebody at the Foreign Office had changed his mind. You see, they were all taken by surprise at the speed of Allenby's campaign. The Zionists saw their chance, and claimed Palestine. No doubt they had money and influence. Perhaps it was Jewish gold that had paid the wages of the Arab army. Anyhow, the French laid claim to Syria. By the time the war was over the Zionists had a hard-and-fast guarantee, the French claim to Syria had been admitted, and there wasn't any country left except some Arabian desert to let the Arabs have. That's the situation. Feisul is in Damascus, going through the farce of being proclaimed king, with the French holding the sea-ports and getting ready to oust him. The Zionists are in Jerusalem, working like beavers, and the British are getting ready to pull out as much as possible and leave the Zionists to do their own worrying. Mesopotamia is in a state of more or less anarchy. Egypt is like a hot-box full of explosive--may go off any minute. The Arabs would like to challenge the world to mortal combat, and then fight one another while the rest of the world pays the bill--" "And you?" "The French, for instance. Their army is weak at the moment. They've neither men nor money--only a hunger to own Syria. They don't play what the English call 'on side.' They play a mean game. The French General Staff figure that if Feisul should attack them now he might beat them. So they've conceived the brilliant idea of spreading sedition and every kind of political discontent into Palestine and across the Jordan, so that if the Arabs make an effort they'll make it simultaneously in both countries. Then the British, being in the same mess with the French, would have to take the French side and make a joint campaign of it." "But don't the British know this?" "You bet they know it. What's the Intelligence for? The French are hiring all the Arab newspapers to preach against the British. A child could see it with his eyes shut." "Then why in thunder don't the British have a showdown?" "That's where the joker comes in. The French know there's a sort of diplomatic credo at the London Foreign Office to the general effect that England and France have got to stand together or Europe will go to pieces. The French are realists. They bank on that. They tread on British corns, out here, all they want to, while they toss bouquets, backed by airplanes, across the English Channel." "Then the war didn't end the old diplomacy?" "What a question! But I haven't more than scratched the Near East surface for you yet. There's Mustapha Kemal in Anatolia, leader of the Turkish Nationalists, no more dead or incapacitated than a possum. He's playing for his own hand--Kaiser Willy stuff--studying Trotzky and Lenin, and flirting with Feisul's party on the side. Then there's a Bolshevist element among the Zionists--got teeth, too. There's an effort being made from India to intrigue among the Sikh troops employed in Palestine. There's a very strong party yelling for an American mandate. The Armenians, poor devils, are pulling any string they can get hold of, in the hope that anything at all may happen. The orthodox Jews are against the Zionists; the Arabs are against them both, and furious with one another. There's a pan-Islam movement on foot, and a pan-Turanian--both different, and opposed. About 75 per cent of the British are as pro-Arab as they dare be, but the rest are strong for the Zionists. And the Administrator's neutral!--strong for law and order but taking no sides." "And you?" "I'm one of the men who is trying to keep the peace." He invited me to stay to dinner. The other members of the mess were trooping in, all his juniors, all obviously fond of him and boisterously irreverent of his rank. Dinner under his chairmanship was a sort of school for repartee. It was utterly unlike the usual British mess dinner. If you shut your eyes for a minute you couldn't believe that any one present had ever worn a uniform. I learned afterward that there was quite a little competition to get into that mess. After dinner most of them trooped out again, to dance with Zionist ladies at an institute affair. But he and I stayed, and talked until midnight. Before I left, the key of Palestine and Syria was in my hands. "You seem interested," he said, coming with me to the door. "If you don't mind rough spots now and then, I'll try to show you a few things at first hand." Chapter Two "No objection; only a stipulation." The showmanship began much sooner than I hoped. The following day was Sunday, and I had an invitation to a sort of semi-public tea given by the American Colony after their afternoon religious service. They received their guests in a huge, well-furnished room on the upper floor of a stone house built around a courtyard filled with flowers. I think they were a little proud of the number of fierce-looking Arabs, who had traveled long distances in order to be present. Ten Arab chieftains in full costume, with fifteen or twenty of their followers, all there at great expense of trouble, time and money, for friends sake, were, after all, something to feel a bit chesty about. Every member of the Colony seemed able to talk Arabic like a native and, as they used to say in the up- state papers, a good time was being had by all. The Near East adores ice-cream, and there was lots of it. Two of the Arab chiefs were Christians; the rest were not. The peace and war record of the Colony was what had brought them all there. Hardly an Arab in the country was not the Colony's debtor for disinterested help, direct or indirect, at some time in some way. The American Colony was the one place in the country where a man of any creed could go and be sure that whatever he might say would not be used against him. So they were talking their heads off. Hot air and Arab politics have quite a lot in common. But there was a broad desert-breath about it all. It wasn't like the little gusty yaps you hear in the city coffee-shops. A lot of the talk was foolish, but it was all magnificent. There was one sheikh named Mustapha ben Nasir dressed in a blue serge suit and patent-leather boots, with nothing to show his nationality except a striped silk head-dress with the camel-hair band around the forehead. He was a handsome fellow, with a black beard trimmed to a point, and perfect manners, polished no doubt in a dozen countries, but still Eastern in slow, deferential dignity. He could talk good French. I fell in conversation with him. The frankness with which treason is mooted, admitted and discussed in the Near East is one of the first things that amaze you. They are so open about it that nobody takes them seriously. Apparently it is only when they don't talk treason openly that the ruling authorities get curious and make arrests. To me, a total stranger, with nothing to recommend me but that for an hour or two that afternoon I was a guest of the American Colony, Mustapha ben Nasir made no bones whatever about the fact that the was being paid by the French to stir up feeling over Jordan against the British. "I receive a monthly salary," he boasted. "I am just from Damascus, where the French Liaison-officer paid me and gave me some instructions." "Where is your home?" I asked him. "At El-Kerak, in the mountains of Moab, across the Dead Sea. I start this evening. Will you come with me?" "Je m'en bien garderai!" He smiled. "Myself, I am in favor of the British. The French pay my expenses, that is all. What we all want is an independent Arab government--some say kingdom, some say republic. If it is not time for that yet, then we would choose an American mandate. But America has deserted us. Failing America, we prefer the English for the present. Anything except France! We do not want to become a new Algeria." "What is the condition now at El-Kerak?" "Condition? There is none. There is chaos. You see, the British say their authority ceases at the River Jordan and at a line drawn down the middle of the Dead Sea. That leaves us with a choice between two other governments--King Hussein's government of Mecca, and Feisul's in Syria. But Hussein's arm is not long enough to reach us from the South, and Feisul's is not nearly strong enough to interfere from the North. So there is no government, and each man is keeping the peace with his own sword." "You mean; each man on his own account?" "Yes. So there is peace. Five--fifteen--thirty throats are cut daily; and if you go down to the Jordan and listen, you will hear the shots being fired from ambush any day." "And you invite me to make the trip with you?" "Oh, that is nothing. In the first place, you are American. Nobody will interfere with an American. They are welcome. In the second place, there is a good reason for bringing you; we all want an American school at El-Kerak." "But I am no teacher." "But you will be returning to America? It is enough, then, that you look the situation over, and tell what you know on your return. We will provide a building, a proper salary, and guarantee the teacher's life. We would prefer a woman, but it would be wisest to send a man." "How so? The woman might not shoot straight? I've some of our Western women do tricks with a gun that would--" "There would be no need. She would have our word of honour. But every sheikh who has only three wives would want to make her his fourth. A man would be best. Will you come with me?" "On your single undertaking to protect me? Are you king of all that countryside?" "If you will come, you shall have an escort, every man of whom will die before he would let you be killed. And if they, and you, should all be killed, their sons and grandsons would avenge you to the third generation of your murderers." "That's undoubtedly handsome, but--" "Believe me, effendi," he urged, "many a soul has been consoled in hell-fire by the knowledge that his adversaries would be cut off in their prime by friends who are true to their given word." Meaning to back out politely, I assured him I would think the offer over. "Well and good," he answered. "You have my promise. Should you decide to come, leave word here with the American Colony. They will get word to me. Then I will send for you, and the escort shall meet you at the Dead Sea." I talked it over with two or three members of the Colony, and they assured me the promise could be depended on. One of them added: "Besides, you ought to see El-Kerak. It's an old crusader city, rather ruined, but more or less the way the crusaders left it. And that craving of theirs for a school is worth doing something about, if you ever have an opportunity. They say they have too much religion already, and no enlightenment at all. A teacher who knew Arabic would have a first-class time, and would be well paid and protected, if he could keep his hands off politics. Why not talk with Major Grim?" It was a half-hour's walk to Grim's place, but I had the good fortune to catch him in again. He was sitting in the same chair, studying the same book, and this time I saw the title of it-- Walter Pater's Marius the Epicurean--a strange book for a soldier to be reading, and cutting its pages with an inlaid dagger, in a Jerusalem semi-military boarding-house. But he was a man of unexpectedly assorted moods. He laughed when I told of ben Nasir. He looked serious when I mooted El-Kerak--serious, then interested, them speculative. From where I sat I could watch the changes in his eyes. "What would the escort amount to?" I asked him. "Absolute security." "And what's this bunk about Americans being welcome anywhere?" "Perfectly true. All the way from Aleppo down to Beersheba. Men like Dr. Bliss* have made such an impression that an occasional rotter might easily take advantage of it. Americans in this country--so far--stand for altruism without ulterior motive. If we'd accepted the mandate they might have found us out! Meanwhile, an American is safe." [*President of the American College at Beirut. Died 1920, probably more respected throughout the Near East than any ten men of any other nationality.] "Then I think I'll go to El-Kerak." Again his eyes grew speculative. I could not tell whether he was considering me or some problem of his own. "Speaking unofficially," he said, "there are two possibilities. You might go without permission--easy enough, provided you don't talk beforehand. In that case, you'd get there and back; after which, the Administration would label and index you. The remainder of your stay in Palestine would be about as exciting as pushing a perambulator in Prospect Park, Brooklyn. You'd be canned." "I'd rather be killed. What's the alternative?" "Get permission. I shall be at El-Kerak myself within the next few days. I think it can be arranged." "D'you mean I can go with you?" I asked, as eager as a schoolboy for the circus. "Not on your life! I don't go as an American." Recalling the first time I had seen him, I sat still and tried to look like a person who was not thrilled in the least by seeing secrets from the inside. "Well," I said, "I'm in your hands." I think he rather liked that. As I came to know him more intimately later on he revealed an iron delight in being trusted. But he did not say another word for several minutes, as if there were maps in his mind that he was conning before reaching a decision. Then he spoke suddenly. "Are you busy?" he asked. "Then come with me." He phoned to some place or other for a staff automobile, and the man was there with it within three minutes. We piled in and drove at totally unholy speed down narrow streets between walls, around blind right-angle turns where Arab policemen stood waving unintelligible signals, and up the Mount of Olives, past the British military grave-yard, to the place they call OETA.* The Kaiser had it built to command every view of the countryside and be seen from everywhere, as a monument to his own greatness--the biggest, lordliest, most expensive hospice that his architects could fashion, with pictures in mosaic on the walls and ceilings of the Kaiser and his ancestors in league with the Almighty. But the British had adopted it as Administration Headquarters. [*Headquarters: Occupied Enemy Territory Administration.] All the way up, behind and in front and on either hand, there were views that millions* would give years of their lives to see; and they would get good value for their bargain. Behind us, the sky-line was a panorama of the Holy City, domes, minarets and curved stone roofs rising irregularly above gray battlemented walls. Down on the right was the ghastly valley of Jehoshaphat, treeless, dry, and crowded with white tombs--"dry bones in the valley of death." To the left were everlasting limestone hills, one of them topped by the ruined reputed tomb of Samuel--all trenched, cross-trenched and war-scarred, but covered now in a Joseph's coat of flowers, blue, blood-red, yellow and white. [* This is no exaggeration. There are actually millions, and on more than one continent, whose dearest wish, could they have it, would be to see Jerusalem before they die.] There were lines of camels sauntering majestically along three hill-tops, making time, and the speed of the car we rode in, seem utterly unreal. And as we topped the hill the Dead Sea lay below us, like a polished turquoise set in the yellow gold of the barren Moab Mountains. That view made you gasp. Even Grim, who was used to it, could not turn his eyes away. We whirled past saluting Sikhs at the pompous Kaiserish entrance gate, and got out on to front steps that brought to mind one of those glittering hotels at German cure-resorts--bad art, bad taste, bad amusements and a big bill. But inside, in the echoing stone corridors that opened through Gothic windows on a courtyard, in which statues of German super- people stared with blind eyes, there was nothing now but bald military neatness and economy. Hurrying up an uncarpeted stone stairway (Grim seemed to be a speed-demon once his mind was set) we followed a corridor around two sides of the square, past dozens of closed doors bearing department names, to the Administrator's quarters at the far end. There, on a bare bench in a barren ante-room, Grim left me to cool my heels. He knocked, and entered a door marked "private." It was fully half an hour before the door opened again and I was beckoned in. Grim was alone in the room with the Administrator, a rather small, lean, rigidly set up man, with merry fire in his eye, and an instantly obvious gift for being obeyed. He sat at an enormous desk, but would have looked more at ease in a tent, or on horseback. The three long rows of campaign ribbons looked incongruous beside the bunch of flowers that somebody had crammed into a Damascus vase on the desk, with the estimable military notion of making the utmost use of space. Sir Louis was certainly in an excellent temper. He offered me a chair, and looked at me with a sort of practical good-humour that seemed to say, "Well, here he is; now how shall we handle him?" I was minded to ask outright for what I wanted, but something in his attitude revealed that he knew all that already and would prefer to come at the problem in his own way. It was clear, without a word being said, that he proposed to make some sort of use of me without being so indiscreet as to admit it. He reminded me rather of Julius Caesar, who was also a little man, considering the probable qualifications of some minor spoke in a prodigious wheel of plans. "I understand you want to go to El-Kerak?" he said, smiling as if all life were an amusing game. I admitted the impeachment. Grim was standing, some little way behind me and to one side; I did not turn my head to look at him, for that might have given a false impression that he and I were in league together, but I was somehow aware that with folded arms he was studying me minutely. "Well," said Sir Louis, "there's no objection; only a stipulation: We wouldn't let an Englishman go, because of the risk--not to him, but to us. Any fool has a right to get killed, but not to obligate his government. All the missionaries were called in from those outlying districts long ago. We don't want to be held liable for damages for failure to protect. Such things have happened. You see, the idea is, we assume no responsibility for what takes place beyond the Jordan and the Dead Sea. Now, if you'd like to sign a letter waiving any claim against us for protection, that would remove any obstacle to your going. But, if you think that unreasonable, the alternative is safe. You can, stay in Jerusalem. Quite simple." That had the merit of frankness. It sounded fair enough. Nevertheless, he was certainly not being perfectly frank. The merriment in his eyes meant something more than mere amusement. It occurred to me that his frankness took the extreme form of not concealing that he had something important in reserve. I rather liked him for it. His attitude seemed to be that if I wanted to take a chance, I might on my own responsibility, but that if my doing so should happen to suit his plans, that was his affair. Grim was still watching me the way a cat watches a mouse. "I'll sign such a letter," said I. "Good. Here are pen and paper. Let's have it all in your handwriting. I'll call a clerk to witness the signature." I wrote down the simple statement that I wished to go to El-Kerak for personal reasons, and that I waived all claim against the British Administration for personal protection, whether there or en route. A clerk, who looked as if he could not have been hired to know, or understand, or remember anything without permission, came in answer to the bell. I signed. He witnessed. Sir Louis put the letter in a drawer, and the clerk went out again. "How soon will you go?" I told about the promised escort, and that a day or two would be needed to get word to ben Nasir. I forgot that ben Nasir would not start before moonrise. It appeared that Sir Louis knew more than he cared to admit. "Can't we get word to ben Nasir for him, Grim?" Grim nodded. So did Sir Louis: "Good. There'll be no need, then, for you to take any one into confidence," he said, turning to me again. "As a rule it isn't well to talk about these things, because people get wrong ideas. There are others in Jerusalem who would like permission to go to El-Kerak." "I'll tell nobody." He nodded again. He was still considering things in the back of his mind, while those intelligent, bright eyes smiled so disarmingly. "How do you propose to reach the Dead Sea?" he asked. "Ben Nasir's escort will probably meet you on the shore on this side." "Oh, hire some sort of conveyance, I suppose." "Couldn't we lend him one of our cars, Grim?" Grim nodded again. "We'll do that. Grim, can you get word to ben Nasir so that when the escort is ready he may send a messenger straight to the hotel with the information? D'you get my meaning?" "Sure," said Grim, "nobody else need know then." "Very well," said Sir Louis. He rose from his chair to intimate that the precise moment had arrived when I might leave without indiscretion. It was not until I was outside the door that I realized that my permission was simply verbal, and that the only document that had changed hands had been signed by me. Grim followed me into the ante-room after a minute. "Hadn't I better go back and ask for something in writing from him?" I suggested. "You wouldn't get it. Anyhow, you're dealing with a gentleman. You needn't worry. I was afraid once or twice you might be going to ask him questions. He'd have canned you if you had. Why didn't you?" I was not going to help Grim dissect my mental processes. "There's a delightful air of mystery," I said, "I'd hate to spoil it!" "Come up on the tower," he said. "There's just time before sunset. If you've good eyes, I'll show you El-Kerak." It is an enormous tower. The wireless apparatus connected with it can talk with Paris and Calcutta. From the top you feel as if you were seeing "all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time." There are no other buildings to cut off the view or tamper with perspective. The Dead Sea was growing dark. The Moab Hills beyond it looked lonely and savage in silhouette. "Down there on your left is Jericho," said Grim. "That winding creek beyond it is the Jordan. As far eastward as that there's some peace. Beyond that, there is hardly a rock that isn't used for ambush regularly. Let your eye travel along the top of the hills--nearly as far as the end of the Dead Sea. Now--d'you see where a touch of sunlight glints on something? That's the top of the castle-wall of El-Kerak. Judge what strategists those old crusaders were. That site commands the ancient high road from Egypt. They could sit up there and take toll to their hearts' content. The Turks quartered troops in the castle and did the same thing. But the Turks overdid it, like everything else. They ruined the trade. No road there nowadays that amounts to anything." "It looks about ten miles away." "More than eighty." The sun went down behind us while we watched, and here and there the little scattered lights came out among the silent hills in proof that there were humans who thought of them in terms of home. Venus and Mars shone forth, yellow and red jewels; then the moon, rising like a stage effect, too big, too strongly lighted to seem real, peering inch by inch above the hills and ushering in silence. We could hear one muezzin in Jerusalem wailing that God is God. "That over yonder is savage country," Grim remarked. "I think maybe you'll like it. Time to go now." He said nothing more until we were scooting downhill in the car in the midst of a cloud of dust. "You won't see me again," he said then, "until you get to El- Kerak. There are just one or two points to bear in mind. D'you care if I lecture?" "I wish you would." "When the messenger comes from ben Nasir, go to the Governorate, just outside the Damascus Gate, phone OETA, say who you are, and ask for the car. Travel light. The less you take with you, the less temptation there'll be to steal and that much less danger for your escort. I always take nothing, and get shaved by a murderer at the nearest village. If you wash too much, or change your shirt too often, they suspect you of putting on airs. Can't travel too light. Use the car as far as Jericho, or thereabouts, and send it back when the messenger says he's through with it. After that, do whatever the leader of the escort tells you, and you'll be all right." "How do I cross the Dead Sea?" "That's ben Nasir's business. There's another point I'll ask you to bear in mind. When you see me at El-Kerak, be sure not to make the slightest sign of recognition, unless and until you get word from me. Act as if you'd never seen me in your life before." I felt like an arch-conspirator, and there is no other sensation half so thrilling. The flattery of being let in, as it were, through a secret door was like strong wine. "Is your memory good?" Grim asked me. "If you make notes, be sure you let everybody see them; you'll find more than one of them can read English. If you should see or overhear anything that you'd particularly like to remember because it might prove useful to me, note it down by making faint dots under the letters of words you've already written; or--better yet--take along a pocket Bible; they're all religious and respect the Bible. Make faint pencil lines underneath words or letters, and they'll think you're more than extra devout. There's nothing special to watch out for; just keep your ears and eyes open. Well, here's your hotel. See you again soon. So long." I got out of the car and went to get ready for a Christian dinner served by Moslems, feeling like a person out of the Arabian Nights, who had just met the owner of a magic carpet on which one only had to sit in order to be wafted by invisible forces into unimaginable realms of mystery. Chapter Three "Do whatever the leader of the escort tells you." I never learned exactly how Jim Grim got word to ben Nasir. My suspicion is that he took the simple course of getting the American Colony to send one of their men; but as they never referred to it afterwards, and might have their own reasons for keeping silence, I took care not to ask them. We have most of us seen harm done by noisy gratitude for kindness, better covered up. I kept close to the hotel for three days, studying Arabic. By the fourth afternoon discouragement set in. I began to believe that the whole affair had petered out; perhaps on reflection the Administrator had decided I was not a proper person to be turned loose out of bounds, and nobody could have blamed him for that, for he knew next to nothing about me. Or Grim might have been called off for some other important business. The chances seemed all against my going after all. But on the fourth evening, just at sunset, when the sandwiches I had ordered in advance were all thoroughly stale and I had almost decided to unpack the small hand-grip and try to forget the whole affair, I noticed an Arab standing in the door of the hotel scrutinizing every one who passed him. I watched him for five minutes. He paid no attention to officers in uniform. I left my chair in the lobby and walked past him twice. He had one eye, like a gimlet on a universal joint; he turned it this and that way without any corresponding movement of his head. It penetrated. You felt he could have seen you with it in the dark. I started to pass him a third time. He held his hand out and thrust a small, soiled piece of paper into mine. The writing on it was in Arabic, so I went back to the seat in the far corner, to puzzle it out, he standing meanwhile in the doorway and continuing to quiz people as if I had meant nothing in his life. The message was short enough: Bearer will accompany you to a place where the escort will be in readiness. God give your honour a good journey. Mustapha Ben Nasir. I went to the Governorate and phoned for the car to come and pick me up outside the Jaffa Gate. The Arab followed me, and he and I were both searched at the gate for weapons, by a Sikh who knew nothing and cared less about Near East politics. His orders were to search thoroughly. He did it. The man whose turn was next ahead of mine was a Russian priest, whose long black cloak did not save him from painstaking suspicion. He was still indignantly refusing to take down his pants and prove that the hard lump on his thigh was really an amulet against sciatica, when the car came for me. It was an ordinary Ford car, and the driver was not in uniform. He, too, had only one eye in full commission, for the other was bruised and father swollen. I got in beside him and let the Arab have the rear seat to himself, reflecting that I would be able to smell all the Arab sweat I cared to in the days to come. We are governed much more by our noses than we are often aware of, and I believe that many people--in the East especially--use scent because intuition warns them that their true smell would arouse unconscious antagonism. Dogs, as well as most wild animals, fight at the suggestion of a smell. Humans only differ from the animals, much, when they are being self-consciously human. Then they forget what they really know and tumble headlong into trouble. The driver seemed to know which road to take, and to be in no particular hurry, perhaps on account of his injured eye. He was an ex-soldier, of course: one of those under-sized Cockneys with the Whitechapel pallor overlying a pugnacious instinct, who make such astonishing fighting-men in the intervals between sulking and a sort of half-affectionate abuse of everything in sight. Being impatient to begin the adventure, I suggested more speed. "Oh!" he answered. "So you're another o' these people in an 'urry to get to Jericho! It's strynge. The last one was a Harab. Tyke it from me, gov'nor, I've driven the very last Harab as gets more than twenty-five miles an hour out o' me, so 'elp me--" He tooled the car out on to the road toward Bethany, and down the steep hill that passes under the Garden of Gethsemane, before vouchsafing another word. Then, as we started to climb the hill ahead, he jerked his chin in the direction of the sharp turn we had just passed in the bottom of the valley. "Took that corner las' time on one wheel!" "For the Arab?" "Aye. Taught me a lesson. Never agayn! I ain't no Arabian Night. Nor yet no self-immolatin' 'Indoo invitin' no juggernauts to make no pancykes out o' me. 'Enceforth, I drives reasonable. All Harabs may go to 'ell for all o' me." He was itching to tell his story. He was likely to tell it quicker for not being questioned; your Cockney dislikes anything he can construe into inquisition. I remarked that the road didn't seem made for speed--too narrow and too rough--and let it go at that. He said no more until we reached the village of Bethany, and drew abreast of Lazarus' reputed tomb, where a pack of scavenger-dogs awoke and yelped around the wheels. He did his best to run over one of them, but missed. Then he could not hold his story any longer. "Two nights ago," he said, "they gives me orders to take a Harab to a point near Jericho. After dark, I starts off, 'im on the back seat; engine ain't warm yet, so we goes slow. He leans forward after a couple o' minutes, an says 'Yalla kawam'!" * So I thinks to myself I'll show the blighter a thing or two, me not bein' used to takin' orders from no Harabs. Soon as the engine's 'ot I lets rip, an' you know now what the road's like. When we gets to the top o' that 'ill above Gethsemane I lets extry special rip. Thinks I, if you can stand what I can, my son, you've guts. [*Hurry up.] "Well, we 'its all the 'igh places, and lands on a bit o' level road just often enough to pick up more speed--comes round that sharp bend on 'alf a wheel, syme as I told you--kills three pye- dogs for sure, an' maybe others, but I don't dare look round-- misses a camel in the dark that close that the 'air on my arms an' legs fair crawled up an' down me--'it's a lump o' rock that comes near tippin' us into the ditch--an' carries on faster an' ever. By the time we gets 'ere to Bethany, thinks I, it's time to take a look an' see if my passenger's still in the bloomin' car. So I slows down. "The minute I turns my 'ead to 'ave a peer at 'im. 'Kawam!' 'e says. 'Quick! Quick!' "So it strikes me I weren't in no such 'urry after all. Why 'urry for a Harab? The car's been rattlin' worse 'n a tinker's basket. I gets down to lave a look--lights a gasper*--an' takes my bloomin' time about it. You seen them yellow curs there by Lazarus' tomb? Well, they come for me, yappin' an' snarlin' to beat 'ell. I'm pickin' up stones to break their 'eads with--good stones ain't such easy findin' in the dark, an' every time I stoops 'alf a dozen curs makes a rush for me--when what d'you suppose? That bloomin' Harab passenger o' mine vaults over into my seat, an' afore I could say ''ell's bells' 'e's off. I'd left the engine runnin'. By the luck o' the Lord I 'angs on, an' scrambles in--back seat. [*Anglice--canteen cigarette.] "I thought at first I'd reach over an' get a half-nelson on 'im from behind. But, strike me blind! I didn't dare! "Look where we are now. Can you see the 'air-pin turn at the bottom of this 'ill, with a ditch, beyond it? Well, we takes that turn in pitch-dark shadow with all four wheels in the air, an' you'd 'a thought we was a blinkin' airplane a doin' stunts. But 'e's a hexpert, 'e is, an' we 'olds the road. From there on we goes in one 'oly murderin' streak to a point about 'alf-way up the 'ill where the Inn of the Good Samaritan stands on top. There we 'as two blow-outs simultaneous, an' thinks I, now, my son, I've got you! I gets out. "'You can drive,' I says, 'like Jehu son o' Nimshi what made Israel to sin. Let's see you make bricks now without no bleedin' straw'! I knew there weren't no tools under the seat--there never are in this 'ere country if you've left your car out o' your sight for five minutes. 'You take off them two back tires,' I says, 'while I sit 'ere an meditate on the ways of Harabs! Maybe you're Moses,' I says, 'an know 'ow to work a miracle.' "But the only miracle about that bloke's 'is nerve. 'E gets out, 'an begins to walk straight on up'ill without as much as a by- your-leave. I shouts to 'im to come back. But 'e walks on. So I picks up a stone off the pile I was sittin' on, an' I plugs 'im good--'its 'im fair between the shoulder-blades. You'd think, if 'e was a Harab, that'ud bring 'im to 'is senses, wouldn't you? But what d'you suppose the blighter did? "Did you notice my left eye when you got in the car? 'E turns back, an' thinks I, 'e's goin' to knife me. But that sport could use 'is fists, an' believe me, 'e done it! I can use 'em a bit myself, an' I starts in to knock 'is block off, but 'e puts it all over me--weight, reach an' science. Mind you, science! First Arab ever I see what 'ad science; an' I don't more than 'alf believe it now! "Got to 'and it to 'im. 'E was merciful. 'E let up on me the minute 'e see I'd 'ad enough. 'E starts off up'ill again. I sits where 'e'd knocked me on to a stone pile, wishin' like 'ell for a drink. It was full moonlight, an' you could see for miles. After about fifteen minutes, me still meditatin' murder an' considerin' my thirst I seen 'em fetch a camel out o' the khan at the Inn o' the Good Samaritan; an' next thing you know, 'e's out o' sight. Thinks I, that's the last of 'im, an' good riddance! But not a bit of it! "The men what fetched the camel for 'im comes down to me an' says the sheikh 'as left word I'm to be fed an' looked after. They fixes me up at the inn with a cot an' blankets an' a supper o' sorts, an' I lies awake listenin' to 'em talkin' Arabic, understandin' maybe one word out of six or seven. From what I can make o' their conjecturin', they think 'e ain't no sheikh at all, but a bloomin' British officer in disguise! "Soon as morning comes I jump a passing commissariat lorry. As soon as I gets to Jerusalem I reports that sheikh for arson, theft, felo de se, busting a gov'ment car, usin' 'is fists when by right 'e should ha' knifed me, an' every other crime I could think of. An' all I gets is laughed at! What d'you make of it? Think 'e was a Harab?" I wondered whether he was Jimgrim, but did not say so. Grim had not appeared to me like a man who would use his fists at all readily; but he was such an unusual individual that it was useless trying to outline what he might or might not do. It was also quite likely that the chauffeur had omitted mention of, say, nine-tenths of the provocation he gave his passenger. What interested me most was the thought that, if that really was Jimgrim, he must have been in a prodigious hurry about something; and that most likely meant excitement, if not danger across the Dead Sea. We caught sight of the Dead Sea presently, bowling past the Inn of the Good Samaritan and beginning to descend into the valley, twelve hundred feet below sea level, that separates Palestine from Moab. The moon shone full on the water, and it looked more wan and wild than an illustration out of Dante's Inferno. There was no doubt how the legends sprang up about birds falling dead as they flew across it. It was difficult to believe that anything could be there and not die. It was a vision of the land of death made beautiful. But the one-eyed Arab on the rear seat began to sing. To him that view meant "home, sweet home." His song was all about his village and how he loved it--what a pearl it was--how sweeter than all cities. "'Ark at 'im!" The driver stopped the car to fill his pipe. "You'd think 'e lived in 'eaven! I've fought over every hinch o' this perishin' country, an' tyke it from me, guv'nor, there ain't a village in it but what's composed of 'ovels wi' thatched roofs, an' 'eaps o' dung so you can't walk between 'em! Any one as wants my share o' Palestine can 'ave it!" We bumped on again down a road so lonely that it would have felt good to see a wild beast, or an armed man lurking in wait for us. But the British had accomplished the impossible: They had so laid the fear of law along those roads that, though there might be murders to the right and left of them, the passer-by who kept to the road was safe, for the first time since the Romans now and then imposed a temporary peace. At last, like two yellow streams glistening in moonlight, the road forked--one way toward Jericho. The other way appeared to run more or less parallel with the Dead Sea. At that point the one-eyed Arab left off singing at last and clutched the driver's shoulder. "All right! All right!" he answered impatiently, and stopped. "Out you get, then!" He did not expect the tip I gave him. He seemed to think it placed him under obligation to wait there and talk for a few minutes. But my one-eyed guide waved him away disgustedly with the hand that did not hold my bag, and we stood in the road watching until he vanished up-hill out of sight. Then the guide plucked my sleeve and I followed him along the righthand road. We walked half a mile as fast as he could set foot to the ground. At last we reached a pretense of a village--a little cluster of half-a-dozen thatched stone huts enclosed within one fence of thorn and cactus. Everything showed up as clearly in the moonlight as if painted with phosphorus. The heavy shadows only made the high lights seem more luminous. A man and two donkeys were waiting for us outside the thorn hedge. The man made no remark. My guide and I mounted and rode on. Presently we turned down a track toward the Dead Sea, riding among huge shadows cast by the hills on our right hand. The little jackals they call foxes crossed our path at intervals. Owls the size of a robin, only vastly fluffier, screamed from the rocks as we passed them. Otherwise, it was like a soul's last journey, eerie, lonely and awful, down toward River Styx. Long before we caught sight of the water again, through a ragged gap between high limestone rocks, I could smell a village. The guide approached it cautiously, stopping every minute or so to listen. When we came on it at last it was down below us in abysmal darkness, one light shining through a window two feet square in proof we were not hesitating on the verge of the infinite pit. The donkeys knew the way. They trod daintily, like little ladies, along a circling track that goats made and men had certainly done nothing to improve. We made an almost complete ellipse around and down, and rode at last over dry dung at the bottom, into which the donkeys' feet sank as into a three-pile carpet. You could see the stars overhead, but nothing, where we were, except that window and a shaft of yellow light with hundreds of moths dazzled in it. We must have made some noise in spite of the donkeys' vetvet foot-fall. As we crossed the shaft of light a door opened within six feet of the window. A man in Arab deshabille with a red tarboosh awry, thrust out his head and drew it in again quickly. "Is that the American?" he asked. He held the door so that he could slam it in our faces if required. The guide made no answer. I gave my name. The man opened the door wider. "Lailtak sa'idi, effendi! Hishkur Allah! Come in, mister!" The guide led the donkeys away to some invisible place. I crossed the threshold, my host holding his tin lantern carefully to show the two steps leading down to a flag-stone floor. He bolted the door the moment I was inside. He seemed in a great state of excitement, and afraid to make any noise. Even when he shot the bolt he did it silently. It was a square room, moderately clean, furnished only with a table and two chairs. There were other rooms leading off it, but the stone partitions did not reach as high as the thatch and I could hear rustling, and some one snoring. I sat on one of the chairs at his invitation, and rather hoped for supper, having had none. But supper was not in his mind; it seemed he had too much else to worry him. He looked like a man who worried easily, and likely enough with good reason, for his long nose and narrow eyes did not suggest honesty. "There was to be an escort to meet me here," I said. "Yes, yes. Thank God, mister, you have come at last. If you had only come at sunset! Ali has gone to bring them now." "Who is Ali?" "He with one eye. He who brought you. Your escort came at sunset. Because I am Christian they would not listen to me or wait for you in my house. There are twenty of them, led by Anazeh, who is a bad rascal. They have gone to raid the villages. There has been trouble. I have heard two shots fired. Now they will come back to my house, and if the Sikh patrol is after them they will be caught here, and I shall be accused of helping them. May the fires of their lying Prophet's Eblis burn Anazeh and his men forever and ever, Amen! May God curse their religion!" That was a nice state of affairs. I did not want to be caught there by a lot of truculent Sikhs under one of those jocularly incredulous young British subalterns that Sikhs adore. In the first place, I had nothing whatever in writing to prove my innocence. The least that was likely to happen would be an ignominious return to Jerusalem, after a night in a guard-house, should there be a guard-house; failing that, a night in the open within easy reach of Sikh's bayonets. In Jerusalem, no doubt, Sir Louis would order me released immediately. But it began to look as if the whole mystery after all was nothing but a well- staged decoy, using me for bait. Not even tadpoles enjoy being used for live-bait without being consulted first. I began to spear about for remedies. "If you're an honest man," I said, "you'd better simply deny all connection with the raid." "Hah?" He shrugged his shoulders. He did not look like an honest man. He wasn't one. He knew it. He retorted gloomily: "Anazeh's scoundrels will have raided sheep, and perhaps cattle. If any one has resisted them, there will be wailing widows crying out for vengeance. They will put the sheep and cattle in their boats in which they came over the sea this afternoon. The boats will be found by the Sikhs, hauled up on the sand-pit just below my house, with my motor-boat beside them. I am ruined!" Well, my own predicament was better than that. Nobody was likely to accuse me of having stolen sheep. But I could not feel sorry for my host, because he was so sorry for himself. He was one of those unfortunates who carry the conviction of their own guilt in their faces. I gave up all idea of relying on him in case the Sikhs should come. My next idea was to ask for the loan of one of the donkeys, and to start back toward Jerusalem. But I had not more than thought of it when men's footsteps pattered on the yard dung, and an indubitable rifle-butt beat on the wooden door. "For God's sake!" hissed the owner of the place. He ran to the door to open it as the thumping grew louder. As he drew the bolt somebody kicked the door open, sending him reeling backwards. For a second I thought the Sikhs had come. But he was nothing like a Sikh who strode in, with a dozen ruffians at his tail and one-eyed Ali bringing up the rear. He was one of the finest-looking Arabs I had ever seen, although considerably past fifty and wrinkled so that his face was a net- work of fine lines, out of which his big, dark eyes shone with unaged intelligence. He was magnificently dressed, perhaps in order to do me honour. Except for the fact that he carried a modern military rifle on his elbow, in place of a shepherd's crook or a spear, he looked like one of those historic worthies who stalk through the pages of the Pentateuch. The dignity and charm with which he bowed to me were inimitable--unconveyable. But he turned on my Christian host like a prophet of old rebuking blasphemy. Arabic when the right man uses it sounds like tooth-for-a-tooth law being laid down. Hebrew is all music and soft vowels; Arabic all guttural consonants. The Sheikh Anazeh (there was no doubt of his identity; they all kept calling him by name) fulminated. The other bleated at him. I learned his name at last. Ali of the one eye pressed forward, took him by the sleeve, and called him Ahmed. Ali seemed to be adding persuasion to Anazeh's threats. Whatever it was they were driving at, Ahmed began to look like yielding. So, as I could not untangle more than one brief sentence at a time from all those galloping arguments, I pulled Ahmed away into a corner. "What do they all want?" I asked him. "Tell me in ten words." But he was not a brief man. "They say the Sikhs are after them. They have put the stolen sheep into their boats, as I told you they would, mister. Now they order me to tow them with my motor-boat. But it cannot be done, mister, it cannot be done! I tell them there is government launch near Jericho that the Sikh patrol can use to overtake us. I have a swift boat, but if I take in tow two other loaded boats we shall be caught; and then who will save everything I have from confiscation?" "How close are the Sikhs?" I asked. "God knows, mister! They can come fast. Unless I consent to let them use my boat, Anazeh will order his men to kill me, and then they will take the boat in any case! There is only one thing: they must leave the sheep behind and all crowd into my boat, but I cannot persuade them!" At that moment another of Anazeh's party burst in through the door. He evidently bore bad news. Catching sight of me, he lowered his voice to a whisper, and, whatever he said, Anazeh nodded gravely. Then the old sheikh gave an order, and four of his men came without further ado to seize Ahmed. "Bear me witness!" the wretched man called back to me as they dragged him off. "I go under protest--most unwillingly!" Somebody struck him with a butt-end. A woman's head appeared over the top of the partition, and began to jabber noisily. Several of Anazeh's men hurled jests: the highest compliment they paid her was to call her Um-Kulsum, the mother of sin. Anazeh beckoned to me. He did not seem to doubt for an instant that I would follow him. I was in no mind to wait there and be arrested by the Sikh patrol. I wondered whether they were coming in open order, combing the countryside, or heading all together straight for a known objective; and whether in either case I could give them the slip and head back toward Jerusalem. In that minute I recalled Grim's advice: "Do whatever the leader of the escort tells you and you'll be all right. You needn't be afraid to trust him." That settled it. I did not suppose for a minute that Grim had contemplated any such contingency as this; but he had volunteered the advice, so the consequences would be his affair. I followed Anazeh into outer darkness, and one of his men pulled the door to after me. There was something very like a panic down by the waterside, three hundred yards away from the house. It needed all Anazeh's authority to straighten matters out. There were divided counsels; and the raiders were working at a disadvantage in total darkness; the shadow of the hills fell just beyond the stern of the boats as they lay with their bows ashore. They had already forced Ahmed into his own motor-boat, where he was struggling vainly to crank a cold engine. Some of the others were trying to push off a boat full of bleating sheep. One man was carrying a fat sheep in his arms toward the motor-boat, splashing knee-deep in the water and shouting advice to everybody else, and in the end that was the only piece of plunder they got away with. Suddenly one man, who had been left behind to keep a look-out, came leaping like a ghost among the shadows, shouting the one word "askeri!" (Soldiers!) He jumped straight into the motor-boat. Anazeh bullied all the rest in after him. I climbed in over the bow. By that time you could not have crowded in one more passenger with the aid of a battering ram. "Yalla!" barked Anazeh. But the engine would not start. Blood- curdling threats were hurled at the unhappy Ahmed. Some e of the men got into the water and began to shove off, as if the engine could be encouraged by collaboration. I was just as keen to escape as any one. I could not imagine a Sikh or subaltern stupid enough to believe me innocent. It was a military government. Soldiers have a drum-head method of leaving nothing to discuss except where the corpse is to be buried. I forced my way aft--got some gasoline out of the tank into a tin cup--thrust aside Ahmed and two other men--and primed the engine liberally. The engine coughed next time they moved the wheel, and in thirty seconds more we had it going. Ahmed came in for a volley of mockery for having to be shown the way to start his engine; but from the sour way he looked at me I was nearly sure he had stalled deliberately. We backed away from shore, and Anazeh steered the boat's nose eastward. Then somebody at the reversing lever threw it forward too suddenly, and the still chilled engine stopped. It took about another minute to restart it. We were just beginning to gain speed when some one shouted. All eyes turned toward the shore, the overloaded boat rocking dangerously as the crowd bent their bodies all in one direction together. Down near the shore-line an electric torch flashed on the uniforms of half-a-dozen Sikhs, and we could hear an unmistakably British voice shouting an order. We were out in the moonlight now, a perfect target. Bullets chanced at us could hardly fail to hit somebody. Two or three well-placed shots might sink us. But Anazeh had presence of mind. He changed helm, so as to present us end-on to the shore. Low in the water though the boat was, we were beginning to make good headway. The Sikhs lost no time. Shots began to whizz overhead and to splash the water around us. But the boat was painted gray; as we increased the distance we must have looked like a moving patch of darker water with a puzzling wake behind us. The sea was still. The stars were reflected in it in unsteady dots and streaks. The moon cast a silver patch of light that shimmered, and confused the eye. Sikhs are not by any means all marksmen. At any rate, the shots all missed. Though some of our party, Anazeh included, returned the fire, none boasted of having hit any one. And an Arab boasts at the least excuse. In a few minutes we were out of range and, since there was no pursuing launch in sight, could afford to jeer at the Sikhs in chorus. There were things said about their habits and their ancestry that it is to be hoped they did not hear, or at any rate understand, for the sake of any Arab prisoners they might take in future. It always struck me as a fool game to mock your enemy. If you fall in his power at any time he would be almost more than human if he did not remember it. It seemed to me unlikely that those Sikhs would forget to avenge the Arab compliments that must have sizzled in ears across that star-lit sea. After that the only immediate danger was from the wind that sometimes blows down in sudden gusts from between the mountain-tops. It would have needed only half a sea to swamp us. But the Dead Sea was living up to its reputation, quiet, inert, like a mercury mirror for the stars--a brooding place of silence. The Arabs' spirits rose as we chugged toward their savage hills. They began to sing glorious songs about women and mares and camels. Presently Anazeh improvised an epic about the night's raid, abortive though it had been. He left out all the disappointing part. He sang first of the three shore-dwelling fools whose boats they had stolen. Then of the baffled rage of those same fools when they should learn their property was lost forever. Presently, as he warmed to the spirit of the thing, he sang about the wails of the frightened villagers from whom they had plundered sheep and goats; and of the skill and resourcefulness with which the party had escaped pursuit under his leadership, Allah favoring, "and blessed be His Prophet!" Last, he sang about me, the honoured stranger, for whom they had dared everything and conquered, and whom they were taking to El- Kerak. He described me as a prince from a far country, the son of a hundred kings. It was a good song. I got Ahmed to translate it to me afterwards. But I suspect that Ahmed toned it down in deference to what he may have thought might be my modesty and moralistic scruples. Chapter Four "I am willing to use all means--all methods." Ahmed knew the Dead Sea. He knew its moods and a few of its tricks, so he was suitably scared. He was more of raid of the treacherous sea than of his captors. They weren't treacherous in the least. They were frankly disobedient of any law except their own; respectful of nothing but bullets, brains and their own interpretation of the Will of Allah. They showed sublime indifference to danger that always comes of ignorance. Ahmed was for running straight across to cut the voyage short, because of the wind that sometimes blows from the south at dawn. He said it might kick up a sea that would roll us over, for the weight of the Dead Sea waves in a blow is prodigious. They overruled his protest with loud-lunged unanimity and lots of abuse. Anazeh continued to steer a diagonal course for a notch in the Moab Hills that look, until you get quite close to them, as if they rose sheer out of the sea. The old chief was pretty amateurish at the helm, whatever his other attainments. Our wake was like a drunkard's. What with the danger in that overcrowded boat, and the manifestly compromising fact that I had now become one of a gang who boasted of the murder they had done that night, I did some speculation that seems ridiculous now, at this distance, after a lapse of time. It occurred to me that Grim might be disguised as a member of Anazeh's party. As far as possible in the dark I thoroughly scrutinized each individual. It is easy to laugh about it now, but I actually made my way to Anazeh's side and tried to discover whether the old Sheikh's wrinkles and gray-shot beard were not a very skillfully done make-up. At any rate, I got from that absurd investigation the sure knowledge that Grim was not in the boat with us. I could not talk with Anazeh very well, because when he tried to understand my amateurish Arabic and to modify his flow of stately speech to meet my needs, he always put his head down, and the helm with it. It seemed wisest to let him do one unaccustomed thing at a time. I did not care to try to talk with any of his men, because that might possibly have been a breach of etiquette. Arab jealousy is about as quick as fulminate of mercury: as unreasonable, from a western viewpoint, as a love-sick woman's. But there did not seem any objection to talking with Ahmed. He was at least in theory my co-religionist, and not a person any Moslem in that boat was likely to be jealous of. He jumped at the notion of making friends with me. He made no secret of the reason. "You are safe, effendi. They will neither rob you, nor kill you, nor let you get killed. You are their guest. But as for me, they would cut my throat as readily as that sheep's, more especially since they have discovered that you know how to start the engine. My best chance was to make them believe that the engine is difficult to understand. Because of your knowledge they now feel independent of me. So I must yield to them in everything. And if they force me to swear on a Bible, and on my father's honour, and in the name of God, that I will not give evidence against them, I shall have to swear." "An oath given under compulsion--" I began. But he laughed cynically. "Ah! You do not know this land--these folk, effendi. If I were to break such an oath as that, they would burn my house, steal my cattle, ravish my wife, and hunt me to the death. If I ran away to America, Arabs in Chicago and New York would continue the hunt. This is a land where an oath is binding, unless you are the stronger. I am weak--an unimportant person." "What is your business?" I asked. "There is no business for a man like me. The regulations forbid commerce in the only goods for which there is a real demand among Bedouins." "So you're a smuggler, eh?" He laughed, between pride and caution, and changed the subject. "I shall do what they order me, effendi. I think they will keep my boat over there to bring you back again. But when I get back the Sikhs will arrest me. So I ask you to bear me witness that I was compelled by threats and force to go with these people. In that way, with a little ingenuity--that is to say, the ingenious use of piastras--perhaps I can contrive to get out of the difficulty without being punished by both Arabs and British." I promised to tell no more than I had seen and heard. On the strength of that we became as fast friends as suspicion permitted. We trusted each other, because we more or less had to, like a couple of thieves "on the lam." It suited me. He was a very good interpreter and slavishly anxious to please. But I lived to regret it later. When my evidence had cleared him of collusion in the raid, he chose on the strength of that to claim me as his friend for life. He turned up in the United States and tried to live on his wits. I had to pay a lawyer to defend him in Federal Court. He writes me piously pathetic letters from Leavenworth Penitentiary. And when he gets out I suppose I shall have to befriend him again. However, at the moment, he was useful. It was just dawn when old Anazeh ran the launch into a cove between high rocks. Ahmed let out a shriek of anguish at the violence done the hull. They pitched the sheep overboard to wade ashore without remembering to untie its legs; it was almost drowned before it occurred to any one to rescue it. Perhaps it was dead. I don't know. Anyhow, one fellow prayed in a hurry while his companion cut the sheep's throat to make it lawful meat. "God is good," old Anazeh remarked to me, "and blessed be His Prophet, who forbade us faithful, even though we hunger, to defile ourselves with the flesh of creatures whose blood did not flow from the knife of the slayer." After that they all prayed, going first into the oily-feeling, asphaltic water for the ceremonial washing. They were quite particular about it. Then they spread prayer-mats, facing Mecca. Every single cut-throat had brought along his prayer-mat, and had treasured it as carefully as his rifle. Ahmed and I sat on a rock and watched them. Ahmed pretended he wanted to pray, too. To impress me, he said he was a very devout Christian and that nothing should prevent the practice of his religion. But he was very quick to take my advice not to start anything that might bring on a breach of the peace. Old Anazeh's short preliminary sermon to his followers, about the need of always keeping God in mind, was not addressed to us. Prayers finished, they proceeded to cut up and cook the sheep. Ahmed and I subdued the voice of conscience without noticeable effort and ate our share of the stolen goods. Ahmed said that, seeing how little was left for him when the rest had all been served, he sinned only in small degree, but that my share, as an honoured guest, was huge, and the sin proportionate. So I gave him some of my meat, and he ate it, and we were equally sinful-- one more bond cementing an "eternal friendship!" We had hardly finished eating when an Arab on a gray horse came riding furiously down a ravine that looked like a dry water- course. He was brought up all-standing fifty yards away. Every man in the party leveled a rifle at him. Anazeh beckoned me to come and get behind him for protection. He was very angry when I refused. He cursed the language and religion of whatever fool had taught me manners in a land where pigs are lawful food. However, after they had all had a good look at the horseman they let him draw near, and there followed a noisy conference, the man on the horse calling on Allah repeatedly with emphasis, and Anazeh and his followers all doing the same thing, but from an opposing viewpoint. I persuaded Ahmed to go up close and listen. "The man is from El-Kerak," he said presently, while they all still fought with words, using tremendous oaths by way of artillery. "A council of the tribes has been summoned, to meet at El-Kerak, but each sheikh is only to take two men with him, because of the risk of fighting among themselves. Anazeh says there can be no proper council without his being present, and that he will attend the council; but as for taking only two men, he has pledged his word to escort you with twenty men to El- Kerak. He swears that he will carry out that pledge, even should he have to fight the whole way there and back again!" Anazeh suddenly cut short the war of words. His gesture suggested that of Joshua who made the sun stand still. He tossed a curt order to one of his men, who went off at a run toward a village, whose morning smoke rose blue over a spur of the range a mile away. Then Anazeh sat down to await events, and took no more notice of the horseman's arguments. That did not worry the horseman much. He kept on arguing. Every few minutes one of Anazeh's men would go to him and repeat some tid-bit, as if the old sheikh had not heard it; but all he got for his pains was a gesture of contemptuous dismissal. Ahmed kept growing more and more uncomfortable all the time. He had attended to his boat, making it properly fast and covering the engine, under the eyes of four men who were at pains to see that he did not crank up and desert. Now he was back beside me, trying to bolster up his own courage by making me afraid. "They have determined to take me along with them to prevent me from escaping," he complained. "That man on the horse is saying that if more men go with Anazeh than you and two others, there will certainly be fighting. And Anazeh answers, he has pledged his word. Can you not say something to persuade Anazeh?" I would rather have tried to persuade a tiger. Short of knocking the old raider on the head and standing off his twenty ruffians, I could not imagine a way of turning him from his set purpose. And at that, I had not a weapon of any kind. I was the goods, and the game old sportsman intended to deliver me, right side up, perhaps, but all in one piece and to the proper consignee. "I don't see anything to worry about," said I. "Wait till you hear the bullets!" Ahmed answered. Nevertheless, bullets or no bullets, I did not see what I could do about it. Again I remembered Grim's advice: "Do what the leader of the escort tells you." I had begun to feel sorry for Ahmed in spite of his self-pity, but his fear wasn't contagious and his advice wasn't worth listening to. "Effendi, you are Anazeh's guest. He must do as you demand, if you ask in the Name of the Most High. Tell him, therefore, that you have an urgent business in El-Kudz. Demand that he send you back, with me, in my boat!" "You are not his guest. He would simply shoot you and destroy the boat," I answered. It was not more than half-an-hour before I saw horses coming in our direction from the village. At sight of them the man on the gray horse lost heart. With a final burst of eloquence, in which he spread his breast to heaven and shook both fists in witness that he was absolved and no blood-guilt could rest on his head, he rode away at top speed straight up the ravine down which he originally came. The horses proved to be a very mixed lot--some good, some very bad, and some indifferent. But again they treated me as honoured guest and provided me a mare with four sound legs and nothing much the matter except vice. She came at me with open teeth when I tried to mount, but four men held her and I climbed aboard, somehow or other. As a horseman, I am a pretty good sack of potatoes. That was the worst saddle I ever sat in--and Anazeh's second- best! The stirrups swung amidships, so to speak, and whenever you tried to rest your weight on them for a moment they described an arc toward the rear. Moreover, you could not sit well back on the saddle to balance matters, because of the high cantle. The result, whether you did with stirrups or without them, was torture, for anybody but an Arab, who has notions of comfort all his own. They put Ahmed on a wall-eyed scrub that looked unfit to walk, but proved well able to gallop under his light weight. One of Anazeh's men took my bag, with a nod to reassure me, and without a word we were off full-pelt, Anazeh leading with four stalwarts who looked almost as hard-bitten as himself, six men crowding me closely, and the remainder bringing up the rear. That is the Arab way of doing things--rush and riot to begin with. The steepness of the stony ravine we rode up soon reduced the horses to a walk, after which there was a good deal of attention to rifle-bolts, and a settling down to the more serious aspects of the adventure. The escort began to look sullenly ferocious, as only Arabs can. There was a time, during the Turkish regime before the War, when Cook's Agency took tourists in parties to El-Kerak, and all the protection necessary was a handful of Turkish soldiers, whose thief employment on the trip was to gather fuel and pitch tents. Some one paid the Arabs to let tourists alone, and they normally did. But the War changed all that. A post-Armistice stranger in 1920, with leather boots, was fair quarry for whoever had rifle or knife. We passed by a village or two, tucked into folds in the hills and polluting the blue sky with a smell of ageing dung, but nothing seemed disposed to happen. A few men stood behind stone walls and stared at us sullenly. The women looked up from their grindstones at the doors, covered their faces for convention's sake, and uncovered them again at once for curiosity. There was nothing you could call a road between the villages, only a rocky cattle-track that seemed to take the longest possible way between two points; and nobody seemed to own it, or to be there to challenge our right of way. But suddenly, after we had passed the third village and were walking the horses up a shoulder of a steep hill-top, three shots cracked out from in front of us to left and right. Nobody fell, but if ever there was instantaneous response it happened then. Anazeh and his four galloped forward up-hill, firing as they rode for the cover of a breast-high ridge. One man on the off-side tipped me out of the saddle, so suddenly that I had no chance to prevent him; another caught me, and two others flung me into a hole behind a stone. I heard the rear-guard scatter and run. Two men pitched Ahmed down on top of me, for he was valuable, seeing he could run an engine; and thirty seconds later I peered out around the rock to get a glimpse of what was happening. There was not a man in sight. I could see some of the horses standing under cover. The firing was so rapid that it sounded almost like machine-gun practice. A hairy arm reached out and pushed my head back, and after that, whenever I made the least movement, a man who was sniping from behind the sheltering rock swore furiously, and threatened to brain me with his butt-end. Beyond all doubt they regarded me as perishable freight; so I hardly saw any of the fighting. Judging by the sound, I should say they fought their way up-hill in skirmish order, and when they got to the top the enemy-- whoever they were--took to flight. But that is guesswork. There were two casualties on our side. One man shot through the arm, which did not matter much; he was well able to lie about what had happened and to boast of how many men he had slain before the bullet hit him. The other was wounded pretty seriously in the jaw. They came to me for first aid, taking it for granted that I knew something about surgery. I don't. I had a bad time bandaging both of them, using two of my handkerchiefs and strips from the protesting Ahmed's shirt. However, I enjoyed it more than they did. When Anazeh shouted at last and we all rode to the hilltop there was a dead man lying there, stripped naked, with his throat cut across from ear to ear. One of our men was wiping a long knife by stabbing it into the dirt. There was also a led horse added to the escort. Anazeh looked very cool and dignified; he had an extra rifle now, slung by a strap across his shoulders. He was examining a bandolier that had blood on it. We rode on at once, and for the next hour Ahmed was kept busy interpreting to me the lies invented by every member of the escort for my especial benefit. If they were true, each man had slain his dozen; but nobody would say who the opposing faction were. When I put that question they all dried up and nobody would speak again for several minutes. It turned out afterward that there had been a sort of armistice proclaimed, and all the local chiefs had undertaken to observe it and cease from blood-feuds for three days, provided that each chief should prove peaceful intention by bringing with him only two men. Three men in a party, and not more than three, had right of way. The engagement may have been a simple protest against breach of the terms of the armistice, but I suspect there was more than that in it. At any rate, we were not attacked again on the road, although there were men who showed themselves now and then on inaccessible-looking crags, who eyed us suspiciously and made no answer to the shouted challenge of Anazeh's men. When the track passed over a spur, or swung round the shoulder of a cliff, we could sometimes catch sight of other parties--always, though of three, before and behind us, proceeding in the same direction. We sighted the stone walls of El-Kerak at about midafternoon, and rode up to the place through a savage gorge that must have been impregnable in the old days of bows and arrows. It would take a determined army today to force itself through the wadys and winding water-courses that guard that old citadel of Romans and crusaders. We approached from the Northwest corner, where a tower stands that they call Burj-ez-Zahir. There were lions carved on it. It looked as if the battlements had been magnificent at one time; but whatever the Turks become possessed of always falls into decay, and the Arabs seem no better. Beside the Burj-ez-Zahir is a tunnel, faced by an unquestionable Roman arch. Outside it there were more than a dozen armed men lounging, and a lot of others looked down at us through the ruined loop-holes of the wall above. Their leader challenged our numbers at once, and refused admission. Judging by Anazeh's magnificently insolent reply it looked at first as if he intended fighting his way in. But that turned out to be only his diplomatic manner--establishing himself, as it were, on an eminence from which he could make concessions without losing dignity. The arrangement finally agreed to was Anazeh's suggestion, but showed diplomatic genius on both sides. The old man divided up his party into sets of three, and asserted that every set of three was independent. There were twenty-two of us all told, including Ahmed, but he described Ahmed as a prisoner, and offered to have him shot if that would simplify matters. There was a great deal of windy discussion about Ahmed's fate, during which his face grew the color of raw liver and he joined in several times tearfully. Once he was actually seized and half-a-dozen of the castle guards aimed at him; but they compromised finally by letting him go in with hands tied. Nobody really wanted the responsibility of shooting a man who had smuggled stolen cartridges across the Dead Sea, and might do it again if allowed to live. We rode for eighty or a hundred paces through an echoing tunnel into a city of shacks and ruined houses that swarmed with armed men, and it was evident that we were not the only ones who had ignored the rule about numbers. Anazeh explained in an aside to me that only those would obey that rule who did not dare break it. "Whoever makes laws should be strong enough to enforce them," he said sagely. "And whoever obeys such a law is at the mercy of those who break it," he added presently, by way of afterthought. To make sure that I understood him he repeated that remark three times. Every house had its quota of visitors, who lounged in the doorways and eyed us with mixed insolence and curiosity. There were coffee-booths all over the place that seemed to have been erected for the occasion, where, under awnings made of stick and straw, men sat with rifles on their knees. Those who had provender to sell for horses were doing a roaring trade--short measure and high price; and the noise of grinding was incessant. The women in the back streets were toiling to produce enough to eat for all that host of notables. To have had to hunt for quarters in that town just then would have been no joke. There was the mosque, of course, where any Moslem who finds himself stranded may theoretically go and sleep on a mat on the floor. But we rode past the mosque. It was full. I would not have liked a contract to crowd one more in there. Perhaps a New York Subway guard could have managed it. The babel coming through the open door was like the buzzing of flies on a garbage heap. I was trying to sit upright in that abominable saddle and look dignified, as became the honoured guest with a twenty-man escort, when a courteous-looking cut-throat wearing an amber necklace worth a wheat-field, forced his way through a crowd and greeted Anazeh like a long lost brother. I examined him narrowly to make sure he was not Grim in disguise, but he had two fingers missing, and holes in his ears, which decided that question. After he had welcomed me effusively he led us through a rat-run maze of streets to a good-sized house with snub-nosed lions carved on the stone doorposts and a lot of other marks of both Roman and crusader. No part of the walls was less than three feet thick, although the upper story had been rebuilt rather recently on a more economical and much less dignified scale. Nevertheless, there was a sort of semi-European air about the place, helped out by two casemented projections overhanging the narrow street. There was no need to announce ourselves. The clatter of hoofs and shouts to ordinary folk on foot to get out of the way had done that already. Sheikh ben Nazir opened the door in person. His welcome to me was the sort that comes to mind when you read the Bible story of the prodigal son returning from a far-off country. I might have been his blood-relation. But perhaps I am wrong about that; bloodfeuds among blood-relations are notoriously savage. He was the host, and I the guest. Among genuine Arabs that is the most binding relation there is. He was no longer in blue serge and patent-leather boots, but magnificent in Arab finery, and he was tricked out in a puzzling snowy-white head-dress that suggested politics without your knowing why. He had told me, when I met him at the American Colony, that he had made the pilgrimage to Mecca more than once; but that white linen thing had nothing to do with his being a haji, any more than the expensive rings on the fingers of both hands had anything to do with his Arab nationality. After he had flattered and questioned me sufficiently about the journey to comply with etiquette I asked him whether Ahmed might not be untied. The thong cutting the man's wrists. Sheikh hen Nazir gave the necessary order and it was obeyed at once. The liquid-eyed rascal with the priceless amber necklace then led away the escort, Ahmed included, to some place where they could stall the horses, and--side-by-side, lest any question of precedence should be involved, Anazeh and I followed ben Nazir into the house. We were not the only guests there. He ushered us into a square room, in which outrageous imported furniture, with gilt and tassels on it, stood out like loathsome sores against rugs and cushions fit for the great Haroun-al-Raschid's throne room. Any good museum in the world would have competed to possess the rugs, but the furniture was the sort that France sends eastward in the name of "culture"--stuff for "savages" to sit on and be civilized while the white man bears the burden and collects the money. There were half-a-dozen Arabs reclining on two bastard Louis- something-or-other settees, who rose to their feet as we entered. There was another man, sitting on a cushion in a corner by himself, who did not get up. He wore a white head-dress exactly like our host's, and seemed to consider himself somebody very important indeed. After one swift searching glance at us he went into a brown study, as if a mere sheikh and a Christian alien were beneath his notice. We were introduced first of all to the men who had stood up to greet us, and that ceremony took about five minutes. The Arab believes he ought to know all about how you feel physically, and expects you to reciprocate. When that was over ben Nazir took us to the corner and presented, first me, then Anazeh to the solitary man in the white head-dress, who seemed to think himself too important to trouble about manners. Anazeh did not quite like my receiving attention first, and he liked still less the off-handed way in which the solitary man received us. We were told his name was Suliman ben Saoud. He acknowledged my greeting. He and old Anazeh glared at each other, barely moving their heads in what might have been an unspoken threat and retort or a nod of natural recognition. Anazeh turned on his heel and joined the other guests. In some vague way I knew that Saoud was a name to conjure with, although memory refused to place it. The man's air of indifference and apparently unstudied insolence suggested he was some one well used to authority. Presuming on the one thing that I felt quite sure of by that time--my privileged position as a guest--I stayed, to try to draw him out. I tried to open up conversation with him with English, French, and finally lame Arabic. He took no apparent notice of the French and English, but he smiled sarcastically at my efforts with his own tongue. Except that he moved his lips he made no answer but went on clicking the beads of a splendid amber rosary. Ben Nazir, seeming to think that Anazeh's ruffled feelings called for smoothing, crossed the room to engage him in conversation, so I was left practically alone with the strange individual. More or less in a spirit of defiance of his claim to such distinction, I sat down on a cushion beside him. He was a peculiar-looking man. The lower part of his cheek--that side on which I sat--was sunk in, as if he had no teeth there. The effect was to give his whole face a twisted appearance. The greater part of his head, of course, was concealed by the flowing white kaffiyi, but his skin was considerably darker than that of the Palestine Arab. He had no eyebrows at all, having shaved them off--for a vow I supposed. Instead of making him look comical, as you might expect, it gave him a very sinister appearance, which was increased by his generally surly attitude. Once again, as when I had entered the room, he turned his head to give me one swift, minutely searching glance, and then turned his eyes away as if he had no further interest. They were quite extraordinary eyes, brimful of alert intelligence; and whereas from his general appearance I should have set him down at somewhere between forty and fifty, his eyes suggested youth, or else that keen, unpeaceful spirit that never ages. I tried him again in Arabic, but he answered without looking at me, in a dialect I had never heard before. So I offered him a gold-tipped cigarette, that being a universal language. He waived the offer aside with something between astonishment and disdain. He had lean, long-fingered hands, entirely unlike those of the desert fraternity, who live too hard and fight too frequently to have soft, uncalloused skin and unbroken finger-nails. He did not exactly fascinate me. His self-containment was annoying. It seemed intended to convey an intellectual and moral importance that I was not disposed to concede without knowing more about him. I suppose an Arab feels the same sensation when a Westerner lords it over him on highly moral grounds. At any rate, something or other in the way of pique urged me to stir him out of his self-complacency, just as one feels urged to prod a bull-frog to watch him jump. He seemed to understand my remarks, for he took no trouble to hide his amusement at my efforts with the language. But he only answered in monosyllables, and I could not understand those. So after about five minutes I gave it up, and crossed the room to ben Nazir, who seized the opportunity to show me my sleeping-quarters. It proved to be a room like a monastery cell, up one flight of stone steps, with two other rooms of about the same size on either side of it. At the end of the passage was a very heavy wooden door, with an iron lock and an enormous keyhole, which I suppose shut off the harem from the rest of the house; but as I never trespassed beyond it I don't know. I only do know that a woman's eye was watching me through that key-hole, and ben Nazir frowned impatiently at the sound of female giggling. "The Sheikh Anazeh will have the room on this side of you," he said, "and the Sheikh Suliman ben Saoud the room on the other. So you will be between friends." "Suliman ben Saoud seems a difficult person to make friends with," I answered. Ben Nazir smiled like a prince out of a picture-book--beautiful white teeth and exquisite benignance. "Oh, you mustn't mind him. These celebrities from the centre of Arabia give themselves great airs. To do that is considered evidence of piety and wisdom." I sat on the bed--quite a civilized affair, spotlessly clean. Ben Nazir took the chair, I suppose, like the considerate host he was, to give me the sensation of receiving in my own room. "He wears the same sort of head-dress you do. What does it mean?" I asked. "I wear mine out of compliment to him--not that I have not always the right to wear it. It is the Ichwan head-dress. It is highly significant." "Of what?" He hesitated for a moment, and then seemed to make up his mind that it did not much matter what he might divulge to an ignorant stranger soon to return to the United States. "It is difficult to explain. You Americans know so little of our politics. It is significant, I might say, of the New Arabia-- Arabia for the Arabs. The great ben Saoud, who is a relative of this man, is an Arabian chieftain who has welded most of Arabia into one, and now challenges King Hussein of Mecca for the caliphate. Hussein is only kept on his throne by British gold, paid to him from India. Ben Saoud also receives a subsidy from the British, who must continue to pay it, because otherwise ben Saoud will attack Hussein and overwhelm him. That, it is believed, would mean a rising of all the Moslem world against their rulers--in Africa--Asia--India--Java--everywhere. It began as a religious movement. It is now political--although it is held together by religious zeal. You might say that the Ichwans are the modern Protestants of Islam. They are fanatical. The world has never seen such fanaticism, and the movement spreads day by day." "You don't look like a fanatic," I said, and he laughed again. "I? God forbid! But I am a politician; and to succeed a politician must have friends among all parties. My one ambition is to see all Arabs united in an independent state reaching from this coast to the Persian Gulf. To that end I devote my energy. I use all means available--including money paid me by the French, who have no intention of permitting any such development if they can help it." "And the British?" "For the present we must make use of them also. But their yoke must go, eventually." "Then if America had accepted the Near East mandate, you would have used us in the same way?" "Certainly. That would have been the easiest way, because America understands little or nothing of our politics. America's money--America's schools and hospitals--America's war munitions-- and then good-bye. I am willing to use all means--all methods to the one end--Arabia for the Arabs. After that I am willing to retire into oblivion." Nevertheless, ben Nazir did not convince me that he was an altruist who had no private ends to serve. There was an avaricious gleam in ben Nazir's eyes. Chapter Five "D'you mind if I use You?" For all his care to seem hospitable before any other consideration, ben Nazir looked ill at ease. He led me down again to a dining-room hung with spears, shields, scimitars and ancient pistols, but furnished otherwise like an instalment-plan apartment. He watched while a man set food before me. It seemed that Anazeh had gone away somewhere to eat with his men. Ben Nazir's restlessness became so obvious that I asked at last whether I was not detaining him. He jumped at the opening. With profound apologies he asked me to excuse him for the remainder of the afternoon. "You see," he explained, "I came from Damascus to Jerusalem, so I was rather out of touch with what was going on here. This conference of notables was rather a surprise to me. It will not really take place until tomorrow, but there are important details to attend to in advance. If you could amuse yourself--" The man who could not do that in a crusader city, crammed with sons of Ishmael who looked as if they had stepped out of the pages of the Old Testament, would be difficult to please. I asked for Ahmed, to act as interpreter. Ben Nazir volunteered to provide me with two men in addition as a sort of bodyguard. "Because Ahmed is a person who is not respected." It did not take ten minutes to produce Ahmed and the two men. The latter were six-foot, solemn veterans armed with rifles and long knives. With them at my heels I set out to explore El-Kerak. "There is nothing to see," said Ahmed, who did not want to come. But Ahmed was a liar. There was everything to see. The only definite purpose I had in mind was to find Grim. It was possible I might recognize him even through his disguise. Failing that, he could not help but notice me if I walked about enough; if so, he would find his own means of establishing communication. But you might as well have hunted for one particular pebble on a beach as for a single individual in all that throng. Remembering Grim's disguise when I first saw him, I naturally had that picture of him in mind. But all the Bedouins looked about as much alike as peas in a pod. They stared at me as if I were a curio on exhibition, but they did not like being stared back at. There was no hint of violence or interference, and no apparent resentment of an alien's presence in their midst. The loud- lunged bodyguard shouted out to all and sundry to make way for the "Amerikani," and way was made forthwith, although several times the bodyguard was stopped and questioned after I had passed, to make sure I was really American and not English. Ahmed assured me that if I had been English they would have "massacred" me. In view of what transpired he may have been right, though I doubt it. They might have held me as hostage. Not that they were in any kind of over-tolerant mood. There was a man's dead body hanging by one foot from a great hook on a high wall, and the wall was splattered with blood and chipped by bullets. I asked Ahmed what kind of criminal he might be. "He did not agree with them. They are for war. He was in favor of peace, and he made a speech two hours ago. So they accused him of being a traitor, and he was tried and condemned." "Who tried him?" "Everybody did." "War with whom?" I asked. "The British." "Why?" "Because they favor the Zionists." "And that is what the conference is all about?" "Yes. There is a man here from Damascus, who urges them to raid across the Jordan into Palestine. He says that the Palestinian Arabs will rise then, and cut the throats of all the Zionists. He says that Emir Feisul is going to attack the French in Syria, and that the British will have to go and help the French, so now is the time for a raid." "Is my host, ben Nazir, the man who is talking that way? He has been to Damascus." "No. Another, named Abdul Ali--a very rich sheikh, who comes here often with caravans of merchandise, and gives rich presents to notables." "Has ben Nazir anything to do with it?" "Who knows? Mashallah! The world is full of mysteries. That Nazir is a knowing one. They say of him: whichever option is uppermost, that is always his opinion. He is a safe man to follow for that reason. Yet it is easier to follow water through a channel underground." We made our way toward the castle at the south side of the town, but were prevented from entering by a guard of feudal retainers, who looked as if they had been well drilled. They were as solemn as the vultures that sat perched along the rampart overlooking a great artificial moat dividing the town from the high hill just beyond it. Nobody interfered when I climbed on the broken town wall and looked over. The castle wall sloped down steeply into the moat, suggesting ample space within for dungeons and underground passages; but there was nothing else there of much interest to see, only dead donkeys, a dying camel with the vultures already beginning on him, some dead dogs, heaps of refuse, and a lot more vultures too gorged to fly--the usual Arab scheme of sanitation. I asked one of my bodyguard to shoot the camel and he obliged me, with the air of a keeper making concessions to a lunatic. Nobody took any notice of the rifle going off. It was when we turned back into the town again that the first inkling of Grim's presence in the place turned up. A bulky- looking Arab in a sheepskin coat that stank of sweat so vilely that you could hardly bear the man near you, came up and stood in my way. Barring the smell, he was a winning-looking rascal-- truculent, swaggering, but possessed of a good-natured smile that seemed to say: "Sure, I'm a rogue and a liar, but what else did you expect!" He spoke perfectly good English. He said he wished to speak to me alone. That was easy enough; Ahmed and the bodyguard withdrew about ten paces, and he and I stepped into a doorway. "I am Mahommed ben Hamza," he said, with his head on one side, as if that explanation ought to make everything clear to me at once. "From Hebron," he added, when I did not seem to see the light. The wiser one looks, and the less one says, in Arab lands, the less trouble there's likely to be. I tried to look extremely wise, and said nothing. "Where is Jimgrim?" he demanded. "If you can tell me that I'll give you ten piastres," I answered. "I will give you fifty if you tell me!" "Why do you want to know?" "He is my friend. He said I should see him here. But I have not seen him. He said also I should see you. You are the Amerikani? And you don't know where he is? Truly? Then, when you see him, will you say to him, 'Mahommed ben Hamza is here with nine men at the house of Abu Shamah?' Jimgrim will understand." I nodded, and the man from Hebron walked away without another word. "Did he steal your watch?" asked Ahmed. They are as jealous as children, those Arabs. There was a second execution while I walked back through the city. A wide-eyed, panic-stricken poor devil with slobber on his jaws came tearing down-street with a mob at his heels. We stepped into an alley to let the race go by, but he doubled down the alley opposite. Before he had run twenty yards along it some one hit the back of his head with a piece of rock. A second later they had pounced on him, and in less than a minute after that he was kicking in the noose of a hide rope slung over a house-beam. I don't know what they hanged him for. No one apparently knew. But they used his carcase for a target and shot it almost to pieces. I kept on looking for Grim, although the task seemed hopeless. Of course, I could not give a hint of my real purpose. But as Grim knew that the talk about a school-teacher was my passport to the place, it seemed possible that he might use that as an excuse for getting in touch with me. So I told Ahmed to show me the schools. They weren't worth looking at--mere tumble-down sheds in which Moslem boys were taught to say the Koran by heart. The places where Christian missionaries once had been were all turned into stores, and even into stables for the horses of the notables. So I returned to ben Nazir's house, and found old Sheikh Anazeh sitting outside on the step, as motionless as a tobacco-store Indian but twice as picturesque. He still had his own rifle over his knees, and the plundered one slung over his shoulder by a strap; he never stirred abroad unarmed. I asked him what the conference of notables was going to be about, and he told me to mind my own business. That struck me as an excellent idea, so, not having slept at all the previous night, I went upstairs and lay on the bed. There was no lock on the door, so I set the chair against it. Ben Nazir was a man who had traveled a great deal, and picked up western notions of hospitality to add to the inborn eastern sense of sacredness in the relation between host and guest. It seems that an hour or two later he came to take me down to a Gargantuan meal, but, feeling the chair against the door, and hearing snores, he decided it was better manners to let me lie in peace. So I did not wake up again until after midnight. The moonlight was streaming through a little high-perched window, and fell on the white-robed, ghostly-looking figure of a man, who sat with crossed legs on the end of the bed. I thought I was dead and in hell. That is no picturesque exaggeration about a man's hair standing when he is terrified. It really does. I would have yelled aloud, if the breath would have come, but there is a trick of sudden fear that seems to grip your lungs and hold them impotent. The thing on the end of the bed had no eye-brows. It grinned as if it knew all about evil, and were hungry, and living men were its food. I don't know how long I stared at the thing, but it seemed like a week. At last it spoke, and I burst into a sweat with the reaction. "Good job you don't know how to fasten a door with a chair. I'll have to show you that trick, or you'll be dying before your time. Sh-h-h! Don't make a noise!" I sat up and looked more closely at him. It was the Ichwan of the afternoon--Sheikh Suliman ben Saoud. And he was speaking unmistakable American. I began again to believe I was dreaming. He chuckled quietly and lit a cigarette. "Aren't you wise to me yet?" "Grim?" "Who else?" "But what's happened to your face? You're all one-sided." "Oh, that's easy. I just take out my false teeth. The rest is done with a razor and some brown stain. I thought you were going to spot me when you first came. Did you? I didn't think so. Did you act as well as all that?" "No. Looked all over town for you afterward." "Uh-huh. I thought that was too natural to be acting. Pick up any news in town?" "Saw a hanging, and met a man who calls himself Mahommed ben Hamza. He's waiting at the house of Abu Shamah." "Any men with him?" "Nine." "Three more than he promised. Ben Hamza is the most honest thief and dependable liar in Palestine--a cheerful murderer who sticks closer than a brother. I saved him once from being hung, because he smiles so nicely. Any more news?" "I expect none that you don't know. There's a sheikh named Abdul Ali from Damascus, preaching a raid into Palestine." Grim nodded. "I'm here to bag that bird." "Where do I come in?" I asked. "You are the plausible excuse, that's all. Thanks to you old Anazeh got into El-Kerak with twenty men. Two might not have been enough, even with ben Hamza and his nine." "Then our host ben Nazir is in on your game?" "Not he! Up at headquarters in Jerusalem we knew all about this coming conference. These folk are ready to explode. The only way to stop it is to pull the plug--The plug is Abdul Ali. We knew we could count on old Anazeh. But the puzzle was how to get him and his men into El-Kerak. When you told me ben Nazir had invited you, I saw the way to do it. There wasn't anybody else except Anazeh that ben Nazir could have sent to fetch you, and the old boy is a dependable friend of ours." "That did not stop him from raiding two villages on the British side of the Dead Sea," I answered. "Did he?" "Sure. I had part of a raided sheep for breakfast." "Um-m-m! Well of all the--damn his impudence! The shrewd old devil must have figured that we can't get after him for it, seeing how he's playing our game. Bloody old horse-thief! Well, he gets away with it, this time. You'll have to be mighty careful not to seem to recognize me. One slip and we're done for. You're safe enough. If they once get wise to me they'll pull me in pieces between four horses." "What's your plan?" "It's vague yet. Got to be an opportunist. I'm supposed to be a member of the ben Saoud family, recruiting members for the new sect--biggest thing in Arabia. I'm invited to the conference on the strength of my supposed connection with the big Ichwan movement." "D'you propose to murder this Abdul Ali person, then, or have him murdered?" I asked. "Uh-uh! Murder's out of my line. Besides, that'ud do no good. Worse than useless. They'd all cut loose. Abdul Ali has got them together. What with bribes and a lot of promises he has them keen on this raid. If he were killed they'd say one of our spies did it. They'd add vengeance to their other motives, which at present are mainly a desire for loot. No, no. Abdul Ali has got to disappear. Then they'll believe he has betrayed them. Then, instead of raiding Palestine they'll confiscate his property and curse his ancestors. D'you see the point?" "More or less. But what good can I do?" "Do you mind if I use you?" I laughed. "That's a hell of a silly question. Any use my minding? You've already used me. You will do it again without consulting me. I like it, as it happens. But a fat lot you care whether I like it or not. Isn't it a bit late in the day to ask permission?" "Oh, well. You know the hangmen always used to beg the victim's pardon. Will you obey orders?" "Yes. But it might be easier if I know what I'm doing." "As soon as I know I'll explain," he answered. "Where you can fit into the puzzle at the moment is by rooting for the school idea. The worst robber chieftain from the farthest cluster of huts he calls his home town would like to see an American school here in El-Kerak. If there were one he'd send his sons to it." "Okay. I'll root like a dog for a buried bone." "Go to it. That gives you the right to ask questions. That will oblige ben Nazir to introduce you to any one you want to interview. That will explain without any further argument whatever weakness you seem to have for talking to men in the street like Mahommed ben Hamza. It would even explain away any politeness that I might show you in my capacity of Ichwan. For safety's sake, and to create an impression, I take the line of being rude to every one; but I might reasonably toss a few crumbs of condescension to an altruist from foreign parts. At any rate, I'll have to take that chance. D'you get me?" "You mean, you'll use me as intermediary? Messages to and from ben Hamza and that sort of thing?" "That's the idea, but there's more to it. Did you bring that Bible along? Are you superstitious? Any notions like Long John Silver's about its being bad luck to spoil a Bible? All right. Keep it in your pocket to make notes in. If you can't get the whole book to me, tear a page out and send that, or give it to me, with the message spelled in dots under the words. Make the dots faint, I've good eyes." "What sort of notes do you want from me?" "You mustn't mistake me for the prophet Ezekiel," he answered, grinning. "'Thus saith the Lord' is all right when you know what you're talking about. All I know for certain is that I've got to bag Abdul Ali. If you get information that looks important to you, get it to me in the way I've told you, that's all. Don't be caught talking to me. Don't look friendly. Don't seem interested." "What else?" "If you can, keep old Anazeh sober." "Oh!" Grim nodded meaningly: "I've known easier jobs!" "The old sport thinks no more of me than of an express package he'd been hired to deliver," I answered. "Drunk or sober, he'd brush me aside like a fly." "Well--wits were given us to use. I guess you'll have to use yours. Have you any?" "How the hell should I know?" I retorted. "If you find I haven't any, don't blame me." "I won't," he answered, and I believed him. "What else besides being dry-nurse to the king of the Amalekites?" I asked. "Don't trust Ahmed." "He's a good interpreter." "Yeh--and a poor peg. You'll have to use him--some. But don't trust him." "Does old Anazeh know you in that disguise?" I asked. "No, and he mustn't. I'll tell you why. All these people are religious fanatics. A horrible death is the only fate they would consider for a man caught masquerading as a holy personage the way I'm doing. But their fanaticism has a way of petering out when the gang's not there to see. In his own village I think Anazeh would laugh if I talked this ruse over with him-- afterwards. But if he knew about it here, with all these other fanatics alert and fanning, he wouldn't dare not to expose me. It's a good job you asked that. If I send any message to Anazeh through you, be sure you don't give me away." "How shall I make him believe the message is from you, then?" "Begin with 'Jimgrim says.' He'll recognize the formula. But if he questions that, say 'A lion knows a lion in the dark.' That'll serve a double purpose--convince him and jog his memory. He ignored a request of mine--once, and I was able to get back at him. Tell you the story some day. Nowadays he's more or less dependable, unless he gets a skin-full of redeye. Well, make the most of your chance to sleep; you may have to go short later. I'm going to saw off a cord or two myself." He left the room as silently as a ghost. I don't doubt that he slept peacefully. Subsequent acquaintance with him convinced me that he can go to sleep almost anywhere in any circumstances. And that is a very great gift, for it enables its owner to wear down any dozen who must sleep for stated hours at fixed intervals. Grim snatches his whenever the chance comes, and goes without with apparent indifference. He told me once that he dreams nearly all the time he is asleep. But the dreams don't seem to trouble him. I believe he dreams out the key to whatever problem puzzles him at the moment. My own sleep was done for that night, his advice notwithstanding. I lay listening to Anazeh's thunderous snores and naturally enough imagining every possible contingency and dozens that were totally impossible. Nothing turned out in the least like any of my forecasts; but that was not for want of trying to foresee it all. I don't seem to possess any of that quiet gift of waiting to deal with each development on its merits, as and when it comes. I have to speculate, and speculation is the ene my of peace. Looking back, I don't think I felt a bit afraid of the immediate future; but that was due to ignorance of nearly all that the present held. I think that was part of Grim's reason for helping me to reach El-Kerak in the first place; he counted on my ignorance of danger to keep me cool-headed. It is true, it did dawn on me that if my host were to suspect me of intriguing under cover of his protection, the protection might cease with disconcerting abruptness. I realized to some extent what a predicament that would be. But on the whole, I think the only real worry was the definite task Grim had given me--the thankless, and very likely desperate, inglorious one of trying to keep old Anazeh sober. Of course, the Koran forbids wine. But whiskey is not wine. And if you mix whiskey and wine together they cease to be either; they become a commodity of which the Prophet knew nothing and which he therefore did not forbid. But if you introduce such a mixture into the stomach, and thence into the brain of an already fiery Bedouin; and then introduce the Bedouin to trouble; and if, in addition to the trouble, you provide impertinent, alien, and what he calls infidel restraint, it is fair to presume that the mixture might explode. It seemed to me I had been given too much to do. In order to get introductions to the notables I must first get ben Nazir into a proper frame of mind. Then, stammering in an alien tongue, I must make friends with chieftains who had never even heard of me; and that, when their minds were busy with another matter. I must keep in touch with ben Hamza, and convey his messages to Grim without being seen or arousing suspicion. In addition to all that I must keep sober by some means an old savage armed with two rifles and a knife, who had twenty cut-throats at his beck and call! While I pondered the problem in all its impossible bearings, loud snores to right and left of me, tenor and bass by turns, announced that Jimgrim and Anazeh were as blissfully oblivious to my worries as the bedbugs were that had come out of hiding and discovered me. I began to feel homesick. Chapter Six "That man will repay study." I got my first shot at Anazeh at dawn, when the muezzin began wailing over the city; and I missed badly with both barrels. The old sheikh looked into my room, presumably to see if I was still alive, since he had guaranteed to see me safely back again across the Jordan, before rounding up his rascals for morning prayer. They prayed together whenever possible, Anazeh keeping count of their genuflections. You could tell he had been drinking the night before the minute he thrust his head into the room. He smelt like the lees of a rum barrel, and the rims of his eyes were red. Seeing I was awake he gave me the courteous, full-sounding "Allah ysabbhak bilkhair," and I asked him where he had dined the night before. He mumbled something into his beard that I could not catch, but he could not have told me much more plainly to go to hell, even in plain English. However, I had to get a foothold somewhere, so I said that I had heard that the liquor in El-Kerak was poisonous. As far as I understood his answer, he implied that it likely would be poisonous in the sort of place where I would buy it, but that he, Anazeh, need not be told how to suck eggs by any such a greenhorn as me. I tried him again. I said that liquor taken in quantity would kill a man. "So will one bullet!" he answered. "But, whereas a bullet in the belly causes pain before death, moiyit ilfadda (aqua fortis) causes pleasure; and a man dies either way." He turned to go, rattling two rifle-butts against the door, but I had one last try to get on terms and said I hoped to see him at breakfast, or shortly afterward. "God is the giver both of eyesight and the things to see," he answered. "I go to pray. God will guide my footsteps afterward." I did not feel I had really made much headway, but I fared rather better with my host downstairs, who either did not pray with such enthusiasm or else had forestalled the muezzin. At any rate, he was waiting for me near a table spread with sweet cakes and good French coffee. After the usual string of pleasantries he became suddenly confidential, over-acting the part a little, as a man does who has something rather disagreeable up his sleeve that he means to spring on you presently. "I have been busy since an hour before dawn. I have been consulting with my friend Suliman ben Saoud. The situation here is very serious. As long as you are my guest you are perfectly safe; but if I were to send you away, the assembled notables might suspect you of being a spy, and might accuse me of harbouring a spy. Do you see? They would suppose you were returning to Jerusalem with information for the British. That would have most unpleasant consequences--for both of us!" Clearly, Grim in the guise of ben Saoud had been busy, and it was up to me to seize my cue alertly. I was at pains to look alarmed. Ben Nazir grew solicitous. "Rest assured, you are safe as my guest. But Suliman ben Saoud was annoyed to think a stranger should be here at such a time as this. He took me to task about you. He is also my guest, as I reminded him, but he is a truculent fellow. He insisted that the assembled notables have the right to satisfaction regarding your bona fides. It was no use my saying, as I did repeatedly, that I personally guarantee you. He asked me how much I know about you. I had to confess that what I actually know amounts to very little." "Well?" I said. "What does the old grouch want?" "He thinks that you should be presented to the assembled notables at noon today. In fact, he demands that they should catechize you regarding your ideas about a school." "I have no objection." "But, I am sorry to have to add this: it is probable the notables will insist on your remaining in El-Kerak until after that shall have taken place which they have been summoned to decide on. They will not risk your returning before the--" "Before what?" "The--ah--they contemplate a raid!" "So I'm a prisoner?" "No, no! Mon dieu, what do you think of me! Even the fanatical Suliman ben Saoud saw the force of the argument when I spoke of the sanctity of any guest here on my invitation. But he thinks-- and I agree with him, that as a precaution you should first call on Sheikh Abdul Ali. You will find him a very agreeable man, who will receive you with proper courtesy. He is here from Damascus, and exercises a great influence. Once his mind is at ease about you, he will satisfy all the others. Are you agreeable?" "Why not?" So we smoked a cigarette together after the coffee, and then set forth on foot, for the distance was not great, preceded and surrounded by armed retainers. I imagine the armed men were more for the sake of appearance than protection. Ben Nazir seemed popular. But the escort drove other pedestrians out of the way as roughly as they did the unspeakable dogs that infested every offal-heap. The street that we followed was, of course, the open sewer for the houses on either hand, and its condition was a credit to the mangy curs that so resented our intrusion. Abdul Ali's house, if his it was, was a fairly big square building near the middle of the town. It did not look unlike one of the old-time New York precinct stations, with its big windows protected by iron grilles, and a flight of stone steps leading up to a door exactly in the middle of the front wall. There were thirty or forty capable-looking men hanging about the place. Abdul Ali owned more than one camel caravan, and every man connected with the business looked on himself as a member of one big feudal family. They were all armed. Most of them had modern rifles. We were admitted into a room that faced on the street, furnished entirely in the eastern style, except for two gilt chairs against the wall. The walls were hung with carpets and the floor was covered with Bokhara rugs three deep. No doubt in order to emphasize his own importance, Abdul Ali kept us waiting in that room for ten minutes before he condescended to enter. But when he did come at last he was at pains to seem agreeable, which was not quite his natural attitude. I had never seen a more offensive personality, although at the first glance he did not arouse actual dislike. Distaste for him dawned, and grew. He was certainly not physically attractive, although the Syrian Arab costume made him picturesque. The first thing I noticed was the fatness of his hands--those of a giver of dishonest gifts. When he shook hands you felt in some subtle way that he was sure your conscience was for sale, that he would purchase it for any reasonable figure, and that he believed he had plenty of money with which to buy you and all your relatives. He was a little puffy under the eyes, had a firm mouth, rather thick lips, and his small black moustache was turned up like the Kaiser's, which gave him a cockily self-assured appearance. For the rest, he was a rather military-looking person, although his flowing robe partly concealed that; stockily rather than heavily built; and of rather more than middle height. He wore one ring--a sapphire of extraordinary brilliance, of which he was immensely proud. When I noticed it he said at once that it had been given him by the late Sultan Abdul Hamid. He spoke German from choice, so we conversed in German, which annoyed ben Nazir, who could not understand a word of it. And from first to last throughout that interview, and subsequently to the point where Jimgrim out-maneuvered and out-played him, he relied on the German philosophy of self-assertion that teaches how to get and keep the upper hand by making yourself believe in your own super-intelligence and then speaking, acting, making plans in logical accord with that belief. It works finely until somebody spoils the whole thing by pricking the super-intelligence bladder and letting out all the wind. Although he spoke German, he was not by any means pro-German in his motives. He was at pains to make that clear. Evidently he had been pro-German once, until he saw the writing on the wall. He was conscious of the need to offset past prejudices before suggesting his enormous ability along advanced lines. "You come at an interesting time," he said. "You find us in transition. Before the War, and almost until the end of it, most Arabs believed in the German destiny. English gold commanded the allegiance of an Arab army, but every last man in that army was ready to follow the German standard at the proper time. That only shows how ignorant these people are. As soon as it became evident that the Arab destiny lies in the hands of Arabs themselves most of them immediately began to clamour for an American mandate, because that would give them temporary masters who could protect them, yet at the same time who would be too ignorant of real conditions to prevent secret preparations for a pan-Arabian revolt. All very absurd, of course." He had no idea how absurd he himself appeared. He launched into a tirade designed to make him seem a super-statesman in the eyes of a stranger who did not care what he was. The more he talked himself into a delirium of self-esteem the less his character impressed me. I even ran into the danger of under-estimating him because he liked himself so much. "I'm here to look into the prospects for a school," I said. "Yes, yes. Very estimable. You shall have my support." He paused for me to fawn on him, and my neglect to do it spurred him to further self-revelation. "You must look to me for support if you hope for success. There is no cohesion here without me. I am the only man in El-Kerak to whom they all listen, and even I have difficulty in uniting them at times. But a school is a good idea, and under my auspices you will succeed." For the moment I thought he suspected me of wanting to teach school myself. I hastened to correct the impression: "All I promise to do is to tell people in the States who might be interested." "Exactly." He had been coming at this point all along in his own way. "So there is no hurry. It makes no difference that you must stay in El-Kerak a little longer than you intended. You shall be presented to the council of notables under my auspices. In my judgment it is important that you remain here for some little time." I suppose the men who can analyze their thoughts, and separate the wise impulses from the rash ones, are the people whom the world calls men of destiny and whom history later assigns to its halls of fame. The rest of us simply act from pique, prejudice, passion or whatever other emotion is in charge. I know I did. It was resentment. It was so immensely disagreeable to be patronized by this puffy-eyed sensualist that I could not resist the impulse to argue with him. "I don't see the force of that," said I. "My plans are made to return to Jerusalem tomorrow." I could not have done better as it happened. I suppose there is some theory that has been written down in books to explain how these things work, at any rate to the satisfaction of the fellow who wrote the book. But Grim, referring to it afterward, called it naked luck. I would rather agree with Grim than argue with any inky theorist on earth, having seen too many theories upset. Luck looks to me like a sweeter lady, and more worshipful than any of the goddesses they rename nowadays and then dissect in clinics. At any rate, by naked luck I prodded Abdul Ali where he kept his supply of mistakes. Instead of calling my bluff, as he doubtless should have done, he set out to win me over to his point of view. Whichever way you analyze it in the light of subsequent events, the only possible conclusion is that it was my turn to be lucky and Abdul Ali's to make a fool of himself. Nobody could have made a fool of him better than he did. "I must dissuade you," he said, trying to hide wilfulness under an unpleasant smile. "I will offer inducements." "They'll have to be heavy," I said, "to weigh against what I have in mind." He had kept ben Nazir and me standing all this time. Now he offered me one of the chairs, took the other himself, and motioned ben Nazir to a cushion near the window. A servant brought in the inevitable coffee and cigarettes. Then he laid a hand on my knee for special emphasis--a fat, pale, unprincipled hand, with that great sapphire gleaming on the middle finger. "It happens that this idea of a school comes just at the right moment. I have been searching my mind for just some such idea to lay before the notables. As we are talking a language that none else here understands, I can safely take you into confidence. A raid is being planned into British territory." He paused to let that sink in, and tapped my knee with his disgusting fingers until I could have struck him from irritation. "There is, however, an element of disagreement. There is uncertainty as to the outcome, in the minds of some of the chiefs who live nearest to the border. The feeling among them is that perhaps I am urging them on in order to serve my own ambition at their expense. They appreciate the opportunity to loot; but they say that the British will hit back afterwards, and they, being nearest to the border, will suffer most; whereas I stand to gain all and to lose nothing. Very absurd, of course, but that is their argument." "Surely," I said, "you don't expect me to take my coat off and preach a jihad against the British?" "Im Gotteswillen! No, no, no! This is my meaning: if I can go before them with the offer of a school for El-Kerak, which the very worst scoundrel among them desires with all his ignorant heart; and if I can produce a distinguished gentleman from America, present among them on my invitation for the sole purpose of making the arrangements for such a school, that will convince them that I have their interests really at heart. Do you see?" Again the irritating fingers drumming on my knee. I did not answer for fear of betraying ill-temper. "I am a statesman, sir. I understand the arguments with which whole nations may deceive themselves. I have made it my profession to detect the trends of thought and the tides of unrest. Psychological moments are for me a fascinating study. I can recognize them." He laid the fat hand on my shoulder for a change, and tried to look into my eyes; but I was watching the edge of a curtain at the far end of the room. "Now, to you, an American, our local dispute means nothing. This raid is no affair of yours. You wash your hands of it. You, an altruist, are interested only in a school. I offer you opportunity, building, subsidy, guarantees. You reciprocate by giving me a talking point. I shall make use of the opportunity. That is settled. And, let me see, I promised you inducements, didn't I?" He looked, at me and I looked at him. He waited for a hint of some sort, but I made no move to help him out. "What shall we say?" I was as interested in the result of his appraisal as he was in making it. Whether complimentary or not, another's calculated judgment of your character is a fascinating thing to wait for. "I think you will be getting full value. I shall introduce you to all the notables," he said at last. "To a man of your temperament it will be a privilege to attend the council, and to know in advance all that is going to happen. There will be no objection to that, because it is already decided you will remain in El-Kerak until after the--er--raid. The notables will understand from me that your mouth is sealed until after the event. You shall be let into our secrets. There--is that not equitable?" It was shrewd. I did not believe for a minute that he would let me into all their secrets, but he could not have imagined a greater temptation for me. Since I would not have taken his word that black was not white, I did not hesitate to pretend to agree to his terms. "I must have an interpreter," I said. "Otherwise I shall understand very little." "I will supply you an interpreter--a good one." "No, thank you. Any man of yours might only tell me what he thought correct for me to hear. If I'm to get a price for my services, I want the full price. I want to hear everything. I must be allowed to bring my own interpreter." "Who would he be?" "I don't know yet." "That man Ahmed, for instance? I have been told he is one of your party. Ahmed would do very well." "No, not Ahmed." "Who then?" "I will find a man." He hesitated. If ever a man was reviewing all the possible contingencies, murder of me included, behind a mask of superficial courtesy, that man was he. "He should be a man acceptable to the notables," he said at last. "I ought to know his name in advance." "I must have unfettered choice, or I won't attend the mejlis." [Council] "Oh, very well. Only the interpreter, too, will have to remain afterward in El-Kerak." I looked at that curtain again, for it was moving in a way that no draft from the open window could account for. But at last the movement was explained. Before Abdul Ali could speak again a man stepped out from behind it, crossed the room, and went out through the door, closing it silently behind him. He was a man I knew, and the last man I had expected to see in that place. I suppose Abdul Ali noticed my look of surprise. "You know him?" he asked. "By sight. He was at Sheikh ben Nazir's house yesterday." "That is Suliman ben Saoud, a stranger from Arabia, but a man of great influence because of his connection with the Ichwan movement. If you are interested in our types that man will repay study." "Good. I'll try to study him," said I. It was all I could do to keep a straight face. So Jimgrim was the source of Abdul Ali's inspirations! I wondered what subtle argument he could have used to make the sheikh so keen on baiting his hook with the school proposal. His nerve, in waiting behind that curtain until he knew his scheme had succeeded, and then walking out bold as brass to let me know that he had overheard everything, was what amused me. But I managed not to smile. "What time is the mejlis?" I asked. "At noon." "Then I'll go and hunt up my interpreter." Ben Nazir came out with me, in a blazing bad temper. He was as jealous as a pet dog, and inclined to visit the result on me. "Very polite, I am sure! Most refined! Most courteous! In your country, sir, does a guest reward his host for hospitality by talking in a language that his host can't understand? Perhaps you would rather transfer your presence to Abdul Ali's house? Pray do not consider yourself beholden to me, in case you would prefer his hospitality!" I tried in vain to pacify him. I explained that the choice of language had been Abdul Ali's, and offered to tell him now in French every word that had passed. But he would not listen. "It would not be difficult for a man of your intelligence to make up a story," he said rudely. "Abdul Ali can talk French. If it had been intended that I should know the truth that conversation would have been in French. Shall I send your bag to Abdul Ali's house?" "No," I said. "Give it to Anazeh. He is answerable for my safety until I reach Palestine again. Thank you for a night's lodging." He walked away in a great huff, and I set out for the house of Abu Shamah, using my scant store of Arabic to ask the way. Mahommed ben Hamza was lolling on the stone veranda, gossiping with half-a-dozen men. He came the minute I beckoned him. "I've seen Jimgrim," I said. "You're to come with me at noon to the mejlis as my interpreter." He grinned delightedly. "And see here, you smelly devil: Here's money. Buy yourself a clean shirt, a new coat, and some soap. Wash yourself from head to foot, and put the new clothes on, before you meet me at the castle gate ten minutes before noon. Those are Jimgrim's orders, do you understand?" "Taht il-amr! (Yours to command)" he answered laughing. I went and bought myself an awful meal at the house of a man who rolled Kabobs between his filthy fingers. Chapter Seven "Who gives orders to me?" The wonderful thing about Moab is that everything happens in a story-book setting, with illustrations by Maxfield Parrish and Wyeth and Joe Coll, and all the rest of them, whichever way you look. Imagine a blue sky--so clear-blue and pure that you can see against it the very feathers in the tails of wheeling kites, and know that they are brown, not black. Imagine all the houses, and the shacks between them, and the poles on which the burlap awnings hang, painted on flat canvas and stood up against that infinite blue. Stick some vultures in a row along a roof-top-- purplish--bronze they'll look between the tiles and sky. Add yellow camels, gray horses, striped robes, long rifles, and a searching sun-dried smell. And there you have El-Kerak, from the inside. From any point along the broken walls or the castle roof you can see for fifty miles over scenery invented by the Master-Artist, with the Jordan like a blue worm in the midst of yellow-and-green hills twiggling into a turquoise sea. The villains stalk on-stage and off again sublimely aware of their setting. The horses prance, the camels saunter, the very street-dogs compose themselves for a nap in the golden sun, all in perfect harmony with the piece. A woman walking with a stone jar on her head (or, just as likely, a kerosene can) looks as if she had just stepped out of eternity for the sake of the picture. And not all the kings and kaisers, cardinals and courtezans rolled into one great swaggering splurge of majesty could hold a candle to a ragged Bedouin chief on a flea-bitten pony, on the way to a small-town mejlis. So it was worth a little inconvenience, and quite a little risk to see those chiefs arrive at the castle gate, toss their reins to a brother cut-throat, and swagger in, the poorest and least important timing their arrival, when they could, just in advance of an important man so as to take precedence of him and delay his entrance. Mindful of my charge to keep Anazeh sober, and more deadly afraid of it than of all the other risks, I hung about waiting for him, hoping he would arrive before Abdul Ali or ben Nazir. I wanted to go inside and be seated before either of those gentry came. But not a bit of it. I saw Anazeh ride up at the head of his twenty men, halt at a corner, and ask a question. His men were in military order, and looked not only ready but anxious to charge the crowd and establish their old chief's importance. Mahommed ben Hamza, not quite so smelly in his new clothes, was standing at my elbow. "Sheikh Anazeh beckons you," he said. So the two of us worked our way leisurely through the crowd toward the side-street down which Anazeh had led his party. We found them looking very spruce and savage, four abreast, drawn up in the throat of an alley, old Anazeh sitting his horse at their head like a symbol of the ancient order waiting to assault the new. My horse was close beside him, held by Ahmed, acting servitor on foot. The old man let loose the vials of his wrath on me the minute I drew near, and Mahommed ben Hamza took delicious pleasure in translating word for word. "Is that the way an effendi in my care should be seen at such a time--on foot? Am I a maskin* that you do not ride? Is the horse not good enough?" [*Poor devil] I made ben Hamza explain that I was to attend the mejlis as Sheikh Abdul Ali's guest. But that only increased his wrath. "So said ben Nazir! Shall a lousy Damascene trick me out of keeping my oath? You are in my safekeeping until you tread on British soil again, and my honour is concerned in it! No doubt that effeminate schemer of schemes would like to display you at the mejlis as his booty, but you are mine! Did you think you are not under obligation to me?" I answered pretty tactfully. I said that Allah had undoubtedly created him to be a protector of helpless wayfarers and the very guardian of honour. Mahommed ben Hamza added to the compliments while rendering mine into Arabic. But though Anazeh's wrath was somewhat mollified, he was not satisfied by any means. "Am I a dog," he demanded, "that I should be slighted for the sake of that Damascene?" It looked to me like the proper moment to try out Grim's magic formula. "You are the father of lions. And a lion knows a lion in the dark!" said I. The effect was instantaneous. He puffed his cheeks out in astonishment, and sucked them in again. The overbearing anger vanished as he leaned forward in the saddle to scrutinize my face. It was clear that he thought my use of that phrase might just possibly have been an accident. "Jimgrim says--" "Ah! What says Jimgrim? Who are you that know where he is?" "A lion knows a lion in the dark!" I said again, that there might be no mistake about my having used the words deliberately. He nodded. "Praised be Allah! Blessings upon His Prophet! What says Jimgrim?" "Jimgrim says I am to keep by Anazeh and watch him, lest he drink strong drink and lose his honour by becoming like a beast without decency or understanding!" "Mount your horse, effendi. Sit beside me." I complied. Ben Hamza took the place of Ahmed, who went to the rear looking rather pleased to get out of the limelight. "What else says Jimgrim?" asked Anazeh. "There will be a message presently, providing Sheikh Anazeh keeps sober!" To say that I was enjoying the game by this time is like trying to paint heaven with a tar-brush. You've got to be on the inside of an intrigue before you can appreciate the thrill of it. Nobody who has not had the chance to mystify a leader of cheerful murderers in a city packed with conspirators, with the shadow of a vulture on the road in front, and fanged death waiting to be let loose, need talk to me of excitement. "Well and good," said Anazeh. "When Jimgrim speaks, I listen!" Can you beat that? Have you ever dreamed you were possessed of some magic formula like "Open Sesame," and free to work with it any miracle you choose? Was the dream good? I was awake--on a horse--in a real eastern alley--with twenty thieves as picturesque as Ali Baba's, itching for action behind me! "Abdul Ali of Damascus thinks he will enter the mejlis last and create a great sensation," said Anazeh. "That son of infamies deceives himself. I shall enter last. I shall bring you. There will be no doubt who is important!" Just as he spoke there clattered down the street at right angles to us a regular cavalcade of horsemen led by no less than Abdul Ali with a sycophant on either hand. Cardinal Wolsey, or some other wisehead, once remarked that a king is known by the splendour of his servants. Abdul Ali's parasites were dressed for their part in rose-coloured silk and mounted on beautiful white Arab horses so severely bitted that they could not help but prance. Abdul Ali, on the other hand, played more a king-maker's role, dark and sinister in contrast to their finery, on a dark brown horse that trotted in a business-like, hurry-up-and-get-it-done- with manner. He rode in the German military style, and if you can imagine the Kaiser in Arab military head-dress, with high black riding boots showing under a brown cloak, you have his description fairly closely. The upturned moustaches and the scowl increased the suggestion, and I think that was deliberate. "A dog--offspring of dogs! Curse his religion and his bed!" growled Anazeh in my ear. The old sheikh allowed his enemy plenty of time. To judge by the way the men behind us gathered up their reins and closed in knee- to-knee, they would have liked to spoil Abdul Ali's afternoon by riding through his procession and breaking its formation. But Anazeh had his mind set, and they seemed to know better than to try to change it for him. We waited until noises in the street died down, and then Ahmed was sent to report on developments. "Abdul Ali has gone into the mejlis and the doors are closed," he announced five minutes later. That seemed to suit Anazeh perfectly, for his eyes lit up with satisfaction. Evidently being excluded from the council was his meat and drink. He gave no order, but rode forward and his men followed as a snake's tail follows its head, four abreast, each man holding his rifle as best suited him; that gave them a much more warlike appearance than if they had imitated the western model of exact conformity. We rode down-street toward the castle at a walk, between very interested spectators who knew enough to make way without being told. And at the castle gate we were challenged by a man on foot, who commanded about twice our number of armed guards. "The hour is passed," he announced. "The order is to admit no late-comers." "Who gives orders to me?" Anazeh retorted. "It was agreed by all the notables." "I did not agree. Wallah! Thou dog of a devil's dung-heap, say you I am not a notable?" "Nevertheless--" "Open that gate!" They opened it. Two of the men began to do it even before their chief gave the reluctant order. Anazeh started to ride through with his men crowding behind. But that, it seemed, was altogether too much liberty to take with the arrangements. Shouting all together, the gate-guards surged in to take hold of bridles and force Anazeh's dependents back. Teeth and eyes flashed. It looked like the makings of a red-hot fight. "No retainers allowed within the gate! Principals only!" roared the captain of the guard, in Arabic that sounded like explosions of boiling oil. Anazeh, Mahommed ben Hamza and I were already within the courtyard. Four of Anazeh's followers made their way, through after us before any one could prevent them. At that moment there came a tremendous clattering of hoofs and the crowd outside the gate scattered this and that way in front of about a hundred of the other chiefs' dependents, who had dutifully stayed outside and had sought shade some little distance off. Whether the sudden disturbance rattled him, or whether he supposed that all the other truculent ruffians were going to try to follow our example, at any rate the man on duty lost his head and shouted to his men to shut the gate again. Before they could do it every one of Anazeh's gang had forced his way through. There we all were on forbidden ground, with a great iron-studded gate slammed and bolted behind us. To judge by the row outside the keepers of the gate had got their hands full. In front of us was a short flight of stone steps, and another great wooden door set in stone posts under a Roman arch. There were only two armed men leaning against it. They eyed Anazeh and our numbers nervously. "Open!" Anazeh could use his voice like a whip-crack. They fumbled with the great bolt and obeyed, swinging the door wide. I thought for a minute that my arrogant old protector meant to ride up the steps and through the door into the mejlis hall with all his men; but he was not quite so high-handed as that. After a good long look through the door, I suppose to make sure there was no ambush inside waiting for him, he dismounted, and ordered his men to occupy a stable-building across the courtyard, from which it would have been impossible to dislodge them without a siege. Then, when he had seen the last man disappear into it, he led me and Mahommed ben Hamza up the steps. Ben Hamza was grinning like a schoolboy, beside himself with delight at the prospect of elbowing among notables, as well as inordinately proud of his new clothes and the smell of imported soap that hung about him like an aura. But Anazeh looked like an ancient king entering into his own. Surely there was never another man who could stride so majestically and seem so conscious of his own ability to override all law. We passed under the shadowy arch and down a cool stone passage to yet another heavy door that barred our way. Anazeh thundered on it with his rifle-butt, for there were no attendants there to do his bidding. There was no answer. Only a murmur of voices within. So he thundered again, and this time the door opened about six inches. A face peered through the opening cautiously, and asked what was wanted. "What is this?" asked Anazeh. "Is a mejlis held without my presence? Since when?" "You are too late!" The face disappeared. Some one tried to close the door. Anazeh's foot prevented. "Open!" he demanded. The butt of his rifle thundered again on the wood. There was a babel of voices inside, followed by sudden silence. Anazeh made a sign to Mahommed ben Hamza and me. We all three laid our shoulders against the door and shoved hard. Evidently that was not expected; it swung back so suddenly that we were hard put to it to keep our feet. The man who had opened the door lay prone on the floor in front of us with his legs in the air, and Anazeh laughed at him--the bitterest sign of disrespect one Arab can pay to another. "Since when does the word of a Damascene exclude an honourable sheikh from a mejlis in El-Kerak?" asked Anazeh, standing in the doorway. He was in no hurry to enter. The dramatic old ruffian understood too well the value of the impression he made standing there. The room was crowded with about eighty men, seated on mats and cushions, with a piece of carpeted floor left unoccupied all down the centre--a high-walled room with beautifully vaulted ceiling, and a mullioned window from which most of the glass was gone. The walls were partly covered with Persian and other mats, but there was almost no furniture other than water-pipes and little inlaid tables on which to rest coffee-cups and matches. The air was thick with smoke already, and the draft from the broken windows wafted it about in streaky clouds. Every face in the room was turned toward Anazeh. I kept as much as possible behind him, for you can't look dignified in that setting if all you have on is a stained golf suit, that you have slept in. It seemed all right to me to let the old sheikh have all the limelight. But he knew better. Perhaps my erstwhile host ben Nazir had understood a little German after all. More likely he had divined Abdul Ali's purpose to make use of me. Certainly he had poured the proper poison in Anazeh's ear, and the old man understood my value to a nicety. He took me by the arm and led me in, Mahommed ben Hamza following like a dog that was too busy wagging its tail to walk straight. You would have thought Anazeh and I were father and son by the way he leaned toward me and found a way for me among the crowded cushions. He had no meek notions about choosing a low place. Expecting to be taken at his own valuation, he chose a high place to begin with. There were several unoccupied cushions near the door, and there were half-a-dozen servants busy in a corner with coffee- pots and cakes. He prodded one of the servants and ordered him to take two cushions to a place he pointed out, up near the window close to Abdul Ali. There was no room there. That was the seat of the mighty. You could not have dropped a handkerchief between the men who wanted to be nearest the throne of influence. But Anazeh solved that riddle. He strode, stately and magnificent, up the middle of the carpet amid a mutter of imprecations. And when one more than ordinarily indignant sheikh demanded to know what he meant by it, he paused in front of him and laid his right hand on my shoulder. (There was a loaded rifle in his left.) "Who offers indignity to a distinguished guest?" he demanded. The question was addressed to everybody in the room. He took care they were all aware of it. His stern eyes traveled from face to face. "My men, who escorted him here, are outside the door. They can enter and escort him away, if there are none here who understand how to treat the stranger in our midst!" There was goose-flesh all over me, and I did not even try to look unembarrassed. A man's wits, if he has any, work swiftly when he looks like being torn to pieces at a moment's notice. It seemed to me that the less insolent I appeared, the less likely they were to vent their wrath on me. I tried to look as if I didn't understand I was intruding--as if I expected a welcome. "Good!" Anazeh whispered in my ear. "You do well." There was a murmur of remonstrance. The sheikh who had dared to rebuke Anazeh found the resentment turned against himself. Somebody told him sharply to mend his manners. Anazeh, shrewd old opportunist, promptly directed the servant to place cushions on the edge of the carpet, in front of the first row of those who wished to appear important. That obliged the front rank to force the men behind them backward, closer to the wall, so that room could be made for us without our trespassing on the forbidden gangway. So I sat down in the front row, five cushions from Abdul Ali. Anazeh squatted beside me with his rifle across his knees. Then Mahommed ben Hamza forced himself down between me and the man on my left, using his left elbow pretty generously and making the best of the edges of two cushions. As far as I could see there were not more than half-a-dozen other men in the room who had rifles with them, although all had daggers, and some wore curved scimitars with gold-inlaid hilts. As soon as I could summon sufficient nerve to look about me and meet the brown, conjecturing eyes that did not seem to know whether to resent my presence or be simply curious, I caught the eye of Suliman ben Saoud in the front row opposite, ten or twelve cushions nearer the door than where I sat. He did not seem to notice me. The absence of eyebrows made his face expressionless. He didn't even vaguely resemble the Major James Grim whom I knew him to be. When his eyes met mine there was no symptom of recognition. If he felt as nervous as I did he certainly did not show it behind his mask of insolent indifference. There was still a good deal of muttered abuse being directed at Anazeh. The atmosphere was electric. It felt as if violence might break out any minute. Abdul Ali seemed more nervous than any one else; he rocked himself gently on his cushion, as if churning the milk of desire into the butter of wise words. Suddenly he turned to the sheikh on his left, a handsome man of middle age, who wore a scimitar tucked into a gold-embroidered sash, and whispered to him. Ben Hamza whispered to me: "That sheikh to whom Abdul Ali speaks is Ali Shah al Khassib, the most powerful sheikh in these parts. A great prince. A man with many followers." Ali Shah al Khassib called for prayer to bring the mejlis to order. He was immensely dignified. The few words he pronounced about asking God to bless the assembled notables with wisdom, in order that they might reach a right decision, would have been perfectly in place in the Capitol at Washington, or anywhere else where men foregather to decide on peace or war. At once a muballir* on his left opened a copy of the Koran on a cushion on his lap and began to read from it in a nasal singsong. There were various degrees of devoutness, and even of inattention shown by those who listened. Some knelt and prostrated themselves. Others, including Anazeh, sat bolt upright, closing their eyes dreamily at intervals. Over the way, Jim Suliman ben Saoud Grim was especially formally devout. His very life undoubtedly depended on being recognized as a fanatic of fanatics. [*A Moslem priest who recites prayers.] But there were three Christian sheikhs in the room. One of them opposite me pulled out a Bible and laid it on the carpet as a sort of challenge to the Koran. It was probably a dangerous thing to do, although most Moslems respect the Bible as a very sacred book. The manner in which it was done suggested deliberate effort to provoke a quarrel. Mahommed ben Hamza, dividing his time like a schoolboy in chapel between staring about him and attending by fits and starts, nudged me in the ribs and whispered: "See that Christian! He would not dare do that, only on this occasion they like to think that Moslems and Christians are agreeing together." The man who was reading to himself from the Bible looked up and caught my eye. He tapped the book with his finger and nodded, as much as to ask why I did not join him. At once I pulled my own from my pocket. He smiled acknowledgment as I opened it at random. Certainly he thought I did it to support his tactlessly ill-timed assertion of his own religion. Very likely my action, since I was a guest and therefore not to be insulted, saved him from violence. Incipient snarls of fanatical indignation died away. But as a matter of fact my eye was on Jim Suliman ben Saoud Grim. As the reading from the Koran came to an end amid a murmur of responses from all the sheikhs, the crooked-faced Ichwan sat upright. In his sullen, indifferent way, he stared leisurely along the line until his eyes rested on me. As his eyes met mine I marked the place where the Bible was open with a pencil, and closed the book, suspecting that he might be glad to know where a pencil could be found in a contingency. He did not smile. The expression of his face barely changed. Just for a second I thought I saw a flicker of amused approval pass over the corners of his eyes and mouth. So I left the book lying where it was with the pencil folded in it. Chapter Eight "He will say next that it was he who set the stars in the sky over El-Kerak, and makes the moon rise!" Ali Shah al Khassib was the first to speak. He was heard to the end respectfully, none interrupting. But it seemed obvious from their faces that not a few sheikhs were disposed to question both his leadership and most of what he said. Mahommed ben Hamza kept up a running whisper of interpretation, breathing into my ear until it was wet with condensed breath. I had to use a handkerchief repeatedly. Ali Shah al Khassib made no definite proposal. He said that a man whom they all knew well had brought news to the effect that Emir Feisul was ready to make war on the French in order to drive them out of Syria. That in a case like that, of Moslems against kafirs,* there could be no question on which side their hearts or their interests lay. That several dependable men had brought word of great unrest in Palestine. That in all likelihood the British would send their army to help the French, in which case the Arabs of Palestine were likely to rise in rebellion in the British army's rear. That was the situation. They were invited to consider it, and to decide what action, if any, seemed called for. [*Unbelievers.] He sat down without having risked his leadership by any statement of his own attitude. He had simply reported facts that he believed to be true--facts that many of the notables plainly did not yet believe, or believed only in part. There followed a perfect babel of argument, during which the servants passed the coffee and cakes around. After that, during every interval between speeches there was more coffee and more cakes--wonderful cakes made with honey and almonds, immensely filling; but the more full an Arab gets of stodgy food the more his tongue wags, until at last he talks himself to sleep. For ten minutes men were shouting their opinions to one another to and fro across the room. From what I could make of it there was not a man who did not advocate putting the whole of Palestine to the sword forthwith. But it was noticeable that when their turns came to stand up and address the mejlis their advocacy was considerably toned down. Everybody seemed to want somebody else to father the proposal for a raid, although every man pretended to be anxious to take part in one. Old Anazeh on my right sat in grim silence, quizzing each talker in turn with puckered eyes. The only comment he made was a sort of internal rumbling, suggestive of the preliminary notice of an earthquake. At the end of ten minutes Sheikh Ali Shah al Khassib brought proceedings a step forward by calling for confirmation of the news of unrest in Palestine. Man after man got up, and, since he was speaking of others, not of himself, painted the discontent of the Palestinians in lurid terms. Each man tried to outvie the other. The first man said they were anxious regarding the Zionists and keen for a solution of the problem. The second said they hated the Zionists, and could see no way out of their predicament but by rebellion. The third said that no Arab in Palestine could eat for thinking of the Zionist outrage, and that the heart of every man in El-Kerak should bleed for his distressed brethren. To judge by what the fourth and fifth and sixth said, Palestine was in a state of scarcely suppressed rebellion, and every living Arab in the country was sharpening his sword in secret for the butchering of Zionists at the first opportunity. The seventh man said that the Palestine Arabs had never under Turkish rule suffered and groaned as they did under the British, and that their cry was going up to heaven for relief from the ignominious tyranny of Zionist pretensions. Ali Shah al Khassib chose that ringing appeal as the cue for his next move in the game. He called on Sheikh Abdul Ali, "as well known in Damascus as in this place," to address the mejlis. There was instant silence. Even the coffee cups ceased rattling. Abdul Ali got to his feet with the manner of a man long used to swaying assemblies. He had just the right air of authority; exactly the right suggestion of deference; the quiet smile of the man with secrets up his sleeve; and he paused just long enough before speaking to whet curiosity and fix attention. He did not speak floridly or fast, and he indulged in none of those flights of oratory that most Arabs love. There was ample time between his sentences for Mahommed ben Hamza to translate into my wet and itching ear. But every sentence of his speech had measured weight in it, and every word he used was chosen for its poison or its sting. He began by reminding them of the war and of Emir Feisul's share in it. Of how they, and their fathers, and their sons had fought behind Feisul and helped to establish him in Damascus. Then he spoke of the British promise that the Arabs' should have a kingdom of their own, with Damascus for its capital and borders to include all the peoples of Arab blood in the Near East. He paused for a full minute after that. Then: "But the French are in Syria. The French, who also promised us an Arab kingdom. They have assembled at the coast an army that already threatens Emir Feisul. The British are in Palestine, where they are admitting a horde of Zionist Jews to displace us Arabs, rightful owners of the soil. The British are also in Mesopotamia, which they have seized for themselves for the sake of the oil which Allah, in His wisdom, created beneath the fertile earth. Feisul makes ready to defend Syria against the French. But the British will march to the aid of the French. Can anybody tell me how much of that promise to us Arabs has been kept, by either nation, French or British?" So far he was on thoroughly safe ground. A man who preached against the French could hardly be suspected of being hired by the French to do it. There was nobody there but he who could say what Feisul's intentions actually were. You can say what you like against the British anywhere, at any time, and find some one to believe what you say. And it needed no wizardry to prove that the Allies had broken every promise they ever made to the Arabs. "Are you going to sit idle, and let Emir Feisul and the Syrians fight the French alone?" he asked, and paused again. There was a great deal of murmuring--not quite all of it, I thought, entirely in his favour. "What is the alternative to sitting still like camels waiting to be doubly burdened? If you raid Palestine, the local Arabs will all rise to your assistance. The throat of every Zionist from the Lebanon to Beersheba will be cut. There will be plunder beyond reckoning. And you will help Feisul by holding back the British army from marching to the assistance of the French. The question is, are you men?--are you Arabs?--are you true Moslems? --or do you like to look down from these heights of El-Kerak over the home of your ancestors in the hands of so-called Zionists who are nothing but Jews, under a new name?" He sat down before any one could answer him, and whispered to Ali Shah al Khassib, who called on another man to speak at once. It was a pretty obvious piece of concerted strategy, but he got by with it for the moment. The general feeling seemed to be in favour of a raid if only some one would start it. Nobody seemed to mind much how the decision was arrived at, so long as the responsibility was passed to some one else. The man now called on was a smooth-tongued, tall, lean individual with shifty eyes, and a flow of talk of the coffeeshop variety. At the end of his first sentence any fool would have known that he had been put up to quiz Abdul Ali, in order that Abdul Ali might have an excuse to justify himself. He attacked him very mildly, with much careful hedging and apologetic gesture, on the ground that possibly the Damascene was ignoring their interests while urging them to take action that would suit his own. Even with that mild criticism he set loose quite a murmur of minority agreement. For the first time since the speech-making began Anazeh barked approval. I thought for a moment the old man was going to get to his feet. But Abdul Ali was up again first, and launched on the seas of self-esteem. If I had not listened to equally childish political maneuvers in the States, and seen them succeed for the reason that people who want something want also to be fooled into getting it by special arguments, it would have seemed incredible that a man, who had recently boasted of statesmanship, should dare to make such a public ass of himself. Yet, for fifteen minutes he carried the whole meeting with him, and the warmth of his self-satisfied emotion made him ooze resplendent sweat. "Now he speaks of you, effendi," Mahommed ben Hamza whispered; and in confirmation of it Anazeh clutched my arm, as if to keep the tide of eloquence from washing me away. Had the British done anything for the country this side of Jordan? Anything for the people's education, for instance? No! Instead, they had taken away the missionaries. Better than nothing were those missionaries. They had their faults. They undermined religion. But they taught. And the British had called them in, giving some ridiculous excuse about danger. It had remained then for him--Abdul Ali of Damascus and of El-Kerak --the same individual who was now urging them to strike for their own advantage--to take the first step for the establishment in El-Kerak of a school that should be independent of the British. He, Abdul Ali, greatly daring because he had the interest of El- Kerak at heart, had introduced that day into the mejlis a distinguished guest from the United States, whose sole desire-- whose only object in life--whose altruistic and divine ambition was to establish an American secular school in El-Kerak! He sat down, glowing with super-virtue. And then the fur flew. Anazeh was first on his feet. "Princes!" he shouted. "That Damascene is a father of lies! It was I, Anazeh, who brought this man hither! That corrupter of honesty, who doles out other people's gold for bidden purposes, seeks to appear as your benefactor!" (It was fairly obvious that Anazeh had not received any of the gold.) "He will say next that it was he who set the stars in the sky over El-Kerak, and makes the moon rise! He is a foreigner, a father of snakes, and a born liar!" Anazeh refused to sit down again, but stood with rifle on his arm, daring any one to challenge his statements. Abdul Ali flushed angrily, but laughed aloud. The next man on his feet was ben Nazir, my erstwhile host, who had repudiated me. And he repudiated me all over again, accusing me of abusing his hospitality by going over to Abdul Ali, who had never even heard of me before I came to El-Kerak. There was no making head or tail of the storm of abuse and counter-abuse that followed, except that it did not look healthy for me. There seemed to be four or five different factions, all of whom regarded me as the bone of contention. Rather than betray anxiety I opened the Bible and began to make dots under letters, spelling out a message to Grim to the effect that I had no notion where to find lodgings for the night, and that if Anazeh elected to carry me off I should have to go with him. I did not know how to get the message to him without arousing suspicion and making matters worse than they were, and it seemed best not to call attention to the fact that I was writing. So I made a few dots at a time, and looked about me. I saw Abdul Ali, laughing cynically, make a gesture with his arm as if he consigned me to the dogs. Then I caught Grim's eye--Suliman ben Saoud's. He, too, was making capital of my predicament. He had got the attention of the men around him, and was pointing at the Bible while he reeled off a string of an angry rhetoric that sounded like a cat-fight. He shouted at me, and made angry gestures; but I knew that if he wanted me to understand his signals he would never make them openly, so I ignored them. "The sheikh from Arabia demands to see the book," said Mahommed ben Hamza in my ear. I passed it over the carpet with the pencil folded in it at the page I had begun to mark; and the men opposite handed it along, with remarks they considered appropriate. Jim Suliman ben Saoud Grim seized the book angrily, glared at it, denounced it, and wrote something on the fly-leaf. He showed it to the men beside him, and they laughed, nodding approval. He wrote again. They approved again. He turned and talked to them. Then, as if he had an afterthought, he wrote a third time. When they wanted to look at that he ran the pencil through it and wrote something else on the other side of the fly-leaf, at which they all laughed uproariously. Presently he tossed the book back to me with all the outward signs of contempt that a fanatic can show for another religion. I have kept that Bible as a souvenir, with the verses from the Koran written on the flyleaf in Arabic in Grim's fine hand. Underneath them, in Greek characters with a pencil line scrawled through them, is the only sentence that interested me at the moment: "This looks good. Keep Anazeh quiet and sober." Anazeh was beginning to hold forth again, shaking his fist at Abdul Ali and making the roof echo to his mighty bellowing. I tugged at the skirt of his cloak, and after a minute he sat down to discover what I wanted. He seemed to think I needed reassurance. He began to flood me with promises of protection. It was about a minute before I could get a word in edgeways. Then: "Jimgrim says," said I. "Jimgrim! Is he here?" "He surely is." "How do you know?" "We have a sign. Jimgrim says, 'Be quiet, and drink no strong drink.'" He leaned across to Mahommed ben Hamza, doubting his ears and my Arabic. I repeated the message, and ben Hamza translated. "I don't believe Jimgrim is here!" said Anazeh. "I would know him among a million." "It is true," said ben Hamza, grinning from ear to ear, "for I myself know where he sits!" "Where then?" Anazeh demanded excitedly. "Don't you dare!" said I, and ben Hamza grinned again. "He is my friend. I say nothing," he answered. Anazeh put in the next five minutes minutely examining every face within range, while the din of argument rose louder and more violent than ever, and suspicion of me seemed to be gaining. But suddenly Suliman ben Saoud got to his feet and there was silence. They were all willing to listen to a member of the Ichwan sect, for the news of its power and political designs had spread wherever men talk Arabic. He spoke gutturally in a dialect that ben Hamza did not find it any too easy to follow, so I only got the general gist of Grim's remarks. He said that he had much experience of raids and of making preparations for them. A raid aimed at the Zionists--at this moment--might be good--perhaps. They were better judges of that than he. But it was all-important to know who was in favour of the raid, and exactly why. The words men spoke were not nearly so impressive as the deeds they did. Therefore, when the illustrious Sheikh Abdul Ali of Damascus urged a raid on the one hand, and boasted of provision for a school in El-Kerak on the other, it would be well to examine this foreign effendi, whom Abdul Ali claimed to have introduced. The claim was disputed, but the claim was not made for nothing. In his judgment, based on vast experience of politics in Arabia, motives were seldom on the surface. All depended on the motives of the illustrious Abdul Ali. This stranger from America--he glared balefully at me--should be investigated thoroughly. As a man of vast experience with the interests of El-Islam at heart, he offered respectfully to examine this stranger thoroughly with the aid of an interpreter. He confessed to certain suspicions; should they prove unfounded, then it might be reasonable to credit the rest of Abdul Ali's statements; if not, no. He was willing, if the honourable mejlis saw fit, to take the stranger aside and put many questions to him. When he had finished you could actually physically feel the suspicion directed at me. It was like a cold wind. Anazeh was just as conscious of it, and muttered something about its being time to go. Abdul Ali got up and asked indignantly why the Ichwan from so far away should have such an important voice; he himself stood there ready to answer all questions. Suliman ben Saoud retorted sourly that he proposed to question the Damascene in public after privately interrogating me. "They shall not interfere with you! You are in my charge," Anazeh growled in my ear. "I will summon my men at the first excuse." "Jimgrim says, 'Be quiet!'" I answered. There was another uproar. Ali Shah al Khassib openly took the part of Abdul Ali. A dozen men demanded to know how much he had been paid to do it. Finally, Suliman ben Saoud beckoned me. I got up, and with Mahommed ben Hamza at my heels I followed him to a narrow door in a side wall that opened on a stone stairway leading to the ramparts. Anazeh' came too, growling like a hungry bear, and after a couple of blood-curdling threats hurled at Suliman ben Saoud's back he took up position in the open door, facing the crowd, and dared any one to try to follow. He seemed to have confidence in Mahommed ben Hamza's ability to protect me, if necessary, on the roof. The roof and ramparts appeared deserted. They were in the ruinous state to which the Turks reduce everything by sheer neglect, and in which Arabs, blaming the Turks, seemed quite disposed to leave things. The Ichwan led the way to the southwest corner, peering about him to make sure no guards were in hiding, or asleep behind projecting buttresses. Overhead the kites were wheeling against a pure blue sky. The Dead Sea lay and smiled below us, with the gorgeous, treeless Judean Hills beyond. Through the broken window of the hall came the clamour of arguing men. "O, Jimgrim!" grinned Mahommed ben Hamza when we reached the corner. Grim turned and faced us with folded arms, leaning his back against the parapet. Ben Hamza continued: "You are a very prince of dare-devils! One word from me--one little word, and they would fling you down into the moat for the vultures to feed on!" "I remember a time," Grim answered, "when a word from me saved you from hanging." "True, father of good fortune! But a man must laugh. I will hold my tongue in El-Kerak like a tomb that has not been plundered!" "You'd better! You've work to do. Where are your men?" "All where I can find them." "Good. You'll get turned out of the mejlis presently. Look down into the moat now." We all peered over. The lower ramp of the wall sloped steeply, but all the way up the sharp southwest corner the stones were broken out, and a goat, or a very active man could find foothold. "Could you climb that?" "Surely. Remember, Jimgrim, when I climbed the wall of El-Kudz (Jerusalem) to escape from the police!" "Bring your men into the moat between dark and moonrise. Have a long rope with you--a good one. You and two men climb up here and hide. The remainder wait below. Oh, yes; and bring a wheat sack--a new, strong one. You may have to wait for several hours. When you see me, take your cue from me; but whatever happens, no murder! You understand? Nobody's to be killed." Ben Hamza grinned and nodded. He seemed to be one of those good- natured rogues who ask nothing better than the sheer sport of lawless hero-worship. He would have made a perfect chief of staff for any brigand, provided the brigand took lots of chances. "You'll be killed, if anybody finds you up here after dark! You realize that?" "Trust me." Grim nodded. He was good at trusting people, when he had to, and when the selection was his own. "Affairs seem to be drifting nicely," he said, turning to me. "It's best not to let Anazeh know who I am just yet, if that can be helped. But if you must, when the time comes, you'll have to tell him. Do keep him sober. After the evening prayer there'll be a banquet; if he gets drunk we're done for. I'm going to make you out an awful leper, if you don't mind. They may yell for your hide and feathers before I've finished, but Anazeh will protect you. If he leaves the hall in a huff, don't make any bones about going with him. Let him ride out of town and wait for me about two miles down the track, at the point where that tomb stands above a narrow pass between two big rocks. Do you remember it?" "What if he won't wait?" "He must! Tell him I'll have a prisoner with me; then he'll be curious. But you can bet on old Anazeh when he's sober. But things may turn out so that it's simpler for you to stay and see this through with me. In that case you must persuade him to go without you, after explaining to him just where he's to wait." "How shall I do that?" I said. "I haven't enough Arabic." "I'll write it," he answered. "Give me that pencil." "Say something, too, then about his keeping sober." Grim nodded, and wrote quite a long letter in Arabic on a page of my notebook. "The next move," he said, as I pocketed the letter, "is for me to get Abdul Ali's goat: I think--and I hope--he'll try to bribe me. If he does, he's my meat! The whole question of raid or no raid hangs on their confidence in him. If I throw suspicion on him, and he disappears directly afterwards, they'll abandon the plan, confiscate his goods and chattels, and quarrel among themselves instead of raiding Palestine. Get me?" "Um-n-yes. I've sat on a horse I was warned against--felt safer--and gone to hospital at that." He laughed. "No hospitals up here! It'll be soon over if they get wise to us. But I think we're all right; and you're almost certainly safe. But don't be tempted to talk. Well--we've been up here long enough for me to have put you through the third degree. Better look a bit uncomfortable as you go down, as if I'd got under your skin with some awkward questions. You, too, ben Hamza; don't grin; look afraid." "I am not at all afraid, Jimgrim. But I will try." Grim studied for a moment. "Don't forget," he added, "at the first suggestion that you're not wanted, make yourself scarce, and go and round up your men. If you're thrown out pretty roughly, keep your temper and run." "Taht il-amr!" (Yours to command.) "Come on, then. Let's go." The sun was fairly low over the Judean Hills as we turned down the narrow stairs and found Anazeh waiting at the bottom. Chapter Nine "Feet downwards, too afraid to yell!"-- Abdul Ali of Damascus was holding the floor again when we returned. He had abandoned the cold air of mysterious authority and secrets in reserve. His claim to backstairs influence having been challenged, he had resorted to the emotional appeal that is the simplest means of controlling any crowd of men anywhere. The demagog who can find a million men all responsive to the same emotion can swing them as easily as a hundred if he knows his business. Loot was the tune he harped, with the old Ishmael blood-lust by way of obbligato. He had them by the heart-strings, and there were long-necked bottles of liquor that smelt of aniseed being passed from hand to hand. We returned to our places almost unnoticed, and within the minute some one handed a full bottle to Anazeh; the accompanying cup was big enough to hold any ordinary drunkard's breakfast, and the old sheikh's eyes admired the size of it. I laid my hand on the wrist that held the bottle. He shook it off angrily, and began to pour. Grim, over the way, looked anxious. It was up to me to play this hand, so I led my ace of trumps. Suddenly, and very clumsily, I rocked sideways to reach my hip- pocket, contriving to jog his elbow and spill what was already in the cup. He turned his head to curse savagely, and I showed him the folded sheet from my notebook. His name was on it in Arabic: "Sheikh Anazeh ben Mahmoud, from Jimgrim." He seized it, setting the bottle down between his feet, where it was instantly reached for by some one else and handed down the line. Reading was evidently not Anazeh's favorite amusement, but he knitted his brows over the letter and wrestled with it word by word, while Abdul Ali's fiery declamation made the vaulted roof resound. I could only make out snatches of the appeal to savagery--a word and a sentence here and there. "Who are you, princes? Men with swords, or slaves who must obey?--Raid over the Jordan twenty thousand strong!--What are Jews? Shall Jews take the home of your ancestors? Who says so? --Let the Jews be buried in the land they come to steal!--You say the Jews are cleverer than you. Cut their heads off, then they cannot think!" "When did Jimgrim give you this?" Anazeh demanded, folding the letter and stowing it in his bosom. "That is the message that I told you would come later if you waited." "Do you know what is in the message?" "No." That was perfectly true. I had talked with Grim, but had not read what he had written. "He wishes me to go and wait for him in a certain place" "Why not do it?" "Rubbama." (Perhaps.) "True-believers! Followers of the Prophet! Sons of warrior kings!" thundered Abdul Ali. "Will you do nothing to help Feisul, a lineal descendant of the Prophet? You have helped him to a throne. Now strike to hold him there!" "Jimgrim says, I may go away and leave you here," growled Anazeh. "What say you?" "Ala khatrak. (Please yourself.) Jimgrim is wise." "He is the father of wisdom. Mashallah! I will consider it. There will be a banquet presently!" "And loot! You can help yourselves!" shouted Abdul Ali of Damascus. Then he sat down amid a storm of applause. Suliman ben Saoud--Jimgrim--was on his feet before the tumult died away, and again they grew perfectly still to listen to him. If an Arab loves anything under heaven more than his own style of fighting, it is the action and reaction of debate. I could not understand a word of the mid-Arabian dialect, but Abdul Ali's retorts were plain enough; and from the way that Grim pointed at me and Mahommed ben Hamza it was fairly easy to follow what was happening. He denounced me as possibly dangerous, and wondered why they permitted me to have an interpreter, who could whisper to me everything that was being said. "Put out the interpreter!" sneered Abdul Ali, and there was a chorus of approval. Mahommed ben Hamza got up and hurried for the door while the hurrying was good and painless to himself, though it was hardly that to other people; forcing his way between the close-packed notables he kicked more than one of them pretty badly and grinned when they cursed him. I saw Abdul Ali of Damascus whisper to one of his rose-coloured parasites, who got up at once and made his way toward the door, too. "The fellow is from Hebron," Abdul Ali sneered in a voice loud enough for all to hear. "It is best that he should not go back to Hebron to tell tales! I have attended to it." My blood ran cold. I tried to catch Grim's eye, but he would not look in my direction. I wondered whether he had heard Abdul Ali's threat. It seemed to me that if Mahommed ben Hamza were either murdered or imprisoned Grim's whole chance of success was gone. The danger would be multiplied tenfold. Anazeh seemed the only remaining hope. The old-rose individual who followed ben Hamza had not reached the door yet. "How about your men?" I asked. "They are all right." Anazeh's eyes pursued the liquor bottle. "Why not go and see?" I suggested. "Ilhamdul'illah, they are good men. I know them. If there is trouble they will come and tell me." The door opened softly. The gorgeous old-rose parasite slipped through. I had a mental vision of Mahommed ben Hamza lying face- downward with his new coat stained with blood. There was nothing for it, it seemed, but the magic formula to move Anazeh. "Jimgrim says, 'See that ben Hamza gets safely away!"' "Dog of a Hebron tanner's son--let him die! What is that to me?" "It is Jimgrim's command." "Wallahi haida fasl! (By God, this is a strange affair!) Wait here!" Old Anazeh, with the name of the Prophet of God on his lips, cast an envious glare at the bottle of liquor and seized action by the forelock. There was nothing to excite comment in his getting up to leave the room. A dozen men had done that and come in again. He strode out, straight down the middle of the carpet. Suliman ben Saoud--Jimgrim--went on talking, and to judge by Abdul Ali of Damascus' increasingly restless retorts he was getting that gentleman's goat as promised. Finally Abdul Ali got to his feet and said that if the Ichwan would see him alone he would show him certain documents that would satisfy him, but that it would not be policy to produce them in public. He offered to send for the documents, and to show them during or after the banquet. So Jimgrim sat down, and there was a good deal of quiet nudging and nodding. Every one seemed to understand that the Ichwan was going to be bribed; they seemed to admire his ability to get for himself a share of the funds that most of them had tapped. A man nearly opposite me leaned over and said in fairly good French, with the manner of a doctor assuring his patient that the worst is yet to come: "It has been decided that you are to be detained here in the castle until there is no danger of your carrying away important news." While I was turning that over in my mind Anazeh came back, grinning. Something outside had tickled him immensely, but he would not say anything. He sat down beside me and chuckled into his beard; and when his neighbour on the right asked what had amused him he turned the question into a bawdy joke. "Did ben Hamza get away?" I whispered. He only nodded. He continued chuckling until the man on duty by the door announced to the "assembled lords and princes" that the muezzin summoned them to prayer. All except three Christian sheikhs trooped up the narrow stairway in Ali Shah al Khassib's wake, Anazeh going last with a half-serious joke about not caring to be stabbed in the back. I expected the three non-Moslems would take advantage of the opportunity to ask me a string of questions. But they took exactly the opposite view of the situation. They avoided me, withdrawing into a corner by themselves. I suppose they thought that to be seen talking to me was more risky than the amusement merited. So I went up to the ramparts, too, to watch the folk at prayer, minded to keep out of sight, for they don't like being regarded as a curious spectacle; and on the way up I did something that may have had a lot to do with our getting away alive, although I did not give much thought to it and could hardly have explained my motive at the time. The door at the foot of the stairs opened inward. It was almost exactly the same width as the stairway, so that when it stood wide open you could not have put your hand between its edge and the stairway wall. Lying on the floor of the hall within a few feet of the nearest corner was a length of good sound olive-wood, about three inches in thickness, roughly squared and not particularly squared. Having stepped on it accidentally, I picked it up, and discovered more by accident than intention that it was longer than the width of the stairway. Then I noticed a notch in the stairway wall. Behind the opened door there was a deeper notch in the opposite wall. There was no lock on the door, no bolt. That length of wood had been cut to fit horizontally from notch to notch across the passage. Once that beam was fitted in its place, whoever wished to reach the roof would have to burn or batter down the door. I moved the door and placed the length of olive-wood on end behind it. I found the view from the ramparts much more interesting than the soul-saving formalities of eighty or so potential cut-throats. While they prayed I stood watching the shadows deepen in the Jordan Valley, as no doubt Joshua once watched them from somewhere near that same spot before he marshalled his invading host. You could understand why people who had wandered forty years in a stark and howling wilderness should yearn for those coloured, fertile acres between the Jordan and the sea: why they should be willing to fight for them, die for them, do anything rather than turn back. By the time we had filed down--Anazeh last again--the servants had nearly finished spreading a banquet. What looked like bed- sheets had been laid along the strip of carpet, and, the whole length of them was piled with all imaginable things to eat, from cakes and fruit to whole sheep roasted and seethed in camel's milk and honey. There were no less than six sheep placed at intervals along the "table," with mountains of rice, scow-loads of apricots cooked in various ways, and a good sized flock of chickens spitted and smeared with peppery sauce. At a guess, I should say there were several pounds of meat, about two chickens, and a peck of rice per man, with apricots and raisins added; but they faced the prospect like heroes. Perhaps what helped them face it was the sight of sundry bottles bearing labels more familiar in the West. Abdul Ali of Damascus, licking his lips like a cat that smells canary, took his place on a cushion up near the window again on the right of Ali Shah al Khassib, who was only the nominal host. Abdul Ali left no doubt in anybody's mind as to who was paying for the feast. It was he who gave orders to the servants in a bullying tone of voice; he who begged every one be seated. Anazeh looked at the bottles of brandy--looked at me--and prayed under his breath; or, at any rate, it looked and sounded like a prayer. He may have been swearing. He and I were not very far from the door; the seats near the head of the table had all been taken. I sat down at once, so as not to be conspicuous, but Anazeh remained standing so long that at last Abdul Ali called to him to sit down and eat his fill, using the offensively magnanimous tone of voice that some men can achieve without an effort. I think Anazeh had been waiting for just that opening. "I have twenty men outside," he announced. "Shall I eat, and not they?" "This is a feast for notables," said Abdul Ali. "A little bread with my own men is better than meat and drink at a traitor's table," Anazeh answered. "Wallahi! (By God!) I go to eat with honest men!" He laid a hand on my head. "Ye have said this effendi must stay in the castle. Well and good. Whoever harms him or offers him indignity shall answer to me and my men for it!" He bowed to me like a king taking leave of his court. "Lailtak sa'idi. Allah yifazak, effendi!" (Good night. God keep you, effendi!) With that he stalked out, and the door slammed shut behind him. Everybody, including Abdul Ali, laughed. The banquet was a boresome business--an interminable competition to see who could eat and drink the most. With my interpreter gone, and everybody else too busy guzzling to trouble to speak distinctly for my benefit, I had to depend on my ayes for information and naturally used them to the utmost. I noticed that Abdul All of Damascus, Jimgrim Suliman ben Saoud and myself were the only men in the room, servants included, who ate and drank within the bounds of decency and reason. One of the servants, walking up and down the table-cloth with brandy and relays of vegetables, was drunk very early in the game and had to be thrown out. Abdul Ali kept conversation going on the subject of the raid. The more the brandy bottles circulated the easier he found it to keep enthusiasm burning. He talked about me, too, several times, and every time that subject cropped up all eyes turned in my direction. I think he was making the most of the school idea, mixing up the raid with education and serving the mixture hot, as it were, with brandy sauce. But over the way, about half-way down the table, the Ichwan Suliman ben Saoud, dead-cold-sober and abstemious, as befitted a fanatic, was talking, too. He was quite evidently talking against Abdul Ali, so that the Damascene kept looking at him with a troubled expression. He glanced frequently at the door, too, as if he expected some one who could put an end to Suliman ben Saoud's intrigue. But it was a long time before the door opened and the second of his old-rose parasites came in. I had not noticed until then that the man was missing. He thrust a packet of some sort into Abdul Ali's hands. He whispered. The Damascene's face darkened instantly, and he swore like a pirate. Then, I suppose because he had to vent his wrath on somebody, he shouted to me in German all down the length of the table: "Your cursed interpreter has nearly killed my secretary! He struck him in the mouth and knocked all his teeth out. What courteous servants you employ!" "What was your secretary trying to do to him?" I retorted, but he saw fit not to answer that. He poured some more brandy instead for Ali Shah al Khassib. So that was what Anazeh had been laughing at! The old humourist had either seen the fracas, or had come on the injured old-rose messenger of death nursing a damaged face. I began to share Grim's good opinion of ben Hamza. But though I watched Grim's face, and knew that he knew German, I could not detect a trace of interest. He kept on talking against Abdul Ali until after ten o'clock. By that time most of the notables were about as full as they could hold. Those who were not too drunk appeared ready for anything in or out of reason. At that stage of the proceedings they ushered in the dancing girls. The servants cleared away most of the food, removed the table-cloths, and a ring was formed practically all around the room, the notables leaning their backs against the wall to ease overworked bellies. I set my cushion down next to a very drunken man just by the narrow door that opened on the stairway leading to the ramparts. He fell asleep with his head on my shoulder within five minutes, and as that, for some subtle reason, seemed to make me even more unnoticeable I let him snore away in peace. Over in Abdul Ali's corner of the room there was a real council of war going on in whispers. Opposite to him, ten paces or so distant from me, Jimgrim Suliman ben Saoud was holding a rival show. It seemed about an even bet which was making greater headway. Those who were more or less drunk, and all the younger sheikhs had eyes and ears for nothing but the dancing girls. They were outrageous hussies. They wore more clothes than a Broadway chorus lady, and rather less paint, but if they were symbols of the Moslem paradise (as a learned Arab once assured me that they are meant to be) then, as I answered the Arab on that occasion, "me for hell." But none of those sheikhs had ever seen Broadway, so you could hardly blame them. Abdul Ali of Damascus seemed to have his arrangements with the men in his corner cinched at last to his satisfaction. He walked a little unsteadily across the room, apparently to make his peace with Suliman ben Saoud. He held brazenly in one hand a leather wallet that bulged with paper money--doubtless the "documents" that he had sent for. He nodded to me as he passed with more familiarity than he had any right to, since he had so ostentatiously dismissed me to the dogs. I suppose he felt so sure of "convincing" Suliman ben Saoud, and was so bent on offsetting the reaction caused by Anazeh's behavior that he had been reviving that project about the school and therefore chose to appear on intimate terms with me. I met him more than half-way; any one who cared to might believe I loved him like a brother. He stood in front of Suliman ben Saoud, rocking just a trifle from the effects of alcohol and smoke, and there was about five minutes' conversation of which, although I missed a lot of it, I caught the general drift. The men who had come under the Ichwan's influence kept joining in and raising objections. I gathered that they expected a proportionate percentage of the bribe for which Suliman ben Saoud was supposed to be maneuvering. But even Abdul Ali, with a pouch of paper money in his hand, was not quite so barefaced as to bribe the Ichwan publicly. At the end of five minutes he suggested a private talk on the parapet. Suliman ben Saoud rose with apparent reluctance. Abdul Ali of Damascus took his arm. It was Suliman ben Saoud who opened the narrow door, and Abdul Ali who went through first. I did not wait for any invitation, but let my snoring neighbor fall on his side, hurried through after them, and closed the door behind me. Groping for the stick in the dark, I jammed it into the notches. It fitted perfectly. It held the door immovable and barred that stairway against all-comers. Then I followed them to the parapet. The moon was about full and bathing the whole roof, and all the countryside in liquid light. There was a certain amount of mist lower down, and you could only make out the Dead Sea through it here and there; but up where we were, and even in the moat eighty feet below us, it was almost like daylight without the glare and heat. I leaned over, but could see nobody in the moat, and there was no sign of Mahommed ben Hamza. Abdul Ali led the way toward the corner where Grim had given his orders to ben Hamza that afternoon. Abdul Ali did not seem to realize that I was following. When he turned at last, with his back to the parapet and the moonlight full in his face, he demanded in German: "Wass machen Sie hier?" I was about to answer him when there came a noise like subterranean thunder from the mouth of the stairway. They were trying to force that door below and follow us. The first words I used were in English, for Grim's benefit: "I stuck a stick in the door. I should say it's good for ten or fifteen minutes unless they use explosives." That gave the whole game away at once. "So!" said Abdul Ali. He thrust the wallet into his bosom. With the other hand he pulled out a repeating pistol. "So!" Grim said never a word. He closed with him. In a second we were all three struggling like madmen. The pistol was not cocked; I managed to get hold of Abdul Ali's wrist and wrench the weapon away before he could pull back the slide. Then we all three went down together on the stone roof, Abdul Ali yelling like a maniac, and Grim trying to squeeze the wind out of him. Even then, as we rolled and fought, I could still hear the thundering on the door. No doubt the noise they made prevented them from hearing Abdul Ali's yells for help. The man's strength was prodigious, although he was puffy and short-winded. It began to look as if we would have to knock him on the head to get control of him. But even so, there was no rope--no sign of Mahommed ben Hamza and his men. You can think of a lot of things while you fight for your life eighty miles away from help. I wondered whether Grim would throw him over the parapet, and whether we two would have to take our chance of mountaineering down that ragged corner of the wall. But suddenly about a hundred and eighty pounds of human brawn landed feet-first on my back. A voice said "Taib,* Jimgrim!" and two other men jumped after him from somewhere on the ruined wall above us. In another second Abdul Ali was held hand and foot, tied until he could not move, and then a wheat-sack was pulled down over his head and made fast between his legs. [*All right.] "You're late!" said Grim. "Quick! Where's the rope? Are your men below?" The thundering on the door had ceased. Either they were coming up the steps already, or had gone to reach the parapet some other way. It did not occur to me, or for that matter to any of us in the excitement of the minute, that they might be holding a consultation below, or might even have abandoned the idea of following, although I think now that must be the explanation, for what we did took more time than it takes to set it down. Ben Hamza made one end of the rope fast around Abdul Ali's feet. He would not listen to argument. He said he knew his business, and certainly the knot was workmanlike. Then he called over the parapet (an Arab never whistles) and a voice answered from the southern side of the moat, where some fallen stones cast a shadow. Then the three of them lifted Abdul Ali over, and lowered him head-first. It was a slow business, for otherwise he would have been stunned against the first projection. I thought that Grim looked almost as nervous as I felt, but Mahommed ben Hamza was having the time of his life, and could not keep his tongue still. "Head upwards a man can yell," he explained to me, grinning from ear to ear. "Feet upwards, too afraid to yell!" Then the thundering on the door began again, louder than before it seemed to me. They were using a battering-ram. But they were too late. After what seemed like a long-drawn hour we saw shadowy arms below reach up and seize our prisoner. Then the loose rope came up again hand over hand. "You next!" said Grim quietly. He pushed me forward, after carefully examining the loop Mahommed ben Hamza tied in the end of the rope. Chapter Ten "Money doesn't weigh much!" Well--you don't stand on precedence or ceremony at times like that. Over I went in the bight of the rope. They let me fall about fifteen feet before they seemed to realize that I had let go of the parapet. Added to all that had gone before, that made about the climax of sensation. The pain of barking the skin of knees and elbows against projecting angles of stone was a relief. I am no man of iron. I haven't iron nerves. Not one second of that descent was less than hell. I could hear the thunder of some kind of battering-ram on the door at the foot of the stair. I could imagine the rope chafing against the sharp edge of the parapet as they paid it out hand over hand. The only thing that made me keep my head at all was knowledge that Abdul Ali had had to do the trip feet-upward, with his head in a bag. When they let go too fast it was rather like the half-way stage of taking chloroform. When they slowed up, there was the agonizing dread of pursuit. And through it all there burned the torturing suggestion that the rope might break. Mother Earth felt good that night, when strong hands reached up and lifted me out of the noose that failed of reaching the bottom by about a man's height. Come to think of it, it wasn't mother earth at that. It was the stinking carcass of a camel only half autopsied by the vultures, that my feet first rested on--brother, perhaps, to the beast I had put out of his agony that afternoon. The others came down the rope hand-over-hand, Grim last. I suppose he stayed up there with his pistol, ready for contingencies. He had his nerve with him, for he had fastened the upper end of the rope to a piece of broken stone laid across a gap that the crusaders had made in the ramparts, centuries ago, for the Christian purpose of pouring boiling oil and water on their foes. It did not take more than a minute's violent shaking after he got down to bring the rope tumbling on our heads. Then the next thing he did was to take a look at the prisoner. Finding him not much the worse for wear, barring some bruises and a missing inch or two of skin, he ordered the bag pulled over his head again and gave the order for retreat. Mahommed ben Hamza went scouting ahead. The others picked up Abdul Ali as the construction gangs handle baulks of timber--horizontal--face- downward. When he wriggled they cuffed him into good behaviour. You have to get down into an Arab moat before you can realize what the Hebrews meant by their word Gehenna. The smell of rotting carrion was only part of it. One stumbled into, and through, and over things that should not be. Heaps, that looked solid in the moonlight, yielded to the tread. Whatever liquid lay there was the product of corruption. Yet we did not dare to climb out of the moat until we reached the shadows at the northern angle. Though the moonlight shone almost straight down on us it was a great deal brighter up above, and the walls cast some shadow. There was nothing for it but to pick our way in the comparative gloom of that vulture's paradise, praying we might find a stream to wade in presently. Once, looking up behind me, I thought I saw men's heads peering over the parapet, but that may have been imagination. Grim vowed he did not see them, although I suspected him of saying that to avoid a panic. He shepherded us along, speaking in a perfectly normal voice whenever he had to, as if there were no such thing as hurry in the world. When we reached the farther corner of the moat it was he who climbed out first to con the situation. A look-out in a bastion on the ruined town wall promptly fired at him. I expected him to fire back. I climbed up beside him to lend a hand with the pistol I had filched from Abdul Ali. But Grim shouted something about taking away for burial the corpse of a man who had died of small-pox. The man on the wall commanded us to Allah's mercy and warned us to beware lest we, too, catch that dreaded plague. "Inshallah!" Grim answered. Then he summoned our men from the moat. They passed up Abdul Ali, dragging him feet-first again with one man keeping a clenched fist ready to strike him in the mouth in case he should forget that corpses don't cry out. He looked like a corpse half-cold, as they carried him jerkily along a track that roughly followed the line of the wall. I don't suppose that anything ever looked more like an Arab funeral procession than we did. The absence of noisy mourners, and the unusual hour of night, were plausibly accounted for by the dreaded disease that Grim had invented for the occasion. My golf-suit was the only false note, but I kept in shadow as much as I could, with the unseemly burden between me and the ramparts. It was a long time before we had the town wall at our backs. A funeral, in the circumstances, might justifiably be rapid; but we could hardly run and keep up the pretense. But at last we passed over the shoulder of a hill into shadow on the farther side, and there was no more need of play-acting. "Yalla bilagel!" [Run like the devil.] Grim ordered then, and we obeyed him like sprinters attempting to lower a record. Twelve men running through the night can make a lot of noise, especially when they carry a heavy man between them. Our men were all from Hebron. Hebron prides itself on training the artfullest thieves in Asia. They boast of being able to steal the bed from under a sleeper without waking him. But even the stealthiest animals go crashing away from danger, and, now that the worst of the danger lay behind, more or less panic seized all of us. Mahommed ben Hamza refused to follow the regular track, for fear of ambush or a chance encounter in the dark. Grim let him have his way. They dragged the wretched Abdul Ali like a sack of corn by a winding detour, and wherever the narrow path turned sharply to avoid great rocks they skidded him at the turn until he yelled for mercy. Grim pulled off the sack at last, untied his arms and legs, and let him walk; but whenever he lagged they frog-marched him again. At last we reached a brook where we all waded to get rid of the filth and smell from that infernal moat, and Abdul Ali seized that opportunity to play his last cards. Considering Ben Hamza's reputation, the obvious type of his nine ruffians, the darkness and rough handling, it said a lot for Grim's authority that Abdul Ali still had that wallet-full of money in his possession. Sitting on a stone in the moonlight, he pulled it out. His nerve was a politician's, cynical, simple. Its simplicity almost took your breath away. "How many men from Hebron?" he demanded. "Ten. Well and good. I have here ten thousand piastres--one thousand for each of you, or divide it how you like. That is the price I will pay you to let me go. What can these other two do to you? Take the money and run. Leave me to settle with these others." Ben Hamza, knee-deep in the brook, laughed aloud as he eyed the money. He made a gesture so good-humoured, so full of resignation and regret and broad philosophy that you would have liked the fellow even if he hadn't saved your life. "Deal with those two first!" he grinned. "I would have taken your money long ago, but that I know Jimgrim! He would have made me give it up again." "Jimgrim!" said Abdul Ali. "Jimgrim? Are you Major James Grim? A good thing for you I did not know that, when I had you in my power in the castle!" Grim laughed. "Are we all set? Let's go." We hurried all the faster now because our legs were wet. The night air on those Moab heights is chilly at any season. Perhaps, too, we were trying to leave behind us the moat-stench that the water had merely reduced, not washed away. A quarter of a mile before we reached the place appointed we knew that Anazeh had not failed to keep his tryst. Away up above us, beside the tomb, like an ancient bearded ghost, Anazeh stood motionless, silent, conning the track we should come by--a grand old savage keeping faith against his neighbours for the sake of friendship. He did not challenge when he heard us. He took aim. He held his aim until Grim called to him. When our goat track joined the main road he was there awaiting us, standing like a sentinel in the shadow of a fanged rock. And there, if, Abdul Ali of Damascus could have had his way, there would have been a fresh debate. He did not let ten seconds pass before he had offered Anazeh all the money he had with him to lend him a horse and let him go. Anazeh waived aside the offer. "You shall have as much more money as you wish!" the Damascene insisted. "Let me get to my house, and a messenger shall take the money to you. Or come and get it." All the answer Anazeh gave him was a curt laugh--one bark like a Fox's. "Where are all the horses?" Grim demanded. I could only see five of six. "I wait for them." "Man, we can't wait!" "Jimgrim!" said the old sheikh, with a glint of something between malice and amusement in his eyes, "I knew you in the mejlis when you watched me read that letter! One word from me and--" He made a click between his teeth suggestive of swift death. "I let you play your game. But now I play my game, Allah willing. I have waited for you. Wait thou for me!" "Why? What is it?" Anazeh beckoned us and turned away. We followed him, Grim and I, across the road and up a steep track to the tomb on the overhanging rock, where he had stood when we first saw him. He pointed. A cherry-red fire with golden sparks and crimson- bellied sulphur smoke was blazing in the midst of El-Kerak. "The home of Abdul Ali of Damascus," said Anazeh with pride in his voice. It was the pride of a man who shows off the behaviour of his children. "My men did it!" "How can they escape?" Grim asked him. "Wallah! Will the gate guards stand idle? Will they not run to the fire--and to the looting? But they will find not much loot. My men already have it!" "Loot," said Grim, "will delay them." "Money doesn't weigh much," Anazeh answered. "Here my men come." Somebody was coming. There came a burst of shooting and yelling from somewhere between us and El-Kerak, and a moment later the thunder of horses galloping full-pelt. Anazeh got down to the road with the agility of a youngster, ordered Abdul Ali of Damascus, the shivering Ahmed and me under cover. He placed his remaining handful of men at points of vantage where they could cover the retreat of the fifteen. And it was well he did. There were at least two score in hot pursuit, and though you could hardly tell which was which in that dim light, Anazeh's party opened fire on the pursuers and let the fifteen through. I did not get sight of Grim while that excitement lasted, but he had two automatics. He took from me the one that I had taken from Abdul Ali, and with that one and his own he made a din like a machine-gun. He told me afterward that he had fired in the air. "Noise is as good as knock-outs in the dark," he explained, while Anazeh's men boasted to one another of the straight shooting that it may be they really believed they had done. An Arab can believe anything--afterward. I don't believe one man was killed, though several were hit. At any rate, whether the noise accomplished it or not, the pursuers drew off, and we went forward, carrying a cashbox now, of which Abdul Ali was politely requested to produce the key. That was the first intimation he had that his house had been looted. He threw his bunch of keys away into the shadows, in the first exhibition of real weakness he had shown that night. It was a silly gesture. It only angered his captors. It saved him nothing. Four more of Anazeh's men had been wounded, all from behind, two of them rather badly, making six in all who were now unfit for further action. But we did not wait to bandage them. They affected to make light of their injuries, saying they would go over to the British and get attended to in hospital. Abdul Ali was put on Ahmed's miserable mount, with his legs lashed under the horse's belly. Ahmed, with Mahommed ben Hamza and his men were sent along ahead; being unarmed, unmounted, they were a liability now. But those Hebron thieves could talk like an army; they put up a prodigious bleat, all night long, about that cash-box. They maintained they had a clear right to share its contents, since unless they had first captured Abdul Ali, Anazeh's men could not have burned his house and seized his money. Anazeh's men, when they had time to be, were suitably amused. It was not a peaceful retreat by any means. Time and again before morning we were fired on from the rear. Our party deployed to right and left to answer--always boasting afterward of having killed at least a dozen men. I added up their figures on the fly-leaf of the pocket Bible, and the total came to two hundred and eighteen of the enemy shot dead and forever damned! I believe Anazeh actually did kill one of our pursuers. By the time the moon disappeared we had come too close to Anazeh's country to make pursuit particularly safe. Who they were who pursued us, hauled off. We reached the launch, secure in its cove between the rocks, a few minutes after dawn. Anazeh ordered his six wounded men into it, with perfect assurance that the British doctors would take care of them and let them go unquestioned. When Grim had finished talking with Anazeh I went up to thank the old fellow for my escort, and he acknowledged the courtesy with a bow that would have graced the court of Solomon. "Give the old bird a present, if you've got one," Grim whispered. So I gave him my watch and chain, and he accepted them with the same calm dignity. "Now he's your friend for life!" said Grim. "Anazeh is a friend worth having. Let's go!" The watch and chain was a cheap enough price to pay for that two days' entertainment and the acquaintance of such a splendid old king of thieves. Anazeh watched us away until we were out of earshot, he and Grim exchanging the interminable Arab farewell formula of blessing and reply that have been in use unchanged for a thousand years. Then Abdul Ali produced his wallet again. "Major Grim," he said, "please take this money. Keep it for yourself, and let me go. Surely I have been punished enough! Besides, you cannot--you dare not imprison me! I am a French subject. I have been seized outside the British sphere. I know you are a poor man--the pay of a British officer is a matter of common knowledge. Come now, you have done what you came to do. You have destroyed my influence at El-Kerak. Now benefit yourself. Avoid an international complication. Show mercy on me! Take this money. Say that I gave you the slip in the dark!" Grim smiled. He looked extremely comical without any eyebrows. The wrinkles went all the way up to the roots of his hair. "I'm incorruptible," he said. "The boss, I believe, isn't." "You mean your High Commissioner? I have not enough money for him." Grim laughed. "No," he said, "he comes expensive." "What then?" "Don't be an ass," said Grim. "You know what." "Information?" "Certainly." "What information?" "You were sent by the French," said Grim, "to raise the devil here in Palestine--no matter why. You were trying to bring off a raid on Judaea. Who are your friends in Jerusalem who were ready to spring surprises? What surprises? Who's your Jerusalem agent?" "If I tell you?" "I'm not the boss. But I'll see him about it. Come on--who's your agent?" "Scharnhoff." Grim whistled. That he did not believe, I was almost certain, but he whistled as if totally new trains of thought had suddenly revealed themselves amid a maze of memories. "You shall speak to the boss," he said after a while. I fell asleep then, wedged uncomfortably between two men's legs, wakened at intervals by the noisy pleading of Mahommed ben Hamza and his men for what they called their rights in the matter of Abdul Ali's wallet. They were still arguing the point when we ran on the beach near Jericho, where a patrol of incredulous Sikhs pounced on us and wanted to arrest Ahmed and Anazeh's wounded men. Grim had an awful time convincing them that he was a British officer. In the end we only settled it by tramping about four miles to a guard-house, where a captain in uniform gave us breakfast and telephoned for a commisariat lorry. It was late in the afternoon when we reached Jerusalem and got the wounded into hospital. By the time Grim had changed into uniform and put courtplaster where his eyebrows should have been, and he, Abdul Ali and I had driven in an official Ford up the Mount of Olives to OETA, the sun was not far over the skyline. Grim had telephoned, so the Administrator was waiting for us. Grim went straight in. It was twenty minutes before we two were summoned into his private room, where he sat behind the desk exactly as we had left him the other morning. He looked as if he had not moved meanwhile. Everything was exactly in its place-- even the vase, covering the white spot on the varnish. There was the same arrangement of too many flowers, in a vase too small to hold them. "Allow me to present Sheikh Abdul Ali of Damascus," said Grim. The Administrator bowed rather elaborately, perhaps to hide the twinkle in his eyes. He didn't scowl. He didn't look tyrannical. So Abdul Ali opened on him, with all bow guns. "I protest! I am a French subject. I have been submitted to violence, outrage, indignity! I have been seized on foreign soil, and brought here by force against all international law! I shall claim exemplary damages! I demand apology and satisfaction!" Sir Louis raised his eyebrows and looked straight at Grim without even cracking a smile. "Is this true, Major Grim?" "Afraid it is, sir." "Scandalous! Perfectly scandalous! And were you a witness to all this?" he asked, looking at me as if I might well be the cause of it all. I admitted having seen the greater part of it. "And you didn't protest? What's the world coming to? I see you've lost a little skin yourself. I hope you've not been breaking bounds and fighting?" "He is a most impertinent man!" said Abdul Ali, trying to take his cue, and glowering at me. "He posed as a person interested in a school for El-Kerak, and afterward helped capture me by a trick!" The Administrator frowned. It seemed I was going to be made the scape-goat. I did not care. I would not have taken a year of Sir Louis' pay for those two days and nights. When he spoke again I expected something drastic addressed to me, but I was wrong. "An official apology is due to you, Sheikh Abdul Ali. Permit me to offer it, together with my profound regret for any slight personal inconvenience to which you may have been subjected in course of this--ah--entirely unauthorized piece of--ah-- brigandage. I notice you have been bruised, too. You shall have the best medical attention at our disposal." "That is not enough!" sneered Abdul Ali, throwing quite an attitude. "I know it isn't. I was coming to that. An apology is also due to the French--our friends the French. I shall put it in writing, and ask you to convey it to Beirut to the French High Commissioner, with my compliments. I would send you by train, but you might be--ah--delayed at Damascus in that case. Perhaps Emir Feisal might detain you. There will be a boat going from Jaffa in two days' time. Two days will give you a chance to recover from the outrageous experience before we escort you to the coast. A first-class passage will be reserved for you by wire, and you will be put on board with every possible courtesy. You might ask the French High Commissioner to let me know if there is anything further he would like us to do about it. Now, I'll ring for a clerk to take you to the medical officer--under escort, so that you mayn't be subjected to further outrage or indignity. Good evening!" "Anything more for me?" asked Grim, as soon as Abdul Ali had been led away. "Not tonight, Grim. Come and see me in the morning." Grim saluted. The Administrator looked at me--smiled mischievously. "Have a good time?" he asked. "Don't neglect those scratches. Good evening!" No more. Not another word. He never did say another word to me about it, although I met him afterwards a score of times. You couldn't help but admire and like him. Grim led the way up the tower stairs again, and we took a last look at El-Kerak. The moon was beginning to rise above the rim of the Moab Hills. The land beyond the Dead Sea was wrapped in utter silence. Over to the south-east you could make out one dot of yellow light, to prove that men lived and moved and had their being in that stillness. Otherwise, you couldn't believe it was real country. It looked like a vision of the home of dreams. "Got anything to do tonight?" asked Grim. "Can you stay awake? I know where some Jews are going to play Beethoven in an upper room in the ancient city. Care to come?" Chapter Eleven "And the rest of the acts of Ahaziah--" I have no idea what Grim did during the next few days. I spent the time studying Arabic, and saw nothing of him until he walked into my room at the hotel one afternoon, sat down and came straight to the point. "Had enough?" "No." "Got the hang of it?" "Yes, I think so," I answered. "Allah's peace, as they call it, depends on the French. They intend to get Damascus and all Syria. So they sent down Abdul Ali of Damascus to make trouble for the British in Palestine; the idea being to force the British to make common cause with them. That would mean total defeat for the Arabs; and Great Britain would save France scads of men and money. But you pulled that plug. I saw you do it. I heard Abdul Ali of Damascus tell you Scharnhoff's name. Did you go after Scharnhoff?" "No, not yet," he answered. "You're no diplomat." I knew that. I have never wished to be one, never having met a professional one who did not, so to speak, play poker with a cold deck and at least five aces. The more frankly they seem to be telling the truth, the more sure you may be they are lying. "Neither are you," I answered. "You're a sportsman. Are you allowing Scharnhoff weight for age, and a fair start--or what?" He chuckled. "You believed old Abdul-Ali of Damascus? He's a French secret political agent. So whatever he told us is certainly not true. Or, if it is true, or partially true, then it's the kind of truth that is deadlier deceptive than a good clean God-damned lie. Get this: such men as Abdul Ali would face torture rather than betray an associate--unless they're sure the associate is a traitor or about to become one. A government can't easily punish its own spies on foreign territory. But by betraying them, it can sometimes get the other government to do it. That Abdul Ali betrayed Scharnhoff to me, proves one of two things. Abdul Ali was lying, and Scharnhoff harmless--or in some way Scharnhoff has fallen foul of his French paymasters and they want him punished. Very likely he has drawn French money, for their purposes, and has misused it for his own ends. Or perhaps they have promised him money, and wish to back down. Possibly he knows too much about their agents, and they want him silenced. They propose to have us silence him. I'm going to call on Scharnhoff." "You suspect him of double treachery?" "I suspect him of being a one-track-minded, damned old visionary." I had met Hugo Scharnhoff. Long before the War he had been a professor of orientology at Vienna University. At the moment he was technically an "enemy alien." But he had lived so many years in Jerusalem, and was reputed so studious and harmless, that the British let him stay there after Allenby captured the city. A man of moderate private means, he owned a stone house in the German Colony with its back to the Valley of Hinnom. "Care to come?" Grim asked me. "Yes." "Know your Bible?" He proceeded to quote from it: "And the rest of the acts of Ahaziah which he did are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the Kings of Israel?"' "What of it?" "That was set down in Aramaic, nowadays called Hebrew, something like three thousand years ago," said Grim. "It's Aramaic magic. Let's take a look at it." We trudged together down the dusty Bethlehem Road, turned to the east just short of the Pool of the Sultan (where they now had a delousing station for British soldiers) and went nearly to the end of the colony of neat stone villas that the Germans built before the War, and called Rephaim. It was a prosperous colony until the Kaiser, putting two and two, made five of them and had to guess again. The house we sought stood back from the narrow road, at a corner, surrounded by a low stone wall and a mass of rather dense shrubs that obscured the view from the windows. The front door was a thing of solid olive-wood. We had to hammer on it for several minutes. There was no bell. A woman opened it at last--an Arab in native costume, gazelle- eyed, as they all are, and quite good looking, although hardly in her first youth. Her face struck me as haunted. She was either ashamed when her eyes met Grim's or else afraid of him. But she smiled pleasantly enough and without asking our business led the way at once to a room at the other end of a long hall that was crowded with all sorts of curios. They were mostly stone bric-a- brac-fragments of Moabite pottery and that kind of thing, with a pretty liberal covering of ordinary house dust. In fact, the house had the depressing "feel" of a rarely visited museum. The room she showed us into was the library--three walls lined with books, mostly with German titles--a big cupboard in one corner, reaching from floor to ceiling--a big desk by the window--three armchairs and a stool. There were no pictures, and the only thing that smacked of ornament was the Persian rug on the floor. We waited five minutes before Scharnhoff came in, looking as if we had disturbed his nap. He was an untidy stout man with green goggles and a grayish beard, probably not yet sixty years of age, and well preserved. He kept his pants up with a belt, and his shirt bulged untidily over the top. When he sat down you could see the ends of thick combinations stuffed into his socks. He gave you the impression of not fitting into western clothes at all and of being out of sympathy with most of what they represent. He was cordial enough--after one swift glance around the room. "Brought a new acquaintance for you," said Grim, introducing me. "I've told him how all the subalterns come to you for Palestinian lore--" "Ach! The young Lotharios! Each man a Don Juan! All they come to me for is tales of Turkish harems, of which I know no more than any one. They are not interested in subjects of real importance. 'How many wives had Djemal Pasha? How many of them were European?' That is what they ask me. When I discuss ancient history it is only about King Solomon's harem that they care to know; or possibly about the modern dancing girls of El- Kerak, who are all spies. But there is no need to inform you as to that. Eh? I haven't seen you for a long time, Major Grim. What have you been doing?" "Nothing much. I was at the Tomb of the Kings yesterday." Scharnhoff smiled scornfully. "Now you must have some whiskey to take the taste of that untruth out of your mouth! How can a man of your attainments call that obviously modern fraud by such a name? The place is not nearly two thousand years old! It is probably the tomb of a Syrian queen named Adiabene and her family. Josephus mentions it. This land is full--every square metre of it--of false antiquities with real names, and real antiquities that never have been discovered! But why should a man like you, Major Grim, lend yourself to perpetuating falsity?" He walked over to the cupboard to get whiskey, and from where we sat we could both of us see what he was doing. The cupboard was in two parts, top and bottom, without any intervening strip of wood between the doors, which fitted tightly. When he opened the top part the lower door opened with it. He kicked it shut again at once, but I had seen inside--not that it was interesting at the moment. He set whiskey and tumblers on the desk, poured liberally, and went on talking. "Tomb of the Kings? Hah! Tomb of the Kings of Judah? Hah! If any one can find that, he will have something more important than Ludendorff's memoirs! Something merkwurdig, believe me!" He stiffened suddenly, and looked at Grim through the green goggles as if he were judging an antiquity. "Perhaps this is not the time to make you a little suggestion, eh?" Grim's face wrinkled into smiles. "This man knows enough to hang me anyhow! Fire away!" "Ah! But I would not like him to hang me!" "He's as close as a clam. What's your notion?" "Nothing serious, but--between us three, then--you and I are both foreigners in this place, Major Grim, although I have made it my home for fifteen years. You have no more interest in this government and its ridiculous rules than I have. What do you say--shall we find the Tomb of the Kings together?" Grim wrinkled into smiles again and glanced down at his uniform. "Yes, exactly!" agreed Scharnhoff. "That is the whole point. They call me an enemy alien. I am to all intents and purposes a prisoner. You are a British officer--can do what you like--go where you like. You wear red tabs; you are on the staff; nobody will dare to question you. These English have stopped all exploration until they get their mandate. After that they will take good care that only English societies have the exploration privilege. But what if we--you and I, that is to say--between us extract the best plum from the pudding before those miscalled statesmen sign the mandate--eh? It can be done! It can be done!" Grim chuckled: "I suppose you already see a picture of you and me with an ancient tomb in our trunks--say a few tons of the more artistic parts--beating it for the frontier and hawking the stuff afterward to second-hand furniture dealers? Pour me another whiskey, prof, and then we'll go steal the Mosque of Omar!" "Ach! You laugh at me--you jest--you mock--you sneer. But I know what I propose. Do you know what will be found in that Tomb of the Kings of Judah when we discover it?" "Bones. Dry bones. A few gold ornaments perhaps. A stale smell certainly." "The Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel! Think of it! A parchment roll--perhaps two or three rolls--not too big to go into a valise--worth more than all the other ancient manuscripts in the world all put together! Himmel! What a find that would be! What a record! What a refutation of all the historians and the fools who set themselves up for authorities nowadays! What a price it would bring! What would your Metropolitan Museum in New York not pay for it! What would the Jews not pay for it! They would raise millions among them and pay any price we cared to ask! The Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel-- only think!" "But why the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel in the tomb of the Kings of Judah?" Grim asked, more by way of keeping up the conversation, I think, than because he could not guess the answer. He is an omnivorous reader, and there is not much recorded of the Near East that he does not know. "Don't you know your history? You know, of course, that after King Solomon died the Jews divided into two kingdoms. The latter-day Jews speak of themselves as Israelites, but they are nothing of the kind; they are Judah-ites. The tribe of Judah remained in Jerusalem, forming one small kingdom; their descendants are the Jews of today. Part of the tribe of Benjamin stayed with them. The other seceding ten tribes called themselves the kingdom of Israel." "Everybody knows that," said Grim. "What of it?" "Well, the Assyrians came down and conquered the kingdom of Israel--marched all the Israelites away into captivity--and they vanished out of history. From that day to this their Book of Chronicles, so often referred to in the Old Testament, has never been seen nor heard of." "Of course not," said Grim. "The King of Assyria used it to wipe his razor on when he was through shaving every morning." "Ach! You joke again; but I tell you I am not joking. Such people as those Hebrews are naturally secretive and so proud that they wrote down for posterity all the doings of their puny kings, would never have let their records fall into the hands of the Assyrians. They themselves were marched away in slave-gangs, but they left their Book behind them, safely hidden. Be sure of it! Ten years ago I found a manuscript in the place they now call Nablus, which in those days was Schechem. Schechem was the capital of the Kingdom of Israel, just as Jerusalem was the capital of the Kingdom of Judah, or the Jews. I sold that manuscript for a good price after I had photographed it. The idiots to whom I sold it--historians they call themselves!--value it only as a relic of antiquity. I made a digest of it--analyzed it--studied it--compared it with other authentic facts in my possession--and came to the definite conclusion that I hold the clue to the whereabouts of that lost Book of Chronicles." "Let's see the photograph," Grim suggested. "It has been impounded with other so-called 'enemy property' by your friends the British. I suppose they thought the German General Staff might get hold of it and conquer the Suez Canal! But what good would the sight of it do? You couldn't understand a word of it. It convinced me, after months of study, that when the Ten Tribes were carried away into captivity by the Assyrians they sent their records secretly to Jerusalem. Ever since the secession the Israelites and Jews had been jealous enemies. But they were relatives after all, boasting a common ancestor, proud of the same history, more or less observing the same religion. And Schechem was only about thirty miles from Jerusalem, which was considered an impregnable fortress until the Babylonians took it later on. So they sent their records to Jerusalem, and the Jews hid them. Where? Where do you suppose?" "The likeliest place would be Solomon's Temple." "You think so? Then you think superficially, my young friend. Let us return to that Tomb of the Kings again for a moment. That place that you visited is such an obvious fake that even the guide-books make light of it. The one all-important thing in Palestine that never yet has been discovered is the real Tomb of the Kings. Yet Jerusalem, where it certainly must be, has been searched and looted a hundred times from end to end. Therefore-- you follow me?--the Jews must have concealed it very cunningly. Answer me, then: would the Jews, who were always a practical people and not corpse-worshippers like the Egyptians, have taken all that trouble to hide the tomb of their kings unless there were important treasure in it? Answer me!" "So you expect to find treasure in addition to the lost Book of Chronicles?" "Certainly I do! The treasure will make the whole proceeding safe. Let the British have it! The fools will be so blinded by the glamour of gold, that I shall easily extract the things of real value--the invaluable manuscripts! Then let the men who call themselves historians take a back seat!" He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Were you looking for the Tomb of the Kings, then, before the War?" Grim asked him. "Not exactly. Under the Turks it was difficult. The Turks were beautifully corrupt. By paying for it I could get permission to excavate on any property owned by Christians. But the minute I touched Moslem places the Turks became fanatical. The Arabs, now, are different--fanatics, too, but with a new sort of fanaticism--new to them, I mean--the kind that made the French revolutionists destroy everything their ancestors had set value on. There are plenty of Arabs so full of this disease of Bolshevism that they would make it easy for me to desecrate what others believe is holy ground. But these idiots of English are worse than the Turks! They have stopped all excavation. They are so afraid of Bolshevism that, if they could, they would imitate Joshua and make the sun stand still!" "Well, what's the idea?" asked Grim, finishing his whiskey. Scharnhoff shrugged his shoulders. "You know my position. I am helpless--here on suffrance--obliged by idiotic regulations to sit in idleness. But if I could find a British officer with brains--surely there must be one somewhere! --one with some authority, who is considered above suspicion, I could show him, perhaps, how to get rich without committing any crime he need feel ashamed of." I could not see Grim's eyes from where I sat, and he did not make any nervous movement that could have given him away. Yet I was conscious of a new alertness, and I think Scharnhoff detected it, too, for he changed his tactics on the instant. "Hah! Hah! I was joking! Nobody who is fool enough to be a professional soldier would be clever enough to find the Tomb of the Kings and keep the secret for ten minutes! Hah! Hah! But I have a favour I would like to beg of you, Major Grim." "I've no particular authority, you know." "Ach! The Administrator listens to you; I am assured of that." "He listens sometimes, yes, then usually does the other thing. Well, what's the request?" "A simple one. There is a risk--not much, but just a little risk that some fool might stumble on that secret of the Tomb of the Kings and get away with the treasure. Now, did you ever set a thief to catch a thief? Hah! Hah! I would be a better watch-dog than any you could find. I know Jerusalem from end to end. I know all the likely places. Why don't you get permission for me to wander about Jerusalem undisturbed and keep my eye open for tomb-robbers? If I am not to have the privilege of discovering that Book of Chronicles, at least I would like to see that no common plunderer gets it. Surely I am known by now to be harmless! Surely they don't suspect me any longer of being an agent of the Kaiser, or any such nonsense as that! Why not make use of me? Get me a permit, please, Major Grim, to go where I please by day or night without interference. Tomb-robbers usually work at night, you know." "All right," said Grim. "I'll try to do that." "Ah! I always knew you were a man of good sense! Have more whiskey? A cigar then?" "Can't promise anything, of course," said Grim, "but you shall have an answer within twenty-four hours." Outside, as we turned our faces toward Jerusalem's gray wall, Grim opened up a little and gave me a suggestion of something in the wind. "Did you see what he has in that cupboard?" "Yes. Two Arab costumes. Two short crow-bars." "Did you notice the grayish dust on the rug--three or four footprints at the corner near the cupboard?" "Can't say I did." "No. You wouldn't be looking for it. These men who pose as intellectuals never believe that any one else has brains. They fool themselves. There's one thing no man can afford to do, East of the sun or West of the moon. You can steal, slay, intrigue, burn--break all the Ten Commandments except one, and have a chance to get away with it. There's just one thing you can't do, and succeed. He's done it!" "And the thing is?" "Cheat a woman!" "You mean his house keeper? She who answered the door?" Grim nodded. Chapter Twelve "You know you'll get scuppered if you're found out!" Two days passed again without my seeing Grim, although I called on him repeatedly at the "Junior Staff Officers' Mess" below the Zionist Hospital. Suliman, the eight-year-old imp of Arab mischief, who did duty as page-boy met me on each occasion at the door and took grinning delight in disappointing me. He was about three and a half feet high--coal-black, with a tarboosh worn at an angle on his kinky hair and a flashing white grin across his snub-nosed face that would have made an archangel count the change out of two piastres twice. Suliman and cool cheek were as obvious team-mates as the Gemini, and I was one of a good number, that included every single member of that unofficial mess, who could never quite see what Grim found so admirable in him. Grim never explained. Taking the cue from his master, neither did Suliman ever explain anything to any one but Grim, who seemed to understand him perfectly. "Jimgrim not here. No, not coming back. Much business. Good-bye!" Somehow you couldn't suspect that kid of telling the truth. However, there was nothing for it but to go away, with a conviction in the small of your back that he was grinning mischievously after you. Grim had found him one day starving and lousy in the archway of the Jaffa Gate, warming his fingers at a guttering candle-end preparatory to making a meal off the wax. He took him home and made Martha, the old Russian maid-of-all-work, clean him with kerosene and soft soap--gave him a big packing-case to sleep in along with Julius Caesar the near-bull-dog mascot--and thereafter broke him in and taught him things seldom included in a school curriculum. In the result, Suliman adored Grim with all the concentrated zeal of hero-worship of which almost any small boy is capable; but under the shadow of Grim's protection he feared not even "brass- hats" nor regarded civilians, although he was dreadfully afraid of devils. The devil-fear was a relic of his negroid ancestry. Some Arab Sheikh probably captured his great-grandmother on a slave-raid. Superstition lingers in dark veins longer than any other human failing. I think I called five times before he confessed at last reluctantly that Grim was in. That was in the morning after breakfast, and I was shown into the room with the fireplace and the deep armchairs. Grim was reading but seemed to me more than usually reserved, as if the book had been no more than a screen to think behind, that left him in a manner unprotected when he laid it down. I talked at random, and he hardly seemed to be listening. "Say," he said, suddenly interrupting me, "you came out of that El-Kerak affair pretty creditably. Suppose I let you see something else from the inside. Will you promise not to shout it all over Jerusalem?" "Use your own judgment," I answered. "You mustn't ask questions." "All right." "If any one in the Administration pounces on you in the course of it, you'll have to drop out and know nothing." "Agreed." "It may prove a bit more risky than the El-Kerak business." "Couldn't be," I answered. "You can't talk enough Arabic to get away with. But could you act deaf and dumb?" "Sure--in three languages." "You understand--I've no authority to let you in on this. I might catch hell if I were found out doing it. But I need help, of a certain sort. I want a man who isn't likely to be spotted by the gang I'm after. Get behind that screen--quick!" It was a screen that hid a door leading to the pantry and the servants' quarters. There was a Windsor chair behind it, and it is much easier to keep absolutely still when you are fairly comfortable. I had hardly sat down when a man wearing spurs, who trod heavily, entered the room and I heard Grim get up to greet him. "Are we alone?" a voice asked gruffly. Instead of answering Grim came and looked behind the screen, opened the door leading to the pantry, closed it again, locked it, and without as much as a glance at me returned to face his visitor. "Well, general, what is it?" "This is strictly secret." "I'll bet it isn't," said Grim. "If it's about missing explosives I know more than you do." "My God! It's out? Two tons of TNT intended for the air force gone without a trace? The story's out?" "I know it. Catesby sent me word by messenger last night from Ludd, after you put him under arrest." "Damn the man! Well, that's what's happened. Catesby's fault. They'll blame me. The truck containing the stuff was run into a siding three days ago. Through young Catesby's negligence it was left there without a guard. Catesby will be broke for that as sure as my name is Jenkins. But, by the knell of hell's bells, Grim, more than Catesby will lose their jobs unless we find the stuff! Two tons. Half enough to blow up Palestine!" "Too bad about Catesby," said Grim. "Never mind, Catesby. Damn him! Consider my predicament! How can I go to the Administrator with a lame-duck story about missing TNT and nothing done about it?" "Nothing done? You've passed the buck, haven't you? Catesby is under arrest, you say." "What do you mean?" "I know Catesby," Grim retorted quietly. "He made that fine stand at Beersheba--when the Arabs rushed the camp, and you weren't looking. He took the blame for your carelessness, and never squealed. You took the credit for his presence of mind, and have treated him like a dog ever since. You expect me to try to save your bacon and forget Catesby's?" "Nonsense, Grim! You're talking without your book. Here's what happened: the stuff arrived at Ludd in a truck attached to the end of a mixed train. The R.T.O.* sent me a memorandum and stalled the truck on a siding. I gave the memorandum to Catesby." [*Railway Traffic Officer.] "He tells me in the note I received last night that you did nothing of the kind." "Then he's a liar. He forgot all about it and did nothing. When the Air Force sent to get the stuff the truck was empty." "And you want me to find it, I suppose?" "Yes. The quicker the better!" "And be a party to breaking Catesby? I like my job, but not that much!" "You refuse then to hunt for the TNT?" "I take my orders straight from the Administrator. He expects me in half an hour. You want me to smooth the way for you with Sir Louis. I'm much more interested in Catesby, who would face a firing party sooner than soak another fellow for his own fault. Catesby assures me in writing that the first he ever heard of that TNT was when you ordered him arrested after discovery of the loss. His word goes, as far as I'm concerned. If you want me to help you, find another goat than Catesby. That's my answer." There followed quite a long pause. Perhaps Brigadier-General Jenkins was wondering what chance he would stand in a show-down. Whoever had heard the mess and canteen gossip knew that Jenkins' career had been one long string of miracles by which he had attained promotion without in any way deserving it, and a parallel series of even greater ones by which he had saved himself from ruin by contriving to blame some one else. "You want me to white-wash Catesby?" he said at last. "If you pounce quickly on the TNT, no one need know it was lost." "If you court-martial Catesby, the public shall know who lost it, and who didn't, even if it costs me my commission!" "Blast you! Insubordination!" "Is your car outside?" Grim answered. "Why don't you drive me up to the Administrator and charge me with it?" "Don't be an idiot! I came to you to avoid a scandal. If this news gets out there'll be a panic. Things are touchy enough as it is." "Yes." "Well--if I drop the charge against Catesby--?" "Then I shall not have to fight for him." "I'll see what I can do." "Be definite!" "Damn and blast you! All right, I'll clear Catesby." In that ominous minute, like the devil in an old-time drama, Suliman knocked at the door leading from the outer hall. Grim opened it, and I heard the boy's voice piping up in Arabic. The Administrator was in his car outside, waiting to know whether Major Grim was indoors. "Where's your car?" I heard Grim ask. "I sent the man to get a tire changed," Jenkins answered. "Then Sir Louis needn't know you're here. Do you want to see him?" "Of course not." "You can get behind that screen if you like." I thought Jenkins would explode when he found me sitting there. He was a big, florid-faced man with a black moustache waxed into points, and a neck the color of rare roast beef--a man not given to self-restraint in any shape or form. But he had to make a quick decision. Sir Louis' footsteps were approaching. He glared at me, made a sign to me to sit still, twisted his moustache savagely, and listened, breathing through his mouth to avoid the tell-tale whistle of his hairy nostrils. I heard Grim start toward the hall, but Sir Louis turned him back and came straight in. "It occurred to me I'd save you the time of coming up to see me this morning, Grim, and look in on you instead before I start my rounds. Any new developments?" "Not yet, sir. I'll need forty-eight hours. If we move too fast they may touch the stuff off before we get the whole gang in the net." "You're sure you'd rather not have the police?" "Quite. They mean well, but they're clumsy." "Um-m-m! All the same, the thing's ticklish. There are rumours about all ready. The Grand Mufti* came to me before breakfast with a wild tale. I've promised him some Sikhs for special sentry duty. He'd hardly gone before some Zionists came with a story that the Arabs are planning to blow up their hospital; I gave them ten men and an officer." [*The religious head of the Moslem community.] "Is the city quiet?" Grim asked him. "Fair to middling. The Jews refused to take their shutters down this morning. I had to issue an order about it. I hear now that they're doing business about as usual, but I've ordered the number of men on duty within the city walls to be doubled. At the first sign of disturbance I shall have the gates closed. Are you quite sure you're in touch?" "Quite. sure, sir. I'm positive of what I told you last night. Will you be seeing Colonel Goodenough?" "Yes, in ten minutes." "Please ask him to hold his Sikhs at my disposal for the next two days. You might add, sir, that if he cares to see sport he could do worse than lend his own services." "I'll do that. You can count on Goodenough. That's a soldier devoid of nonsense. Anything else?" "That's all." "Keep me informed. Remember, Grim, I'm responsible for all you do. I've endorsed you in blank, as it were. Don't overlook that point." "I won't, sir." Sir Louis walked out. Almost before his spurs ceased jingling in the tiled hall, Brigadier-General Jenkins strode out in a towering rage from behind the screen. "'Pon my soul, a spy's trick!" he exploded. "Had an eavesdropper, did you? Listening from behind a screen while you tricked me into a promise on Catesby's account!" "Sure," Grim answered, folding the screen back, and letting his face wrinkle in smiles all the way up to the roots of his hair. Very comical he looked, for his eyebrows were only partly sprouted again. "Had two of you to listen in on the Administrator!" "Endorses you in blank, eh? How long would he let the endorsement stand if he knew I was behind that screen while he was talking to you?" "Try him!" Grim suggested. "Shall I call him back? He doesn't want to break you--told me so, in fact, last night--but he could change his mind, I daresay. My tip to you is to get back to Ludd as fast as your car can take you, release Catesby, and say as little as possible to any one!" "Damn you for a Yankee!" Jenkins answered. "You've got me cornered for the moment, and you make the most of it. But wait till my turn comes! As for you, sir," Jenkins turned and looked me up and down with all the arrogance that nice new crossed swords on his shoulder can give a certain sort of man, "don't let me catch you trying to interfere in any Administration business, that's all!" I offered him a cigarette, grinning. There was no sense in picking a quarrel. No man likes to discover that a perfect stranger has overheard his intimate confessions. His annoyance was understandable. But he hadn't nice manners. He knocked the cigarette case out of my hand and kicked it across the room. So I got into one of the deep armchairs and laughed at him in self- defense, to preserve my own temper from boiling up over the top. "To hell with both of you!" Jenkins thundered, and strode out like Mars on the war-path. "Poor old Jinks!" said Grim, as soon as he had gone. "As Sir Louis said last night, he has a wife and family besides the unofficial ladies on his string. All they'll have to divide between them soon, at the rate he's going, will be his half-pay. He has fought for promotion all his days, to keep abreast of expenses. What that string of cormorants will do with his four hundred pounds a year, when he oversteps at last and gets retired, beggars imagination! However, let's get busy." Business consisted in dressing me up as an Arab with the aid of Suliman, and drilling me painstakingly for half-an-hour, both of them using every trick they knew to make me laugh or show surprise, and Grim nodding approval each time I contrived not to. More difficult than acting deaf and dumb was the trick of squatting with my legs crossed, but I had learned it after a fashion in India years ago, and only needed schooling. "You'll get scuppered if you're caught," he warned me. "If Suliman wasn't so scared of devils I wouldn't risk it, but I must have somebody to keep an eye on him when the time comes; that'll be tomorrow, I think." "Suppose you tell me the object of the game," I suggested. "I'm sick of only studying the rules." "Well--your part will be to sit over those two tons of TNT and see that nobody explodes them ahead of time. There's a conspiracy on foot to blow up the Dome of the Rock." "You mean the Mosque of Omar?" "The place tourists call the Mosque of Omar. The site of Solomon's Temple--the Rock of Abraham--the threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite. Next after the shrine at Mecca it's the most sacred spot in the whole Mahommedan world." "Good lord!" I said. "Are the Zionists so reckless?". "No, the Arabs are. Remember what old Scharnhoff said the other day about the new fanaticism?" "Is Scharnhoff mixed up in it?" "He's being watched. If the Arabs pull it off, they'll accuse the Jews of doing it, and set to work to butcher every Jew in the Near East. That will oblige the British to protect the Jews. That in turn will set every Mohammedan in the world--'specially Indians, but Egyptians, too--against the British. Jihad--green banner--holy war--all the East and Northern Africa alight while the French snaffle Syria. Sound good to you?" "Sir Louis knows this?" "He, is paid to know things." "And he lets you play cat and mouse with it?" "Got to be careful. Suppose we draw the net too soon, what then? Most of the conspirators escape. The story leaks out. The Jews get the blame for the attempt, and sooner or later the massacre begins anyhow. What we've got to do is bag every last mother's son of them, and suppress the whole story--return the TNT to store, and swear it was never missing." "The Administrator has his nerve," I said. "You'll need yours, too, before this game's played," Grim answered. "D'you see now why I picked on you for an accomplice?" "I do not." "You're the one man in Jerusalem whom nobody will suspect, or be on the look-out for. The men we're up against are the shrewdest rats in Palestine. They've got a list of British officers, my name included, of course. They'll know which men are assigned to special duty, and they'll keep every one of us shadowed." "Won't that--I mean, how can you work if you're shadowed?" "Me? I shall catch my spur in the carpet, fall downstairs and break a leg at ten-fifteen. At ten-thirty the doctor comes, and finds me too badly hurt to be moved. He sends word of it to Sir Louis by an orderly who can be trusted to talk to any one he meets on the way. I leave by the back way at ten forty-five. However, here's a chance for you to practise deaf-and-dumb drill. There's some one coming. Squat down in that corner. Look meek and miserable. That's the stuff. Answer the door, Suliman." Chapter Thirteen "You may now be unsafe and an outlaw and enjoy yourself!" The man who entered was a short, middle-aged Jew of the type that writes political reviews for magazines--black morning coat, straw hat, gold pince-nez--a neatly trimmed dark beard beginning to turn gray from intense mental emotion--nearly bald--a manner of conceding the conventions rather than argue the point, without admitting any necessity for them--a thin-lipped smile that apologized for smiling in a world so serious and bitter. He wore a U.S.A. ten-dollar gold piece on his watch chain, by way of establishing his nationality. "Well, Mr. Eisernstein? Trouble again? Sit down and let's hear the worst," said Grim. Eisernstein remained standing and glanced at me over in the corner. "I will wait until you are alone." "Ignore him--deaf and dumb," Grim answered. "Half a minute, though--have you had breakfast?" "Breakfast! This is no time for eating, Mister--I beg your pardon, Major Grim. I have not slept. I shall not break my fast until my duty is done. If it is true that the Emperor Nero fiddled while Rome burned, then I find him no worse than this Administrator!" "Has he threatened to crucify you?" Grim asked. "Take a seat, do." "He may crucify me, and I will thank him, if he will only in return for it pay some attention to the business for which he draws a salary! I drove to Headquarters to see him. He was not there. Nobody would tell me where he is. I drove down again from the Mount of Olives and luckily caught sight of his car in the distance. I contrived to intercept him. I told him there is a plot on foot to massacre every individual of my race in the Near East--a veritable pogrom. He was polite. He seems to think politeness is the Christian quality that covers the multitude of sins. He offered me a cigar! "I offered him a telegram blank, with which to cable for reenforcements! He said that all rumours in Jerusalem become exaggerated very quickly, and offered me a guard of one soldier to follow me about! I insisted on immediate military precautions on a large scale failing which I will cable the Foreign Office in London at my own expense. I offered to convince him with particulars about this contemplated pogrom but he said he had an urgent appointment and referred me to you, just as Nero might have referred a question regarding the amphitheatre to one of his subordinates!" "Pogroms mean nothing in his young life," Grim answered smiling. "I'm here to do the dirty work. Suppose you spill the news." "You must have heard the news! Yet you ignore it! The Moslems are saying that we Zionists have offered two million pounds, or some such ridiculous sum, for the site of Solomon's Temple. They are spreading the tale broadcast. Their purpose is to stir up fanaticism against us. The ignorant among them set such value on that rock and the mosque their cut-throat ancestors erected on it that Jews are now openly threatened as they pass through the streets. Yet there is not one word of truth in the story of our having made any such offer." "There are plenty of troops," said Grim. "Any attempt at violence could be handled instantly." "Then you will do nothing?" "What do you suggest ought to be done?" "Here is a list. Read it. Those are the names of fifty Arabs who are active in spreading anti-Zionist propaganda." Grim read the list carefully. "All talkers," he said. "Not a really dangerous man among them." "Ah! There you are! I might have expected it!" Eisernstein threw up his hands in a gesture of contempt rather than despair. "Nobody cares what happens to Jews. Nobody cares for our sleepless agony of mind. Nobody cares how or what we suffer until afterward, when there will be polite expressions of regret, which the survivors will assess at a true valuation! It is the same wherever we turn. Last night--at half-past one in the morning--a committee of us, every one American, Called at the American consulate to tell our consul of our danger. The consul was unsympathetic in the last degree. Yet our coreligionists in the States are taxed to pay his salary. He said it was not his business. He referred us to the Administrator. The Administrator refers me to you. To whom do you refer me? To the devil, I suppose!" "The best thing you can do," said. Grim, "is to go ahead and deny that story about the offer to buy the Dome of the Rock. You Zionists have got the most efficient publicity bureau on earth. You can reach the public ear any time you want to. Deny the story, and keep on denying it." "Ah! Who will believe us? To be a Zionist is to be a person about whom anybody will believe anything; and the more absurd the lie, the more readily it will be believed! Meanwhile, the Moslems are sharpening their swords against us from one end of this land to the other!" I suppose that what Eisernstein really needed more than anything was sympathy, not good advice. Grim's deliberate coolness only irritated the passion of a man, whose whole genius and energy were bent on realizing the vision of a nation of Jews firmly established in their ancient home. A people that has been tortured in turn by all the governments can hardly be expected to produce un-nervous politicians. He was at the mercy of emotions, obsessed by one paramount idea. A little praise just then of his loyalty to an ideal, to which he had sacrificed time, means, health, energy, everything, would have soothed him and hurt nobody. But the acidity of his scorn had bitten beneath the surface of Grim's good humor. "There'll be no pogrom," Grim said, getting up and lighting a cigarette. "There'll be nothing resembling one. But that won't be the fault of you Zionists. You accuse without rime or reason, but you yell for help the minute you're accused yourselves. I don't blame the Arabs for not liking you. Nobody expects Arabs to enjoy having their home invaded by an organization of foreigners. Yet if this Administration lifts a finger to make things easier for the Arabs you howl that it's unfair. "If the Administrator refuses to arrest Arabs for talking a little wildly, you call him a Nero. I'm neither pro- nor anti- Zionist myself. You and the Arabs may play the game out between you for all of me. But I can promise you there'll be no pogrom. It is my business to know just what precautions have been taken." "Words! Major Grim. Words!" sneered Eisernstein, getting up to go. "What do words amount to, when presently throats are to be cut? If your throat were in danger, I venture to say there would be something doing, instead of mere talk about precautions! I hope you will enjoy your little cigarette," he added bitterly. "Good morning!" "Talk of fiddling while Rome burns!" Grim laughed as soon as the Zionist had left the room. "Has it ever occurred to you that Nero was possibly smothering his feelings? I wonder how long there'd be one Zionist left out here, if we simply stood aside and looked on. Go and change your clothes, Suliman. It's time I broke a leg." Grim disappeared upstairs himself, and returned about ten minutes later in the uniform of a Shereefian officer--that is to say, of Emir Feisul's Syrian army. Nothing could be smarter, not anything better calculated to disguise a man. Disguise, as any actor or detective can tell you, is not so much a matter of make- up as suggestion. It is little mannerisms--unstudied habits that identify. The suggestion that you are some one else is the thing to strive for, not the concealment of who you really are. Grim's skin had been sun-tanned in the Arab campaign under Lawrence against the Turks. The Shereefian helmet is a compromise between the East and West, having a strip of cloth hanging down behind it as far as the shoulders and covering the ears on either side, to take the place of the Arab head-dress. The khaki uniform had just enough of Oriental touch about it to distinguish it from that of a British officer. No man inexperienced in disguise would dream of choosing it; for the simple reason that it would not seem to him disguise enough. Yet Grim now looked so exactly like somebody else that it was hard to believe he was the same man who had been in the room ten minutes before. His mimicry of the Syrian military walk--blended of pride and desire not to seem proud--was perfect. "I'm now staff-captain Ali Mirza of Feisul's army," he announced. "Ali Mirza a man notorious for his anti-British rancor, but supposed to be down here just now on a diplomatic mission. I've been seen about the streets like this for the last two days. But say: that doctor is a long time on the way." He went to the telephone, but did not call the hospital; that would have been too direct and possibly too secret. "Give me Headquarters--yes--who's that?--never mind who's speaking--say: I can't get the military hospital--something wrong with the wire--will you call Major Templeton and say that Major Grim has had an accident--yes, Grim--compound fracture of the thigh--very serious--ask him to go at once to Major Grim's quarters--thanks--that's all." He returned to the fireplace and stood watching me meditatively for several minutes. "If you deceive Templeton, you'll do," he said at last. "Wait a minute." He went to the desk and scribbled something in Arabic on a sheet of paper, sealed that in a blank envelope, and handed it to me. "Hide it. You've two separate and quite distinct tasks, each more important and, in a way, dangerous than the other. The principal danger is to me, not you. If they spot you, my number's as good as hoisted from that minute. You mustn't kid yourself you're safe for one second until the last card has been played." "Who are 'they'?" "I'm coming to that. Your first job is to make it possible for me to get the confidence of one or two of these conspirators. You're a deaf-and-dumb man--stone deaf--with a message for staff- captain Ali Mirza, which you will only deliver to him in person. Suliman does the talking. You say nothing. You simply refuse to hand your message over to any one but me. They'll appreciate why a deaf and dumb man should be chosen for treasonable business. But perhaps you're scared--maybe you'd rather reconsider it? It's not too late." I snorted. "All right. These conspirators meet at Djemal's coffee shop on David Street. They talk to one another in French, because the proprietor and the other frequenters of the place only know Arabic. You know French and Arabic enough to understand a sentence here and there, so keep your ears wide open. I shan't show up until a Sikh named Narayan Singh tells me that a certain Noureddin Ali is in there. He's the bird I'm after. He's a dirty little murderer, and I'm going to be right pleasant to him. "You may have to sit in the place all day waiting for me; but wait until after midnight if you must. Sooner or later Noureddin Ali is bound to show up. I shall be hard after him. If they offer you food, take it. Eat with your fingers. Eat like a pig. Lick the plate, if you like. The nearer mad you seem to be, the safer you are. After I get there, hang around until I give you money. Then beat it." "Where to? I can't go to my room at the hotel in this disguise." "I've thought of that. You know Cosmopolitan Oil Davey, of course? He lives at the hotel. I'll get word to him that he may expect a messenger from me after dark tonight. He'll leave word with the porter downstairs, who'll take you to Davey's room. You can tell Davey absolutely anything. He's white." "Well, I think I can execute that maneuver. What's task number two?" "To sit on the TNT! But one thing at a time is enough. Let's attend to this one first. Ah! Here comes Templeton!" "Damn you, Grim!" said a calm voice in the doorway. A tall, lean man in major's uniform with the blue tabs of the medical staff strode in. He had the dried-out look of the Sudan, added to the self-reliance that comes of deciding life and death issues at a moment's notice. "The hospital is crowded with patients, and here you immobilize me for half a morning. I can't pretend to set a compound fracture in ten minutes, you know! Why couldn't you break your neck and have me sign a death certificate?" "Didn't occur to me," said Grim. "But never mind, doc. You need a rest. Here's tobacco, lots to read, and an armchair. Lock yourself in and be happy." "Who's this?" asked Templeton, looking down at me. "Deaf and dumb poor devil, earning a few piastres by working for the Intelligence." "Spy, eh? He looks fit for honest work if he had all his faculties. Is he dumb as well as deaf, or because he's deaf?" "Dunno," said Grim. "He never speaks." "Perhaps I can do something for him. Suppose you leave him here with me. I can give him a thorough examination instead of wasting my time here." "He's got a job of work to do right now," said Grim. "Does he know the sign language? Have you any way of telling him to come and see me at the hospital?" "I give him written instructions in Arabic." "That so? I'll look at his ears--tell you in a minute whether it's worth while to come to me." He took my head between strong, authoritative hands and tilted it sidewise. "Hello! What's this?" The Arab head-dress I was wearing shifted and showed non-Arab symptoms. "Open that bag of mine, will you, Grim, and pass me that big pair of forceps you'll find wrapped in oiled paper on top of everything. There's something I can attend to here at once." It was an uncomfortable moment. Grim never cracked a smile. He dug out the instrument of torture and gave it to Templeton. But there were two points that occurred to me, in addition to the knowledge that nothing whatever was the matter with my ear. Doctors in good standing, who are usually gentlemen, don't operate without permission; and the forceps were much too big for any such purpose. So I sat still. "Um-m-m! What he really needs is a red-hot needle run down close to the ear-drum. It wouldn't take five minutes, or hurt him-- much. After that I think he'd be able to hear perfectly. Suppose we try." "I can wait ten minutes yet," Grim answered. "Very well. I've a platinum needle in the bag. I'll get out the spirit-lamp and we'll soon see. To be candid with you, I don't believe the man's any more deaf than you or I." "If you run a hot needle through the lobe of his ear well find out whether he can really talk or not," said Grim in his pleasantest voice. "If he's shamming I don't mind. What we need in this service is a man who can endure without betraying himself." "Well, we'll soon see." I began to hate Grim pretty cordially. I hated him more when Suliman came in, dressed for the street in a rather dirty cotton smock, with a turban in place of his fez. He told the boy to hold the wooden handle of a paper-knife behind my ear to prevent the hot needle from going too far on its sizzling journey. It didn't seem to me the way to reciprocate volunteer secret service. Suliman's grin at the prospect of seeing a man tortured was enough to provoke murder. I brushed the boy aside, fly-fashion, got up, crossed the room, and sat down again in the corner. "Good enough!" laughed Grim. "You'll do." "Yes, I think he'll do," agreed Templeton. But I took no notice. I had seen too many games lost and won with the last card. Templeton looked down at Suliman: "Tell him the game's over. He may talk now." "Mafish mukhkh!" [No brains!] the boy answered, grinning and tapping his own forehead. "Magnoon!" [Mad!] "I think I can trust them both," said Grim, smiling in my direction. "All right, old man; time out! If you'd spoken once there'd have been nothing more between you and a life of safety and respectability!" "Whereas," said Templeton, "you may now be unsafe and an outlaw and enjoy yourself! Are you sure they haven't marked him?" he asked Grim. "Sure! Why should they suspect a tourist? But I've taken precautions. Word is on the way to the hotel to forward all his mail to Jaffa until further notice." He laughed at me again. "I hope you're not expecting important letters!" Suliman had evidently been well schooled in advance, for at a nod from Grim he came over and took my hand, as if I were blind in addition to the other supposed infirmities. He led me out by a back-door, across a yard into an alley, which we followed as far as a main road and then turned toward the Jaffa Gate. Looking back once I saw Grim in his Shereefian uniform striding along behind us; but where the road forked he took the other turning. There is contentment in walking disguised through crowded streets, even when you are in tow of eight-year-old iniquity that regards you as a lump of baggage to be pushed this and that way. Suliman plainly considered me a rank outsider, only admitted into the game on sufferance. Having said I was "magnoon" he lived up to the assertion, and warned people to make way for me if they did not want to be bitten and go mad, too; so as a general rule I received a pretty wide berth. But it was fun, in spite of Suliman. It was like seeing the world through a peep-hole. Men and women you knew went by without suspecting they were recognized, and in a puzzling sort of way the world, that had been your world yesterday, seemed now to belong wholly to other people, while you lived in a new sphere of your own. We had to go slowly as we approached the Jaffa Gate, for the crowd was dense there, and a line of Sikhs was drawn across the gap where the street passes through the city wall. It was the gap the Turks once made by tearing down the wall to let the Kaiser through, when he made that famous meek and humble pilgrimage of his. The Sikhs were searching all comers for weapons, and we had to wait our turn. Outside the gate, on the left-hand as you faced it, was the usual line of boot-blacks--the only cheap thing left in Jerusalem--a motley two dozen of ex-Turkish soldiers, recently fighting the British gamely in the last ditch, and now blacking their boots with equal gusto, for rather higher pay. Some of them still wore Turkish uniforms. Two or three were redheaded and blue-eyed, and almost certainly descended from Scotch crusaders. (The whole wide world bears witness that when the Scots went soldiering they were efficient in more ways than one.) The rest of the crowd were mainly peasantry with basket-loads of stuff for market; but there was a liberal sprinkling among them of all the odds and ends of the Levant, with a Jew here and there, the inevitable Russian priest, and a dozen odd lots, of as many nationalities, whom it would have been difficult to classify. And there was Police Constable Bedreddin Shah. You could not have missed noticing him, although I did not learn his name until afterwards. He came swaggering down the Jaffa Road with all the bullying arrogance of the newly enlisted Arab policeman. He shoved me aside, calling me a name that a drunken donkey-driver would hesitate to apply to a dog in the gutter. He was on his way to the lock-up that stands just inside the gate, and I wished him a year in it. As he plunged into the crowd that checked and surged immediately in front of the line of Sikhs, a small man in Arab costume with the lower part of his face well covered by the kaffiyi,* rushed out from the corner behind the bootblacks and drove a long knife home to the hilt between the policeman's shoulder-blades. I wasn't shocked. I wasn't even sorry. [*Head-dress that hangs down over the shoulders.] Bedreddin Shah shrieked and fell forward. Blood gushed from the wound. The crowd surged in curiously, and then fell back before the advancing Sikhs. A British officer who had heard the victim's cry came spurring his horse into the crowd from inside the gate. In his effort to get near the victim he only added to the confusion. The murderer, who seemed in no particular hurry, dodged quietly in and out among the swarm of bewildered peasants, and in thirty seconds had utterly disappeared. A minute later I saw Grim offering his services as interpreter and stooping over the dying man to try to catch the one word he was struggling to repeat. Chapter Fourteen "Windy bellies without hearts in them." Djemal's coffee shop is run by a Turkish gentleman whose real name is Yussuf. One name, and the shorter the better, had been plenty in the days when Djemal Pasha ran Jerusalem with iron ruthlessness, and consequent success of a certain sort. When Djemal was the Turkish Governor, every proprietor of every kind of shop had to stand in the doorway at attention whenever Djemal passed, and woe betide the laggard! It would not have paid any one, in those days, to name any sort of shop after Djemal Pasha. Even the provider of the rope that throttled the offender would have made no profit, because the rope would simply have been looted from the nearest store. The hangman would have been the nearest soldier, whose pay was already two years in arrears. So Yussuf's own name done in Turkish characters used to stand over the door before the British came. It was Djemal Pasha's considered judgment that Yussuf cooked the best coffee in Jerusalem. So whenever the despot was in the city he conferred on Yussuf the inestimable privilege of supplying him with coffee at odd moments, under threat of the bastinado if the stuff were not suitably sweet and hot. The only money that ever changed hands in that connection was when the tax-gatherer came down on Yussuf for an extra levy, because of the added trade that conceivably might be expected to accrue through the advertisement obtained by serving such an exalted customer. The tax-gatherer also threatened the bastinado; and as the man who likes that punishment, or who could soften the heart of a Turkish tax assessor, has yet to be discovered, Yussuf invariably paid. But when Allenby conquered Palestine between bouts of trying to tame his Australians, and Djemal Pasha scooted hot-foot into exile with a two-hundred-woman harem packed in lorries at his rear, Yussuf remembered that old adage about better late than never. He put Djemal's name on the stone arch of the narrow door near the foot of David Street. He did it partly out of the disrespect that a small dog feels for a big one that is now on chain; but he was not overlooking the business value of it. The first result was that he did quite a lot of trade with British officers, who came primarily because they were sick of eating sand and bully-beef, and drinking sand and tepid water in the desert. Later they flocked there by way of paying indirect homage to a governor who, whatever his obvious demerits, had at any rate never been answered back or thwarted with impunity. (There was a time, after the capture of Jerusalem, when if the British army could have voted on it, Djemal Pasha would have been brought back and given a free hand.) But the officers began to discover that Yussuf was charging them four or five times the proper price. The seniors objected promptly, and deserted, to the inexpressible delight of the subalterns; but even the under-paid extravagant youths grew tired of extortion after a month or two, and Yussuf had to look elsewhere for customers. Yussuf did some thinking behind that genial Turkish mask of his. Competition was keen. There are more coffee shops in Jerusalem than hairs on a hog's back, and the situation, down near the bottom of that narrow thoroughfare in the shadow of an ancient arch, did not lend itself to drawing crowds. But there were others in Jerusalem besides the British officers who yearned for Djemal's rule again; and, unlike the irreverent men in khaki, they did not dare to voice their feelings in public. All the old political grafters, and all the would-be new ones savagely resented a regime under which bribery was not permitted; and, as always happens sooner or later, they began to show a tendency to meet in certain places, where they might talk violence without risk of incurring it. So Yussuf permitted a rumour to gain ground that he, too, was a malcontent and that the British had deserted his coffee shop for that reason. He gave out that Djemal Pasha's name over the door stood for reaction and political intrigue. So his place began to be frequented by effendis in tarboosh and semi-European clothes, who could chew the cud of bitterness aloud between walls that the crusaders had built four feet thick. The only entrance was through the narrow front door, where Yussuf inspected every visitor before admitting him. So Yussuf's "Cafe Djemal Pasha" was the place to go to for politics, of the red-hot, death-and-dynamite order that would make Lenin and Trotsky sound like small-town sports. But first you had to get by Yussuf at the door. Suliman led me by the hand down David Street, through the smelly- yelly moil of flies and barter, past the meat and vegetable stalls, beneath the crusader arches from which Jewish women peered through trellised windows, across three transversing lanes of the ancient suku,* and halted at Yussuf's door. [*Bazaar] He rapped on it three times. When Yussuf's wrinkled face appeared at last Suliman demanded to see Staff-Captain Ali Mirza. Yussuf's blood-shot eyes peered at me for a long time before he asked a question. "Atrash!--akras!--majnoon!!" [Deaf!--Dumb!--Mad!!] said Suliman. Describing me as mad seemed to give him particular delight. He never overlooked a chance of doing it. "Staff-Captain Ali Mirza is not here. What should a Madman want with him?" "He is not very mad--only stupid. He carries a message for the captain." "But the captain is not here. He has not been here." "He will come." "How should a deaf-and-dumb man deliver a message?" "It is in writing." "Very well. He may leave the writing with me. If the captain comes I will deliver it." "No. The message is from Esh-Sham (Damascus). He will give it only into the captain's own hand." "What is your name?" "Suliman." "What is his?" "God knows! He came with another man by train; and the other man, who is much more mad than this one, gave me five piastres to bring this one to your kahwi!" [Coffe-pot] Yussuf shut the door, and discussed the proposition with his customers. At the end of two or three minutes his head appeared again. "You say Staff-Captain Ali Mirza is expected here?" "So said the man at the station." "What do you know of Staff-Captain Ali Mirza?" "Nothing." Once more the door closed and I could hear the murmur of voices inside--but only a confused murmur, for the door was thick. When it opened again two other heads were peering from behind Yussuf's. "Has he money?" he asked. "Kif? Ma indi khabar!" [How should I know?] Yussuf opened the door wide and made a sign for me to enter. He seemed in two minds whether to let Suliman come in with me or not, but finally admitted him with a gruff admonition to keep still in one place and not talk. The place was fairly full. It was a square room, with one window high in the wall on David Street. Around three sides, including that on which was the front door, ran a wooden seat furnished with thin cushions. Facing the front door was another one leading to a dark hole in the rear, where pots were washed and rice was boiled; beside that door, occupying most of the length of the fourth wall, was a thing like an altar of dressed stone, on which the coffee was prepared in dozens of little copper pots. The benches being pretty well occupied, I was about to squat down on the floor, but they made room for me close to the front door, so I squatted on the corner of the bench and tucked my legs under me. Suliman dropped down on the floor in front of me with his head about level with my knees. The other occupants of the room were all Syrian Arabs--not a Bedouin among them. All of them wore more or less European clothing, with the inevitable tarboosh, each set at a different angle. You can guess the mentality of the Syrian by the angle of that red Islamic symbol he wears on his head. The black tassel normally hangs behind, and the steady-going conservatives and all who take their religion seriously, wear the inverted flower-pot- shaped affair as nearly straight up as the cranium permits. But once let a Syrian take up new politics, join the Young Turk Party, forswear religion, or grow cynical about accepted doctrine, and the angle of his tarboosh shows it, just as surely as the angle of the London Cockney's "bowler" betrays irreverence and the New York gangster's "lid" expresses self-contempt disguised as self-esteem. The head-gears were set at every possible angle in that coffee- shop of Yussuf's, from the backward tilt of the breezy optimist to the far-forward thrust down over the eye of malignant cynicism, which usually went with folded arms, legs thrust out straight, and heels together on the floor. Yussuf brought me coffee without waiting to be asked. I paid him a half-piastre for it, which is half the proper price, and utterly ignored his expostulation. He touched me on the shoulder, displayed the coin in the palm of his hand and went through a prodigious pantomime. I did not even try to appear interested. He ordered Suliman to explain to me. "Mafish mukhkh!" said the boy, touching his own forehead. My real motive was to act as differently as possible from the white man, who always pays twice what he should. By establishing the suggestion of accustomed meanness, I hoped to offset any breaks I might make presently. Spies, and people of that kind, usually have plenty of money for their needs, so that by acting the part of a man unused to spending except in minute driblets I stood a better chance of not being detected. But I was in luck. I have often noticed, so that it has become almost an article of creed with me, that luck invariably breaks that way. It almost never turns up blind. You sit down and wait for luck, and it all goes to the other fellow. But start to use your wits, even clumsily, and the luck comes along and squanders itself on you. "He is certainly from Damascus," laughed one of the customers. "The price is a half-piastre in Damascus at the meaner shops." I did not know anything about Damascus then--had never been there; but from that minute it never entered the mind of one of those men to doubt that Damascus was my home-city, so easily satisfied by trifling suggestions is the unscientific human. Yussuf went back to his charcoal stove grumbling to himself in Turkish. But there was still one question in doubt. They seemed satisfied that I was really deaf and dumb, but in that land of countless mission schools and alien speech there is always a chance that even children know a word or two of French. They tested Suliman with simple questions, such as who was his mother and where was he born; but he did not need to act that part, he was utterly ignorant of French. So they proceeded to ignore the two of us and turn their political acrimony loose in French, discussing the maddest, most unmoral schemes with the gusto of small boys playing pirates. There seemed to be almost as many rival political parties as men in the room. The only approach to unity was when they agreed to accuse and destroy. As for constructive agreement, they had none, and every one's suggestion for improvement was sneered at by all the rest. They were not even agreed about the Zionists, except hating them; they quarreled about what would be the best way to take advantage of them before wiping them out of existence. But they all saw exquisite humour in the item of news that Eisernstein had taken so to heart. "That was Noureddin Ali's idea! He is a genius! To accuse the Zionists of offering two million pounds for the Dome of the Rock--ah! who else could have thought of it! The story has spread all through Jerusalem, and is on its way to the villages. In two days it will be common gossip from Damascus to Beersheba. In a week it will be known from end to end of Egypt; then Arabia; then India! Ho! When the Indian Moslems get the news--the Indian troops in Palestine will send it by mail--then what a furor! Then what anger! That was finesse! That was true statesmanship! Never was a shrewder genius than Noureddin Ali!" "Don't shout his name too loud," said somebody. "The Administration suspects him already." "Bah! Who in this room is a friend of the Administration? The Administrator is a broken shard; the British will summon him home for inefficiency. Besides, there is only one man in Jerusalem of whom Noureddin is in the least afraid--that Major Grim, the American. And whoever would give the price of a cup of coffee for a lease of the life of Major Grim in the circumstances would do better to toss the money to the first beggar he meets!" "Hssh!" "Hah! All the same, I would not choose to be Noureddin's enemy." "There is another one who will share that opinion--or so I have heard. I was told that Bedreddin Shah, a recent recruit in the police, stumbled by accident on certain evidence and demanded a huge sum for silence. Hee-hee! How much will anybody give Bedreddin Shah for his prospect?" "Hssh!" "What did Bedreddin Shah discover?" "Nobody knows." "You mean nobody will tell." "The same thing." "How long could a secret be kept in Jerusalem, if you people were informed of what is going on? You are good for propaganda, that is all! You can talk--Allah! how you all talk! But as for doing anything, or keeping a secret until a thing is done, you are no better than magpies." The last speaker was a rather fat man, over in the corner by the scullery door. He had a nose like Sultan Abdul Hamid's and large, elongated eyes that looked capable of seeing things on either side of him while he stared straight forward. Even in that dark corner you could see they had the alligator-hue that one associates with cruelty. He had the massive shoulders and forward-stooping position as he sat cross-legged on the seat that suggest deliberate purpose devoid of hurry. They all resented what he said, but none seemed disposed to quarrel with him. One or two remonstrated mildly, but he ignored their remarks, busying himself with digging out a cigarette from a gold case set with jewels; after he had lighted it very thoughtfully and examined the end once or twice to make sure that it burned just right, he let it hang between his lips in a way that accentuated the angle of his bulbous nose. You wondered whether he owned a harem, and what the ladies thought of him. "Will you sit and brag in here all day?" he asked after a few minutes. "Yussuf must be getting rich, you sip so much coffee. It is not particularly good for Yussuf to get rich; it will make him lazy, as most of you are." The chattering had ceased, although there were several attempts to break that uncomfortable silence with inane remarks. His ravenish, unpleasant voice seemed to act on the company like a chill wind, depriving treason of its warm sociableness but leaving in the sting. "I said you are good for propaganda," he resumed, tossing away ash with a reflective air. "But even that has no value within four walls. If Noureddin Ali should come and learn from me how much talking has been done in here, and how little done outside, I can imagine he will not be pleased. Are there no other kahawi?* Why is that story about the Zionists and their offer to buy the Dome of Rock not being spread diligently? You like the safety of this place with its four thick walls. But I tell you the jackal has to leave his hole to hunt." [*Coffee-shops] They did not like taking orders, even when they were expressed more or less indirectly; no follower of the new political freedom does like it, for it rather upsets the new conceit. But he evidently knew his politicians, and they him. They got up one by one and made for the door, each offering a different excuse designed to cover up obedience under a cloak of snappy independence. Not one of them drew a retort from him, or as much as a farewell nod. When the last one was gone, and the process took up all of half- an-hour, he sat and looked down his nose at me for several minutes without speaking. You could have guessed just as easily what an alligator was thinking about, and I tried to emulate him, pretending to go off into the brown study that the Turks call kaif, out of which it is considered bad manners to disturb your best friend, let alone a stranger. But manners proved to be no barrier in his case. He began talking to me in Arabic--directly at me, slowly and deliberately, but I did not understand very much of it and it was not difficult to pretend I did not hear. However, Suliman was in different case; the boy began to get very restless under the monolog, and I tugged at his back hair more than once to remind him of the part he had to play. Discovering that the Arabic took no effect on me, the alligator person changed to French. "They speak French in Damascus. I know you are not deaf. You are a spy. I know your name. I know what your business was before you came here. I know why you want to see the staff- captain. You have a letter for him; I know what is in it. No use trying to deceive me; I have ways of my own of discovering things. Do you know what happens to spies who refuse to answer my questions? They are attended to. Quite simple. They receive attention. Nobody hears of them again. "There are drains in Jerusalem--big, dark, smelly, ancient, full of rats--very useful drains. You think the Staff-Captain Ali Mirza will protect you. At a word from me he will make the request that you receive immediate attention. You will disappear down a drain, where even Allah will forget that you ever existed. Staff-Captain Ali Mirza is my old friend. Better let me see that letter." I felt like laughing at the drain threats although Suliman was still shivering from the effect of the earlier Arabic version. But the statement that he knew the real Ali Mirza might be true, in which case Grim's disguise was not going to last long. However, the fact that he had not yet seen through my disguise was some comfort. The wish being father of the thought, I decided he was bluffing first and last. But he had not finished yet. He tried me in English. "The captain will give that letter to me in any case. It is intended for me. I have other business now, and wish to save time, so give it to me at once. Here, I will give you ten piastres for it." He pulled out a purse and unfolded a ten-piastre note. I took no notice. He shook it for me to see, and I awoke like a pelican at the sight of fish. "Yours for that letter," he said, shaking it again. I nudged Suliman and nodded to him. He crossed the room, seized the ten-piastre note, and brought it back to me. I stowed it away under my shirt. "Come, now give me the letter." I took utterly no notice, so he turned his attention to Suliman again, and resumed in Arabic. "Feel in his pocket and find the letter." "I'm afraid," the boy answered. "Of what? Of him? I will protect you. Take the letter from him." Suliman chose to play the small boy, as he could very well indeed when nothing could be gained by being devilish and ultra-grown- up. He shook his head and grinned sheepishly. "Has he any weapons?" was the next question. "Ma indi khabar." [I don't know.] Evidently assault and battery was to be the next item on the program. He had not the eyes or the general air of a man who will part with ten piastres for nothing. He called to Yussuf, who came hurrying out of the scullery place. They held a whispered conference, and Yussuf nodded; then he came over to the front door and locked it, removing the key. "Tell him to hand over that letter!" he ordered Suliman. "Mafish mukhkh!" said the boy, tapping his forehead once more. Suliman's notion was the right one after all--at any rate the only one available. Old alligator rolled off his perch and started for me. Yussuf timed his own assault to correspond. They would have landed on me simultaneously, if Suliman had not reminded me that madness is a safe passport nearly anywhere in the East. So I went stark, raving mad that minute. I once spent a night in the room of an epileptic who had delirium tremens, and learned a lot from him; some of it came to mind just when I needed it. If ever a man got ten piastres' worth of unexpected side-show it was that old Syrian with the alligator eyes. By the time I was quite out of breath there wasn't a cushion or a coffee-pot fit for business. Suliman was standing out of reach on the bench in a corner yelling with laughter, while the two men struggled to get through the scullery door, which was too narrow to admit them both at once. I earned that ten piastres. By the same token I did not let the kaffiyi fall off my head and betray my western origin. Unable to think up any more original motions, and having breath for none, I sat on the floor and spat repeatedly, having seen a madman do that on the Hebron Road and get feared, if not respected for it. There seems to be a theory prevalent in that part of the world that the sputum of a madman is contagious. But I overdid it. Most amateurs do overdo things. They got so afraid that they decided to put me out into the street at all costs, where those enemies of society, the police, might demonstrate their ingenuity. Yussuf made a dash for the front door, and I suppose he would have called in help and ended my share in the adventure, if something had not happened. The "something" was Noureddin Ali very much something in his own opinion. "Why didn't you open the door sooner?" he demanded. "I have been knocking for two minutes." He watched Yussuf lock the door again behind him, and then eyed the disheveled room with amused curiosity. He was a rat-faced little man dressed in a black silk jacket, worsted pants and brown boots, with the inevitable tarboosh set at an angle of sheer impudence--a man at least fifty years old by the look of him, but full of that peppery vigor that so often clings to little men in middle life. On the whole he looked more like a school-teacher, or a lawyer then a conspirator; but Yussuf addressed him with great deference as "Noureddin Ali Bey," and even old alligator-eyes became obsequious. Both Yussuf and the other man began explaining the situation to him in rapid-fire Arabic. I, meanwhile, recovering from the fit as fast as I dared and trying to remember how to do it. Noureddin Ali was plainly for having me thrown out, until they mentioned the name of Staff-Captain Ali Mirza; at that he tried to cross-examine Suliman at great length, but could get nothing out of him. Suliman had evidently overheard Grim talking about Noureddin Ali, and was very much afraid of him. "All right," Noureddin Ali said at last. "No more business today, Yussuf. Keep the door locked, but admit the captain. We must find out what this message is about." Yussuf went to tidying up the place, while Noureddin Ali and the alligator person talked excitedly in low tones in the corner near the scullery door. I lay on the floor with one eye open, expecting Grim every minute; but it must have been four in the afternoon before he came, and all that while, with only short intervals for food and coffee, Noureddin Ali and the other man talked steadily, discussing over and over again the details of some plan. Shortly after midday Suliman began to whimper for food. Yussuf produced a mess of rice and mutton, of which the two Syrians ate enormously before giving any to the boy; then they put what was left in the dish on the floor in front of me, pretty much in the way you feed a dog, and I hate to remember what I did to it. It is enough that I did not overlook Grim's advice to eat like a lunatic, and however suspicious of me Noureddin Ali might otherwise have been he was satisfied at the end of that performance. Several people tried the door, and some of them made signals on it but Yussuf had a peep-hole where one of the heavy iron nails had been removed, and after a cautious squint through it at each arrival he proceeded to ignore them. One man thundered on the door for several minutes, but was allowed to go away without as much as a word of explanation. That was the first incident that made me feel quite sure Nourreddin Ali was in fear of the police. All the time the thundering was going on he glanced furtively about him like a rat in a trap. I saw him feel for a weapon under his arm-pit. When the noise ceased and the impatient visitor went away he sighed with relief. The place was certainly a trap; there was no back way out of it. When Grim came at last he knocked quietly, and waited in silence while Yussuf applied his eye to the nail-hole. When he entered, the only surprising thing about him seemed to me the thinness of his disguise. In the morning, when I had seen him change in ten minutes from West to East, it had seemed perfect; but, having looked for him so long with the Syrian disguise in mind, it seemed impossible now that any one could be deceived by it. He was at no pains to keep the kaffiyi thing close to his face, and I held my breath, expecting to see Noureddin Ali denounce him instantly. But nothing of that sort happened. Grim sat down, thrust his legs out in front of him, leaned back and called for coffee. It was obvious at once that the alligator person had been lying when he boasted of knowing Staff-Captain Ali Mirza, for he made no effort to claim acquaintance or to denounce him as an impostor. But he nodded to Suliman, and Suliman came over and nudged me. I let the boy go through a lot of pantomimic argument before admitting that I understood, but finally I crossed the room to Grim and offered him the envelope. He looked surprised, examined the outside curiously, spoke to me, shrugged his shoulders when I did not answer, tossed a question or two to Suliman, shrugged again and tore the letter open. Then his face changed, and he glanced to right and left of him as if afraid of being seen. He stuffed the letter into his tunic pocket and I went back to the corner by the front door. Yussuf was pottering about, still rearranging all the pots and furniture that I had scattered, but his big ears projected sidewise and suggested that he might have another motive. However, it was a simple matter to evade his curiosity by talking French, and Noureddin All could contain himself no longer. "Pardon me, sir? Staff-Captain Ali Mirza?" Grim nodded suspiciously. "I have heard of you. We have all heard of you. We are proud to see you in Jerusalem. We wish all success to your efforts on behalf of Mustapha Kemal, the great Turkish Nationalist leader. Our prayer is that he may light such a fire in Anatolia as shall spread in one vast conflagration throughout the East!" "Who are you?" asked Grim suspiciously. (Evidently the real Ali Mirza had a reputation for gruff manners.) "Noureddin Ali Bey. It may be you have heard of me. I am not without friends in Damascus." "Oh, are you Noureddin Ali?" Grim's attitude thawed appreciably. "We have been looking for more action and less talk from you. I made an excuse to visit Jerusalem and discover how much fire there is under this smoke of boasting." "Fire! Ha-ha! That is the right word! There is a camouflage of talk, but under it--Aha! You shall see!" "Or is that more talk?" "We are not all talkers. Wait and see!" "Oh, more waiting? Has Mustapha Kemal Pasha waited in Anatolia? Has he not set you all an example of deeds without words? Am I to wait here indefinitely in Jerusalem to take him news of deeds that will never happen?" "Not indefinitely, my dear captain! And this time there will really be a deed that will please even such a rigorous lover of action as Mustapha Kemal!" Grim shrugged his shoulders again. "I leave for Damascus at dawn," he said cynically. "I don't care to be mocked there for bringing news of promises. We have had too many of those barren mares. I shall say that I have found everything here is sterile--the talk abortive--the men mere windy bellies without hearts in them!" Chapter Fifteen "I'll have nothing to do with it!" Noureddin Ali was pained and upset. Grim had pricked his conceit--had sent thrust home where he kept his susceptibilities. He blinked, peered this and that way, exchanged glances with the alligator person, and then tucked his legs up under him. "In me you see a doer!" he announced. He looked the part. His lean, pointed nose and beady little eyes were of the interfering, meddling type. You could not imagine him, like the yellow-eyed ruminant next to him, sitting and waiting ruthlessly for things to happen. Noureddin Ali looked more likely to go out and be ruthless. "So they all say!" Grim retorted. "Some one should forewarn them in Damascus what a deed will occur here presently. Above all, word should reach Mustapha Kemal, in Anatolia, as soon as possible, so that he may be ready to act." "All day long," said Grim, "I have wandered about Jerusalem, listening to this and that rumour of something that may happen. But I have not found one man who can tell me a fact." "That is because you did not meet me. I am--hee-hee! I am the father of facts. You say you leave for Damascus at dawn? You are positive? I could tell you facts that would put a sudden end to my career if they were spread about Jerusalem!" "That is the usual boast of men who desire credit in the eyes of the Nationalist Party," Grim retorted. "I see you are skeptical. That is a wise man's attitude, but I must be cautious, for my life is at stake. Now--how do you propose to leave Jerusalem? There is no train for Damascus at dawn tomorrow." "I am on a diplomatic mission," answered Grim. "The Administration have placed a car at my disposal to take me as far as the border." "Ah! And tonight? Where will you be tonight?" "Why?" "Because I propose to make a disclosure. And--ah--hee-hee!--you would like to live, I take it, and not be sent back to Damascus in a coffin? I have--ah--some assistants who--hee-hee!--would watch your movements. If you were to betray me afterwards to the Administration, there would remain at least--the satisfaction-- of--you understand me?--the certainty that you would suffer for it!" Grim laughed dryly. "I shall be at the hotel," he answered. "In bed. Asleep. The car comes before dawn." "That is sufficient. I shall know how to take essential precautions. Now--you think I am a man of words, not deeds? You were near the Jaffa Gate this morning, for I saw you there. You saw a man killed--a policeman, name Bedreddin. That was an unwise underling, who stumbled by accident on a clue to what I shall tell you presently. He had the impudence to try to blackmail me--me, of all people! You saw him killed. But did you see who killed him? I--I killed him, with this right hand! You do not believe? You think, perhaps, I lack the strength for such a blow? Look here, where the force of it broke my skin on the handle of the knife! Now, am I a man of words, not deeds?" "You want me to report to Mustapha Kemal that all the accomplishment in Jerusalem amounts to one policeman killed?" "No, no! You mistake my meaning. My point is that having proved to you I am a ruthless man of action, I am entitled to be believed when I tell you what next I intend to do." "Well--I listen." "There is going to be--hee-hee!--an explosion!" "Where? When? Of what?" "In Jerusalem, within a day or two, and of what? Why, of high explosive, what else?" "Much good an explosion in this city will do Mustapha Kemal!" Grim grumbled. "You may kill a few beggars and break some windows. The British will double the guards afterward at all the city gates, and that will be the end of it; except that some of you, who perhaps may escape being thrown into jail, will apply to Mustapha Kemal for high commissions in his army on the strength of it! Great doings! Mustapha Kemal will have no bastinadoed." "Hee-hee! You are going to be surprised. What would you say to an explosion, for instance, that destroyed the Dome of the Rock?" "That might accomplish results." "Hee-hee! You admit it! An explosion to be blamed on the Zionists, who must afterward be protected by the British from the mob! Would that not set India on fire?" "It might help. But who is to do it?" "You see the doer before you! I will do it." "If I thought such a thing was really going to take place--" "You would think that news worth carrying, eh? You would hurry to Damascus, wouldn't you? And let me assure you, my dear captain, speed is essential. There are reasons why the explosion has not yet occurred--reasons of detail and difficulties to be overcome. But now there is little further prospect of delay. Everything is nearly ready. The explosive is not yet in place, but is at hand. The authorities suspect nothing. There remains only a little excavation work, and then--hee-hee!--nothing to do but choose the hour when hundreds are in the mosque. Houp-la! Up she goes. Does not the idea appeal to you?" "Sensational--very," Grim admitted. "Ah! But the utmost must be made of the sensation. Men must be ready in Damascus to stir public feeling on the strength of it. Word must go to Mustapha Kemal to strike hard while the iron is hot. There must be reprisals everywhere. Blood must flow. "The Europeans, French as well as British, must be goaded into making rash mistakes that will further inflame the populace. It must be shouted from the house-tops that the Jews have blown up a Moslem sacred place, and that the British are protecting them. There must be a true jihad* proclaimed against all non-Moslems almost simultaneously everywhere. Do you understand now how swiftly you must travel to Damascus?" [*Holy war.] Grim nodded. "Yet these foreigners are cunning," he said doubtfully. "Are you sure your plan is not suspected?" "Quite sure. There was one man--a cursed interfering jackanapes of an American, whom they all call Jimgrim, of whom I was afraid. He is clever. He goes snooping here and there, and knows how to disguise himself. But he fell downstairs this morning and broke his thigh in two places. If anything could make me religious, that would! If I were not a nationalist, I would say 'Glory to God, and blessed be His Prophet, who has smitten him whom we feared!"' "That broken leg might be a trick to put you off your guard," Grim suggested pleasantly. "No. I made secret enquiries. He is in great pain. He may lose the leg. The doctor who has charge of the case is a Major Templeton, an irritable person and, like most of the English, too big a fool to deceive anybody. No, luckily for Mister Jimgrim it is not a trick. Otherwise he would have shared the fate today of Bedreddin Shah the constable. The trap was all ready for him. With the inquisitive and really clever out of the way there is nothing to be feared. Now--pardon me, Captain Ali Mirza, but that letter you received just now; would you like to show it to me?" "Why?" Grim demanded, frowning, and bridling all over. "Hee-hee! For the sake of reciprocity. I have told you my secret. If it were not that I am more than usually circumspect, and accustomed to protect myself, one might say that my life is now in your hands, captain. Besides--hee-hee!--I might add that Jerusalem is my particular domain. I would have no difficulty in seeing that letter in any case. But there should be no need for --hee-hee!--shall we call them measures?--between friends." "I see you are a man of resource," said Grim. "Of great resource, with picked lieutenants. May I see the letter now?" Grim produced it. Noureddin Ali took it between spidery fingers and examined it like a schoolmaster conning a boy's composition. But the expression of his face changed as he took in the contents, holding the paper so that alligator-eyes could read it, too. "Who wrote this?" he asked. "Can't you read the signature? Enver Eyub." "Who is he?" "One of Mustapha Kemal's staff." "So. 'In pursuing your mission you will also take steps to ascertain whether or not Noureddin Ali Bey is a person worthy of confidence.' Aha! That is excellent! So Mustapha Kemal Pasha has heard of me?" Grim nodded. "And the rest of your mission?" "Is confidential." "And are you satisfied that I am to be trusted?" "I think you mean business." "Then you should tell me what is the nature of your secret mission to Jerusalem. Possibly I can give you needed information. If you have obtained information of value, you should confide in me. I can be most useful when I know most." Grim frowned. He began to look uneasy. And the more he did that, the more delight Noureddin Ali seemed to take in questioning him, but be pleaded his own case, too. "The trouble with the Nationalist movement," he insisted, "is lack of unity. There is no mutual confidence--consequently no combination. There are too many intellects working at cross purposes. You should tell me what is being done, so that I may fit in my plans accordingly. When the Dome of the Rock has been blown up there will be ample opportunity for putting into execution a combined plan. You must confide in me." "Suppose I get rid of that messenger and the boy first," Grim suggested. Grim felt in his pocket and produced a purse full of bank notes. But they were all big ones. "Never mind, I have change," said Noureddin Ali. "How much will you give him?" "No," said Grim. "The boy can take him to the hotel. Let him wait for me there. He has no further business here. He should return to Damascus. He had better travel with me in the car tomorrow morning. Take him to the hotel, and wait for me there, you," he added in Arabic to Suliman. Yussuf came and opened the door. Suliman took my hand and led me out. The door slammed shut behind me, and a great Sikh, leaning on his rifle at a corner thirty feet away, came to life just sufficiently to follow me up-street with curious brown eyes. "That is Narayan Singh," announced Suliman when we had passed him. "He is Jimgrim's friend." There was another Sikh just in sight of him at the next corner, and another beyond him again, all looking rather bored but awfully capable. None except the first one took the slightest notice of us. It was some consolation to know that "Jimgrim's friend" was on guard outside Yussuf's. I had no means of knowing what weapons Grim carried, if any, but was positive of one thing: if either Noureddin Ali or the man with alligator eyes should get an inkling of his real identity his life would not be worth ten minutes' purchase. Including Yussuf, who would likely do as he was told, there would be three to one between those silent walls, and it seemed to me that Narayan Singh might as well be three miles away as thirty feet. However, there was nothing I could do about it. It was late afternoon already, and the crowd was swarming all one way, the women carrying the baskets and the men lording it near enough to keep an eye on them. If Suliman and I were followed, whoever had that job had his work cut out, for we were swallowed up in a noisy stream of home-going villagers, whose baskets and other burdens made an effectual screen behind us as well as in front. The hotel stands close by the Jaffa Gate, and there the crowd was densest, for the outgoing swarm was met by another tide, of city- folk returning. In the mouth of the hotel arcade stood an officer whom I knew well enough by sight--Colonel Goodenough, commander of the Sikhs, a quiet, gray little man with a monocle, and that air of knowing his own mind that is the real key to control of Indian troops. Up a side-street there were a dozen troop-horses standing, and a British subaltern was making himself as inconspicuous as he could in the doorway of a store. It did not need much discernment to judge that those in authority were ready to deal swiftly with any kind of trouble. But the only glimpse I had of any mob-spirit stirring was when three obvious Zionist Jews were rather roughly hustled by some Hebron men, who pride themselves on their willingness to brawl with any one. Two Sikhs interfered at once, and Goodenough, who was watching, never batted an eyelash. I was tired, wanted a whiskey and soda and a bath more than anything else I could imagine at the moment. I was eager to get to my room in the hotel. Suliman, being not much more than a baby after all, wanted to go to sleep. We went past Goodenough, who eyed me sharply but took no further notice, and we entered the hotel door. But there we were met by Cerberus in the shape of an Arab porter, who cursed our religion and ordered us out again, threatening violence if we did not make haste. Suliman argued with him in vain, and even whimpered. There was nothing for it but to return to the arcade, where I sat down on a step, from which a native policeman drove me away officiously. I had about made up my mind to go and speak to Goodenough in English, when Grim appeared. Not even Goodenough recognized him, his Syrian stride was so well acted. He saluted, and the salute was returned punctiliously but with that reserve toward a foreigner that the Englishman puts on unconsciously. When Grim spoke to him in Arabic Goodenough answered in the same language. I did not hear what was said at first, but as I drew closer I heard the sequel, for Grim changed suddenly to English. "If you can't recognize me through that magnifying-glass of yours, colonel, I must be one leopard who can really change his spots. I'm Grim. Don't change your expression. Quick: look around and tell me if I'm followed." "Hard to say. Such a crowd here. There's a Syrian over the way with a bulbous nose, who came along after you; he's leaning with his back to the wall now, watching us." "He's the boy." "I see Narayan Singh has left his post. Did you give him orders?" "Yes. Told him to follow any one who followed me. I don't want that fellow interfered with. He may stay there, or more likely he'll call others to take his place; they'll watch all night, if they're allowed to; let them. Wish you'd give orders they're to be left alone. Then, please let Narayan Singh go off duty and get some sleep; I'm going to want him all day tomorrow." "All right, Grim; anything else?" "First opportunity, I wish you'd come to Davey's room upstairs. Now--long distance stuff again, sir--if any Syrian asks you about me, you might say I was making sure the car would come for me at dawn." They exchanged salutes again as one suspicious alien to another. Grim looked suitably surprised at sight of me, and led me and Suliman back to the hotel, where Suliman wanted him to wreak dire vengeance on the porter; he grew sulky when he discovered that his influence with Grim was not sufficient for the purpose, but forgot it, small boy fashion, ten minutes later, when he fell asleep on the floor in a corner of Davey's room. Davey did not look exactly pleased to see us, although he seemed to like Grim personally, and was the first that day to see through Grim's disguise at the first glance. Mrs. Davey, on the other hand, was radiant with smiles--thrilled at the prospect of learning secrets. She produced drinks and pushed the armchairs up. When she learned who I was, her husband could hardly keep her from putting on a costume too, to make a party of it. Davey was reserved. He asked no questions. A gray-headed, gray- eyed, stocky, sturdy-looking man, who had made impossibilities come true on three continents, he waited for trouble to come to him instead of seeking it. There was silence for several minutes over the cigars and whiskey before Grim opened fire at last. He talked straight out in front of Mrs. Davey, for she had mothered Cosmopolitan Oil men in a hundred out-of-the-way places. She knew more sacred secrets than the Sphinx. "Any news about your oil concessions, Davey?" "No. Not a word. We've got every prospect in the country marked out. Nothing to do now but wait for the mandate, while the Zionists go behind our backs to the Foreign Office and scheme for the concessions. It's my belief the British mean to favor the Zionists and put us in the ditch. The fact that we were first on the ground, and lodged our applications with the Turks before the war seems to make no difference in their lives." "Well, old man, I've arranged for you to change your policy," said Grim. "What in thunder do you mean?" Mrs. Davey giggled with delight, but her husband frowned ominously. "I'm supposed to be Staff-Captain Ali Mirza of the Shereefian army." "I've heard of him. He's a bad one, Jim. He is one of those Syrian Arabs who will accept any one's money, but who never stays bought. Why masquerade as a scoundrel?" "I was in a place just now with a bunch of murderers, who'd have made short work of me if I couldn't give them a sound reason for being in Jerusalem just now." "Why not have 'em all arrested?" "For the same reason, Davey, that your Oil Company isn't piping ten thousand barrels a day from Jericho. The time is not yet. Things haven't reached that stage. I told them your Oil Company gave up hope long ago of getting a concession from the British, and has decided to finance Mustapha Kemal." Davey flung his cigar out of the window, and laid both hands on his knees. His face was a picture of baffled indignation. But his wife laughed. "They were tickled to death," Grim continued. "I'm supposed to be going to Damascus tomorrow morning with a hundred thousand dollars in U.S. gold, obtained from you in ten small bags. We've got to find some bags and pack them full of something heavy." "I'll have nothing to do with it!" Davey exploded at last. "It's a damned outrage! Why--this tale will be all over the place. The Jews will get hold of it, and make complaints in London. Next you know, the U.S. State Department will be raising blue hell. Questions asked in Congress. Headlines in all the papers! What do you suppose our people will think of me?" "Refer them to your wife, Davey. She's got you out of much worse messes." "I'll drive the car straight up to OETA and lodge my protest against this in less than fifteen minutes!" "No need; Davey, old man. Goodenough will be in here presently. Kick to him." Mrs. Davey went into the next room and returned with a roll of coarse cotton cloth. "I've no bags, Jim, but if this stuff will do I can sew some right now." "Good enough, Emily, go to it." "D'you want to lose me my job?" demanded Davey. But his wife took up the scissors and smiled back at him. "You know better than that. We've trusted Jim before." "Listen, Davey; this thing's serious," said Grim. "I know it is! So'm I! Nothing doing!" "You're on the inside of an official secret." "Curse all official secrets! My business is oil!" "There'll be no oil in this man's land for any one for fifty years if you won't play. There'll be a jihad instead. They're planning to blow up the Dome of the Rock." "Jee-rusalem!" "Straight goods, Davey. Two tons of TNT stolen, and our friend Scharnhoff, the Austrian, hunting for the Tomb of the Kings-- digging for it day and night--conspirators waiting to run in the explosive as soon as the tunnel is complete." "Why not arrest 'em at once?" "We want to catch the principals red-handed, explosive and all. We don't know where the explosive is yet. Bag the lot, and kill the story. Otherwise, d'you see what it means, if the news leaks out? They'll blame the attempt on the Jews. And the minute the British protect the Jews there'll be all Moslem Asia on fire. Get me?" "Get you? Yes, I get you. I'll get hell from the home office, though, for meddling in politics." Goodenough came in then, rather a different man from the stern little martinet who had stood in the throat of the arcade. He was all smiles. "Evening, Mrs. Davey," he said genially. "That one man went away, Grim, and three took his place. They shan't be disturbed. Narayan Singh has gone off duty. Now, Mrs. Davey, I've been told that Americans all went dry, on account of a new religion called the Volstead Act. D'you mean to say you'd tempt a thirsty soldier with a dry martini?" Chapter Sixteen "The Enemy is nearly always useful if you leave him free to make mistakes." The next item on the program was to awaken Suliman. He did not want to wake up. He had lost all interest in secret service for the time being. Even the sight of Mrs. Davey's New York candy did not stir enthusiasm; he declared it was stuff fit for bints,* not men. [*Women] "All right then," Grim announced at last. "School for you, and I'll get another side-partner." That settled it. The boy, on whose lips the word dog was a foul epithet, was actually proud to share a packing-case bedroom with Julius Caesar the mess bull-dog. School, where there would be other iniquitous small boys to be led into trouble, had no particular terrors. But to lose his job and to see another boy, perhaps a Jew or a Christian, become Jimgrim's Jack-of-all-jobs was outside the pale of inflictions that pride could tolerate. "I am awake!" he retorted, rubbing his eyes to prove it. "Come here, then. D'you know where to find your mother?" "At the place where I went yesterday." "Take her some of Mrs. Davey's candy. Don't eat it on the way, mind. Get inside the place if you can. If she won't let you in try how much you can see through the door. Ask no questions. If she asks what you've been doing, tell her the truth: say that you cleaned my boots and washed Julius Caesar. Then come back here and tell me all you've seen." "Sending him to spy on his own mother, Jim?" asked Mrs. Davey as Suliman left the room with candy in both fists. She paused from stitching at the cotton bags to look straight at Grim. "His mother is old Scharnhoff's housekeeper," Grim answered. "Scharnhoff wouldn't stand for the boy, and drove him out. The mother liked Scharnhoff's flesh-pots better than the prospects of the streets, so she stayed on, swiping stuff from Scharnhoff's larder now and then to slip to the kid through the back door. But he was starving when I found him." Mrs. Davey laid her sewing down. "D'you mean to tell me that that old butter-wouldn't-melt-in- his-mouth professor is that child's father?" "No. The father was a Turkish soldier--went away with the Turkish retreat. If he's alive he's probably with Mustapha Kemal in Anatolia. Old Scharnhoff used to keep a regular harem under the Turks. He got rid of them to save his face when our crowd took Jerusalem. He puts up with one now. But he has the thorough-going Turk's idea of married life." "And to think I had him here to tea--twice--no, three times! I liked him, too! Found him interesting." "He is," said Grim. "Very!" agreed Goodenough. "If it weren't for that harem habit of his," said Grim, "some acquaintances of his would have blown up the Dome of the Rock about this time tomorrow. As it is, they won't get away with it. Suliman came and told me one day that his mother was carrying food to Scharnhoff, taking it to a little house in a street that runs below the Haram-es-Sheriff. I looked into that. Then came news that two tons of TNT was missing, on top of a request from Scharnhoff for permission to go about at night unquestioned. After that it was only a question of putting two and two together--" "Plus Narayan Singh," said Goodenough. "I still don't see, Grim, how you arrived at the conclusion that Scharnhoff is not guilty of the main intention. What's to prove that he isn't in the pay of Mustapha Kemal?" "I'll explain. All Scharnhoff cares about is some manuscripts he thinks he'll find. He thinks he knows where they are. The Chronicles of the Kings of Israel. I expect he tried pretty hard to get the Turks to let him excavate for them. But the Turks knew better than to offend religious prejudices. And perhaps Scharnhoff couldn't afford to bribe heavily enough; his harem very likely kept him rather short of money. Then we come along, and stop all excavation--cancel all permits--refuse to grant new ones. "Scharnhoff's problem is to dig without calling attention to what he's doing. As a technical enemy alien he can't acquire property, or even rent property without permission. But with the aid of Suliman's mother he made the acquaintance of our friend Noureddin Ali, who has a friend, who in turn has a brother, who owns a little house in that street below the Haram-es-Sheriff." "Strange coincidence!" said Goodenough. "It'll need a better argument than that to save Scharnhoff's neck." "Pardon me, sir. No coincidence at all. Remember, Scharnhoff has lived in Jerusalem for fifteen years. He seems to have satisfied himself that the Tomb of the Kings is directly under the Dome of the Rock. How is he to get to it? The Dome of the Rock stands in the middle of that great courtyard, with the buildings of the Haram-es-Sheriff surrounding it on every side, and hardly a stone in the foundations weighing less than ten tons. "He reasons it out that there must be a tunnel somewhere, leading to the tomb, if it really is under the Dome of the Rock. I have found out that he went to work, while the Turks were still here, to find the mouth of the tunnel. Remember, he's an archaeologist. There's very little he doesn't know about Jerusalem. He knows who the owner is of every bit of property surrounding the Haram-es-Sheriff; he's made it his business to find out. So when he finally decided that this little stone house stands over the mouth of the tunnel, all that remained to do was to get access to it. He couldn't do that himself, because of the regulations. He had to approach the Arab owner secretly and indirectly. That's where Suliman's mother came in handy. "She contrived the introduction to Noureddin Ali. Innocent old Scharnhoff, who is an honest thief--he wouldn't steal money-- sacrilege is Scharnhoff's passion--was an easy mark for Noureddin Ali. Noureddin Ali is a red-minded devil, so smart at seeing possibilities that he is blind to probabilities. He is paid by the French to make trouble, and he's the world's long-distance double-crosser. I don't believe the French have any hand in this job. Scharnhoff needed explosives. Noureddin Ali saw at once that if that tunnel can be found and opened up there could be an atrocity perpetrated that would produce anarchy all through the East." "As bad as all that?" asked Mrs. Davey. "That's no exaggeration," Goodenough answered. "I've lived twenty-five years in India, commanding Sikh and Moslem troops. The Sikhs are not interested in the Moslem religion in any way, but they'd make common cause with Moslems if that place were blown up and the blame could be attached to Jews. It's the second most sacred place in Asia. Even the Hindus would be stirred to their depths by it; they'd feel that their own sacred places were insecure, and that whoever destroyed them would be protected afterwards by us." "Gosh! Who'd be an Englishman!" laughed Davey. "I don't see that it's proved yet that the idea of an explosion wasn't Sharnhoff's in the first place," Goodenough objected. "For one thing, he wouldn't want to destroy antiquities," said Grim. "They're his obsession. He worships ancient history and all its monuments. No, Noureddin Ali thought of the explosion. He knew that Scharnhoff needed money, so he gave him French money, knowing that would put old Scharnhoff completely in his power. Then he tipped off some one down at Ludd to watch for a chance to steal some TNT. He had better luck than he expected. He got two tons of it. He didn't have all the luck, though. His plan, I believe, was to time the fireworks simultaneously with a French-instigated raid from El-Kerak. But the raid didn't come off." "Scharnhoff will hang!" said Goodenough. "I think not, sir. He'll prove as meek as an old sheep when we land on him." "There, will the bags do?" asked Mrs. Davey. "What are they for?" Goodenough asked. "We're supposed to have a slush fund in this room of a hundred thousand dollars," Davey answered dourly. "My Oil Company is supposed to be buying up Mustapha Kemal! I see my finish, if news of this ever reaches the States--or unless my version of it gets there first!" Grim turned to me. "We've got to find two people to take your place and mine in the car tomorrow morning. Perhaps you'd better go in any case; you'll enjoy the ride as far as Haifa--stay there a day or two, and come back when you feel like it. We'll find some officer to masquerade as me." But there I rebelled--flat, downright mutiny. "If I haven't made good so far," I said, "I'll consider myself fired, and hold my tongue. Otherwise, I see this thing through! Send some one else on the joy-ride." "Good for you!" said Davey. "Dammit, man!" said Goodenough, staring at me through his monocle. "The rest of us get paid for taking chances. The only tangible reward you can possibly get will be a knife in your back. Better be sensible and take the ride to Haifa." "My bet is down," said I. "Good," Grim nodded. "It goes. All the same, you get a joy- ride. Can't take too many chances. Tell you about that later. Meanwhile, will you detail an officer to come and spend the night in this hotel and masquerade as me at dawn, sir? He can wear this uniform that I've got on--somebody about my height." "Turner will do that. What are you going to put in the bags?" asked Goodenough. "Cartridges. They're heavy. You might tell Turner over the phone to bring them with him." At that point Suliman returned, sooner than expected, with news that made Grim whistle. Suliman had not been inside the place where his mother was. She would not let him. But he had seen around her skirts as she stood in the partly opened door. "There was a hole in the floor," said Suliman, "and a great stone laid beside it. Also much gray dust. And I think there was a light a long way down in the hole." But that was not what made Grim whistle. "What else? Did your mother say anything?" "She was ill-tempered." "That Scharnhoff had beaten her." "I knew he'd make a bad break sooner or later. What did he beat her for?" "Because she was afraid." "That's a fine reason. Afraid of what?" "He says she is to sell oranges. Four wooden benches have been brought, and tomorrow they are to be set outside the door in the street. Oranges and raisins have been bought, and she is to sit outside the door and sell them. She is afraid." "Fruit bought already? Can't be. Was it inside there?" "No. It is to come tomorrow. She says she does not know how to sell fruit, and is afraid of the police." Grim and Goodenough exchanged glances. "She says that if the police come everybody will be killed, and that I am to keep watch in the street in the morning and give warning of the police." "That should teach you, young man, never to take a woman into your confidence--eh, Mrs. Davey?" said Goodenough. "We're certainly the slow-witted sex," she answered, piling the finished bags one on top of the other on the table. Grim took me after that to the hotel roof, whence you can see the whole of Jerusalem. It was just before moonrise. The ancient city lay in shadow, with the Dome of the Rock looming above it, mysterious and silent. Down below us in the street, where a gasoline light threw a greenish-white glare, three Arabs in native costume were squatting with their backs against the low wall facing the hotel. "Noureddin Ali's men," said Grim, chuckling. "They'll help us to prove our alibi. The enemy is nearly always useful if you leave him free to make mistakes. You may have to spend the whole night in the mosque--you and Suliman. I'll take you there presently. Two of those men are pretty sure to follow us. One will probably follow me back here again. The other will stay to keep an eye on you. About an hour before dawn, in case nothing happens before that, you and Suliman come back here to the hotel. The car shall be here half-an-hour before daylight. You and Turner pile into it, and those three men watch you drive away. They'll hurry off to tell Noureddin Ali that Staff-Captain Ali Mirza and the deaf-and-dumb man have really started for Damascus, bags of gold and all. "Turner must remember to drop a couple of bags and pick them up again, to call attention to them. There'll be a change of clothes in the car for you. When you've gone a mile or so, get into the other clothes and walk back. If I don't meet you by the Jaffa Gate, Suliman will, or else Narayan Singh. Things are liable to happen pretty fast tomorrow morning. Let's go. "I'm supposed to have found out somehow that you're awful religious and want to pray, so it's the Dome of the Rock for yours. Any Moslem who wants to may sleep there, you know. But any Christian caught kidding them he's a Moslem would be for it-- short shrift. He'd be dead before the sheikh of the place could hand him over to the authorities. If the TNT were really in place underneath you, which I'm pretty sure it won't be for a few hours yet, that would be lots safer than the other chance you're taking. So peel your wits. Let Suliman sleep if he wants to, but you'll have to keep awake all night." "But what am I to do in there? What's likely to happen?" "Just listen. The tunnel isn't through to the end yet, I'm sure of it. If it were, they'd have taken in the TNT, for it must be ticklish work keeping it hidden elsewhere, with scores of Sikhs watching day and night. But they're very near the end of the tunnel, or they wouldn't be opening up that fruit stand. You'll hear them break through. When you're absolutely sure of that, come out of the mosque and say Atcha--just that one word--to the Sikh sentry you'll see standing under the archway through which we'll enter the courtyard presently. That sentry will be Narayan Singh, and he'll know what to do." "What shall I do after that?" "Suit yourself. Either return to the mosque and go to sleep, if you can trust yourself to wake in time, or come and sit on the hotel step until morning. Have you got it all clear? It's a piece of good luck having you to do all this. No real Moslem would ever be able to hold his tongue about it. They're superstitious about the Dome of the Rock. But ask questions now, if you're not clear; you mustn't be seen speaking in the street or in the mosque, remember. All plain sailing? Come along, then. If you're alive tomorrow you'll have had an adventure." Chapter Seventeen "Poor old Scharnhoff's in the soup." We ate a scratch dinner with the Daveys in their room and started forth. Grim as usual had his nerve with him. He led me and Suliman straight up to the three spies who were squatting against the wall, and asked whether there were any special regulations that would prevent my being left for the night in the famous mosque. On top of that he asked one of the men to show him the shortest way. So two of them elected to come with us, walking just ahead, and the third man stayed where he was, presumably in case Noureddin Ali should send to make enquiries. You must walk through Jerusalem by night, with the moon just rising, if you want really to get the glamour of eastern tales and understand how true to life those stories are of old Haroun- al-Raschid. It is almost the only city left with its ancient walls all standing, with its ancient streets intact. At that time, in 1920, there was nothing whatever new to mar the setting. No new buildings. The city was only cleaner than it was under the Turks. Parts of the narrow thoroughfares are roofed over with vaulted arches. The domed roofs rise in unplanned, beautiful disorder against a sky luminous with jewels. To right and left you can look through key-hole arches down shadowy, narrow ways to carved doors through which Knights Templar used to swagger with gold spurs, and that Saladin's men appropriated after them. Yellow lamplight, shining from small windows set deep in the massive walls, casts an occasional band of pure gold across the storied gloom. Now and then a man steps out from a doorway, his identity concealed by flowing eastern finery, pauses for a moment in the light to look about him, and disappears into silent mystery. Half-open doors at intervals give glimpses of white interiors, and of men from a hundred deserts sitting on mats to smoke great water-pipes and talk intrigue. There are smells that are stagnant with the rot of time; other smells pungent with spice, and mystery, and the alluring scent of bales of merchandise that, like the mew of gulls, can set the mind traveling to lands unseen. Through other arched doors, even at night, there is a glimpse of blindfold camels going round and round in ancient gloom at the oil-press. There are no sounds of revelry. The Arab takes his pleasures stately fashion, and the Jew has learned from history that the safest way to enjoy life is to keep quiet about it. Now and then you can hear an Arab singing a desert song, not very musical but utterly descriptive of the life he leads. We caught the sound of a flute played wistfully in an upper room by some Jew returned from the West to take up anew the thread of ancient history. Grim nudged me sharply in one shadowy place, where the street went down in twenty-foot-long steps between the high walls of windowless harems. Another narrow street crossed ours thirty feet ahead of us, and our two guides were hurrying, only glancing back at intervals to make sure we had not given them the slip. The cross-street was between us and them, and as Grim nudged me two men--a bulky, bearded big one and one of rather less than middle height, both in Arab dress--passed in front of us. There was no chance of being overheard, and Grim spoke in a low voice: "Do you recognize them?" "I shook my head. "Scharnhoff and Noureddin Ali!" I don't see now how he recognized them. But I suppose a man who works long enough at Grim's business acquires a sixth sense. They were walking swiftly, arguing in low tones, much too busy with their own affairs to pay attention to us. Our two guides glanced back a moment later, but they had vanished by then into the gloom of the cross-street. There was a dim lamp at one corner of that crossing. As we passed through its pale circle of light I noticed a man who looked like an Arab lurking in the shadow just beyond it. I thought he made a sign to Grim, but I did not see Grim return it. Grim watched his chance, then spoke again: "That man in the shadow is a Sikh--Narayan Singh's sidekick-- keeping tabs on Scharnhoff. I'll bet old Scharnhoff has cold feet and went to find Noureddin Ali to try and talk him out of it. Might as well try to pretty-pussy a bob-cat away from a hen- yard! Poor old Scharnhoff's in the soup!" Quite suddenly after that we reached a fairly wide street and the arched Byzantine gateway of the Haram-es-Sheriff, through which we could see tall cypress trees against the moonlit sky and the dome of the mosque beyond them. They do say the Taj Mahal at Agra is a lovelier sight, and more inspiring; but perhaps that is because the Taj is farther away from the folk who like to have opinions at second-hand. Age, history, situation, setting, sanctity--the Dome of the Rock has the advantage of all those, and the purple sky, crowded with coloured stars beyond it is more wonderful over Jerusalem, because of the clearness of the mountain air. In that minute, and for the first time, I hated the men who could plot to blow up that place. Hitherto I had been merely interested. Because it was long after the hour when non-Moslem visitors are allowed to go about the place with guides, we were submitted to rather careful scrutiny by men who came out of the shadows and said nothing, but peered into our faces. They did not speak to let us by, but signified admittance by turning uninterested backs and retiring to some dark corners to resume the vigil. I thought that the Sikh sentry, who stood with bayonet fixed outside the arch, looked at Grim with something more than curiosity, but no sign that I could detect passed between them. The great white moonlit courtyard was empty. Not a soul stirred in it. Not a shadow moved. Because of the hour there were not even any guides lurking around the mosque. The only shape that came to life as we approached the main entrance of the mosque was the man who takes care of the slippers for a small fee. Grim, since he was in military dress, allowed the attendant to tie on over his shoes the great straw slippers they keep there for that purpose. Suliman had nothing on his feet. I kicked off the red Damascus slippers I was wearing, and we entered the octagonal building by passing under a curtain at the rear of the deep, vaulted entrance. Nobody took any notice of us at first. It was difficult to see, for one thing; the light of the lamps that hung on chains from the arches overhead was dimmed by coloured lenses and did little more than beautify the gloom. But in the dimness in the midst you could see the rock of Abraham, surrounded by a railing to preserve it from profane feet. Little by little the shadows took shape of men praying, or sleeping, or conversing in low tones. The place was not crowded. There were perhaps a hundred men in there, some of whom doubtless intended to spend the night. All of them, though they gave us a cursory glance, seemed disposed to mind their own business. It looked for a minute as if we were going to remain in there unquestioned. But the two spies who had come with us saw a chance to confirm or else disprove our bona fides, and while one of them stayed and watched us the other went to fetch the Sheikh of the Mosque. He came presently, waddling very actively for such a stout man--a big, burly, gray-bearded intellectual, with eyes that beamed intelligent good-humour through gold-rimmed glasses. He did not seem at all pleased to have been disturbed, until he drew near enough to scan our faces. Then his change of expression, as soon as he had looked once into Grim's eyes, gave me cold chills all down the back. I could have sworn he was going to denounce us. Instead, he turned on the two spies. He tongue-lashed them in Arabic. I could not follow it word for word. I gathered that they had hinted some suspicion as to the genuineness of Grim's pretension to be Staff-Captain Ali Mirza. He was rebuking them for it. They slunk away. One went and sat near the door we had entered by. The other vanished completely. "Jimgrim! What do you do here at this hour?" asked the sheikh as soon as we stood alone. "Talk French," Grim answered. "We can't afford to be overheard." "True, O Jimgrim! It is all your life and my position is worth for you to be detected in here in that disguise at such an hour! And who are these with you?" "It is all your life and mosque are worth to turn us out!" Grim answered. "When was I ever your enemy?" "Never yet, but--what does this mean?" "You shall know in the morning--you alone. This man, who can neither hear nor speak, and the child with him, must stay in here tonight, and go when they choose, unquestioned." "Jimgrim, this is not a place for setting traps for criminals. Set your watch outside, and none shall interfere with you." "'Shall the heart within be cleansed by washing hands?'" Grim quoted, and the shiekh smiled. "Do you mean there are criminals within the mosque? If so, this is sanctuary, Jimgrim. They shall not be disturbed. Set watchmen at the doors and catch them as they leave, if you will. This is holy ground." "There'll be none of it left to boast about this time tomorrow, if you choose to insist!" Grim answered. "Should there be riddles between you and me?" asked the sheikh. "You shall know all in the morning." The sheikh's face changed again, taking on a look of mingled rage and cunning. "I know, then, what it is! The rumour is true that those cursed Zionists intend to desecrate the place. This fellow, who you say is deaf and dumb, is one of your spies--is he not? Perhaps he can smell a Zionist--eh? Well, there are others! Better tell me the truth, Jimgrim, and in fifteen minutes I will pack this place so full of true Moslems that no conspirator could worm his way in! Then if the Jews start anything let them beware!" "By the beard of your Prophet," Grim answered impiously, "this has nothing to do with Zionists." "Neither have I, then, anything to do with this trespass. You have my leave to depart at once, Jimgrim!" "After the ruin--" "There will be no ruin, Jimgrim! I will fill the place with men." "Better empty it of men! The more there are in it, the bigger the death-roll! Shall I say afterwards that I begged leave to set a watch, and you refused?" "You--you, Jimgrim--you talk to me of ruin and a death-roll? You are no every-day alarmist." "Did you ever catch me in a lie?" "No, Jimgrim. You are too clever by far for that! If you were to concoct a lie it would take ten angels to unravel it! But-- you speak of ruin and a death-roll, eh?" He stroked his beard for about a minute. "You have heard, perhaps, that Moslems are sharpening their swords for a reckoning with the Jews? There may be some truth in it. But there shall be no gathering in this place for any such purpose, for I will see to that. You need set no watch in here on that account." "The time always comes," Grim answered, "when you must trust a man or mistrust him. You've known me eleven years. What are you going to do?" "In the name of God, what shall I answer! Taib,* Jimgrim, I will trust you. What is it you wish?" [*All right.] "To leave this deaf-and-dumb man and the boy, below the Rock, undisturbed." "That cannot well be. Occasionally others go to pray in that place. Also, there is a Moslem who has made the pilgrimage from Trichinopoli. I myself have promised to show him the mosque tonight, because he leaves Jerusalem at dawn, and only I speak a language he can understand. There will be others with him, and I cannot refuse to take them down below the Rock." "That is nothing," Grim answered. "They will think nothing of a deaf-and-dumb man praying or sleeping in a a corner." "Is that all he wishes to do? He will remain still in one place? Then come." "One other thing. That fellow who went and fetched you--he sits over there by the north door now--he will ask you questions about me presently. Tell him I'm leaving for Damascus in the morning. If he asks what we have been speaking about so long, tell him I brought you the compliments of Mustapha Kemal." "I will tell him to go to jahannam!" "Better be civil to him. His hour comes tomorrow." The sheikh led the way along one side of the inner of three concentric parts into which the mosque is divided by rows of marble columns, until we came to a cavernous opening in the floor, where steps hewn in the naked rock led downward into a cave that underlies the spot on which tradition says Abraham made ready to sacrifice his son. It was very dark below. Only one little oil lamp was burning, on a rock shaped like an altar in one corner. It cast leaping shadows that looked like ghosts on the smooth, uneven walls. The whole place was hardly more than twenty feet wide each way. There was no furniture, not even the usual mats--nothing but naked rock to lie or sit on, polished smooth as glass by centuries of naked feet. I was going to sit in a corner, but Grim seized my arm and pointed to the centre of the floor, stamping with his foot to show the exact place I should take. It rang vaguely hollow under the impact, and Suliman, already frightened by the shadows, seized my hand in a paroxysm of terror. "You've got to prove you're a man tonight and stick it out!" Grim said to him in English; and with that, rather than argue the point and risk a scene, he followed the sheikh up the steps and disappeared. Grim's methods with Suliman were a strange mixture of understanding sympathy and downright indifference to sentiment that got him severely criticized by the know-it-all party, who always, everywhere condemn. But he certainly got results. A legion of biblical and Koranic devils owned Suliman. They were the child's religion. When he dared, he spat at the name of Christianity. Whenever Grim whipped him, which he had to do now and again, for theft or for filthy language, he used to curse Grim's religion, although Grim's religion was a well-kept secret, known to none but himself. But the kid was loyal to Grim with a courage and persistence past belief, and Grim knew how to worm the truth out of him and make him keep his word, which is more than some of the professional reformers know how to do with their proteges. I believe that Suliman would rather have earned Grim's curt praise than all the fabulous delights of even a Moslem paradise. But the kid was in torment. His idea of manliness precluded any exhibition of fear in front of me, if he could possibly restrain himself. He would not have minded breaking down in front of Grim, for he knew that Grim knew him inside out. On the contrary, he looked down on me, as a mere amateur at the game, who had never starved at the Jaffa Gate, nor eaten candle-ends, or gambled for milliemes* with cab-drivers' sons while picking up odds and ends of gossip for a government that hardly knew of his existence. In front of me he proposed to act the man--guide-- showman--mentor. He considered himself my boss. [*The smallest coin of the country.] But it was stem work. If there had been a little noise to make the shadows less ghostly; if Suliman had not been full of half- digested superstition; or if he had not overheard enough to be aware that a prodigious, secret plot was in some way connected with that cavern, he could have kept his courage up by swaggering in front of me. He nearly fell asleep, with his head in my lap, at the end of half-an-hour. But when there was a sound at last he almost screamed. I had to clap my hand over his mouth; whereat he promptly bit my finger, resentful because he knew then that I knew he was afraid. It proved to be approaching footsteps--the sheikh of the mosque again, leading the man from Trichinopoli and a party of three friends. Their rear was brought up by Noureddin; Ali's spy, anxious about me, but pretending to want to overhear the sheikh's account of things. The sheikh reeled it all off in a cultured voice accustomed to using the exact amount of energy required, but even so his words boomed in the cavern like the forethought of thunder. You couldn't help wondering whether a man of his intelligence believed quite all he said, however much impressed the man from Trichinopoli might be. "We are now beneath the very rock on which Abraham was willing to sacrifice his only son, Isaac. This rock is the centre of the world. Jacob anointed it. King Solomon built his temple over it. The Prophet of God, the Prince Mahommed, on whose head be blessings! said of this place that it is next in order of holiness after Mecca, and that one prayer said here is worth ten elsewhere. Here, in this place, is where King Solomon used to kneel in prayer, and where God appeared to him. This corner is where David prayed. Here prayed Mahommed. "Look up. This hollow in the roof is over the spot where the Prophet Mahommed slept. When he arose there was not room for him to stand upright, so the Rock receded, and the hollow place remains to this day in proof of it. Beneath us is the Bir-el- Arwah, the well of souls, where those who have died come to pray twice weekly. Listen!" He stamped three times with his foot on the spot about two feet in front of where I sat, and a faint, hollow boom answered the impact. "You hear? The Rock speaks! It spoke in plain words when the Prophet prayed here, and was translated instantly to heaven on his horse El-Burak. Here, deep in the Rock, is the print of the hand of the angel, who restrained the Rock from following the Prophet on his way to Paradise. Here, in this niche, is where Abraham used to pray; here, Elijah. On the last day the Kaaba of Mecca must come to this place. For it is here, in this cave, that the blast of the trumpet will sound, announcing the day of judgment. Then God's throne will be planted on the Rock above us. Be humble in the presence of these marvels." He turned on his pompous heel and led the way out again without as much as a sidewise glance at me. The spy was satisfied; he followed the party up the rock-hewn steps, and as a matter of fact went to sleep on a mat near the north door, for so I found him later on. The silence shut down again. Suliman went fast asleep, snoring with the even cadence of a clock's tick, using my knees for a pillow with a perfect sense of ownership. He was there to keep care of me, not I of him. The sleep suggestion very soon took hold of me, too, for there was nothing whatever to do but sit and watch the shadows move, trying to liken them to something real as they changed shape in answer to the flickering of the tiny, naked flame. Thereafter, the vigil resolved itself into a battle with sleep, and an effort to keep my wits sufficiently alert for sudden use. I had no watch. There was nothing to give the least notion of how much time had passed. I even counted the boy's snores for a while, and watched one lonely louse moving along the wall--so many snores to the minute--so many snores to an inch of crawling; but the louse changed what little mind he had and did not walk straight, and I gave up trying to calculate the distance he traveled in zigzags and curves, although it would have been an interesting problem for a navigator. Finally, Suliman's snoring grew so loud that that in itself kept me awake; it was like listening to a hair-trombone; each blast of it rasped your nerves. You could not hear anything in the mosque above, although there were only eleven steps and the opening was close at hand; for the floor above was thickly carpeted, and if there were any sounds they were swallowed by that and the great, domed roof. When I guessed it might be midnight I listened for the voice of the muezzin; but if he did call the more-than-usually faithful to wake up and pray, he did it from a minaret outside, and no faint echo of his voice reached me. I was closed in a tomb in the womb of living rock, to all intents and purposes. But it must have been somewhere about midnight when I heard a sound that set every vein in my body tingling. At first it was like the sort of sound that a rat makes gnawing; but there couldn't be rats eating their way through that solid stone. I thought I heard it a second time, but Suliman's snoring made it impossible to listen properly. I shook him violently, and he sat up. "Keep still! Listen!" Between sleeping and waking the boy forgot all about the iron self-control he practised for Grim's exacting sake. "What is it? I am afraid!" "Be still, confound you! Listen!" "How close beneath us are the souls of the dead? Oh, I am afraid!" "Silence! Breathe through your mouth. Make no noise at all!" He took my hand and tried to sit absolutely still; but the gnawing noise began again, more distinctly, followed by two or three dull thuds from somewhere beneath us. "Oh, it is the souls of dead men! Oh--" "Shut up, you little idiot! All right, I'll tell Jimgrim!" Fear and that threat combined were altogether too much for him. One sprig of seedling manhood remained to him, and only one--the will to smother emotion that he could not control a second longer. He buried his head in my lap, stuffing his mouth with the end of the abiyi to choke the sobs back. I covered his head completely and, like the fabled ostrich, in that darkness he felt better. Suddenly, as clear as the ring of glass against thick glass in the distance, something gave way and fell beneath us. Then again. Then there were several thuds, followed by a rumble that was unmistakable--falling masonry; it was the noise that bricks make when they dump them from a tip-cart, only smothered by the thickness of the cavern floor. I shook Suliman again. "Come on. We're going. Now, let me have a good account of you to give to Jimgrim. Shut your teeth tight, and remember the part you've got to play." He scrambled up the steps ahead of me, and I had to keep hold of the skirts of his smock to prevent him from running. But he took my hand at the top, and we managed to get out through the north door without exciting comment, and without waking the spy, although I would just as soon have wakened him, for Grim seemed to think it important that his alibi and mine should be well established; however, there were two others watching by the hotel. Ten minutes later I was glad I had not disturbed him. I gave Suliman a two-piastre piece to pay the man who had charge of my slippers at the door, and the young rascal was so far recovered from his fright that he demanded change out of it, and stood there arguing until he got it. Then, hand-in-hand, we crossed the great moonlit open court to the gate by which Grim had brought us in. Looking back, so bright was the moon that you could even see the blue of the tiles that cover the mosque wall, and the interwoven scroll of writing from the Koran that runs around like a frieze below the dome. But it did not look real. It was like a dream-picture--perhaps the dream of the men who slept huddled under blankets in the porches by the gate. If so, they dreamed beautifully. There was a Sikh, as Grim had said there would be, standing with fixed bayonet on the bottom step leading to the street. He stared hard at me, and brought his rifle to the challenge as I approached him--a six-foot, black-bearded stalwart he was, with a long row of campaign ribbons, and the true, truculent Sikh way of carrying his head. He looked strong enough to carry an ox away. "Atcha!" said I, going close to him. He did not answer a word, but shouldered his rifle and marched off. Before he had gone six paces he brought the rifle to the trail, and started running. Another Sikh--a younger man--stepped out of the shadow and took his place on the lower step. He was not quite so silent, and he knew at least one word of Arabic. "Imshi!" he grunted; and that, in plain U.S. American, means "Beat it!" I had no objection. It sounded rather like good advice. Remembering what Grim had said about the danger I was running, and looking at the deep black shadows of the streets, it occurred to me that that spy, who slept so soundly by the mosque door, might wake up and be annoyed with himself. When men of that type get annoyed they generally like to work it off on somebody. Rather, than admit that he had let me get away from him he might prefer to track me through the streets and use his knife on me in some dark corner. After that he could claim credit with Noureddin Ali by swearing he had reason to suspect me of something or other. The suggestion did not seem any more unreal to me than the moonlit panorama of the Haram-es-Sheriff, or the Sikh who had stepped out of nowhere-at-all to "Imshi" me away. On the other hand, I had no fancy for the hotel steps. To sit and fall asleep there would be to place myself at the mercy of the other two spies, who might come and search me; and I was conscious of certain papers in an inner pocket, and of underclothes made in America, that might have given the game away. Besides, I was no longer any too sure of Suliman. The boy was so sleepy that his wits were hardly in working order; if those two spies by the hotel were to question him he might betray the two of us by some clumsy answer. If there was to be trouble that night I preferred to have it at the hands of Sikhs, who are seldom very drastic unless you show violence. I might be arrested if I walked the streets, but that would be sheer profit as compared to half-a-yard of cold knife in the broad of my back. "Take me to the house where you talked with your mother," I said to Suliman. So we turned to the left and set off together in that direction, watched with something more than mild suspicion by the Sikh, and, if Suliman's sensations were anything like mine, feeling about as cheerless, homeless and aware of impending evil as the dogs that slunk away into the night. I took advantage of the first deep shadow I could find to walk in, less minded to explore than to avoid pursuit. Chapter Eighteen "But we're ready for them." Without in the least suspecting it I had gone straight into a blind trap, into which, it was true, I could not be followed by Noureddin Ali's spy, but out of which there was no escape without being recognized. The moment I stepped into the deep shadow I heard an unmistakable massed movement behind me. Sure that I could not be seen, I faced about. A platoon of Sikhs had appeared from somewhere, and were standing at ease already, across the end of the street I had entered, with the moonlight silvering their bayonets. Well, most streets have two ends. So I walked forward, not taking much trouble about concealment, since it was not easy to walk silently. If the Sikh can't see his enemy he likes to fire first and challenge afterwards. I preferred to be seen. The sight of those uncompromising bayonets had changed my mind about the choice of evils. The knife of a hardly probable assassin seemed a wiser risk than the ready triggers of the Punjaub. Half-way down the street Suliman tugged at my cloak. "That is the place where my mother is," he said, pointing to a narrow door on the left. But I was taking no chances in that direction--not at that moment. The little stone house was all in darkness. There were no windows that I could see. No sound came from it. And farther down the street there was a lamp burning, whose light spelled safety from shots fired at the sound of foot-fall on suspicion. I wanted that light between me and the Sikh platoon, yet did not dare run for it, since that would surely have started trouble. It is my experience of Sikhs that when they start a thing they like to finish it. They are very good indeed at explanations after the event. The Sikhs must have seen us pass through the belt of gasoline light, but they did not challenge, so I went forward more slowly, with rather less of that creepy feeling that makes a man's spine seem to belong to some one else. Toward its lower end the street curved considerably, and we went about a quarter of a mile before the glare of another light began to appear around the bend. That was at a cross-street, up which I proposed to turn more or less in the direction of the hotel. But I did nothing of the sort. There was a cordon of Sikhs drawn across there, too, with no British officer in sight to enforce discretion. Come to think of it, I have always regarded a bayonet wound in the stomach as the least desirable of life's unpleasantries. So Suliman and I turned back. I decided to investigate that dark little stone house, after all; for it occurred to me that, if that was the centre of conspiracy, then Grim would certainly show up there sooner or later and straighten out the predicament. Have you ever noticed how hungry you get walking about aimlessly in the dark, especially when you are sleepy in the bargain? Suliman began to whimper for food, and although I called him a belly on legs by way of encouragement he had my secret sympathy. I was as hungry as he was; and I needed a drink, too, which he didn't. The little devil hadn't yet included whiskey in his list of vices. The side of the street an which the little stone house stood was the darker, so we sat down with our backs against its wall, and the boy proceeded to fall asleep at once. The one thing I was sure I must not do was imitate him. So I began to look about me in the hope of finding something sufficiently interesting to keep me awake. There was nothing in the street except the makings of a bad smell. There was plenty of that. I searched the opposite wall, on which the moon shone, but there was nothing there of even architectural interest. My eyes traveled higher, and rested at last on something extremely curious. The wall was not very high at that point. It formed the blind rear of a house that faced into a court of some sort approached by an alley from another street. There were no windows. A small door some distance to my left belonged obviously to the next house. On top of the wall, almost exactly, but not quite, in the middle of it, was a figure that looked like a wooden carving-- something like one of those fat, seated Chinamen they used to set over the tea counter of big grocer's shops. But the one thing that you never see, and can be sure of not seeing in Jerusalem outside of a Christian church, is a carved human figure of any kind. The Moslems are fanatical on that point. Whatever exterior statues the crusaders for instance left, the Saracens and Turks destroyed. Besides, why was it not exactly in the middle? It was much too big and thick-set to be a sleeping vulture. It was the wrong shape to be any sort of chimney. It was certainly not a bale of merchandise put up on the roof to dry. And the longer you looked at it the less it seemed to resemble anything recognizable. I had about reached the conclusion that it must be a bundle of sheepskins up-ended, ready to be spread out in the morning sun, and was going to cast about for something else to puzzle over, when it moved. The man who thinks he would not feel afraid when a thing like that moves in the dark unexpectedly has got to prove it before I believe him. The goose-flesh broke out all over me. A moment later the thing tilted forward, and a man's head emerged from under a blanket. It chuckled damnably. If there had been a rock of the right size within reach I would have thrown it, for it is not agreeable to be chuckled at when you are hungry, sleepy, and in a trap. I know just how trapped animals feel. But then it spoke in good plain English; and you could not mistake the voice. "That's what comes of suiting yourself, doesn't it! Place plugged at both ends, and nowhere to go but there and back! Thanks for tipping off Narayan Singh--you see, we were all ready. Here's a pass that'll let you out--catch!" He threw down a piece of white paper, folded. "Show that to the Sikhs at either end. Now beat it, while the going's good. Leave Suliman there. I shall want him when he has had his sleep out. Say: hadn't you better change your mind about coming back too soon from that joy ride? Haven't you had enough of this? The next move's dangerous." "Is it my choice?" I asked. "We owe you some consideration." "Then I'm in on the last act." "All right. But don't blame me. Turner will give you orders. Get a move on." I lowered Suliman's head gently from my knee on to a nice comfortable corner of the stone gutter, and went up-street to interview the Sikhs. It was rather like a New York Customs inspection, after your cabin steward has not been heavily enough tipped, and has tipped off the men in blue by way of distributing the discontent. I showed them the safe-pass Grim had scribbled. They accepted that as dubious preliminary evidence of my right to be alive, but no more. I was searched painstakingly and ignominiously for weapons. No questions asked. Nothing taken for granted. Even my small change was examined in the moonlight, coin by coin, to make sure, I suppose, that it wouldn't explode if struck on stone. They gave everything back to me, including my underwear. A bearded non-commissioned officer entered a description of me in a pocket memorandum book. If his face, as he wrote it, was anything to judge by he described me as a leper without a license. Then I was cautioned gruffly in an unknown tongue and told to "imshi!" It isn't a bad plan to "imshi" rather quickly when a Sikh platoon suggests your doing it. I left them standing all alone, with nothing but the empty night to bristle at. The rest of that night, until half-an-hour before dawn was a half-waking dream of discomfort and chilly draughts in the mouth of the hotel arcade, where I sat and watched the spies, and they watched me. The third man was presumably still sleeping in the mosque, but it was satisfactory to know that the other two were just as cold and unhappy as I felt. About ten minutes before the car came the third man showed up sheepishly, looking surprised as well as relieved to find me sitting there. He put in several minutes explaining matters to his friends. I don't doubt he lied like a horse-trader and gave a detailed account of having followed me from place to place, for he used a great deal of pantomimic gesture. The other two were cynical with the air of men who must sit and listen to another blowing his own trumpet. The car arrived with a fanfare of horn-blowing, the chauffeur evidently having had instructions to call lots of attention to himself. Turner came out at once, with the lower part of his face protected against the morning chill by a muffler. Being about the same height, and in that Syrian uniform, he looked remarkably like Grim, except that he did not imitate the stride nearly as well. He stumbled over me, clutched my shoulder and made signs for the benefit of the spies. Then he whispered to me to help him carry out the "money" bags. So we each took three for the first trip, and each contrived to drop one. By the time all ten bags were in the car there can hardly have remained any doubt in the conspirators' minds that we were really taking funds to Mustapha Kemal, or at any rate to somebody up north. But Davey was no half-way concession maker. Having lent himself unwillingly to the trick, he did his utmost to make it succeed, like a good sport. He stuck his head out of a bedroom window. "Don't forget, now, to send me those rugs from Damascus!" he shouted. It all went like clockwork. Glancing back as we drove by the Jaffa Gate I saw the three spies walk away, and there is very often more information in men's backs than in their faces. They walked like laborers returning home with a day's work behind them, finished; not at all like men in doubt, nor as if they suspected they were followed, although in fact they were. Three Sikhs emerged from the corner by the Gate and strolled along behind them. Detailed preparations for the round-up had begun. The unostentatious mechanism of it seemed more weird and terrible than the conspiracy itself. There was a full company of Sikhs standing to arms in a side street leading off the Jaffa Road, but they took no notice of us. Their officer looked keenly at us once, and then very deliberately stared the other way, illustrating how some fighting men make pretty poor dissemblers; every one of his dark-skinned rank and file had observed all the details of our outfit without seeming to see us at all. "We're using nothing but Sikhs on this job," said Turner. "British troops wouldn't appreciate the delicacy of the situation. Moslems couldn't be trusted not to talk. The Sikhs enjoy the surreptitious part of it, and don't care enough about the politics to get excited. Wish I might be in at the finish, though! Have you any notion what the real objective is?" "No," said I, and tried not to feel, or look pleased with myself. But no mere amateur can conceal that, in the moment of discovery, he knows more about the inside of an official business than one of the Administration's lawful agents. That is nine-tenths of the secret of "bossed" politics--the sheer vanity of being on the inside, "in the know." I suppose I smirked. "Damn this ride to Haifa! What the hell have you done, I wonder, that you should have a front pew? Is the Intelligence short of officers?" I had done nothing beyond making Grim's acquaintance and by good luck tickling his flair for odd friendship. I thought it better not to say that, so I went on lying. "I don't suppose I know any more than you do." "Rot! I posted the men who watched you into Djemal's place yesterday, and watched you out again. You acted pretty poorly, if you ask me. It's a marvel we didn't have to go in there and rescue you. I suppose you're another of Grim's favorites. He picks some funny ones. Half the men in jail seem to be friends of his." I decided to change the subject. "I was told to change clothes and walk back after a mile or so," I said. "Suppose we don't make it a Marathon. Why walk farther than we need to?" "Uh!" I think he was feeling sore enough to take me ten miles for the satisfaction of making me tramp them back to Jerusalem. But it turned out not to be his day for working off grievances. We were bowling along pretty fast, and had just reached open country where it would be a simple matter to change into other clothes without risk of being seen doing it, when we began to be overhauled by another, larger car that came along at a terrific pace. It was still too dark to make out who was in it until it drew almost abreast. "The Administrator by the Horn Spoon! What next, I wonder! Pull up!" said Turner. "Morning, sir." The two cars came to a standstill. The Administrator leaned out. "I think I can save you a walk," he said, smiling. "How about changing your clothes between the cars and driving back with me?" I did not even know yet what new disguise I was to assume, but Turner opened a hand-bag and produced a suit of my own clothes and a soft hat. "Burgled your bedroom," he explained. All he had forgotten was suspenders. No doubt it would have given him immense joy to think of me walking back ten miles without them. Sir Louis gave his orders while I changed clothes. "You'd better keep going for some time, Turner. No need to go all the way to Haifa, but don't get back to Jerusalem before noon at the earliest, and be sure you don't talk to anybody on your way." Turner drove on. I got in beside the Administrator. "Grim tells me that you don't object to a certain amount of risk. You've been very useful, and he thinks you would like to see the end of the business. I wouldn't think of agreeing to it, only we shall have to call on you as a witness against Scharnhoff and Noureddin Ali. As you seem able to keep still about what you know, it seems wiser not to change witnesses at this stage. It is highly important that we should have one unofficial observer, who is neither Jew nor Moslem, and who has no private interest to serve. But I warn you, what is likely to happen this morning will be risky." I looked at the scar on his cheek, and the campaign ribbons, and the attitude of absolute poise that can only be attained by years of familiarity with danger. "Why do you soldiers always act like nursemaids toward civilians?" I asked him. "We're bone of your bone." He laughed. "Entrenched privilege! If we let you know too much you'd think too little of us!" We stopped at a Jew's store outside the city for suspenders, and then made the circuit outside the walls in a whirlwind of dust, stopping only at each gate to get reports from the officers commanding companies drawn up in readiness to march in and police the city. "It's all over the place that disaster of some sort is going to happen today," said Sir Louis. "It only needs a hatful of rumours to set Jerusalemites at one another's throats. But we're ready for them. The first to start trouble this morning will be the first to get it. Now--sorry you've no time for breakfast-- here's the Jaffa Gate. Will you walk through the city to that street where Grim talked with you from a roof last night? You'll find him thereabouts. Sure you know the way? Good-bye. Good luck! No, you won't need a pass; there'll be nobody to interfere with you." Chapter Nineteen "Dead or alive, sahib." I did get breakfast nevertheless, but in a strange place. The city shutters were coming down only under protest, because, just as in Boston and other hubs of sanctity, shop-looting starts less than five minutes after the police let go control. There was an average, that morning, of about ten rumours to the ear. So the shop-keepers had to be ordered to open up. About the mildest rumour was that the British had decide to vacate and to leave the Zionists in charge of things. You couldn't fool an experienced Jew as to what would happen in that event. There was another rumour that Mustapha Kemal was on the march. Another that an Arab army was invading from the direction of El-Kerak. But there were British officers walking about with memorandum books, and a fifty-pound fine looked more serious than an outbreak that had not occurred yet. So they were putting down their shutters. I had nearly reached the Haram-es-Sheriff, and was passing a platoon of Sikhs who dozed beside their rifles near a street corner, when Grim's voice hailed me through the half-open door behind them. He was back in his favourite disguise as a Bedouin, squatting on a mat near the entrance of a vaulted room, where he could see through the door without being seen. "This is headquarters for the present," he explained. "Soon as we bag the game we'll run 'em in here quick as lightning. Most likely keep 'em here all day, so's not to have to parade 'em through the streets until after dark. A man's coming soon with coffee and stuff to eat." "What's become of Suliman?" "He's shooting craps with two other young villains close to where you left him last night. I'm hoping he'll get word with his mother." Grim looked more nervous than I had ever seen him. There was a deep frown between his eyes. He talked as if he were doing it to keep himself from worrying. "What's eating you?" I asked. "Noureddin Ali. After all this trouble to bag the whole gang without any fuss there's a chance he's given us the slip. I watched all night to make sure he didn't come out of that door. He didn't. But I've no proof he's in there. Scharnhoff's in there, and five of the chief conspirators. Noureddin Ali may be. But a man brought me a story an hour ago about seeing him on the city wall. However, here's the food. So let's eat." He sat and munched gloomily, until presently Goodenough joined us, looking, what with that monocle and one thing and another, as if he had just stepped out of a band-box. "Well, Grim, the net's all ready. If that TNT is where you say it is, in that big barn behind the fruit-stalls near the Jaffa Gate, it's ours the minute they make a move." "There isn't a doubt on that point," Grim answered. "Why else should Scharnhoff open a fruit-shop? The license for it was taken out by one of Noureddin Ali's agents, whose brother deals in fruit wholesale and owns that barn. Narayan Singh tracked some suspicious packages to that place four days ago. They'll start to carry it into the city hidden under loads of fruit just as soon as the morning crowd begins to pour in. We only need let them get the first consignment in, so as to have the chain of evidence complete. Are you sure your men will let the first lot go through?" "Absolutely. Just came from giving them very careful instructions. The minute that first load disappears into the city they'll close in on the barn and arrest every one they find in there. But what are you gloomy about?" "I'd hate to miss the big fish." "You mean Noureddin Ali ?" "It looks to me as if he's been a shade too wise for us. One man swore he saw him on the wall this morning, but he was gone when I sent to make sure. We've got all the rest. There are five in Djemal's Cafe, waiting for the big news; they'll be handcuffed one at a time by the police when they get tired of waiting and come out. "But I'd rather bag Noureddin Ali than all the others put together. He's got brains, that little beast has. He'd know how to use this story against us with almost as much effect as if he'd pulled the outrage off." He had hardly finished speaking when Narayan Singh's great bulk darkened the doorway. He closed the door behind him, as if afraid the other Sikhs might learn bad news. "It is true, sahib. He was on the wall. He is there again." "Have you seen him?" "Surely. He makes signals to the men who are loading the donkeys now in the door of the barn. It would be a difficult shot. His head hardly shows between the battlements. But I think I could hit him from the road below. Shall I try?" "No, you'd only scare him into hiding if you miss. Oh hell! There are three ways up on to the wall at that point. There's no time to block them all--not if he's signalling now. He'll see your men close in on the barn, sir, and beat it for the skyline. Oh, damn and blast the luck!" "At least we can try to cut him off," said Goodenough. "I'll take some men myself and have a crack at it." "No use, sir. You'd never catch sight of him. I wish you'd let Narayan Singh take three men, make for the wall by the shortest way, and hunt him if it takes a week." "Why not? All right. D'you hear that, Narayan Singh?" "Atcha, sahib." "You understand?" said Grim. "Keep him moving. Keep after him." "Do the sahibs wish him alive or dead?" "Either way," said Goodenough. "If he's gone from the wall when you get there," Grim added, "bring us the news. You'll know where to find us" "Atcha" The Sikh brought his rifle to the shoulder, faced about, marched out, chose three men from the platoon in the street, and vanished. "Too bad, too bad!" said Goodenough, but Grim did not answer. He was swearing a blue streak under his breath. The next to arrive on the scene was Suliman, grinning with delight because he had won all the money of the other urchins, but brimming with news in the bargain. He considered a mere colonel of cavalry beneath notice, and addressed himself to Grim without ceremony. "My mother brought out oranges in baskets and set them on benches on both sides of the door. Then she went in, and I heard her scream. There was a fight inside." "D'you care to bet, sir?" asked Grim. "On what?" "I'll bet you a hundred piastres Scharnhoff has tried to make his get-away, and they've either killed him or tied him hand and foot. Another hundred on top of that, that Scharnhoff offers to turn state witness, provided he's alive when we show up." "All right. I'll bet you he hangs." "Are you coming with us, sir?" "Wouldn't miss it for a king's ransom." "The back way out, then." Grim beckoned the Sikhs into the room, left one man in there in charge of Suliman, who swore blasphemously at being left behind, and led the way down a passage that opened into an alley connecting with a maze of others like rat runs, mostly arched over and all smelly with the unwashed gloom of ages. At the end of the last alley we entered was a flight of stone steps, up which we climbed to the roof of the house on which I had seen Grim the night before. There was a low coping on the side next the street, and some one had laid a lot of bundles of odds and ends against it; lying down, we could look out between those without any risk of being seen from below, but Goodenough made the Sikhs keep well in the background and only we three peered over the edge. About two hundred yards in front of us the Dome of the Rock glistened in the morning sun above the intervening roofs. The street was almost deserted, although the guards at either end had been removed for fear of scaring away the conspirators. We watched for about twenty minutes before any one passed but occasional beggars, some of whom stopped to wonder why oranges should stand on sale outside a door with nobody in charge of them. Three separate individuals glanced right and left and then helped themselves pretty liberally from the baskets. But at last there came five donkeys very heavily loaded with oranges and raisins, in charge of six men, which was a more than liberal allowance. When they stopped at the little stone house in front of us there was another thing noticeable; instead of hitting the donkeys hard on the nose with a thick club, which is the usual way of calling a halt in Palestine, they went to the heads and stopped them reasonably gently. So, although all six men were dressed to resemble peasants, they were certainly nothing of the kind. Nor were they such wide-awake conspirators as they believed themselves, for they were not in the least suspicious of six other men, also dressed as peasants, who followed them up-street, and sat down in full view with their backs against a wall. Yet I could see quite plainly the scabbard of a bayonet projecting through a hole in the ragged cloak of the nearest of those casual wayfarers. They had to knock several minutes before the door opened gingerly; then they off-loaded the donkeys, and it took two men to carry each basketful, with a third lending a hand in case of accident. Only one man went back with the donkeys, and two of the casual loafers against the wall got up to saunter after him; the other five honest merchants went inside, and we heard the bolt shoot into its iron slot behind them. "How about it, Grim?" asked Goodenough then. "Ready, sir. Will you give the order?" We filed in a hurry down the steps into the alley, ran in a zig- zag down three passages, and reached another alley with narrow door at its end that faced the street. Grim had made every preparation. There was a heavy baulk of timber lying near the door, with rope-handles knotted into holes bored through it at intervals. The Sikhs picked that up and followed us into the street. The mechanism of the Administration's net was a thing to wonder at. As we emerged through the door the "peasants" who were loafing with their backs against the wall got up and formed a cordon across the street. Simultaneously, although I neither saw nor heard any signal, a dozen Sikhs under a British officer came down the street from the other direction at the double and formed up in line on our lefthand. A moment later, our men were battering the door down with their baulk of timber, working all together as if they had practised the stunt thoroughly. It was a stout door, three inches thick, of ancient olivewood and reinforced with forged iron bands. The hinges, too, had been made by hand in the days when, if a man's house was not his fortress, he might just as well own nothing; they were cemented deep into the wall, and fastened to the door itself with half- inch iron rivets. The door had to be smashed to pieces, and the noise we made would have warned the devils in the middle of the world. "We shouldn't have let them get in with any TNT at all," said Goodenough. "They'll touch it off before we can prevent them." "Uh-uh! They're not that kind," Grim answered. "They'll fight for their skins. Have your gun ready, sir. They've laid their plans for a time-fuse and a quick getaway. They'll figure the going may be good still if they can once get past us. Look out for a rush!" But when the door went down at last in a mess of splinters there was no rush--nothing but silence--a dark, square, stone room containing two cots and a table, and fruit scattered all over the floor amid gray dust and fragments of cement. Grim laughed curtly. "Look, sir!" The fruit-baskets were on the floor by one of the cots, and the TNT containers were still in them. They had tipped out the fruit, and then run at the sound of the battering ram. Goodenough stepped into the room, and we followed him. Beyond the table, half-hidden by a great stone slab, was a dark hole in the floor. Evidently the last man through had tried to cover up the hole, but had found the stone too heavy. The Sikhs dragged it clear and disclosed the mouth of a tunnel, rather less than a man's height, sloping sharply downward. "What we need now is mustard gas. Smoke 'em out," said Goodenough. "Might kill 'em," Grim objected. "That'd be too bad, wouldn't it!" "We could starve 'em out, for that matter," said Grim. "But they've probably got water down there, and perhaps food. Every hour of delay adds to the risk of rioting. We've got to get this hole sealed up permanently, and deny that it was ever opened." "We could do that at once! But I won't be a party to sealing 'em up alive." "Besides, sir, they've certainly got firearms, and they might just possible have one can of TNT down there." "All right," said Goodenough. "I'll lead the way down." "I've a plan," said Grim. He took one of the fruit-baskets and began breaking it up. "Who has a white shirt?" he asked. I was the haberdasher. The others, Sikhs included, were all clothed in khaki from coat to skin. Grim's Bedouin array was dark-brown. I peeled the shirt off, and Grim rigged it on a frame of basket-work, with a clumsy pitch-forked arrangement of withes at the bottom. The idea was not obvious until he twisted the withes about his waist; then, when he bent down, the shirt stood up erect above him. "If you don't mind, sir, we'll have two or three Sikhs go first. Have them take their boots off and crawl quietly as flat down as they can keep. I'll follow 'em with this contraption. They'll be able to see the white shirt dimly against the tunnel, and if they do any shooting they'll aim at that. Then if the rest of you keep low behind me we've a good chance to rush them before they can do any damage." I never met a commanding officer more free from personal conceit than Goodenough, and as I came to know more of him later on that characteristic stood out increasingly. He was not so much a man of ideas as one who could recognize them. That done, he made use of his authority to back up his subordinates, claiming no credit for himself but always seeing to it that they got theirs. The result was that he was simultaneously despised and loved-- despised by the self-advertising school, of which there are plenty in every army, and loved--with something like fanaticism by his junior officers and men. "I agree to that," he said simply, screwing in his monocle. Then he turned and instructed the Sikhs in their own language. "You follow last," he said to me. "Now--all ready?" He had a pistol in one hand and a flashlight in the other, but had to stow them both away again in order to crawl in the tunnel. Grim had no weapon in sight. The two Sikhs who were to lead had stripped themselves of everything that might make a noise, but the others kept both boots and rifles, with bayonets fixed, for it did not much matter what racket they made. In fact, the more noise we, who followed, made, the better, since that would draw attention from the Sikhs in front. All we had to do was to keep our bodies below Grim's kite affair, out of the probable line of fire. Nevertheless, that dark hole was untempting. A dank smell came out of it, like the breath of those old Egyptian tombs in which the bones of horses, buried with their masters, lie all about on shelves. You couldn't see into it more than a yard or two, for the only light came through the doorway of the windowless room, and the tunnel led into the womb of rock where, perhaps, no light had been since Solomon's day. But the leading Sikhs went in without hesitation and got down on their bellies. They might have been swallowed whole for all that I heard or saw of them from that minute. You could guess why the Turks and Germans had not really craved to meet those fellows out in No-man's-land. Grim went in on all-fours like a weird animal, with my shirt dancing on its frame above his back. Goodenough went next, peering through that window-pane monocle like a deep-sea fish. All the rest of the Sikhs went after him in Indian file, dragging their rifle-butts along the tunnel floor and making noise enough to remind you of the New York subway. I went in at the tail end, trying at intervals to peer around a khaki-covered Punjaub rump, alternately getting my head and fingers bruised by heels I could not see and a rifle-butt that only moved in jerks when you didn't expect it to. My nose was bleeding at the end of ten yards. But you couldn't keep your distance. Whenever the men in front checked at some obstruction or paused to listen, all those behind closed up; and by the time those behind had run their noses against iron-shod heels the men in front were on their way again. You couldn't see a thing until you rammed your head into it, and then the sense of touch gave you a sort of sight suggestion, as when you see things in a dream. As for sound, the tunnel acted like a whispering gallery, mixing all the noises up together, so that you could not guess whether a man had spoken, or a stone had fallen, or a pistol had gone off, or all three. Once or twice, when the line closed up on itself caterpillar- fashion, I was able to make out my white shirt dancing dimly; and once, where some trick of the tunnel sorted out the sounds, I caught a scrap of conversation. "D'you suppose they'll be able to see the shirt?" "God knows. I can hardly make it out from here." "When it looks like the right time to you, sir, turn the flashlight on it." "All right. God damn! Keep on going--you nearly knocked out my eye-glass!" Even over my shoulder, looking backward, I could see practically nothing, for what little light came in through the opening was swallowed by the first few yards. There was a suspicion of paleness in the gloom behind, and the occasional suggestion of an outline of rough wall; no more. Nor was the tunnel straight by any means. It turned and twisted constantly; and at every bend the men who originally closed it had built up a wall of heavy masonry that Scharnhoff had had to force his way through. In those places the broken stones were now lying in the fairway, as you knew by the suffering when you came in contact with them; some of the split-off edges were as sharp as glass. It was good fun, all the same, while it lasted. If we had been crawling down a sewer, or a modern passage of any kind, the sense of danger and discomfort would, no doubt, have overwhelmed all other considerations. But, even supposing Scharnhoff had been on a vain hunt, and the veritable Tomb of the Kings of Judah did not lie somewhere in the dark ahead of us, we were nevertheless under the foundations of Solomon's temple, groping our way into mysteries that had not been disclosed, perhaps, since the days when the Queen of Sheba came and paid her homage to the most wise king. You could feel afraid, but you couldn't wish you weren't there. I have no idea how long it took to crawl the length of that black passage. It seemed like hours. I heard heavy footsteps behind me after a while. Some one following in a hurry, who could see no better than we could, kept stumbling over the falling masonry; and once, when he fell headlong, I heard him swear titanically in a foreign tongue. I called back to whoever it was to crawl unless he wanted to be shot, but probably the words were all mixed up in the tunnel echoes, for he came on as before. Then all at once Goodenough flashed on the light for a fraction of a second and the shirt showed like a phantom out of blackness. The instant answer to that was a regular volley of shots from in front. The flash of several pistols lit up the tunnel, and bullets rattled off the walls and roof. The shirt fell, shot loose from its moorings, and the leading Sikhs gave a shout as they started to rush forward. We all surged after them, but there was a sudden check, followed by a babel worse than when a dozen pi-dogs fight over a rubbish- heap. You couldn't make head or tail of it, except that something desperate was happening in front, until suddenly a man with a knife in his hand, too wild with fear to use it, came leaping and scrambling over the backs of Sikhs, like a forward bucking the line. The Sikh in front of me knelt upright and collared him round the knees. The two went down together, I on top of both of them with blood running down my arm, for the man had started to use his knife at last, slashing out at random, and I rather think that slight cut he gave me saved the Sikh's life. But you can make any kind of calculation afterwards, about what took place in absolute darkness, without the least fear of being proven wrong. And since the Sikh and I agreed on that point no other opinion matters. I think that between the two of us we had that man about nonplused, although we couldn't see. I had his knife, and the Sikh was kneeling on his stomach, when a hundred and eighty pounds of bone and muscle catapulted at us from the rear and sprawled on us headlong, saved by only a miracle from skewering some one with a bayonet as he fell. He laughed while he fought, this newcomer, and even asked questions in the Sikh tongue. He had my arm in a grip like a vise and wrenched at it until I cursed him. Then he found a leg in the dark and nearly broke that, only to discover it was the other Sikh's. Still laughing, as if blindfolded fighting was his meat and drink, he reached again, and this time his fingers closed on enemy flesh. Judging by the yells, they hurt, too. There must have been at least another minute of cat-and-dog-fight struggling--hands being stepped on and throats clutched--before Goodenough rolled himself free from an antagonist in front and, groping for the flashlight, found it and flashed it on. The first thing I recognized by its light was the face of Narayan Singh, with wonderful white teeth grinning through his black beard within six inches of my nose. "Damn you!" I laughed. "You weigh a ton. Get off--you nearly killed me!" "Nearly, in war-time, means a whole new life to lose, sahib. Be pleased to make the most of it!" he answered. Within two minutes after that we had eight prisoners disarmed and subdued, some of them rather the worse for battery. The amazing thing was that we hadn't a serious casualty among the lot of us. We could have totaled a square yard of skin, no doubt, and a bushel of bruises (if that is the way you measure them) but mine was the only knife-wound. I felt beastly proud. By the light of the electric torch we dragged and prodded the prisoners back whence they had come, and presently Grim or somebody found a lantern and lit it. We found ourselves in a square cavern--a perfect cube it looked like--about thirty feet wide each way. In the midst was a plain stone coffer with its lid removed and set on end against it. In the coffer lay a tall man's skeleton, with the chin still bound in linen browned with age. There were other fragments of linen here and there, but the skeleton's bones had been disturbed and had fallen more or less apart. Over in one corner were two large bundles done up in modern gunny- bags, and Grim went over to examine them. "Hello!" he said. "Here's Scharnhoff and his lady friend!" He ripped the lashings of both bundles and disclosed the Austrian and the woman, gagged and tied, both almost unconscious from inability to breathe, but not much hurt otherwise. The Sikhs herded the prisoners, old alligator-eyes among them, into another corner. Grim tore my shirt into strips to bandage my arm with. Goodenough talked with Narayan Singh, while we waited for Scharnhoff to recover full consciousness. "Those murderers!" he gasped at last. "Schweinehunde!" "Better spill the beans, old boy," Grim said, smiling down at him. "You'll hang at the same time they do, if you can't tell a straight story." "Ach! I do not care! There were no manuscripts--nothing! I don't know whose skeleton that is--some old king David, perhaps; for that is not David's real tomb that the guides show. Hang those murderers and I am satisfied!" "Your story may help hang them. Come on, out with it!" "Have you caught Noureddin Ali?" "Never mind!" "But I do mind! And you should mind!" Scharnhoff sat up excitedly. He was dressed in the Arab garments I had seen in his cupboard that day when Grim and I called on him, with a scholar's turban that made him look very distinguished in spite of his disarray. "That Noureddin Ali is a devil! Together we would look for the Tomb of the Kings. Together we would smuggle out the manuscripts --translate them together--publish the result together. He lent me money. He promised to bring explosives. Oh, he was full of enthusiasm! It was not until last night, when I had broken that last obstruction down and discovered nothing but this coffin, that I learned his real plan. The devil intended all along to fill this tomb with high explosive and to destroy the mosque above, with everybody in it! Curse him!" "Never mind cursing him," said Grim, "tell us the story." "He sent oranges here, all marked with the labels of a Zionist colony. When I told him that the explosive would arrive too late, he said I should use it to smash these walls and find another tomb. He himself disappeared, and when I questioned his men they told me the explosive would be brought in hidden under fruit in baskets. I waited then in the hope of killing him myself--" "Hah-hah!" laughed Grim. "That is true! But they bound me, and later on bound the woman, and laid us here to be blown up together with the mosque." Grim turned to Goodenough, who had been listening. "Do I win the bet, sir?" "Ten piastoes!" said Goodenough. "Yes. Narayan Singh says Noureddin Ali was gone by the time they reached the wall." "Sure, or he'd have brought Noureddin Ali. I've been thinking, sir. We've one chance left to bag that buzzard. Will you give me carte blanche?" "Yes. Go ahead." Grim crossed the place to the corner where old alligator-eyes stood herded with the other prisoners. "Are you guilty?" he demanded. "No. Guilty of nothing. I came out of curiosity to see what was happening here." "Thought so. Can you hold your tongue? Then go! Get out of here!" Alligator-eyes didn't wait for a second urging, nor stay to question his good luck, but went off in a shambling hurry. "You are mad!" exclaimed Scharnhoff. "That man is the next-worst!" "Grim, are you sure that's wise?" asked Goodenough. "We can get him any time we want him, sir," Grim answered. "He lacks Noureddin Ali's gift of slipperiness." He turned to Narayan Singh. "Follow that man, but don't let him know he's followed. He'll show you where Noureddin Ali is. Get him this time!" "Dead or alive, sahib?" "Either." Chapter Twenty "All men are equal in the dark." The first thing Goodenough did after Grim had sent Narayan Singh off on his deadly mission was to summon the sheikh of the Dome of the Rock. He himself went to fetch him rather than risk having the sheikh bring a crowd of witnesses, who would be sure to talk afterwards. The all-important thing was to conceal the fact that sacrilege had been committed. But it was also necessary to establish the fact that Zionists had had no hand in it. "You see," Grim explained, sitting on the edge of the stone coffin, "we could hold Jerusalem. But if word of this business were to spread far and wide, you couldn't hold two or three hundred million fanatics; and believe me, they'd cut loose!" "The sheikh must realize that," said I. "What do you bet me he won't try to black-mail the Administration on the strength of it?" "I'll bet you my job! Watch the old bird. Listen in. He's downy. He knows a chance when he sees it, and he might try to cheat you at dominoes. But in a big crisis he's a number one man." While we waited we tried to get an opinion out of Scharnhoff about the coffin and the skeleton inside it. But the old fellow was heart-broken. I think he told the truth when he said he couldn't explain it. "What is there to say of it, except that it is very ancient? There is no decoration. The coffin is beautifully shaped out of one solid piece of stone, but that is all. The skeleton is that of an old man, who seems to have been wounded once or twice in battle. The linen is good, but there is no jewelry; no ornaments. And it is buried here in a very sacred place, so probably, it is one of the Jewish kings, or else one of the prophets. It might be King David--who knows? And what do I care? It is what a man sets down on parchment, and not his bones that interest me!" The sheikh arrived at last, following Goodenough down the dark passage with the supreme nonchalance of the priest too long familiar with sacred places to be thrilled or frightened by them. He stood in the entrance gazing about him, blinking speculatively through the folds of fat surrounding his bright eyes. Goodenough took the lantern and held it close to the prisoners' faces one by one. "You see?" he said. "All Syrians. All Moslems. Not a Jew among them. I'll take you and show you the others presently." "What will you do with them?" "That's for a court to decide. Hang them, most likely. They were plotting murder." "They will talk at the trial." "Behind closed doors!" said Goodenough. "Ahum!" said the sheikh, stroking his beard. It would not have been compatible with either his religion or his racial consciousness not to try to make the utmost of the situation. "This would be a bad thing for all the Christian governments if the tale leaked out. Religious places have been desecrated. There would be inflammation of Moslem prejudices everywhere." "It would be worse for you!" Grim retorted. The sheikh stared hard at him, stroking his beard again, "How so, Jimgrim? Have I had a hand in this?" "This is your famous Bir-el-Arwah, where, as you tell your faithful, the souls of the dead come to pray twice a week. This is the gulf beneath the Rock of Abraham that you tell them reaches to the middle of the world. Look at it! Shall we publish flashlight photographs?" The sheikh's eyes twinkled as he recognized the force of that argument. He turned it over in his mind for a full minute before he answered. "You cannot be expected to understand spiritual things," he said at last. "However," looking up, "this is not under the Rock. This is another place." Goodenough pulled a compass from his pocket, but Grim shook his head. "Go on," said Grim. "What of it?" "It is better to close up this place and say nothing." "Except this." Goodenough retorted: "you will say at the first and every succeeding opportunity that you know it is not true that Zionists tried to blow up the Dome of the Rock." "How do I know they did not try?" "Perhaps we'd better ask the Administrator to come and inspect this place officially and put the exact facts on the record," Goodenough retorted. "You understand, don't you?" said Grim. "Everything we've done until now has been strictly unofficial. There's a difference." "And this effendi?" he asked, staring at me. "What of him?" "He is commended to your special benevolence," Grim answered. "The way to keep a man like him discreet is to make a friend of him. Treat him as you do me, then we three shall be friends." The sheikh nodded, and that proved to be the beginning of a rather intimate acquaintance with him that stood me in good stead more than once afterwards. The influence that a man in his position can exert, if he cares to, is almost beyond the belief of those who pin their faith to money and mere officialdom. The prisoners were marched out. All except Scharnhoff and the woman were confirmed temporarily in the room in which Grim and I had breakfasted. The woman was taken to the jail until an American missionary could be found to take charge of her. They always hand the awkward cases over to Americans, partly because they have a gift for that sort of thing, but also because, in case of need, you can blame Americans without much risk of a reaction. Goodenough left a guard of Sikhs outside the street entrance, to keep out all intruders until the sheikh could collect a few trustworthy masons to seal up the passage again. Grim, Scharnhoff and I walked quite leisurely to Grim's quarters, where Grim left the two of us together in the room downstairs while he changed into uniform. "What will they do with me?" asked Scharnhoff. He was not far from collapse. He lay back in the armchair with his mouth open. I got him some of Grim's whiskey. "Nothing ungenerous," I said. "If you were going to be hanged Grim would have told you." "Do you--do you think he will let me go?" "Not until he's through with you," said I, "if I'm any judge of him." "What use can I be to him? My life is not worth a minute's purchase if Noureddin Ali finds me--he or that other whom they let go. Oh, what idiots to let Noureddin Ali give them the slip, and then to turn the second-worst one loose as well! Those English are all mad. That man Grim has been corrupted by them!" Grim hardly looked corrupted, rather iron-hard and energetic when he returned presently in his major's uniform. You could tell the color of his eyes now; they were blue-gray, and there was a light in them that should warn the wary not to oppose him unless a real fight was wanted. His manner was brisk, brusk, striding over trifles. He nodded to me. "You sick of this?" he asked me. "How many times? I want to see it through." "All right. Your own risk." He turned on Scharnhoff, standing straight in front of him, with both arms behind his back. "Look here. Have you any decency in that body of yours? Do you want to prove it? Or would you rather hang like a common scoundrel? Which is it to be?" "I--I--I--I--do not understand you. What do you mean?" "Are you game to risk your neck decently or would you rather have the hangman put you out of pain?" "I--I was not a conspirator, Major Grim. If I had known what they intended I would never have lent myself to such a purpose. I needed money for my excavations--it has been very difficult to draw on my bank in Vienna. Noureddin Ali represented himself to me as an enthusiastic antiquarian; and when I spoke of my need he offered money, as I told you already. I never suspected until last night that he and Abdul Ali of Damascus are French secret agents. But last night he boasted to me about Abdul Ali. He laughed at me. Then he--" "Yes, yes," Grim interrupted. "Will you play the man now, if I give you the chance?" "If you will accord me opportunity, at least I will do my best." "Understand; you'll not be allowed to live here afterward. You'll be repatriated to Austria, or wherever you come from. All you're offered is a chance to clean your slate morally before you go." "I shall be grateful." "Will you obey?" "Absolutely--to the limit of my power, that is to say. I am not an athlete--not a man of active habits." "Very well. Listen." Grim turned to me again "Take Scharnhoff to his house. You know the way. When afternoon comes, set a table in the garden and let him sit at it. He may as well read. If nothing happens before dark, take him out a lamp and some food. He mustn't move away. He'd better change into his proper clothes first. Your job will be to keep an eye on him until I come. You'd better keep out of sight as much as possible, especially after dark. Better watch him through the window. And, by the way, take this pistol. If Scharnhoff disobeys you, shoot him." He turned again on Scharnhoff. "I hope you're not fooling yourself. I should say the chance is two or three to one that you'll come out of this alive. If you're killed, you may flatter yourself that's a mighty sight cleaner than hanging. If you come out with a whole skin, you shall leave the country without even going to jail. Time to go now." I slipped the heavy pistol into my pocket and led the way without saying a word. Scharnhoff followed me, rather drearily, and we walked side by side toward the German Colony, he looking exactly like one of those respectable and devout educated Arabs of the old style, who teach from commentaries on the Koran. We excited no comment whatever. "What will he do? What is his purpose?" Scharnhoff asked me after a while. "If a man is in danger of death, he likes to know the reason--the purpose of it." I had a better than faint glimmering of Grim's purpose, but saw no necessity to air my views on the subject. "I'm amused," said I, "at the strictly unofficial status of all this. You see, I'm no more connected with this administration than you are. I'm as alien as you. You might say, I'm a stranger in Jerusalem. Yet, here I am, with a perfectly official pistol, loaded with official cartridges, under unofficial orders to shoot you at the first sign of disobedience. And--strictly unofficially, between you and me--I shan't hesitate to do it!" He contrived a smile out of the depths of his despondency. "I wonder--should you shoot me--what they would do to you afterwards." "Something unofficial," I suggested. "But we'll leave that up to them. The point is--" "Oh, don't worry! You shall have no trouble from me." It took a long time to reach his house, for the poor old chap was suffering from lack of sleep, and physical weariness, as well as disappointment, and I had to let him sit down by the wayside once or twice. Being in hard condition, and not much more than half his age, I had almost forgotten that I had not slept the night before. Keen curiosity as to what might happen between now and midnight was keeping me going. He could hardly drag himself into the house. But a bath, and some food that I found in the larder restored him considerably. He helped me carry out the table. He chose a book of Schiller's poems to take with him, but did not read it; he sat with his elbows on the table and his back toward the front door, resting his chin gloomily on both fists. He remained in that attitude all afternoon, and for all I know slept part of the time. Between him and the window of the room I sat in were some shrubs that obscured the view considerably. I could see Scharnhoff through them easily enough, but I don't think he could see me, and certainly no one could have seen me from the road. I felt fairly sure that no one saw me until it began to grow dark and I carried out the lamp. Even then, it was Scharnhoff who struck the match and lit it, so that I was in shadow all the time-- probably unrecognizable. It had been fairly easy to keep awake until then, but as the room grew darker and darker, and nothing happened, the yearning to fall asleep became actual agony. It was a rather large, square room, crowded up with a jumble of antiquities. The only real furniture was the window-seat on which I knelt, and an oblong table; but even the table was laid on its side to make room for a battered Roman bust standing on the floor between its legs. I had left the door of the room wide open, in order to be able to hear anything that might happen in the house; but the only sound came from a couple of rats that gnawed and rustled interminably among the rubbish in the corner. It must have been nearly eight o'clock, and I believe I had actually dozed off at last, kneeling in the window, when all at once it seemed to me that the rats were making a different, and greater noise than I ever heard rats make. It was pitch-black dark. I couldn't see my hand in front of me. My first thought was to glance through the window at Scharnhoff, but something-- intuition, I suppose--made me draw aside from the window instead. Then, beyond any shadow of a doubt, I heard a man move, and the hair rose all up the back of my head. I remembered the pistol, clutched it, and found voice enough for two words: "Who's there?" "Hee-hee!" came the answer from behind the table. "So Major Jimgrim lied about a broken leg, and thought to trap Noureddin Ali, did he! Don't move, Major Jimgrim! Don't move! We will have a little talk before we bid each other good-bye! I cannot last long in any case, for the cursed Sikhs are after me. I would rather that you should kill me than those Sikhs should, but I would like to kill you also. If you move before I give you leave you are a dead man, Major Jimgrim! Hee-hee! You cannot see me! Better keep still!" If it was flattering to be mistaken for Grim in the dark, it was hardly pleasant in the circumstances. For a moment I was angry. It flashed across my mind that Grim had planned this. But on second thought I refused to believe he would deceive me about Scharnhoff and use me as a decoy without my permission. I decided to keep still and see what happened. "Do you think you deserve to live, Major Jimgrim?" Noureddin Ali's voice went on. I heard him shift his position. He was probably trying to see my outline against the dark wall in order to take aim. "You, a foreigner, interfering in the politics of this land? But for you there would have been an explosion today that would have liberated all the Moslem world. But for that lie about a broken leg you would have died a little after ten o'clock this morning--hee-hee--instead of now! Don't move, Major Jimgrim! You and I will have a duel presently. There is lots of time. The Sikhs lost track of me." I did move. I stooped down close to the floor, so that he might fire over my head if, as I suspected, he was merely gaining time in order to take sure aim. I tried to see which end of the table he was talking from, but he was hidden completely. "Do you think you should go free, to perpetrate more cowardly interference, after spoiling that well-laid plan? Hee-hee! You poor fool! Busy-bodies such as you invariably overreach themselves. Having tricked me two or three times, you thought, didn't you? that you could draw me here to kill Scharnhoff, that poor old sheep. You were careful, weren't you? to let Omar Mahmoud go, in order that he might tell me how Scharnhoff had turned witness against us. And the Sikhs followed Omar Mahmoud, until Omar Mahmoud found me. And then they hunted me. Hee-hee! Don't move! Was that the plan? Simultaneously then, being yourself only a fool after all, you flatter me and underestimate my intelligence. Hee-hee! "You were right in thinking I would not submit to capture and death without first wreaking vengeance. But vengeance on such a sheep as Scharnhoff? With Major Jimgrim still alive? What possessed you? Were you mad? I satisfied myself an hour ago that Scharnhoff was the bait, which the redoubtable Major Jimgrim would be watching. Perhaps I shall deal with Scharnhoff afterwards--hee-hee!--who knows? Now--now shall we fight that duel? Are you ready?" I supposed that meant that he could not see me and had given up hope of it. He would like to have me move first, so as to judge my exact whereabouts by sound. I reached out very cautiously, and rapped the muzzle of my pistol on the floor twice. He fired instantly, three shots in succession. The bullets went wild to my left and brought down showers of plaster from the wall. I feared he might have seen me by the pistol-flash. I did not fire back. There was no need. Something moved swiftly like a black ghost through the open door. There was a thud--and the ring of a steel swivel--and a scream. "Has the sahib a match?" said a gruff voice that I thought I recognized. I was trembling--excitement, of course--only children and women and foreigners ever feel afraid! It took me half a minute to find the match box, and the other half to strike a light. Narayan Singh was standing by the end of the table. He was wiping blood off his bayonet with a piece of newspaper. He looked cool enough to have carried the paper in his pocket for that purpose. I got up, feeling ashamed to be seen crouching on the floor. But Narayan Singh smiled approval. "You did well, sahib. All men are equal in the dark. Until he fired first there was nothing wise to do but hide." "How long have you been here?" I asked. "Five minutes. I only waited for a sure thrust. But hah? the sahib feels like a dead man come to life again, eh? Well I know that feeling!" The match burned my fingers. I struck another. As I did that Grim stood in the doorway, smiling. "Is he dead?" he asked. "Surely, sahib. Shall I go now and get that other one--that Omar Mahmoud?" "No need," said Grim. "They rounded him up five minutes after he had found Noureddin." "Then have I done all that was required of me?" "No, Narayan Singh. You haven't shaken hands with me yet." "Thank you, Jimgrim." The match went out. I struck a third one. Grim turned to me. "Hungry?" "Sleepy." "Oh, to hell with sleep! Let's bring old Scharnhoff into the other room, dig out some eats and drinks, and get a story from him. All right, Narayan Singh; there'll be a guard here in ten minutes to take charge of that body. After that, dismiss. I'll report you to Colonel Goodenough for being a damned good soldier." "My colonel sahib knew that years ago," the great Sikh answered quietly. 
392	----	Gerusalemme Liberata ("Jerusalem Delivered") by Torquato Tasso (1544-1595) Published 1581 in Parma, Italy. Translated by Edward Fairfax (1560-1635); translation first published in London, 1600. FIRST BOOK THE ARGUMENT. God sends his angel to Tortosa down, Godfrey unites the Christian Peers and Knights; And all the Lords and Princes of renown Choose him their Duke, to rule the wares and fights. He mustereth all his host, whose number known, He sends them to the fort that Sion hights; The aged tyrant Juda's land that guides, In fear and trouble, to resist provides. I The sacred armies, and the godly knight, That the great sepulchre of Christ did free, I sing; much wrought his valor and foresight, And in that glorious war much suffered he; In vain 'gainst him did Hell oppose her might, In vain the Turks and Morians armed be: His soldiers wild, to brawls and mutinies prest, Reduced he to peace, so Heaven him blest. II O heavenly Muse, that not with fading bays Deckest thy brow by the Heliconian spring, But sittest crowned with stars' immortal rays In Heaven, where legions of bright angels sing; Inspire life in my wit, my thoughts upraise, My verse ennoble, and forgive the thing, If fictions light I mix with truth divine, And fill these lines with other praise than thine. III Thither thou know'st the world is best inclined Where luring Parnass most his sweet imparts, And truth conveyed in verse of gentle kind To read perhaps will move the dullest hearts: So we, if children young diseased we find, Anoint with sweets the vessel's foremost parts To make them taste the potions sharp we give; They drink deceived, and so deceived, they live. IV Ye noble Princes, that protect and save The Pilgrim Muses, and their ship defend From rock of Ignorance and Error's wave, Your gracious eyes upon this labor bend: To you these tales of love and conquest brave I dedicate, to you this work I send: My Muse hereafter shall perhaps unfold Your fights, your battles, and your combats bold. V For if the Christian Princes ever strive To win fair Greece out of the tyrants' hands, And those usurping Ismaelites deprive Of woful Thrace, which now captived stands, You must from realms and seas the Turks forth drive, As Godfrey chased them from Juda's lands, And in this legend, all that glorious deed, Read, whilst you arm you; arm you, whilst you read. VI Six years were run since first in martial guise The Christian Lords warraid the eastern land; Nice by assault, and Antioch by surprise, Both fair, both rich, both won, both conquered stand, And this defended they in noblest wise 'Gainst Persian knights and many a valiant band; Tortosa won, lest winter might them shend, They drew to holds, and coming spring attend. VII The sullen season now was come and gone, That forced them late cease from their noble war, When God Almighty form his lofty throne, Set in those parts of Heaven that purest are (As far above the clear stars every one, As it is hence up to the highest star), Looked down, and all at once this world beheld, Each land, each city, country, town and field. VIII All things he viewed, at last in Syria stayed Upon the Christian Lords his gracious eye, That wondrous look wherewith he oft surveyed Men's secret thoughts that most concealed lie He cast on puissant Godfrey, that assayed To drive the Turks from Sion's bulwarks high, And, full of zeal and faith, esteemed light All worldly honor, empire, treasure, might: IX In Baldwin next he spied another thought, Whom spirits proud to vain ambition move: Tancred he saw his life's joy set at naught, So woe-begone was he with pains of love: Boemond the conquered folk of Antioch brought, The gentle yoke of Christian rule to prove: He taught them laws, statutes and customs new, Arts, crafts, obedience, and religion true; X And with such care his busy work he plied, That to naught else his acting thoughts he bent: In young Rinaldo fierce desires he spied, And noble heart of rest impatient; To wealth or sovereign power he naught applied His wits, but all to virtue excellent; Patterns and rules of skill, and courage bold, He took from Guelpho, and his fathers old. XI Thus when the Lord discovered had, and seen The hidden secrets of each worthy's breast, Out of the hierarchies of angels sheen The gentle Gabriel called he from the rest, 'Twixt God and souls of men that righteous been Ambassador is he, forever blest, The just commands of Heaven's Eternal King, 'Twixt skies and earth, he up and down doth bring. XII To whom the Lord thus spake: "Godfredo find, And in my name ask him, why doth he rest? Why be his arms to ease and peace resigned? Why frees he not Jerusalem distrest? His peers to counsel call, each baser mind Let him stir up; for, chieftain of the rest I choose him here, the earth shall him allow, His fellows late shall be his subjects now." XIII This said, the angel swift himself prepared To execute the charge imposed aright, In form of airy members fair imbared, His spirits pure were subject to our sight, Like to a man in show and shape he fared, But full of heavenly majesty and might, A stripling seemed he thrive five winters old, And radiant beams adorned his locks of gold. XIV Of silver wings he took a shining pair, Fringed with gold, unwearied, nimble, swift; With these he parts the winds, the clouds, the air, And over seas and earth himself doth lift, Thus clad he cut the spheres and circles fair, And the pure skies with sacred feathers clift; On Libanon at first his foot he set, And shook his wings with rory May dews wet. XV Then to Tortosa's confines swiftly sped The sacred messenger, with headlong flight; Above the eastern wave appeared red The rising sun, yet scantly half in sight; Godfrey e'en then his morn-devotions said, As was his custom, when with Titan bright Appeared the angel in his shape divine, Whose glory far obscured Phoebus' shine. XVI "Godfrey," quoth he, "behold the season fit To war, for which thou waited hast so long, Now serves the time, if thou o'erslip not it, To free Jerusalem from thrall and wrong: Thou with thy Lords in council quickly sit; Comfort the feeble, and confirm the strong, The Lord of Hosts their general doth make thee, And for their chieftain they shall gladly take thee. XVII "I, messenger from everlasting Jove, In his great name thus his behests do tell; Oh, what sure hope of conquest ought thee move, What zeal, what love should in thy bosom dwell!" This said, he vanished to those seats above, In height and clearness which the rest excel, Down fell the Duke, his joints dissolved asunder, Blind with the light, and strucken dead with wonder. XVIII But when recovered, he considered more, The man, his manner, and his message said; If erst he wished, now he longed sore To end that war, whereof he Lord was made; Nor swelled his breast with uncouth pride therefore, That Heaven on him above this charge had laid, But, for his great Creator would the same, His will increased: so fire augmenteth flame. XIX The captains called forthwith from every tent, Unto the rendezvous he them invites; Letter on letter, post on post he sent, Entreatance fair with counsel he unites, All, what a noble courage could augment, The sleeping spark of valor what incites, He used, that all their thoughts to honor raised, Some praised, some paid, some counselled, all pleased. XX The captains, soldiers, all, save Boemond, came, And pitched their tents, some in the fields without, Some of green boughs their slender cabins frame, Some lodged were Tortosa's streets about, Of all the host the chief of worth and name Assembled been, a senate grave and stout; Then Godfrey, after silence kept a space, Lift up his voice, and spake with princely grace: XXI "Warriors, whom God himself elected hath His worship true in Sion to restore, And still preserved from danger, harm and scath, By many a sea and many an unknown shore, You have subjected lately to his faith Some provinces rebellious long before: And after conquests great, have in the same Erected trophies to his cross and name. XXII "But not for this our homes we first forsook, And from our native soil have marched so far: Nor us to dangerous seas have we betook, Exposed to hazard of so far sought war, Of glory vain to gain an idle smook, And lands possess that wild and barbarous are: That for our conquests were too mean a prey, To shed our bloods, to work our souls' decay. XXIII "But this the scope was of our former thought,-- Of Sion's fort to scale the noble wall, The Christian folk from bondage to have brought, Wherein, alas, they long have lived thrall, In Palestine an empire to have wrought, Where godliness might reign perpetual, And none be left, that pilgrims might denay To see Christ's tomb, and promised vows to pay. XXIV "What to this hour successively is done Was full of peril, to our honor small, Naught to our first designment, if we shun The purposed end, or here lie fixed all. What boots it us there wares to have begun, Or Europe raised to make proud Asia thrall, If our beginnings have this ending known, Not kingdoms raised, but armies overthrown? XXV "Not as we list erect we empires new On frail foundations laid in earthly mould, Where of our faith and country be but few Among the thousands stout of Pagans bold, Where naught behoves us trust to Greece untrue, And Western aid we far removed behold: Who buildeth thus, methinks, so buildeth he, As if his work should his sepulchre be. XXVI "Turks, Persians conquered, Antiochia won, Be glorious acts, and full of glorious praise, By Heaven's mere grace, not by our prowess done: Those conquests were achieved by wondrous ways, If now from that directed course we run The God of Battles thus before us lays, His loving kindness shall we lose, I doubt, And be a byword to the lands about. XXVII "Let not these blessings then sent from above Abused be, or split in profane wise, But let the issue correspondent prove To good beginnings of each enterprise; The gentle season might our courage move, Now every passage plain and open lies: What lets us then the great Jerusalem With valiant squadrons round about to hem? XXVIII "Lords, I protest, and hearken all to it, Ye times and ages, future, present, past, Hear all ye blessed in the heavens that sit, The time for this achievement hasteneth fast: The longer rest worse will the season fit, Our sureties shall with doubt be overcast. If we forslow the siege I well foresee From Egypt will the Pagans succored be." XXIX This said, the hermit Peter rose and spake, Who sate in counsel those great Lords among: "At my request this war was undertake, In private cell, who erst lived closed long, What Godfrey wills, of that no question make, There cast no doubts where truth is plain and strong, Your acts, I trust, will correspond his speech, Yet one thing more I would you gladly teach. XXX "These strifes, unless I far mistake the thing, And discords raised oft in disordered sort, Your disobedience and ill managing Of actions lost, for want of due support, Refer I justly to a further spring, Spring of sedition, strife, oppression, tort, I mean commanding power to sundry given, In thought, opinion, worth, estate, uneven. XXXI "Where divers Lords divided empire hold, Where causes be by gifts, not justice tried, Where offices be falsely bought and sold, Needs must the lordship there from virtue slide. Of friendly parts one body then uphold, Create one head, the rest to rule and guide: To one the regal power and sceptre give, That henceforth may your King and Sovereign live." XXXII And therewith stayed his speech. O gracious Muse, What kindling motions in their breasts do fry? With grace divine the hermit's talk infuse, That in their hearts his words may fructify; By this a virtuous concord they did choose, And all contentions then began to die; The Princes with the multitude agree, That Godfrey ruler of those wars should be. XXXIII This power they gave him, by his princely right, All to command, to judge all, good and ill, Laws to impose to lands subdued by might, To maken war both when and where he will, To hold in due subjection every wight, Their valors to be guided by his skill; This done, Report displays her tell-tale wings, And to each ear the news and tidings brings. XXXIV She told the soldiers, who allowed him meet And well deserving of that sovereign place. Their first salutes and acclamations sweet Received he, with love and gentle grace; After their reverence done with kind regreet Requited was, with mild and cheerful face, He bids his armies should the following day On those fair plains their standards proud display. XXXV The golden sun rose from the silver wave, And with his beams enamelled every green, When up arose each warrior bold and brave, Glistering in filed steel and armor sheen, With jolly plumes their crests adorned they have, And all tofore their chieftain mustered been: He from a mountain cast his curious sight On every footman and on every knight. XXXVI My mind, Time's enemy, Oblivion's foe, Disposer true of each noteworthy thing, Oh, let thy virtuous might avail me so, That I each troop and captain great may sing, That in this glorious war did famous grow, Forgot till now by Time's evil handling: This work, derived from my treasures dear, Let all times hearken, never age outwear. XXXVII The French came foremost battailous and bold, Late led by Hugo, brother to their King, From France the isle that rivers four infold With rolling streams descending from their spring, But Hugo dead, the lily fair of gold, Their wonted ensign they tofore them bring, Under Clotharius great, a captain good, And hardy knight ysprong of princes' blood. XXXVIII A thousand were they in strong armors clad, Next whom there marched forth another band, That number, nature, and instruction had, Like them to fight far off or charge at hand, All valiant Normans by Lord Robert lad, The native Duke of that renowned land, Two bishops next their standards proud upbare, Called Reverend William, and Good Ademare. XXXIX Their jolly notes they chanted loud and clear On merry mornings at the mass divine, And horrid helms high on their heads they bear When their fierce courage they to war incline: The first four hundred horsemen gathered near To Orange town, and lands that it confine: But Ademare the Poggian youth brought out, In number like, in hard assays as stout. XL Baldwin, his ensign fair, did next dispread Among his Bulloigners of noble fame, His brother gave him all his troops to lead, When he commander of the field became; The Count Carinto did him straight succeed, Grave in advice, well skilled in Mars his game, Four hundred brought he, but so many thrice Led Baldwin, clad in gilden arms of price. XLI Guelpho next them the land and place possest, Whose fortunes good with his great acts agree, By his Italian sire, fro the house of Est, Well could he bring his noble pedigree, A German born with rich possessions blest, A worthy branch sprung from the Guelphian tree. 'Twixt Rhene and Danubie the land contained He ruled, where Swaves and Rhetians whilom reigned. XLII His mother's heritage was this and right, To which he added more by conquest got, From thence approved men of passing might He brought, that death or danger feared not: It was their wont in feasts to spend the night, And pass cold days in baths and houses hot. Five thousand late, of which now scantly are The third part left, such is the chance of war. XLIII The nation then with crisped locks and fair, That dwell between the seas and Arden Wood, Where Mosel streams and Rhene the meadows wear, A battel soil for grain, for pasture good, Their islanders with them, who oft repair Their earthen bulwarks 'gainst the ocean flood, The flood, elsewhere that ships and barks devours, But there drowns cities, countries, towns and towers; XLIV Both in one troop, and but a thousand all, Under another Robert fierce they run. Then the English squadron, soldiers stout and tall, By William led, their sovereign's younger son, These archers be, and with them come withal, A people near the Northern Pole that wone, Whom Ireland sent from loughs and forests hoar, Divided far by sea from Europe's shore. XLV Tancredi next, nor 'mongst them all was one, Rinald except, a prince of greater might, With majesty his noble countenance shone, High were his thoughts, his heart was bold in fight, No shameful vice his worth had overgone, His fault was love, by unadvised sight, Bred in the dangers of adventurous arms, And nursed with griefs, with sorrows, woes, and harms. XLVI Fame tells, that on that ever-blessed day, When Christian swords with Persian blood were dyed, The furious Prince Tancredi from that fray His coward foes chased through forests wide, Till tired with the fight, the heat, the way, He sought some place to rest his wearied side, And drew him near a silver stream that played Among wild herbs under the greenwood shade. XLVII A Pagan damsel there unwares he met, In shining steel, all save her visage fair, Her hair unbound she made a wanton net, To catch sweet breathing from the cooling air. On her at gaze his longing looks he set, Sight, wonder; wonder, love; love bred his care; O love, o wonder; love new born, new bred, Now groan, now armed, this champion captive led. XLVIII Her helm the virgin donned, and but some wight She feared might come to aid him as they fought, Her courage earned to have assailed the knight; Yet thence she fled, uncompanied, unsought, And left her image in his heart ypight; Her sweet idea wandered through his thought, Her shape, her gesture, and her place in mind He kept, and blew love's fire with that wind. XLIX Well might you read his sickness in his eyes, Their banks were full, their tide was at the flow, His help far off, his hurt within him lies, His hopes unstrung, his cares were fit to mow; Eight hundred horse (from Champain came) he guies, Champain a land where wealth, ease, pleasure, grow, Rich Nature's pomp and pride, the Tirrhene main There woos the hills, hills woo the valleys plain. L Two hundred Greeks came next, in fight well tried, Not surely armed in steel or iron strong, But each a glaive had pendant by his side, Their bows and quivers at their shoulders hung, Their horses well inured to chase and ride, In diet spare, untired with labor long; Ready to charge, and to retire at will, Though broken, scattered, fled, they skirmish still; LI Tatine their guide, and except Tatine, none Of all the Greeks went with the Christian host; O sin, O shame, O Greece accurst alone! Did not this fatal war affront thy coast? Yet safest thou an idle looker-on, And glad attendest which side won or lost: Now if thou be a bondslave vile become, No wrong is that, but God's most righteous doom. LII In order last, but first in worth and fame, Unfeared in fight, untired with hurt or wound, The noble squadron of adventurers came, Terrors to all that tread on Asian ground: Cease Orpheus of thy Minois, Arthur shame To boast of Lancelot, or thy table round: For these whom antique times with laurel drest, These far exceed them, thee, and all the rest. LIII Dudon of Consa was their guide and lord, And for of worth and birth alike they been, They chose him captain, by their free accord, For he most acts had done, most battles seen; Grave was the man in years, in looks, in word, His locks were gray, yet was his courage green, Of worth and might the noble badge he bore, Old scars of grievous wounds received of yore. LIV After came Eustace, well esteemed man For Godfrey's sake his brother, and his own; The King of Norway's heir Gernando than, Proud of his father's title, sceptre, crown; Roger of Balnavill, and Engerlan, For hardy knights approved were and known; Besides were numbered in that warlike train Rambald, Gentonio, and the Gerrards twain. LV Ubaldo then, and puissant Rosimond, Of Lancaster the heir, in rank succeed; Let none forget Obizo of Tuscain land, Well worthy praise for many a worthy deed; Nor those three brethren, Lombards fierce and yond, Achilles, Sforza, and stern Palamede; Nor Otton's shield he conquered in those stowres, In which a snake a naked child devours. LVI Guascher and Raiphe in valor like there was. The one and other Guido, famous both, Germer and Eberard to overpass, In foul oblivion would my Muse be loth, With his Gildippes dear, Edward alas, A loving pair, to war among them go'th In bond of virtuous love together tied, Together served they, and together died. LVII In school of love are all things taught we see, There learned this maid of arms the ireful guise, Still by his side a faithful guard went she, One true-love knot their lives together ties, No would to one alone could dangerous be, But each the smart of other's anguish tries, If one were hurt, the other felt the sore, She lost her blood, he spent his life therefore. LVIII But these and all, Rinaldo far exceeds, Star of his sphere, the diamond of this ring, The nest where courage with sweet mercy breeds: A comet worthy each eye's wondering, His years are fewer than his noble deeds, His fruit is ripe soon as his blossoms spring, Armed, a Mars, might coyest Venus move, And if disarmed, then God himself of Love. LIX Sophia by Adige's flowery bank him bore, Sophia the fair, spouse to Bertoldo great, Fit mother for that pearl, and before The tender imp was weaned from the teat, The Princess Maud him took, in Virtue's lore She brought him up fit for each worthy feat, Till of these wares the golden trump he hears, That soundeth glory, fame, praise in his ears. LX And then, though scantly three times five years old, He fled alone, by many an unknown coast, O'er Aegean Seas by many a Greekish hold, Till he arrived at the Christian host; A noble flight, adventurous, brave, and bold, Whereon a valiant prince might justly boast, Three years he served in field, when scant begin Few golden hairs to deck his ivory chin. LXI The horsemen past, their void-left stations fill The bands on foot, and Reymond them beforn, Of Tholouse lord, from lands near Piraene Hill By Garound streams and salt sea billows worn, Four thousand foot he brought, well armed, and skill Had they all pains and travels to have borne, Stout men of arms and with their guide of power Like Troy's old town defenced with Ilion's tower. LXII Next Stephen of Amboise did five thousand lead, The men he prest from Tours and Blois but late, To hard assays unfit, unsure at need, Yet armed to point in well-attempted plate, The land did like itself the people breed, The soil is gentle, smooth, soft, delicate; Boldly they charge, but soon retire for doubt, Like fire of straw, soon kindled, soon burnt out. LXIII The third Alcasto marched, and with him The boaster brought six thousand Switzers bold, Audacious were their looks, their faces grim, Strong castles on the Alpine clifts they hold, Their shares and coulters broke, to armors trim They change that metal, cast in warlike mould, And with this band late herds and flocks that guide, Now kings and realms he threatened and defied. LXIV The glorious standard last to Heaven they sprad, With Peter's keys ennobled and his crown, With it seven thousand stout Camillo had, Embattailed in walls of iron brown: In this adventure and occasion, glad So to revive the Romans' old renown, Or prove at least to all of wiser thought, Their hearts were fertile land although unwrought. LXV But now was passed every regiment, Each band, each troop, each person worth regard When Godfrey with his lords to counsel went, And thus the Duke his princely will declared: "I will when day next clears the firmament, Our ready host in haste be all prepared, Closely to march to Sion's noble wall, Unseen, unheard, or undescried at all. LXVI "Prepare you then for travel strong and light, Fierce to the combat, glad to victory." And with that word and warning soon was dight, Each soldier, longing for near coming glory, Impatient be they of the morning bright, Of honor so them pricked the memory: But yet their chieftain had conceived a fear Within his heart, but kept it secret there. LXVII For he by faithful spial was assured, That Egypt's King was forward on his way, And to arrive at Gaza old procured, A fort that on the Syrian frontiers lay, Nor thinks he that a man to wars inured Will aught forslow, or in his journey stay, For well he knew him for a dangerous foe: An herald called he then, and spake him so: LXVIII "A pinnace take thee swift as shaft from bow, And speed thee, Henry, to the Greekish main, There should arrive, as I by letters know From one that never aught reports in vain, A valiant youth in whom all virtues flow, To help us this great conquest to obtain, The Prince of Danes he is, and brings to war A troop with him from under the Arctic star. LXIX "And for I doubt the Greekish monarch sly Will use with him some of his wonted craft, To stay his passage, or divert awry Elsewhere his forces, his first journey laft, My herald good and messenger well try, See that these succors be not us beraft, But send him thence with such convenient speed As with his honor stands and with our need. LXX "Return not thou, but Legier stay behind, And move the Greekish Prince to send us aid, Tell him his kingly promise doth him bind To give us succors, by his covenant made." This said, and thus instruct, his letters signed The trusty herald took, nor longer stayed, But sped him thence to done his Lord's behest, And thus the Duke reduced his thoughts to rest. LXXI Aurora bright her crystal gates unbarred, And bridegroom-like forth stept the glorious sun, When trumpets loud and clarions shrill were heard, And every one to rouse him fierce begun, Sweet music to each heart for war prepared, The soldiers glad by heaps to harness run; So if with drought endangered be their grain, Poor ploughmen joy when thunders promise rain. LXXII Some shirts of mail, some coats of plate put on, Some donned a cuirass, some a corslet bright, And halbert some, and some a habergeon, So every one in arms was quickly dight, His wonted guide each soldier tends upon, Loose in the wind waved their banners light, Their standard royal toward Heaven they spread, The cross triumphant on the Pagans dead. LXXIII Meanwhile the car that bears the lightning brand Upon the eastern hill was mounted high, And smote the glistering armies as they stand, With quivering beams which dazed the wondering eye, That Phaeton-like it fired sea and land, The sparkles seemed up to the skies to fly, The horses' neigh and clattering armors' sound Pursue the echo over dale and down. LXXIV Their general did with due care provide To save his men from ambush and from train, Some troops of horse that lightly armed ride He sent to scour the woods and forests main, His pioneers their busy work applied To even the paths and make the highways plain, They filled the pits, and smoothed the rougher ground, And opened every strait they closed found. LXXV They meet no forces gathered by their foe, No towers defenced with rampire, moat, or wall, No stream, no wood, no mountain could forslow Their hasty pace, or stop their march at all; So when his banks the prince of rivers, Po, Doth overswell, he breaks with hideous fall The mossy rocks and trees o'ergrown with age, Nor aught withstands his fury and his rage. LXXVI The King of Tripoli in every hold Shut up his men, munition and his treasure, The straggling troops sometimes assail he would, Save that he durst not move them to displeasure; He stayed their rage with presents, gifts and gold, And led them through his land at ease and leisure, To keep his realm in peace and rest he chose, With what conditions Godfrey list impose. LXXVII Those of Mount Seir, that neighboreth by east The Holy City, faithful folk each one, Down from the hill descended most and least, And to the Christian Duke by heaps they gone, And welcome him and his with joy and feast; On him they smile, on him they gaze alone, And were his guides, as faithful from that day As Hesperus, that leads the sun his way. LXXVIII Along the sands his armies safe they guide By ways secure, to them well known before, Upon the tumbling billows fraughted ride The armed ships, coasting along the shore, Which for the camp might every day provide To bring munition good and victuals store: The isles of Greece sent in provision meet, And store of wine from Scios came and Crete. LXXIX Great Neptune grieved underneath the load Of ships, hulks, galleys, barks and brigantines, In all the mid-earth seas was left no road Wherein the Pagan his bold sails untwines, Spread was the huge Armado, wide and broad, From Venice, Genes, and towns which them confines, From Holland, England, France and Sicil sent, And all for Juda ready bound and bent. LXXX All these together were combined, and knit With surest bonds of love and friendship strong, Together sailed they fraught with all things fit To service done by land that might belong, And when occasion served disbarked it, Then sailed the Asian coasts and isles along; Thither with speed their hasty course they plied, Where Christ the Lord for our offences died. LXXXI The brazen trump of iron-winged fame, That mingleth faithful troth with forged lies, Foretold the heathen how the Christians came, How thitherward the conquering army hies, Of every knight it sounds the worth and name, Each troop, each band, each squadron it descries, And threat'neth death to those, fire, sword and slaughter, Who held captived Israel's fairest daughter. LXXXII The fear of ill exceeds the evil we fear, For so our present harms still most annoy us, Each mind is prest and open every ear To hear new tidings though they no way joy us, This secret rumor whispered everywhere About the town, these Christians will destroy us, The aged king his coming evil that knew, Did cursed thoughts in his false heart renew. LXXXIII This aged prince ycleped Aladine, Ruled in care, new sovereign of this state, A tyrant erst, but now his fell engine His graver are did somewhat mitigate, He heard the western lords would undermine His city's wall, and lay his towers prostrate, To former fear he adds a new-come doubt, Treason he fears within, and force without. LXXXIV For nations twain inhabit there and dwell Of sundry faith together in that town, The lesser part on Christ believed well, On Termagent the more and on Mahown, But when this king had made this conquest fell, And brought that region subject to his crown, Of burdens all he set the Paynims large, And on poor Christians laid the double charge. LXXXV His native wrath revived with this new thought, With age and years that weakened was of yore, Such madness in his cruel bosom wrought, That now than ever blood he thirsteth more? So stings a snake that to the fire is brought, Which harmless lay benumbed with cold before, A lion so his rage renewed hath, Though fame before, if he be moved to wrath. LXXXVI "I see," quoth he, "some expectation vain, In these false Christians, and some new content, Our common loss they trust will be their gain, They laugh, we weep; they joy while we lament; And more, perchance, by treason or by train, To murder us they secretly consent, Or otherwise to work us harm and woe, To ope the gates, and so let in our foe. LXXXVII "But lest they should effect their cursed will, Let us destroy this serpent on his nest; Both young and old, let us this people kill, The tender infants at their mothers' breast, Their houses burn, their holy temples fill With bodies slain of those that loved them best, And on that tomb they hold so much in price, Let's offer up their priests in sacrifice." LXXXVIII Thus thought the tyrant in his traitorous mind, But durst not follow what he had decreed, Yet if the innocents some mercy find, From cowardice, not truth, did that proceed, His noble foes durst not his craven kind Exasperate by such a bloody deed. For if he need, what grace could then be got, If thus of peace he broke or loosed the knot? LXXXIX His villain heart his cursed rage restrained, To other thoughts he bent his fierce desire, The suburbs first flat with the earth he plained, And burnt their buildings with devouring fire, Loth was the wretch the Frenchman should have gained Or help or ease, by finding aught entire, Cedron, Bethsaida, and each watering else Empoisoned he, both fountains, springs, and wells. XC So wary wise this child of darkness was; The city's self he strongly fortifies, Three sides by site it well defenced has, That's only weak that to the northward lies; With mighty bars of long enduring brass, The steel-bound doors and iron gates he ties, And, lastly, legions armed well provides Of subjects born, and hired aid besides. SECOND BOOK THE ARGUMENT. Ismeno conjures, but his charms are vain; Aladine will kill the Christians in his ire: Sophronia and Olindo would be slain To save the rest, the King grants their desire; Clorinda hears their fact and fortunes plain, Their pardon gets and keeps them from the fire: Argantes, when Aletes' speeches are Despised, defies the Duke to mortal war. I While thus the tyrant bends his thoughts to arms, Ismeno gan tofore his sight appear, Ismen dead bones laid in cold graves that warms And makes them speak, smell, taste, touch, see, and hear; Ismen with terror of his mighty charms, That makes great Dis in deepest Hell to fear, That binds and looses souls condemned to woe, And sends the devils on errands to and fro. II A Christian once, Macon he now adores, Nor could he quite his wonted faith forsake, But in his wicked arts both oft implores Help from the Lord, and aid from Pluto black; He, from deep caves by Acheron's dark shores, Where circles vain and spells he used to make, To advise his king in these extremes is come, Achitophel so counselled Absalom. III "My liege," he says, "the camp fast hither moves, The axe is laid unto this cedar's root, But let us work as valiant men behoves, For boldest hearts good fortune helpeth out; Your princely care your kingly wisdom proves, Well have you labored, well foreseen about; If each perform his charge and duty so, Nought but his grave here conquer shall your foe. IV "From surest castle of my secret cell I come, partaker of your good and ill, What counsel sage, or magic's sacred spell May profit us, all that perform I will: The sprites impure from bliss that whilom fell Shall to your service bow, constrained by skill; But how we must begin this enterprise, I will your Highness thus in brief advise. V "Within the Christian's church from light of skies, An hidden alter stands, far out of sight, On which the image consecrated lies Of Christ's dear mother, called a virgin bright, An hundred lamps aye burn before her eyes, She in a slender veil of tinsel dight, On every side great plenty doth behold Of offerings brought, myrrh, frankincense and gold. VI "This idol would I have removed away From thence, and by your princely hand transport, In Macon's sacred temple safe it lay, Which then I will enchant in wondrous sort, That while the image in that church doth stay, No strength of arms shall win this noble fort, Of shake this puissant wall, such passing might Have spells and charms, if they be said aright." VII Advised thus, the king impatient Flew in his fury to the house of God, The image took, with words unreverent Abused the prelates, who that deed forbode, Swift with his prey, away the tyrant went, Of God's sharp justice naught he feared the rod, But in his chapel vile the image laid, On which the enchanter charms and witchcraft said. VIII When Phoebus next unclosed his wakeful eye, Up rose the sexton of that place profane, And missed the image, where it used to lie, Each where he sough in grief, in fear, in vain; Then to the king his loss he gan descry, Who sore enraged killed him for his pain; And straight conceived in his malicious wit, Some Christian bade this great offence commit. IX But whether this were act of mortal hand, Or else the Prince of Heaven's eternal pleasure, That of his mercy would this wretch withstand, Nor let so vile a chest hold such a treasure, As yet conjecture hath not fully scanned; By godliness let us this action measure, And truth of purest faith will fitly prove That this rare grace came down from Heaven above. X With busy search the tyrant gan to invade Each house, each hold, each temple and each tent To them the fault or faulty one bewrayed Or hid, he promised gifts or punishment, His idle charms the false enchanter said, But in this maze still wandered and miswent, For Heaven decreed to conceal the same, To make the miscreant more to feel his shame. XI But when the angry king discovered not What guilty hand this sacrilege had wrought, His ireful courage boiled in vengeance hot Against the Christians, whom he faulters thought; All ruth, compassion, mercy he forgot, A staff to beat that dog he long had sought, "Let them all die," quoth he, "kill great and small, So shall the offender perish sure withal. XII "To spill the wine with poison mixed with spares? Slay then the righteous with the faulty one, Destroy this field that yieldeth naught but tares, With thorns this vineyard all is over-gone, Among these wretches is not one, that cares For us, our laws, or our religion; Up, up, dear subjects, fire and weapon take, Burn, murder, kill these traitors for my sake." XIII This Herod thus would Bethlem's infants kill, The Christians soon this direful news receave, The trump of death sounds in their hearing shrill, Their weapon, faith; their fortress, was the grave; They had no courage, time, device, or will, To fight, to fly, excuse, or pardon crave, But stood prepared to die, yet help they find, Whence least they hope, such knots can Heaven unbind. XIV Among them dwelt, her parents' joy and pleasure, A maid, whose fruit was ripe, not over-yeared, Her beauty was her not esteemed treasure; The field of love with plough of virtue eared, Her labor goodness; godliness her leisure; Her house the heaven by this full moon aye cleared, For there, from lovers' eyes withdrawn, alone With virgin beams this spotless Cynthia shone. XV But what availed her resolution chaste, Whose soberest looks were whetstones to desire? Nor love consents that beauty's field lie waste, Her visage set Olindo's heart on fire, O subtle love, a thousand wiles thou hast, By humble suit, by service, or by hire, To win a maiden's hold, a thing soon done, For nature framed all women to be won. XVI Sophronia she, Olindo hight the youth, Both or one town, both in one faith were taught, She fair, he full of bashfulness and truth, Loved much, hoped little, and desired nought, He durst not speak by suit to purchase ruth, She saw not, marked not, wist not what he sought, Thus loved, thus served he long, but not regarded, Unseen, unmarked, unpitied, unrewarded. XVII To her came message of the murderment, Wherein her guiltless friends should hopeless starve, She that was noble, wise, as fair and gent, Cast how she might their harmless lives preserve, Zeal was the spring whence flowed her hardiment, From maiden shame yet was she loth to swerve: Yet had her courage ta'en so sure a hold, That boldness, shamefaced; shame had made her bold. XVIII And forth she went, a shop for merchandise Full of rich stuff, but none for sale exposed, A veil obscured the sunshine of her eyes, The rose within herself her sweetness closed, Each ornament about her seemly lies, By curious chance, or careless art, composed; For what the most neglects, most curious prove, So Beauty's helped by Nature, Heaven, and Love. XIX Admired of all, on went this noble maid, Until the presence of the king she gained, Nor for he swelled with ire was she afraid, But his fierce wrath with fearless grace sustained, "I come," quoth she, "but be thine anger stayed, And causeless rage 'gainst faultless souls restrained-- I come to show thee, and to bring thee both, The wight whose fact hath made thy heart so wroth." XX Her molest boldness, and that lightning ray Which her sweet beauty streamed on his face, Had struck the prince with wonder and dismay, Changed his cheer, and cleared his moody grace, That had her eyes disposed their looks to play, The king had snared been in love's strong lace; But wayward beauty doth not fancy move, A frown forbids, a smile engendereth love. XXI It was amazement, wonder and delight, Although not love, that moved his cruel sense; "Tell on," quoth he, "unfold the chance aright, Thy people's lives I grant for recompense." Then she, "Behold the faulter here in sight, This hand committed that supposed offence, I took the image, mine that fault, that fact, Mine be the glory of that virtuous act." XXII This spotless lamb thus offered up her blood, To save the rest of Christ's selected fold, O noble lie! was ever truth so good? Blest be the lips that such a leasing told: Thoughtful awhile remained the tyrant wood, His native wrath he gan a space withhold, And said, "That thou discover soon I will, What aid? what counsel had'st thou in that ill?" XXIII "My lofty thoughts," she answered him, "envied Another's hand should work my high desire, The thirst of glory can no partner bide, With mine own self I did alone conspire." "On thee alone," the tyrant then replied, "Shall fall the vengeance of my wrath and ire." "'Tis just and right," quoth she, "I yield consent, Mine be the honor, mine the punishment." XXIV The wretch of new enraged at the same, Asked where she hid the image so conveyed: "Not hid," quoth she, "but quite consumed with flame, The idol is of that eternal maid, For so at least I have preserved the same, With hands profane from being eft betrayed. My Lord, the thing thus stolen demand no more, Here see the thief that scorneth death therefor. XXV "And yet no theft was this, yours was the sin, I brought again what you unjustly took." This heard, the tyrant did for rage begin To whet his teeth, and bend his frowning look, No pity, youth; fairness, no grace could win; Joy, comfort, hope, the virgin all forsook; Wrath killed remorse, vengeance stopped mercy's breath Love's thrall to hate, and beauty's slave to death. XXVI Ta'en was the damsel, and without remorse, The king condemned her guiltless to the fire, Her veil and mantle plucked they off by force, And bound her tender arms in twisted wire: Dumb was the silver dove, while from her corse These hungry kites plucked off her rich attire, And for some deal perplexed was her sprite, Her damask late, now changed to purest white. XXVII The news of this mishap spread far and near, The people ran, both young and old, to gaze; Olindo also ran, and gan to fear His lady was some partner in this case; But when he found her bound, stript from her gear, And vile tormentors ready saw in place, He broke the throng, and into presence brast; And thus bespake the king in rage and haste: XXXVIII "Not so, not so this grief shall bear away From me the honor of so noble feat, She durst not, did not, could not so convey The massy substance of that idol great, What sleight had she the wardens to betray? What strength to heave the goddess from her seat? No, no, my Lord, she sails but with my wind." Ah, thus he loved, yet was his love unkind! XXIX He added further: "Where the shining glass, Lets in the light amid your temple's side, By broken by-ways did I inward pass, And in that window made a postern wide, Nor shall therefore this ill-advised lass Usurp the glory should this fact betide, Mine be these bonds, mine be these flames so pure, O glorious death, more glorious sepulture!" XXX Sophronia raised her modest looks from ground, And on her lover bent her eyesight mild, "Tell me, what fury? what conceit unsound Presenteth here to death so sweet a child? Is not in me sufficient courage found, To bear the anger of this tyrant wild? Or hath fond love thy heart so over-gone? Wouldst thou not live, nor let me die alone?" XXXI Thus spake the nymph, yet spake but to the wind, She could not alter his well-settled thought; O miracle! O strife of wondrous kind! Where love and virtue such contention wrought, Where death the victor had for meed assigned; Their own neglect, each other's safety sought; But thus the king was more provoked to ire, Their strife for bellows served to anger's fire. XXXII He thinks, such thoughts self-guiltiness finds out, They scorned his power, and therefore scorned the pain, "Nay, nay," quoth he, "let be your strife and doubt, You both shall win, and fit reward obtain." With that the sergeants hent the young man stout, And bound him likewise in a worthless chain; Then back to back fast to a stake both ties, Two harmless turtles dight for sacrifice. XXXIII About the pile of fagots, sticks and hay, The bellows raised the newly-kindled flame, When thus Olindo, in a doleful lay, Begun too late his bootless plaints to frame: "Be these the bonds? Is this the hoped-for day, Should join me to this long-desired dame? Is this the fire alike should burn our hearts? Ah, hard reward for lovers' kind desarts! XXXIV "Far other flames and bonds kind lovers prove, But thus our fortune casts the hapless die, Death hath exchanged again his shafts with love, And Cupid thus lets borrowed arrows fly. O Hymen, say, what fury doth thee move To lend thy lamps to light a tragedy? Yet this contents me that I die for thee, Thy flames, not mine, my death and torment be. XXXV "Yet happy were my death, mine ending blest, My torments easy, full of sweet delight, It this I could obtain, that breast to breast Thy bosom might receive my yielded sprite; And thine with it in heaven's pure clothing drest, Through clearest skies might take united flight." Thus he complained, whom gently she reproved, And sweetly spake him thus, that so her loved: XXXVI "Far other plaints, dear friend, tears and laments The time, the place, and our estates require; Think on thy sins, which man's old foe presents Before that judge that quits each soul his hire, For his name suffer, for no pain torments Him whose just prayers to his throne aspire: Behold the heavens, thither thine eyesight bend, Thy looks, sighs, tears, for intercessors send." XXXVII The Pagans loud cried out to God and man, The Christians mourned in silent lamentation, The tyrant's self, a thing unused, began To feel his heart relent, with mere compassion, But not disposed to ruth or mercy than He sped him thence home to his habitation: Sophronia stood not grieved nor discontented, By all that saw her, but herself, lamented. XXXVIII The lovers standing in this doleful wise, A warrior bold unwares approached near, In uncouth arms yclad and strange disguise, From countries far, but new arrived there, A savage tigress on her helmet lies, The famous badge Clorinda used to bear; That wonts in every warlike stowre to win, By which bright sign well known was that fair inn. XXXIX She scorned the arts these silly women use, Another thought her nobler humor fed, Her lofty hand would of itself refuse To touch the dainty needle or nice thread, She hated chambers, closets, secret news, And in broad fields preserved her maidenhead: Proud were her looks, yet sweet, though stern and stout, Her dam a dove, thus brought an eagle out. XL While she was young, she used with tender hand The foaming steed with froary bit to steer, To tilt and tourney, wrestle in the sand, To leave with speed Atlanta swift arear, Through forests wild, and unfrequented land To chase the lion, boar, or rugged bear, The satyrs rough, the fauns and fairies wild, She chased oft, oft took, and oft beguiled. XLI This lusty lady came from Persia late, She with the Christians had encountered eft, And in their flesh had opened many a gate, By which their faithful souls their bodies left, Her eye at first presented her the state Of these poor souls, of hope and help bereft, Greedy to know, as is the mind of man, Their cause of death, swift to the fire she ran. XLII The people made her room, and on them twain Her piercing eyes their fiery weapons dart, Silent she saw the one, the other 'plain, The weaker body lodged the nobler heart: Yet him she saw lament, as if his pain Were grief and sorrow for another's smart, And her keep silence so, as if her eyes Dumb orators were to entreat the skies. XLIII Clorinda changed to ruth her warlike mood, Few silver drops her vermeil cheeks depaint; Her sorrow was for her that speechless stood, Her silence more prevailed than his complaint. She asked an aged man, seemed grave and good, "Come say me, sir," quoth she, "what hard constraint Would murder here love's queen and beauty's king? What fault or fare doth to this death them bring?" XLIV Thus she inquired, and answer short he gave, But such as all the chance at large disclosed, She wondered at the case, the virgin brave, That both were guiltless of the fault supposed, Her noble thought cast how she might them save, The means on suit or battle she reposed. Quick to the fire she ran, and quenched it out, And thus bespake the sergeants and the rout: XLV "Be there not one among you all that dare In this your hateful office aught proceed, Till I return from court, nor take you care To reap displeasure for not making speed." To do her will the men themselves prepare, In their faint hearts her looks such terror breed; To court she went, their pardon would she get, But on the way the courteous king she met. XLVI "Sir King," quoth she, "my name Clorinda hight, My fame perchance has pierced your ears ere now, I come to try my wonted power and might, And will defend this land, this town, and you, All hard assays esteem I eath and light, Great acts I reach to, to small things I bow, To fight in field, or to defend this wall, Point what you list, I naught refuse at all." XLVII To whom the king, "What land so far remote From Asia's coasts, or Phoebus' glistering rays, O glorious virgin, that recordeth not Thy fame, thine honor, worth, renown, and praise? Since on my side I have thy succors got, I need not fear in these my aged days, For in thine aid more hope, more trust I have, Than in whole armies of these soldiers brave. XLVIII "Now, Godfrey stays too long; he fears, I ween; Thy courage great keeps all our foes in awe; For thee all actions far unworthy been, But such as greatest danger with them draw: Be you commandress therefore, Princess, Queen Of all our forces: be thy word a law." This said, the virgin gan her beaver vail, And thanked him first, and thus began her tale. XLIX "A thing unused, great monarch, may it seem, To ask reward for service yet to come; But so your virtuous bounty I esteem, That I presume for to intreat this groom And silly maid from danger to redeem, Condemned to burn by your unpartial doom, I not excuse, but pity much their youth, And come to you for mercy and for ruth. L "Yet give me leave to tell your Highness this, You blame the Christians, them my thoughts acquite, Nor be displeased, I say you judge amiss, At every shot look not to hit the white, All what the enchanter did persuade you, is Against the lore of Macon's sacred rite, For us commandeth mighty Mahomet No idols in his temple pure to set. LI "To him therefore this wonder done refar, Give him the praise and honor of the thing, Of us the gods benign so careful are Lest customs strange into their church we bring: Let Ismen with his squares and trigons war, His weapons be the staff, the glass, the ring; But let us manage war with blows like knights, Our praise in arms, our honor lies in fights." LII The virgin held her peace when this was said; And though to pity he never framed his thought, Yet, for the king admired the noble maid, His purpose was not to deny her aught: "I grant them life," quoth he, "your promised aid Against these Frenchmen hath their pardon bought: Nor further seek what their offences be, Guiltless, I quit; guilty, I set them free." LIII Thus were they loosed, happiest of humankind, Olindo, blessed be this act of thine, True witness of thy great and heavenly mind, Where sun, moon, stars, of love, faith, virtue, shine. So forth they went and left pale death behind, To joy the bliss of marriage rites divine, With her he would have died, with him content Was she to live that would with her have brent. LIV The king, as wicked thoughts are most suspicious, Supposed too fast this tree of virtue grew, O blessed Lord! why should this Pharaoh vicious, Thus tyrannize upon thy Hebrews true? Who to perform his will, vile and malicious, Exiled these, and all the faithful crew, All that were strong of body, stout of mind, But kept their wives and children pledge behind. LV A hard division, when the harmless sheep Must leave their lambs to hungry wolves in charge, But labor's virtues watching, ease her sleep, Trouble best wind that drives salvation's barge, The Christians fled, whither they took no keep, Some strayed wild among the forests large, Some to Emmaus to the Christian host, And conquer would again their houses lost. LVI Emmaus is a city small, that lies From Sion's walls distant a little way, A man that early on the morn doth rise, May thither walk ere third hour of the day. Oh, when the Christian lord this town espies How merry were their hearts? How fresh? How gay? But for the sun inclined fast to west, That night there would their chieftain take his rest. LVII Their canvas castles up they quickly rear, And build a city in an hour's space. When lo, disguised in unusual gear, Two barons bold approachen gan the place; Their semblance kind, and mild their gestures were, Peace in their hands, and friendship in their face, From Egypt's king ambassadors they come, Them many a squire attends, and many a groom. LVIII The first Aletes, born in lowly shed, Of parents base, a rose sprung from a brier, That now his branches over Egypt spread, No plant in Pharaoh's garden prospered higher; With pleasing tales his lord's vain ears he fed, A flatterer, a pick-thank, and a liar: Cursed be estate got with so many a crime, Yet this is oft the stair by which men climb. LIX Argantes called is that other knight, A stranger came he late to Egypt land, And there advanced was to honor's height, For he was stout of courage, strong of hand, Bold was his heart, and restless was his sprite, Fierce, stern, outrageous, keen as sharpened brand, Scorner of God, scant to himself a friend, And pricked his reason on his weapon's end. LX These two entreatance made they might be heard, Nor was their just petition long denied; The gallants quickly made their court of guard, And brought them in where sate their famous guide, Whose kingly look his princely mind declared, Where noblesse, virtue, troth, and valor bide. A slender courtesy made Argantes bold, So as one prince salute another wold; LXI Aletes laid his right hand on his heart, Bent down his head, and cast his eyes full low, And reverence made with courtly grace and art, For all that humble lore to him was know; His sober lips then did he softly part, Whence of pure rhetoric, whole streams outflow, And thus he said, while on the Christian lords Down fell the mildew of his sugared words: LXII "O only worthy, whom the earth all fears, High God defend thee with his heavenly shield, And humble so the hearts of all thy peers, That their stiff necks to thy sweet yoke may yield: These be the sheaves that honor's harvest bears, The seed thy valiant acts, the world the field, Egypt the headland is, where heaped lies Thy fame, worth, justice, wisdom, victories. LXIII "These altogether doth our sovereign hide In secret store-house of his princely thought, And prays he may in long accordance bide, With that great worthy which such wonders wrought, Nor that oppose against the coming tide Of proffered love, for that he is not taught Your Christian faith, for though of divers kind, The loving vine about her elm is twined. LXIV "Receive therefore in that unconquered hand The precious handle of this cup of love, If not religion, virtue be the band 'Twixt you to fasten friendship not to move: But for our mighty king doth understand, You mean your power 'gainst Juda land to prove, He would, before this threatened tempest fell, I should his mind and princely will first tell. LXV "His mind is this, he prays thee be contented To joy in peace the conquests thou hast got, Be not thy death, or Sion's fall lamented, Forbear this land, Judea trouble not, Things done in haste at leisure be repented: Withdraw thine arms, trust not uncertain lot, For oft to see what least we think betide; He is thy friend 'gainst all the world beside. LXVI "True labour in the vineyard of thy Lord, Ere prime thou hast the imposed day-work done, What armies conquered, perished with thy sword? What cities sacked? what kingdoms hast thou won? All ears are mazed while tongues thine acts record, Hands quake for fear, all feet for dread do run, And though no realms you may to thraldom bring, No higher can your praise, your glory spring. LXVII "Thy sign is in his Apogaeon placed, And when it moveth next, must needs descend, Chance in uncertain, fortune double faced, Smiling at first, she frowneth in the end: Beware thine honor be not then disgraced, Take heed thou mar not when thou think'st to mend, For this the folly is of Fortune's play, 'Gainst doubtful, certain; much, 'gainst small to lay. LXVIII "Yet still we sail while prosperous blows the wind, Till on some secret rock unwares we light, The sea of glory hath no banks assigned, They who are wont to win in every fight Still feed the fire that so inflames thy mind To bring more nations subject to thy might; This makes thee blessed peace so light to hold, Like summer's flies that fear not winter's cold. LXIX "They bid thee follow on the path, now made So plain and easy, enter Fortune's gate, Nor in thy scabbard sheathe that famous blade, Till settled by thy kingdom, and estate, Till Macon's sacred doctrine fall and fade, Till woeful Asia all lie desolate. Sweet words I grant, baits and allurements sweet, But greatest hopes oft greatest crosses meet. LXX "For, if thy courage do not blind thine eyes, If clouds of fury hide not reason's beams, Then may'st thou see this desperate enterprise. The field of death, watered with danger's streams; High state, the bed is where misfortune lies, Mars most unfriendly, when most kind he seems, Who climbeth high, on earth he hardest lights, And lowest falls attend the highest flights. LXXI "Tell me if, great in counsel, arms and gold, The Prince of Egypt war 'gainst you prepare, What if the valiant Turks and Persians bold, Unite their forces with Cassanoe's heir? Oh then, what marble pillar shall uphold The falling trophies of your conquest fair? Trust you the monarch of the Greekish land? That reed will break; and breaking, wound your hand. LXXII "The Greekish faith is like that half-cut tree By which men take wild elephants in Inde, A thousand times it hath beguiled thee, As firm as waves in seas, or leaves in wind. Will they, who erst denied you passage free, Passage to all men free, by use and kind, Fight for your sake? Or on them do you trust To spend their blood, that could scarce spare their dust? LXXIII "But all your hope and trust perchance is laid In these strong troops, which thee environ round; Yet foes unite are not so soon dismayed As when their strength you erst divided found: Besides, each hour thy bands are weaker made With hunger, slaughter, lodging on cold ground, Meanwhile the Turks seek succors from our king, Thus fade thy helps, and thus thy cumbers spring. LXXIV "Suppose no weapon can thy valor's pride Subdue, that by no force thou may'st be won, Admit no steel can hurt or wound thy side, And be it Heaven hath thee such favor done: 'Gainst Famine yet what shield canst thou provide? What strength resist? What sleight her wrath can shun? Go, shake the spear, and draw thy flaming blade, And try if hunger so be weaker made. LXXV "The inhabitants each pasture and each plain Destroyed have, each field to waste is laid, In fenced towers bestowed is their grain Before thou cam'st this kingdom to invade, These horse and foot, how canst them sustain? Whence comes thy store? whence thy provision made? Thy ships to bring it are, perchance, assigned, Oh, that you live so long as please the wind! LXXVI "Perhaps thy fortune doth control the wind, Doth loose or bind their blasts in secret cave, The sea, pardie, cruel and deaf by kind, Will hear thy call, and still her raging wave: But if our armed galleys be assigned To aid those ships which Turks and Persians have, Say then, what hope is left thy slender fleet? Dare flocks of crows, a flight of eagles meet? LXXVII "My lord, a double conquest must you make, If you achieve renown by this emprize: For if our fleet your navy chase or take, For want of victuals all your camp then dies; Of if by land the field you once forsake, Then vain by sea were hope of victories. Nor could your ships restore your lost estate: For steed once stolen, we shut the door too late. LXXVIII "In this estate, if thou esteemest light The proffered kindness of the Egyptian king, Then give me leave to say, this oversight Beseems thee not, in whom such virtues spring: But heavens vouchsafe to guide my mind aright, To gentle thoughts, that peace and quiet bring, So that poor Asia her complaints may cease, And you enjoy your conquests got, in peace. LXXIX "Nor ye that part in these adventures have, Part in his glory, partners in his harms, Let not blind Fortune so your minds deceive, To stir him more to try these fierce alarms, But like the sailor 'scaped from the wave From further peril that his person arms By staying safe at home, so stay you all, Better sit still, men say, than rise to fall." LXXX This said Aletes: and a murmur rose That showed dislike among the Christian peers, Their angry gestures with mislike disclose How much his speech offends their noble ears. Lord Godfrey's eye three times environ goes, To view what countenance every warrior bears, And lastly on the Egyptian baron stayed, To whom the duke thus for his answer said: LXXXI "Ambassador, full both of threats and praise, Thy doubtful message hast thou wisely told, And if thy sovereign love us as he says, Tell him he sows to reap an hundred fold, But where thy talk the coming storm displays Of threatened warfare from the Pagans bold: To that I answer, as my cousin is, In plainest phrase, lest my intent thou miss. LXXXII "Know, that till now we suffered have much pain, By lands and seas, where storms and tempests fall, To make the passage easy, safe, and plain That leads us to this venerable wall, That so we might reward from Heaven obtain, And free this town from being longer thrall; Nor is it grievous to so good an end Our honors, kingdoms, lives and goods to spend. LXXXIII "Nor hope of praise, nor thirst of worldly good, Enticed us to follow this emprise, The Heavenly Father keep his sacred brood From foul infection of so great a vice: But by our zeal aye be that plague withstood, Let not those pleasures us to sin entice. His grace, his mercy, and his powerful hand Will keep us safe from hurt by sea and land. LXXXIV "This is the spur that makes our coursers run; This is our harbor, safe from danger's floods; This is our bield, the blustering winds to shun: This is our guide, through forests, deserts, woods; This is our summer's shade, our winter's sun: This is our wealth, our treasure, and our goods: This is our engine, towers that overthrows, Our spear that hurts, our sword that wounds our foes. LXXXV "Our courage hence, our hope, our valor springs, Not from the trust we have in shield or spear, Not from the succors France or Grecia brings, On such weak posts we list no buildings rear: He can defend us from the power of kings, From chance of war, that makes weak hearts to fear; He can these hungry troops with manna feed, And make the seas land, if we passage need. LXXXVI "But if our sins us of his help deprive, Of his high justice let no mercy fall; Yet should our deaths us some contentment give, To die, where Christ received his burial, So might we die, not envying them that live; So would we die, not unrevenged all: Nor Turks, nor Christians, if we perish such, Have cause to joy, or to complain too much. LXXXVII "Think not that wars we love, and strife affect, Or that we hate sweet peace, or rest denay, Think not your sovereign's friendship we reject, Because we list not in our conquests stay: But for it seems he would the Jews protect, Pray him from us that thought aside to lay, Nor us forbid this town and realm to gain, And he in peace, rest, joy, long more may reign." LXXXVIII This answer given, Argantes wild drew nar, Trembling for ire, and waxing pale for rage, Nor could he hold, his wrath increased so far, But thus inflamed bespake the captain sage: "Who scorneth peace shall have his fill of war, I thought my wisdom should thy fury 'suage, But well you show what joy you take in fight, Which makes you prize our love and friendship light." LXXXIX This said, he took his mantle's foremost part, And gan the same together fold and wrap; Then spake again with fell and spiteful heart, So lions roar enclosed in train or trap, "Thou proud despiser of inconstant mart, I bring thee war and peace closed in this lap, Take quickly one, thou hast no time to muse; If peace, we rest, we fight, if war thou choose." XC His semblance fierce and speechless proud, provoke The soldiers all, "War, war," at once to cry, Nor could they tarry till their chieftain spoke, But for the knight was more inflamed hereby, His lap he opened and spread forth his cloak: "To mortal wars," he says, "I you defy;" And this he uttered with fell rage and hate, And seemed of Janus' church to undo the gate. XCI It seemed fury, discord, madness fell Flew from his lap, when he unfolds the same; His glaring eyes with anger's venom swell, And like the brand of foul Alecto flame, He looked like huge Tiphoius loosed from hell Again to shake heaven's everlasting frame, Or him that built the tower of Shinaar, Which threat'neth battle 'gainst the morning star. XCII Godfredo then: "Depart, and bid your king Haste hitherward, or else within short while,-- For gladly we accept the war you bring,-- Let him expect us on the banks of Nile." He entertained them then with banqueting, And gifts presented to those Pagans vile; Aletes had a helmet, rich and gay, Late found at Nice among the conquered prey. XCIII Argant a sword, whereof the web was steel, Pommel, rich stone; hilt gold; approved by touch With rarest workmanship all forged weel, The curious art excelled the substance much: Thus fair, rich, sharp, to see, to have, to feel, Glad was the Paynim to enjoy it such, And said, "How I this gift can use and wield, Soon shall you see, when first we meet in field." XCIV Thus took they congee, and the angry knight Thus to his fellow parleyed on the way, "Go thou by day, but let me walk by night, Go thou to Egypt, I at Sion stay, The answer given thou canst unfold aright, No need of me, what I can do or say, Among these arms I will go wreak my spite; Let Paris court it, Hector loved to fight." XCV Thus he who late arrived a messenger Departs a foe, in act, in word, in thought, The law of nations or the lore of war, If he transgresses or no, he recketh naught, Thus parted they, and ere he wandered far The friendly star-light to the walls him brought: Yet his fell heart thought long that little way, Grieved with each stop, tormented with each stay. XCVI Now spread the night her spangled canopy, And summoned every restless eye to sleep; On beds of tender grass the beasts down lie, The fishes slumbered in the silent deep, Unheard were serpent's hiss and dragon's cry, Birds left to sing, and Philomen to weep, Only that noise heaven's rolling circles kest, Sung lullaby to bring the world to rest. XCVII Yet neither sleep, nor ease, nor shadows dark, Could make the faithful camp or captain rest, They longed to see the day, to hear the lark Record her hymns and chant her carols blest, They yearned to view the walls, the wished mark To which their journeys long they had addressed; Each heart attends, each longing eye beholds What beam the eastern window first unfolds. THIRD BOOK THE ARGUMENT. The camp at great Jerusalem arrives: Clorinda gives them battle, in the breast Of fair Erminia Tancred's love revives, He jousts with her unknown whom he loved best; Argant th' adventurers of their guide deprives, With stately pomp they lay their Lord in chest: Godfrey commands to cut the forest down, And make strong engines to assault the town. I The purple morning left her crimson bed, And donned her robes of pure vermilion hue, Her amber locks she crowned with roses red, In Eden's flowery gardens gathered new. When through the camp a murmur shrill was spread, Arm, arm, they cried; arm, arm, the trumpets blew, Their merry noise prevents the joyful blast, So hum small bees, before their swarms they cast. II Their captain rules their courage, guides their heat, Their forwardness he stayed with gentle rein; And yet more easy, haply, were the feat To stop the current near Charybdis main, Or calm the blustering winds on mountains great, Than fierce desires of warlike hearts restrain; He rules them yet, and ranks them in their haste, For well he knows disordered speed makes waste. III Feathered their thoughts, their feet in wings were dight, Swiftly they marched, yet were not tired thereby, For willing minds make heaviest burdens light. But when the gliding sun was mounted high, Jerusalem, behold, appeared in sight, Jerusalem they view, they see, they spy, Jerusalem with merry noise they greet, With joyful shouts, and acclamations sweet. IV As when a troop of jolly sailors row Some new-found land and country to descry, Through dangerous seas and under stars unknowe, Thrall to the faithless waves, and trothless sky, If once the wished shore begun to show, They all salute it with a joyful cry, And each to other show the land in haste, Forgetting quite their pains and perils past. V To that delight which their first sight did breed, That pleased so the secret of their thought A deep repentance did forthwith succeed That reverend fear and trembling with it brought, Scantly they durst their feeble eyes dispreed Upon that town where Christ was sold and bought, Where for our sins he faultless suffered pain, There where he died and where he lived again. VI Soft words, low speech, deep sobs, sweet sighs, salt tears Rose from their hearts, with joy and pleasure mixed; For thus fares he the Lord aright that fears, Fear on devotion, joy on faith is fixed: Such noise their passions make, as when one hears The hoarse sea waves roar, hollow rocks betwixt; Or as the wind in holts and shady greaves, A murmur makes among the boughs and leaves. VII Their naked feet trod on the dusty way, Following the ensample of their zealous guide, Their scarfs, their crests, their plumes and feathers gay, They quickly doffed, and willing laid aside, Their molten hearts their wonted pride allay, Along their watery cheeks warm tears down slide, And then such secret speech as this, they used, While to himself each one himself accused. VIII "Flower of goodness, root of lasting bliss, Thou well of life, whose streams were purple blood That flowed here, to cleanse the soul amiss Of sinful men, behold this brutish flood, That from my melting heart distilled is, Receive in gree these tears, O Lord so good, For never wretch with sin so overgone Had fitter time or greater cause to moan." IX This while the wary watchman looked over, From tops of Sion's towers, the hills and dales, And saw the dust the fields and pastures cover, As when thick mists arise from moory vales. At last the sun-bright shields he gan discover, And glistering helms for violence none that fails, The metal shone like lightning bright in skies, And man and horse amid the dust descries. X Then loud he cries, "O what a dust ariseth! O how it shines with shields and targets clear! Up, up, to arms, for valiant heart despiseth The threatened storm of death and danger near. Behold your foes;" then further thus deviseth, "Haste, haste, for vain delay increaseth fear, These horrid clouds of dust that yonder fly, Your coming foes does hide, and hide the sky." XI The tender children, and the fathers old, The aged matrons, and the virgin chaste, That durst not shake the spear, nor target hold, Themselves devoutly in their temples placed; The rest, of members strong and courage bold, On hardy breasts their harness donned in haste, Some to the walls, some to the gates them dight, Their king meanwhile directs them all aright. XII All things well ordered, he withdrew with speed Up to a turret high, two ports between, That so he might be near at every need, And overlook the lands and furrows green. Thither he did the sweet Erminia lead, That in his court had entertained been Since Christians Antioch did to bondage bring, And slew her father, who thereof was king. XIII Against their foes Clorinda sallied out, And many a baron bold was by her side, Within the postern stood Argantes stout To rescue her, if ill mote her betide: With speeches brave she cheered her warlike rout, And with bold words them heartened as they ride, "Let us by some brave act," quoth she, "this day Of Asia's hopes the groundwork found and lay." XIV While to her folk thus spake the virgin brave, Thereby behold forth passed a Christian band Toward the camp, that herds of cattle drave, For they that morn had forayed all the land; The fierce virago would that booty save, Whom their commander singled hand for hand, A mighty man at arms, who Guardo hight, But far too weak to match with her in fight. XV They met, and low in dust was Guardo laid, 'Twixt either army, from his sell down kest, The Pagans shout for joy, and hopeful said, Those good beginnings would have endings blest: Against the rest on went the noble maid, She broke the helm, and pierced the armed breast, Her men the paths rode through made by her sword, They pass the stream where she had found the ford. XVI Soon was the prey out of their hands recovered, By step and step the Frenchmen gan retire, Till on a little hill at last they hovered, Whose strength preserved them from Clorinda's ire: When, as a tempest that hath long been covered In watery clouds breaks out with sparkling fire, With his strong squadron Lord Tancredi came, His heart with rage, his eyes with courage flame. XVII Mast great the spear was which the gallant bore That in his warlike pride he made to shake, As winds tall cedars toss on mountains hoar: The king, that wondered at his bravery, spake To her, that near him seated was before, Who felt her heart with love's hot fever quake, "Well shouldst thou know," quoth he, "each Christian knight, By long acquaintance, though in armor dight. XVIII "Say, who is he shows so great worthiness, That rides so rank, and bends his lance so fell?" To this the princess said nor more nor less, Her heart with sighs, her eyes with tears, did swell; But sighs and tears she wisely could suppress, Her love and passion she dissembled well, And strove her love and hot desire to cover, Till heart with sighs, and eyes with tears ran over: XIX At last she spoke, and with a crafty sleight Her secret love disguised in clothes of hate: "Alas, too well," she says, "I know that knight, I saw his force and courage proved late, Too late I viewed him, when his power and might Shook down the pillar of Cassanoe's state; Alas what wounds he gives! how fierce, how fell! No physic helps them cure, nor magic's spell. XX "Tancred he hight, O Macon, would he wear My thrall, ere fates him of this life deprive, For to his hateful head such spite I bear, I would him reave his cruel heart on live." Thus said she, they that her complainings hear In other sense her wishes credit give. She sighed withal, they construed all amiss, And thought she wished to kill, who longed to kiss. XXI This while forth pricked Clorinda from the throng And 'gainst Tancredi set her spear in rest, Upon their helms they cracked their lances long, And from her head her gilden casque he kest, For every lace he broke and every thong, And in the dust threw down her plumed crest, About her shoulders shone her golden locks, Like sunny beams, on alabaster rocks. XXII Her looks with fire, her eyes with lightning blaze, Sweet was her wrath, what then would be her smile? Tancred, whereon think'st thou? what dost thou gaze? Hast thou forgot her in so short a while? The same is she, the shape of whose sweet face The God of Love did in thy heart compile, The same that left thee by the cooling stream, Safe from sun's heat, but scorched with beauty's beam. XXIII The prince well knew her, though her painted shield And golden helm he had not marked before, She saved her head, and with her axe well steeled Assailed the knight; but her the knight forbore, 'Gainst other foes he proved him through the field, Yet she for that refrained ne'er the more, But following, "Turn thee," cried, in ireful wise; And so at once she threats to kill him twice. XXIV Not once the baron lifts his armed hand To strike the maid, but gazing on her eyes, Where lordly Cupid seemed in arms to stand, No way to ward or shun her blows he tries; But softly says, "No stroke of thy strong hand Can vanquish Tancred, but thy conquest lies In those fair eyes, which fiery weapons dart, That find no lighting place except this heart." XXV At last resolved, although he hoped small grace, Yet ere he did to tell how much he loved, For pleasing words in women's ears find place, And gentle hearts with humble suits are moved: "O thou," quoth he, "withhold thy wrath a space, For if thou long to see my valor proved, Were it not better from this warlike rout Withdrawn, somewhere, alone to fight it out? XXVI "So singled, may we both our courage try:" Clorinda to that motion yielded glad, And helmless to the forestward gan hie, Whither the prince right pensive wend and sad, And there the virgin gan him soon defy. One blow she strucken, and he warded had, When he cried, "Hold, and ere we prove our might, First hear thou some conditions of the fight." XXVII She stayed, and desperate love had made him bold; "Since from the fight thou wilt no respite give, The covenants be," he said, "that thou unfold This wretched bosom, and my heart out rive, Given thee long since, and if thou, cruel, would I should be dead, let me no longer live, But pierce this breast, that all the world may say, The eagle made the turtle-dove her prey. XXVIII "Save with thy grace, or let thine anger kill, Love hath disarmed my life of all defence; An easy labor harmless blood to spill, Strike then, and punish where is none offence." This said the prince, and more perchance had will To have declared, to move her cruel sense. But in ill time of Pagans thither came A troop, and Christians that pursued the same. XXIX The Pagans fled before their valiant foes, For dread or craft, it skills not that we know, A soldier wild, careless to win or lose, Saw where her locks about the damsel flew, And at her back he proffereth as he goes To strike where her he did disarmed view: But Tancred cried, "Oh stay thy cursed hand," And for to ward the blow lift up his brand. XXX But yet the cutting steel arrived there, Where her fair neck adjoined her noble head, Light was the wound, but through her amber hair The purple drops down railed bloody red, So rubies set in flaming gold appear: But Lord Tancredi, pale with rage as lead, Flew on the villain, who to flight him bound; The smart was his, though she received the wound. XXXI The villain flies, he, full of rage and ire, Pursues, she stood and wondered on them both, But yet to follow them showed no desire, To stray so far she would perchance be loth, But quickly turned her, fierce as flaming fire, And on her foes wreaked her anger wroth, On every side she kills them down amain, And now she flies, and now she turns again. XXXII As the swift ure by Volga's rolling flood Chased through the plains the mastiff curs toforn, Flies to the succor of some neighbor wood, And often turns again his dreadful horn Against the dogs imbrued in sweat and blood, That bite not, till the beast to flight return; Or as the Moors at their strange tennice run, Defenced, the flying balls unhurt to shun: XXXIII So ran Clorinda, so her foes pursued, Until they both approached the city's wall, When lo! the Pagans their fierce wrath renewed, Cast in a ring about they wheeled all, And 'gainst the Christians' backs and sides they showed Their courage fierce, and to new combat fall, When down the hill Argantes came to fight, Like angry Mars to aid the Trojan knight. XXXIV Furious, tofore the foremost of his rank, In sturdy steel forth stept the warrior bold, The first he smote down from his saddle sank, The next under his steel lay on the mould, Under the Saracen's spear the worthies shrank, No breastplate could that cursed tree outhold, When that was broke his precious sword he drew, And whom he hit, he felled, hurt, or slew. XXXV Clorinda slew Ardelio; aged knight, Whose graver years would for no labor yield, His age was full of puissance and might Two sons he had to guard his noble eild, The first, far from his father's care and sight, Called Alicandro wounded lay in field, And Poliphern the younger, by his side, Had he not nobly fought had surely died. XXXVI Tancred by this, that strove to overtake The villain that had hurt his only dear, From vain pursuit at last returned back, And his brave troop discomfit saw well near, Thither he spurred, and gan huge slaughter make, His shock no steed, his blow no knight could bear, For dead he strikes him whom he lights upon, So thunders break high trees on Lebanon. XXXVII Dudon his squadron of adventurers brings, To aid the worthy and his tired crew, Before the residue young Rinaldo flings As swift as fiery lightning kindled new, His argent eagle with her silver wings In field of azure, fair Erminia knew, "See there, sir King," she says, "a knight as bold And brave, as was the son of Peleus old. XXXVIII "He wins the prize in joust and tournament, His acts are numberless, though few his years, If Europe six likes him to war had sent Among these thousand strong of Christian peers, Syria were lost, lost were the Orient, And all the lands the Southern Ocean wears, Conquered were all hot Afric's tawny kings, And all that dwells by Nilus' unknown springs. XXXIX "Rinaldo is his name, his armed fist Breaks down stone walls, when rams and engines fail, But turn your eyes because I would you wist What lord that is in green and golden mail, Dudon he hight who guideth as him list The adventurers' troop whose prowess seld doth fail, High birth, grave years, and practise long in war, And fearless heart, make him renowned far. XL "See that big man that all in brown is bound, Gernando called, the King of Norway's son, A prouder knight treads not on grass or ground, His pride hath lost the praise his prowess won; And that kind pair in white all armed round, Is Edward and Gildippes, who begun Through love the hazard of fierce war to prove, Famous for arms, but famous more for love." XLI While thus they tell their foemen's worthiness, The slaughter rageth in the plain at large. Tancred and young Rinaldo break the press, They bruise the helm, and press the sevenfold targe; The troop by Dudon led performed no less, But in they come and give a furious charge: Argantes' self fell at one single blow, Inglorious, bleeding lay, on earth full low: XLII Nor had the boaster ever risen more, But that Rinaldo's horse e'en then down fell, And with the fall his leg opprest so sore, That for a space there must be algates dwell. Meanwhile the Pagan troops were nigh forlore, Swiftly they fled, glad they escaped so well, Argantes and with him Clorinda stout, For bank and bulwark served to save the rout. XLIII These fled the last, and with their force sustained The Christians' rage, that followed them so near; Their scattered troops to safety well they trained, And while the residue fled, the brunt these bear; Dudon pursued the victory he gained, And on Tigranes nobly broke his spear, Then with his sword headless to ground him cast, So gardeners branches lop that spring too fast. XLIV Algazar's breastplate, of fine temper made, Nor Corban's helmet, forged by magic art, Could save their owners, for Lord Dudon's blade Cleft Corban's head, and pierced Algazar's heart, And their proud souls down to the infernal shade, From Amurath and Mahomet depart; Not strong Argantes thought his life was sure, He could not safely fly, nor fight secure. XLV The angry Pagan bit his lips for teen, He ran, he stayed, he fled, he turned again, Until at last unmarked, unviewed, unseen, When Dudon had Almansor newly slain, Within his side he sheathed his weapon keen, Down fell the worthy on the dusty plain, And lifted up his feeble eyes uneath, Opprest with leaden sleep, of iron death. XLVI Three times he strove to view Heaven's golden ray, And raised him on his feeble elbow thrice, And thrice he tumbled on the lowly lay, And three times closed again his dying eyes, He speaks no word, yet makes his signs to pray; He sighs, he faints, he groans, and then he dies; Argantes proud to spoil the corpse disdained, But shook his sword with blood of Dudon stained. XLVII And turning to the Christian knights, he cried: "Lordlings, behold, this bloody reeking blade Last night was given me by your noble guide, Tell him what proof thereof this day is made, Needs must this please him well that is betide, That I so well can use this martial trade, To whom so rare a gift he did present, Tell him the workman fits the instrument. XLVIII "If further proof thereof he long to see, Say it still thirsts, and would his heart-blood drink; And if he haste not to encounter me, Say I will find him when he least doth think." The Christians at his words enraged be, But he to shun their ire doth safely shrink Under the shelter of the neighbor wall, Well guarded with his troops and soldiers all. XLIX Like storms of hail the stones fell down from high, Cast from their bulwarks, flankers, ports and towers, The shafts and quarries from their engines fly, As thick as falling drops in April showers: The French withdrew, they list not press too nigh, The Saracens escaped all the powers, But now Rinaldo from the earth upleapt, Where by the leg his steed had long him kept; L He came and breathed vengeance from his breast 'Gainst him that noble Dudon late had slain; And being come thus spoke he to the rest, "Warriors, why stand you gazing here in vain? Pale death our valiant leader had opprest, Come wreak his loss, whom bootless you complain. Those walls are weak, they keep but cowards out No rampier can withstand a courage stout. LI "Of double iron, brass or adamant, Or if this wall were built of flaming fire, Yet should the Pagan vile a fortress want To shroud his coward head safe from mine ire; Come follow then, and bid base fear avaunt, The harder work deserves the greater hire;" And with that word close to the walls he starts, Nor fears he arrows, quarries, stones or darts. LII Above the waves as Neptune lift his eyes To chide the winds, that Trojan ships opprest, And with his countenance calmed seas, winds and skies; So looked Rinaldo, when he shook his crest Before those walls, each Pagan fears and flies His dreadful sight, or trembling stayed at least: Such dread his awful visage on them cast. So seem poor doves at goshawks' sight aghast. LIII The herald Ligiere now from Godfrey came, To will them stay and calm their courage hot; "Retire," quoth he, "Godfrey commands the same; To wreak your ire this season fitteth not;" Though loth, Rinaldo stayed, and stopped the flame, That boiled in his hardy stomach hot; His bridled fury grew thereby more fell, So rivers, stopped, above their banks do swell. LIV The hands retire, not dangered by their foes In their retreat, so wise were they and wary, To murdered Dudon each lamenting goes, From wonted use of ruth they list not vary. Upon their friendly arms they soft impose The noble burden of his corpse to carry: Meanwhile Godfredo from a mountain great Beheld the sacred city and her seat. LV Hierusalem is seated on two hills Of height unlike, and turned side to side, The space between, a gentle valley fills, From mount to mount expansed fair and wide. Three sides are sure imbarred with crags and hills, The rest is easy, scant to rise espied: But mighty bulwarks fence that plainer part, So art helps nature, nature strengtheneth art. LVI The town is stored of troughs and cisterns, made To keep fresh water, but the country seems Devoid of grass, unfit for ploughmen's trade, Not fertile, moist with rivers, wells and streams; There grow few trees to make the summer's shade, To shield the parched land from scorching beams, Save that a wood stands six miles from the town,' With aged cedars dark, and shadows brown. LVII By east, among the dusty valleys, glide The silver streams of Jordan's crystal flood; By west, the Midland Sea, with bounders tied Of sandy shores, where Joppa whilom stood; By north Samaria stands, and on that side The golden calf was reared in Bethel wood; Bethlem by south, where Christ incarnate was, A pearl in steel, a diamond set in brass. LVIII While thus the Duke on every side descried The city's strength, the walls and gates about, And saw where least the same was fortified, Where weakest seemed the walls to keep him out; Ermina as he armed rode, him spied, And thus bespake the heathen tyrant stout, "See Godfrey there, in purple clad and gold, His stately port, and princely look behold. LIX "Well seems he born to be with honor crowned, So well the lore he knows of regiment, Peerless in fight, in counsel grave and sound, The double gift of glory excellent, Among these armies is no warrior found Graver in speech, bolder in tournament. Raymond pardie in counsel match him might; Tancred and young Rinaldo like in fight." LX To whom the king: "He likes me well therefore, I knew him whilom in the court of France When I from Egypt went ambassador, I saw him there break many a sturdy lance, And yet his chin no sign of manhood bore; His youth was forward, but with governance, His words, his actions, and his portance brave, Of future virtue, timely tokens gave. LXI "Presages, ah too true:" with that a space He sighed for grief, then said, "Fain would I know The man in red, with such a knightly grace, A worthy lord he seemeth by his show, How like to Godfrey looks he in the face, How like in person! but some-deal more low." "Baldwin," quoth she, "that noble baron hight, By birth his brother, and his match in might. LXII "Next look on him that seems for counsel fit, Whose silver locks betray his store of days, Raymond he hight, a man of wondrous wit, Of Toulouse lord, his wisdom is his praise; What he forethinks doth, as he looks for, hit, His stratagems have good success always: With gilded helm beyond him rides the mild And good Prince William, England's king's dear child. LXIII "With him is Guelpho, as his noble mate, In birth, in acts, in arms alike the rest, I know him well, since I beheld him late, By his broad shoulders and his squared breast: But my proud foe that quite hath ruinate My high estate, and Antioch opprest, I see not, Boemond, that to death did bring Mine aged lord, my father, and my king." LXIV Thus talked they; meanwhile Godfredo went Down to the troops that in the valley stayed, And for in vain he thought the labor spent, To assail those parts that to the mountains laid, Against the northern gate his force he bent, Gainst it he camped, gainst it his engines played; All felt the fury of his angry power, That from those gates lies to the corner tower. LXV The town's third part was this, or little less, Fore which the duke his glorious ensigns spread, For so great compass had that forteress, That round it could not be environed With narrow siege--nor Babel's king I guess That whilom took it, such an army led-- But all the ways he kept, by which his foe Might to or from the city come or go. LXVI His care was next to cast the trenches deep, So to preserve his resting camp by night, Lest from the city while his soldiers sleep They might assail them with untimely flight. This done he went where lords and princes weep With dire complaints about the murdered knight, Where Dudon dead lay slaughtered on the ground. And all the soldiers sat lamenting round. LXVII His wailing friends adorned the mournful bier With woful pomp, whereon his corpse they laid, And when they saw the Bulloigne prince draw near, All felt new grief, and each new sorrow made; But he, withouten show or change of cheer, His springing tears within their fountains stayed, His rueful looks upon the corpse he cast Awhile, and thus bespake the same at last; LXVIII "We need not mourn for thee, here laid to rest, Earth is thy bed, and not the grave the skies Are for thy soul the cradle and the nest, There live, for here thy glory never dies: For like a Christian knight and champion blest Thou didst both live and die: now feed thine eyes With thy Redeemer's sight, where crowned with bliss Thy faith, zeal, merit, well-deserving is. LXIX "Our loss, not thine, provokes these plaints and tears: For when we lost thee, then our ship her mast, Our chariot lost her wheels, their points our spears, The bird of conquest her chief feather cast: But though thy death far from our army hears Her chiefest earthly aid, in heaven yet placed Thou wilt procure its help Divine, so reaps He that sows godly sorrow, joy by heaps. LXX "For if our God the Lord Armipotent Those armed angels in our aid down send That were at Dothan to his prophet sent, Thou wilt come down with them, and well defend Our host, and with thy sacred weapons bent Gainst Sion's fort, these gates and bulwarks rend, That so by hand may win this hold, and we May in these temples praise our Christ for thee." LXXI Thus he complained; but now the sable shade Ycleped night, had thick enveloped The sun in veil of double darkness made; Sleep, eased care; rest, brought complaint to bed: All night the wary duke devising laid How that high wall should best be battered, How his strong engines he might aptly frame, And whence get timber fit to build the same. LXXII Up with the lark the sorrowful duke arose, A mourner chief at Dudon's burial, Of cypress sad a pile his friends compose Under a hill o'ergrown with cedars tall, Beside the hearse a fruitful palm-tree grows, Ennobled since by this great funeral, Where Dudon's corpse they softly laid in ground, The priest sung hymns, the soldiers wept around. LXXIII Among the boughs, they here and there bestow Ensigns and arms, as witness of his praise, Which he from Pagan lords, that did them owe, Had won in prosperous fights and happy frays: His shield they fixed on the hole below, And there this distich under-writ, which says, "This palm with stretched arms, doth overspread The champion Dudon's glorious carcase dead." LXXIV This work performed with advisement good, Godfrey his carpenters, and men of skill In all the camp, sent to an aged wood, With convoy meet to guard them safe from ill. Within a valley deep this forest stood, To Christian eyes unseen, unknown, until A Syrian told the duke, who thither sent Those chosen workmen that for timber went. LXXV And now the axe raged in the forest wild, The echo sighed in the groves unseen, The weeping nymphs fled from their bowers exiled, Down fell the shady tops of shaking treen, Down came the sacred palms, the ashes wild, The funeral cypress, holly ever green, The weeping fir, thick beech, and sailing pine, The married elm fell with his fruitful vine. LXXVI The shooter grew, the broad-leaved sycamore, The barren plantain, and the walnut sound, The myrrh, that her foul sin doth still deplore, The alder owner of all waterish ground, Sweet juniper, whose shadow hurteth sore, Proud cedar, oak, the king of forests crowned; Thus fell the trees, with noise the deserts roar; The beasts, their caves, the birds, their nests forlore. FOURTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. Satan his fiends and spirits assembleth all, And sends them forth to work the Christians woe, False Hidraort their aid from hell doth call, And sends Armida to entrap his foe: She tells her birth, her fortune, and her fall, Asks aid, allures and wins the worthies so That they consent her enterprise to prove; She wins them with deceit, craft, beauty, love. I While thus their work went on with lucky speed, And reared rams their horned fronts advance, The Ancient Foe to man, and mortal seed, His wannish eyes upon them bent askance; And when he saw their labors well succeed, He wept for rage, and threatened dire mischance. He choked his curses, to himself he spake, Such noise wild bulls that softly bellow make. II At last resolving in his damned thought To find some let to stop their warlike feat, He gave command his princes should be brought Before the throne of his infernal seat. O fool! as if it were a thing of naught God to resist, or change his purpose great, Who on his foes doth thunder in his ire, Whose arrows hailstones he and coals of fire. III The dreary trumpet blew a dreadful blast, And rumbled through the lands and kingdoms under, Through wasteness wide it roared, and hollows vast, And filled the deep with horror, fear and wonder, Not half so dreadful noise the tempests cast, That fall from skies with storms of hail and thunder, Not half so loud the whistling winds do sing, Broke from the earthen prisons of their King. IV The peers of Pluto's realm assembled been Amid the palace of their angry King, In hideous forms and shapes, tofore unseen, That fear, death, terror and amazement bring, With ugly paws some trample on the green, Some gnaw the snakes that on their shoulders hing, And some their forked tails stretch forth on high, And tear the twinkling stars from trembling sky. V There were Silenus' foul and loathsome route, There Sphinxes, Centaurs, there were Gorgons fell, There howling Scillas, yawling round about, There serpents hiss, there seven-mouthed Hydras yell, Chimera there spues fire and brimstone out, And Polyphemus blind supporteth hell, Besides ten thousand monsters therein dwells Misshaped, unlike themselves, and like naught else. VI About their princes each took his wonted seat On thrones red-hot, ybuilt of burning brass, Pluto in middest heaved his trident great, Of rusty iron huge that forged was, The rocks on which the salt sea billows beat, And Atlas' tops, the clouds in height that pass, Compared to his huge person mole-hills be, So his rough front, his horns so lifted he. VII The tyrant proud frowned from his lofty cell, And with his looks made all his monsters tremble, His eyes, that full of rage and venom swell, Two beacons seem, that men to arms assemble, His feltered locks, that on his bosom fell, On rugged mountains briars and thorns resemble, His yawning mouth, that foamed clotted blood, Gaped like a whirlpool wide in Stygian flood. VIII And as Mount Etna vomits sulphur out, With cliffs of burning crags, and fire and smoke, So from his mouth flew kindled coals about, Hot sparks and smells that man and beast would choke, The gnarring porter durst not whine for doubt; Still were the Furies, while their sovereign spoke, And swift Cocytus stayed his murmur shrill, While thus the murderer thundered out his will: IX "Ye powers infernal, worthier far to sit About the sun, whence you your offspring take, With me that whilom, through the welkin flit, Down tumbled headlong to this empty lake; Our former glory still remember it, Our bold attempts and war we once did make Gainst him, that rules above the starry sphere, For which like traitors we lie damned here. X "And now instead of clear and gladsome sky, Of Titan's brightness, that so glorious is, In this deep darkness lo we helpless lie, Hopeless again to joy our former bliss, And more, which makes my griefs to multiply, That sinful creature man, elected is; And in our place the heavens possess he must, Vile man, begot of clay, and born of dust. XI "Nor this sufficed, but that he also gave His only Son, his darling to be slain, To conquer so, hell, death, sin and the grave, And man condemned to restore again, He brake our prisons and would algates save The souls there here should dwell in woe and pain, And now in heaven with him they live always With endless glory crowned, and lasting praise. XII "But why recount I thus our passed harms? Remembrance fresh makes weakened sorrows strong, Expulsed were we with injurious arms From those due honors, us of right belong. But let us leave to speak of these alarms, And bend our forces gainst our present wrong: Ah! see you not, how he attempted hath To bring all lands, all nations to his faith? XIII "Then, let us careless spend the day and night, Without regard what haps, what comes or goes, Let Asia subject be to Christians' might, A prey he Sion to her conquering foes, Let her adore again her Christ aright, Who her before all nations whilom chose; In brazen tables he his lore ywrit, And let all tongues and lands acknowledge it. XIV "So shall our sacred altars all be his, Our holy idols tumbled in the mould, To him the wretched man that sinful is Shall pray, and offer incense, myrrh and gold; Our temples shall their costly deckings miss, With naked walls and pillars freezing cold, Tribute of souls shall end, and our estate, Or Pluto reign in kingdoms desolate. XV "Oh, he not then the courage perished clean, That whilom dwelt within your haughty thought, When, armed with shining fire and weapons keen, Against the angels of proud Heaven we fought, I grant we fell on the Phlegrean green, Yet good our cause was, though our fortune naught; For chance assisteth oft the ignobler part, We lost the field, yet lost we not our heart. XVI "Go then, my strength, my hope, my Spirits go, These western rebels with your power withstand, Pluck up these weeds, before they overgrow The gentle garden of the Hebrews' land, Quench out this spark, before it kindles so That Asia burn, consumed with the brand. Use open force, or secret guile unspied; For craft is virtue gainst a foe defied. XVII "Among the knights and worthies of their train, Let some like outlaws wander uncouth ways, Let some be slain in field, let some again Make oracles of women's yeas and nays, And pine in foolish love, let some complain On Godfrey's rule, and mutinies gainst him raise, Turn each one's sword against his fellow's heart, Thus kill them all or spoil the greatest part." XVIII Before his words the tyrant ended had, The lesser devils arose with ghastly roar, And thronged forth about the world to gad, Each land they filled, river, stream and shore, The goblins, fairies, fiends and furies mad, Ranged in flowery dales, and mountains hoar, And under every trembling leaf they sit, Between the solid earth and welkin flit. XIX About the world they spread forth far and wide, Filling the thoughts of each ungodly heart With secret mischief, anger, hate and pride, Wounding lost souls with sin's empoisoned dart. But say, my Muse, recount whence first they tried To hurt the Christian lords, and from what part, Thou knowest of things performed so long agone, This latter age hears little truth or none. XX The town Damascus and the lands about Ruled Hidraort, a wizard grave and sage, Acquainted well with all the damned rout Of Pluto's reign, even from his tender age; Yet of this war he could not figure out The wished ending, or success presage, For neither stars above, nor powers of hell, Nor skill, nor art, nor charm, nor devil could tell. XXI And yet he thought,--Oh, vain conceit of man, Which as thou wishest judgest things to come!-- That the French host to sure destruction ran, Condemned quite by Heaven's eternal doom: He thinks no force withstand or vanquish can The Egyptian strength, and therefore would that some Both of the prey and glory of the fight Upon this Syrian folk would haply light. XXII But for he held the Frenchmen's worth in prize, And feared the doubtful gain of bloody war, He, that was closely false and slyly war, Cast how he might annoy them most from far: And as he gan upon this point devise,-- As counsellors in ill still nearest are,-- At hand was Satan, ready ere men need, If once they think, to make them do, the deed. XXIII He counselled him how best to hunt his game, What dart to cast, what net, what toil to pitch, A niece he had, a nice and tender dame, Peerless in wit, in nature's blessings rich, To all deceit she could her beauty frame, False, fair and young, a virgin and a witch; To her he told the sum of this emprise, And praised her thus, for she was fair and wise: XXIV "My dear, who underneath these locks of gold, And native brightness of thy lovely hue, Hidest grave thoughts, ripe wit, and wisdom old, More skill than I, in all mine arts untrue, To thee my purpose great I must unfold, This enterprise thy cunning must pursue, Weave thou to end this web which I begin, I will the distaff hold, come thou and spin. XXV "Go to the Christians' host, and there assay All subtle sleights that women use in love, Shed brinish tears, sob, sigh, entreat and pray, Wring thy fair hands, cast up thine eyes above, For mourning beauty hath much power, men say, The stubborn hearts with pity frail to move; Look pale for dread, and blush sometime for shame, In seeming truth thy lies will soonest frame. XXVI "Take with the bait Lord Godfrey, if thou may'st; Frame snares of look, strains of alluring speech; For if he love, the conquest then thou hast, Thus purposed war thou may'st with ease impeach, Else lead the other Lords to deserts waste, And hold them slaves far from their leader's reach:" Thus taught he her, and for conclusion, saith, "All things are lawful for our lands and faith." XXVII The sweet Armida took this charge on hand, A tender piece, for beauty, sex and age, The sun was sunken underneath the land, When she began her wanton pilgrimage, In silken weeds she trusteth to withstand, And conquer knights in warlike equipage, Of their night ambling dame the Syrians prated, Some good, some bad, as they her loved or hated. XXVIII Within few days the nymph arrived there Where puissant Godfrey had his tents ypight; Upon her strange attire, and visage clear, Gazed each soldier, gazed every knight: As when a comet doth in skies appear, The people stand amazed at the light; So wondered they and each at other sought, What mister wight she was, and whence ybrought. XXIX Yet never eye to Cupid's service vowed Beheld a face of such a lovely pride; A tinsel veil her amber locks did shroud, That strove to cover what it could not hide, The golden sun behind a silver cloud, So streameth out his beams on every side, The marble goddess, set at Cnidos, naked She seemed, were she unclothed, or that awaked. XXX The gamesome wind among her tresses plays, And curleth up those growing riches short; Her spareful eye to spread his beams denays, But keeps his shot where Cupid keeps his fort; The rose and lily on her cheek assays To paint true fairness out in bravest sort, Her lips, where blooms naught but the single rose, Still blush, for still they kiss while still they close. XXXI Her breasts, two hills o'erspread with purest snow, Sweet, smooth and supple, soft and gently swelling, Between them lies a milken dale below, Where love, youth, gladness, whiteness make their dwelling, Her breasts half hid, and half were laid to show, So was the wanton clad, as if this much Should please the eye, the rest unseen, the touch. XXXII As when the sunbeams dive through Tagus' wave, To spy the store-house of his springtime gold, Love-piercing thought so through her mantle drave, And in her gentle bosom wandered bold; It viewed the wondrous beauty virgins have, And all to fond desire with vantage told, Alas! what hope is left, to quench his fire That kindled is by sight, blown by desire. XXXIII Thus passed she, praised, wished, and wondered at, Among the troops who there encamped lay, She smiled for joy, but well dissembled that, Her greedy eye chose out her wished prey; On all her gestures seeming virtue sat, Toward the imperial tent she asked the way: With that she met a bold and lovesome knight, Lord Godfrey's youngest brother, Eustace hight. XXXIV This was the fowl that first fell in the snare, He saw her fair, and hoped to find her kind; The throne of Cupid had an easy stair, His bark is fit to sail with every wind, The breach he makes no wisdom can repair: With reverence meet the baron low inclined, And thus his purpose to the virgin told, For youth, use, nature, all had made him bold. XXXV "Lady, if thee beseem a stile so low, In whose sweet looks such sacred beauty shine,-- For never yet did Heaven such grace bestow On any daughter born of Adam's line-- Thy name let us, though far unworthy, know, Unfold thy will, and whence thou art in fine, Lest my audacious boldness learn too late What honors due become thy high estate." XXXVI "Sir Knight," quoth she, "your praises reach too high Above her merit you commenden so, A hapless maid I am, both born to die And dead to joy, that live in care and woe, A virgin helpless, fugitive pardie, My native soil and kingdom thus forego To seek Duke Godfrey's aid, such store men tell Of virtuous ruth doth in his bosom dwell. XXXVII "Conduct me then that mighty duke before, If you be courteous, sir, as well you seem." "Content," quoth he, "since of one womb ybore, We brothers are, your fortune good esteem To encounter me whose word prevaileth more In Godfrey's hearing than you haply deem: Mine aid I grant, and his I promise too, All that his sceptre, or my sword, can do." XXXVIII He led her easily forth when this was said, Where Godfrey sat among his lords and peers, She reverence did, then blushed, as one dismayed To speak, for secret wants and inward fears, It seemed a bashful shame her speeches stayed, At last the courteous duke her gently cheers; Silence was made, and she began her tale, They sit to hear, thus sung this nightingale: XXXIX "Victorious prince, whose honorable name Is held so great among our Pagan kings, That to those lands thou dost by conquest tame That thou hast won them some content it brings; Well known to all is thy immortal fame, The earth, thy worth, thy foe, thy praises sings, And Paynims wronged come to seek thine aid, So doth thy virtue, so thy power persuade. XL "And I though bred in Macon's heathenish lore, Which thou oppressest with thy puissant might, Yet trust thou wilt an helpless maid restore, And repossess her in her father's right: Others in their distress do aid implore Of kin and friends; but I in this sad plight Invoke thy help, my kingdom to invade, So doth thy virtue, so my need persuade. XLI "In thee I hope, thy succors I invoke, To win the crown whence I am dispossest; For like renown awaiteth on the stroke To cast the haughty down or raise the opprest; Nor greater glory brings a sceptre broke, Than doth deliverance of a maid distrest; And since thou canst at will perform the thing, More is thy praise to make, than kill a king. XLII "But if thou would'st thy succors due excuse, Because in Christ I have no hope nor trust, Ah yet for virtue's sake, thy virtue use! Who scorneth gold because it lies in dust? Be witness Heaven, if thou to grant refuse, Thou dost forsake a maid in cause most just, And for thou shalt at large my fortunes know, I will my wrongs and their great treasons show. XLIII "Prince Arbilan that reigned in his life On fair Damascus, was my noble sire, Born of mean race he was, yet got to wife The Queen Chariclia, such was the fire Of her hot love, but soon the fatal knife Had cut the thread that kept their joys entire, For so mishap her cruel lot had cast, My birth, her death; my first day, was her last. XLIV "And ere five years were fully come and gone Since his dear spouse to hasty death did yield, My father also died, consumed with moan, And sought his love amid the Elysian fields, His crown and me, poor orphan, left alone, Mine uncle governed in my tender eild; For well he thought, if mortal men have faith, In brother's breast true love his mansion hath. XLV "He took the charge of me and of the crown, And with kind shows of love so brought to pass That through Damascus great report was blown How good, how just, how kind mine uncle was; Whether he kept his wicked hate unknown And hid the serpent in the flowering grass, On that true faith did in his bosom won, Because he meant to match me with his son. XLVI "Which son, within short while, did undertake Degree of knighthood, as beseemed him well, Yet never durst he for his lady's sake Break sword or lance, advance in lofty sell; As fair he was, as Citherea's make, As proud as he that signoriseth hell, In fashions wayward, and in love unkind, For Cupid deigns not wound a currish mind. XLVII "This paragon should Queen Armida wed, A goodly swain to be a princess' fere, A lovely partner of a lady's bed, A noble head a golden crown to wear: His glosing sire his errand daily said, And sugared speeches whispered in mine ear To make me take this darling in mine arms, But still the adder stopt her ears from charms. XLVIII "At last he left me with a troubled grace, Through which transparent was his inward spite, Methought I read the story in his face Of these mishaps that on me since have light, Since that foul spirits haunt my resting-place, And ghastly visions break any sleep by night, Grief, horror, fear my fainting soul did kill, For so my mind foreshowed my coming ill. XLIX "Three times the shape of my dear mother came, Pale, sad, dismayed, to warn me in my dream, Alas, how far transformed from the same Whose eyes shone erst like Titan's glorious beam: 'Daughter,' she says, 'fly, fly, behold thy dame Foreshows the treasons of thy wretched eame, Who poison gainst thy harmless life provides:' This said, to shapeless air unseen she glides. L "But what avail high walls or bulwarks strong, Where fainting cowards have the piece to guard? My sex too weak, mine age was all to young, To undertake alone a work so hard, To wander wild the desert woods among, A banished maid, of wonted ease debarred, So grievous seemed, that liefer were my death, And there to expire where first I drew my breath. LI "I feared deadly evil if long I stayed, And yet to fly had neither will nor power, Nor durst my heart declare it waxed afraid, Lest so I hasten might my dying hour: Thus restless waited I, unhappy maid, What hand should first pluck up my springing flower, Even as the wretch condemned to lose his life Awaits the falling of the murdering knife. LII "In these extremes, for so my fortune would Perchance preserve me to my further ill, One of my noble father's servants old, That for his goodness bore his child good will, With store of tears this treason gan unfold, And said; my guardian would his pupil kill, And that himself, if promise made be kept, Should give me poison dire ere next I slept. LIII "And further told me, if I wished to live, I must convey myself by secret flight, And offered then all succours he could give To aid his mistress, banished from her right. His words of comfort, fear to exile drive, The dread of death, made lesser dangers light: So we concluded, when the shadows dim Obscured the earth I should depart with him. LIV "Of close escapes the aged patroness, Blacker than erst, her sable mantle spread, When with two trusty maids, in great distress, Both from mine uncle and my realm I fled; Oft looked I back, but hardly could suppress Those streams of tears, mine eyes uncessant shed, For when I looked on my kingdom lost, It was a grief, a death, an hell almost. LV "My steeds drew on the burden of my limbs, But still my locks, my thoughts, drew back as fast, So fare the men, that from the heaven's brims, Far out to sea, by sudden storm are cast; Swift o'er the grass the rolling chariot swims, Through ways unknown, all night, all day we haste, At last, nigh tired, a castle strong we fand, The utmost border of my native land. LVI "The fort Arontes was, for so the knight Was called, that my deliverance thus had wrought, But when the tyrant saw, by mature flight I had escaped the treasons of his thought, The rage increased in the cursed wight Gainst me, and him, that me to safety brought, And us accused, we would have poisoned Him, but descried, to save our lives we fled. LVII "And that in lieu of his approved truth, To poison him I hired had my guide, That he despatched, mine unbridled youth Might rage at will, in no subjection tied, And that each night I slept--O foul untruth!-- Mine honor lost, by this Arontes' side: But Heaven I pray send down revenging fire, When so base love shall change my chaste desire. LVIII "Not that he sitteth on my regal throne, Nor that he thirst to drink my lukewarm blood, So grieveth me, as this despite alone, That my renown, which ever blameless stood, Hath lost the light wherewith it always shone: With forged lies he makes his tale so good, And holds my subjects' hearts in such suspense, That none take armor for their queen's defence. LIX "And though he do my regal throne possess, Clothed in purple, crowned with burnished gold; Yet is his hate, his rancor, ne'er the less, Since naught assuageth malice when 'tis old: He threats to burn Arontes' forteress, And murder him unless he yield the hold, And me and mine threats not with war, but death, Thus causeless hatred, endless is uneath. LX "And so he trusts to wash away the stain, And hide his shameful fact with mine offence, And saith he will restore the throne again To his late honor and due excellence, And therefore would I should be algates slain, For while I live, his right is in suspense, This is the cause my guiltless life is sought, For on my ruin is his safety wrought. LXI "And let the tyrant have his heart's desire, Let him perform the cruelty he meant, My guiltless blood must quench the ceaseless fire On which my endless tears were bootless spent, Unless thou help; to thee, renowned Sire, I fly, a virgin, orphan, innocent, And let these tears that on thy feet distil, Redeem the drops of blood, he thirsts to spill. LXII "By these thy glorious feet, that tread secure On necks of tyrants, by thy conquests brave, By that right hand, and by those temples pure Thou seek'st to free from Macon's lore, I crave Help for this sickness none but thou canst cure, My life and kingdom let thy mercy save From death and ruin: but in vain I prove thee, If right, if truth, if justice cannot move thee. LXIII "Thou who dost all thou wishest, at thy will, And never willest aught but what is right, Preserve this guiltless blood they seek to spill; Thine be my kingdom, save it with thy might: Among these captains, lords, and knights of skill, Appoint me ten, approved most in fight, Who with assistance of my friends and kin, May serve my kingdom lost again to win. LXIV "For lo a knight, that had a gate to ward, A man of chiefest trust about his king, Hath promised so to beguile the guard That me and mine he undertakes to bring Safe, where the tyrant haply sleepeth hard He counselled me to undertake this thing, Of these some little succor to intreat, Whose name alone accomplish can the feat." LXV This said, his answer did the nymph attend, Her looks, her sighs, her gestures all did pray him: But Godfrey wisely did his grant suspend, He doubts the worst, and that awhile did stay him, He knows, who fears no God, he loves no friend, He fears the heathen false would thus betray him: But yet such ruth dwelt in his princely mind, That gainst his wisdom, pity made him kind. LXVI Besides the kindness of his gentle thought, Ready to comfort each distressed wight, The maiden's offer profit with it brought; For if the Syrian kingdom were her right, That won, the way were easy, which he sought, To bring all Asia subject to his might: There might he raise munition, arms and treasure To work the Egyptian king and his displeasure. LXVII Thus was his noble heart long time betwixt Fear and remorse, not granting nor denying, Upon his eyes the dame her lookings fixed, As if her life and death lay on his saying, Some tears she shed, with sighs and sobbings mixed, As if her hopes were dead through his delaying; At last her earnest suit the duke denayed, But with sweet words thus would content the maid: LXVIII "If not in service of our God we fought, In meaner quarrel if this sword were shaken, Well might thou gather in thy gentle thought, So fair a princess should not be forsaken; But since these armies, from the world's end brought, To free this sacred town have undertaken, It were unfit we turned our strength away, And victory, even in her coming, stay. LXIX "I promise thee, and on my princely word The burden of thy wish and hope repose, That when this chosen temple of the Lord, Her holy doors shall to his saints unclose In rest and peace; then this victorious sword Shall execute due vengeance on thy foes; But if for pity of a worldly dame I left this work, such pity were my shame." LXX At this the princess bent her eyes to ground, And stood unmoved, though not unmarked, a space, The secret bleeding of her inward wound Shed heavenly dew upon her angel's face, "Poor wretch," quoth she, "in tears and sorrows drowned, Death be thy peace, the grave thy resting-place, Since such thy hap, that lest thou mercy find The gentlest heart on earth is proved unkind. LXXI "Where none attends, what boots it to complain? Men's froward hearts are moved with women's tears As marble stones are pierced with drops of rain, No plaints find passage through unwilling ears: The tyrant, haply, would his wraith restrain Heard he these prayers ruthless Godfrey hears, Yet not thy fault is this, my chance, I see, Hath made even pity, pitiless in thee. LXXII "So both thy goodness, and good hap, denayed me, Grief, sorrow, mischief, care, hath overthrown me, The star that ruled my birthday hath betrayed me, My genius sees his charge, but dares not own me, Of queen-like state, my flight hath disarrayed me, My father died, ere he five years had known me, My kingdom lost, and lastly resteth now, Down with the tree sith broke is every bough. LXXIII "And for the modest lore of maidenhood, Bids me not sojourn with these armed men, O whither shall I fly, what secret wood Shall hide me from the tyrant? or what den, What rock, what vault, what cave can do me good? No, no, where death is sure, it resteth then To scorn his power and be it therefore seen, Armida lived, and died, both like a queen." LXXIV With that she looked as if a proud disdain Kindled displeasure in her noble mind, The way she came she turned her steps again, With gesture sad but in disdainful kind, A tempest railed down her cheeks amain, With tears of woe, and sighs of anger's wind; The drops her footsteps wash, whereon she treads, And seems to step on pearls, or crystal beads. LXXV Her cheeks on which this streaming nectar fell, Stilled through the limbeck of her diamond eyes, The roses white and red resembled well, Whereon the rory May-dew sprinkled lies When the fair morn first blusheth from her cell, And breatheth balm from opened paradise; Thus sighed, thus mourned, thus wept this lovely queen, And in each drop bathed a grace unseen. LXXVI Thrice twenty Cupids unperceived flew To gather up this liquor, ere it fall, And of each drop an arrow forged new, Else, as it came, snatched up the crystal ball, And at rebellious hearts for wildfire threw. O wondrous love! thou makest gain of all; For if she weeping sit, or smiling stand, She bends thy bow, or kindleth else thy brand. LXXVII This forged plaint drew forth unfeigned tears From many eyes, and pierced each worthy's heart; Each one condoleth with her that her hears, And of her grief would help her bear the smart: If Godfrey aid her not, not one but swears Some tigress gave him suck on roughest part Midst the rude crags, on Alpine cliffs aloft: Hard is that heart which beauty makes not soft. LXXVIII But jolly Eustace, in whose breast the brand Of love and pity kindled had the flame, While others softly whispered underhand, Before the duke with comely boldness came: "Brother and lord," quoth he, "too long you stand In your first purpose, yet vouchsafe to frame Your thoughts to ours, and lend this virgin aid: Thanks are half lost when good turns are delayed. LXXIX "And think not that Eustace's talk assays To turn these forces from this present war, Or that I wish you should your armies raise From Sion's walls, my speech tends not so far: But we that venture all for fame and praise, That to no charge nor service bounden are, Forth of our troop may ten well spared be To succor her, which naught can weaken thee. LXXX "And know, they shall in God's high service fight, That virgins innocent save and defend: Dear will the spoils be in the Heaven's sight, That from a tyrant's hateful head we rend: Nor seemed I forward in this lady's right, With hope of gain or profit in the end; But for I know he arms unworthy bears, To help a maiden's cause that shuns or fears. LXXXI "Ah! be it not pardie declared in France, Or elsewhere told where courtesy is in prize, That we forsook so fair a chevisance, For doubt or fear that might from fight arise; Else, here surrender I both sword and lance, And swear no more to use this martial guise; For ill deserves he to be termed a knight, That bears a blunt sword in a lady's right." LXXXII Thus parleyed he, and with confused sound, The rest approved what the gallant said, Their general their knights encompassed round, With humble grace, and earnest suit they prayed: "I yield," quoth he, "and it be happy found, What I have granted, let her have your aid: Yours be the thanks, for yours the danger is, If aught succeed, as much I fear, amiss. LXXXIII "But if with you my words may credit find, Oh temper then this heat misguides you so!" Thus much he said, but they with fancy blind, Accept his grant, and let his counsel go. What works not beauty, man's relenting mind Is eath to move with plaints and shows of woe: Her lips cast forth a chain of sugared words, That captive led most of the Christian lords. LXXXIV Eustace recalled her, and bespake her thus: "Beauty's chief darling, let those sorrows be, For such assistance shall you find in us As with your need, or will, may best agree:" With that she cheered her forehead dolorous, And smiled for joy, that Phoebus blushed to see, And had she deigned her veil for to remove, The God himself once more had fallen in love. LXXXV With that she broke the silence once again, And gave the knight great thanks in little speech, She said she would his handmaid poor remain, So far as honor's laws received no breach. Her humble gestures made the residue plain, Dumb eloquence, persuading more than speech: Thus women know, and thus they use the guise, To enchant the valiant, and beguile the wise. LXXXVI And when she saw her enterprise had got Some wished mean of quick and good proceeding, She thought to strike the iron that was hot, For every action hath his hour of speeding: Medea or false Circe changed not So far the shapes of men, as her eyes spreading Altered their hearts, and with her syren's sound In lust, their minds, their hearts, in love she drowned. LXXXVII All wily sleights that subtle women know, Hourly she used, to catch some lover new. None kenned the bent of her unsteadfast bow, For with the time her thoughts her looks renew, From some she cast her modest eyes below, At some her gazing glances roving flew, And while she thus pursued her wanton sport, She spurred the slow, and reined the forward short. LXXXVIII If some, as hopeless that she would be won, Forebore to love, because they durst not move her, On them her gentle looks to smile begun, As who say she is kind if you dare prove her On every heart thus shone this lustful sun, All strove to serve, to please, to woo, to love her, And in their hearts that chaste and bashful were, Her eye's hot glance dissolved the frost of fear. LXXXIX On them who durst with fingering bold assay To touch the softness of her tender skin, She looked as coy, as if she list not play, And made as things of worth were hard to win; Yet tempered so her deignful looks alway, That outward scorn showed store of grace within: Thus with false hope their longing hearts she fired, For hardest gotten things are most desired. XC Alone sometimes she walked in secret where, To ruminate upon her discontent, Within her eyelids sate the swelling tear, Not poured forth, though sprung from sad lament, And with this craft a thousand souls well near In snares of foolish ruth and love she hent, And kept as slaves, by which we fitly prove That witless pity breedeth fruitless love. XCI Sometimes, as if her hope unloosed had The chains of grief, wherein her thoughts lay fettered, Upon her minions looked she blithe and glad, In that deceitful lore so was she lettered; Not glorious Titan, in his brightness clad, The sunshine of her face in lustre bettered: For when she list to cheer her beauties so, She smiled away the clouds of grief and woe. XCII Her double charm of smiles and sugared words, Lulled on sleep the virtue of their senses, Reason shall aid gainst those assaults affords, Wisdom no warrant from those sweet offences; Cupid's deep rivers have their shallow fords, His griefs, bring joys; his losses, recompenses; He breeds the sore, and cures us of the pain: Achilles' lance that wounds and heals again. XCIII While thus she them torments twixt frost and fire, Twixt joy and grief, twixt hope and restless fear, The sly enchantress felt her gain the nigher, These were her flocks that golden fleeces bear: But if someone durst utter his desire, And by complaining make his griefs appear, He labored hard rocks with plaints to move, She had not learned the gamut then of love. XCIV For down she bet her bashful eyes to ground, And donned the weed of women's modest grace, Down from her eyes welled the pearls round, Upon the bright enamel of her face; Such honey drops on springing flowers are found When Phoebus holds the crimson morn in chase; Full seemed her looks of anger, and of shame; Yet pity shone transparent through the same. XCV If she perceived by his outward cheer, That any would his love by talk bewray, Sometimes she heard him, sometimes stopped her ear, And played fast and loose the livelong day: Thus all her lovers kind deluded were, Their earnest suit got neither yea nor nay; But like the sort of weary huntsmen fare, That hunt all day, and lose at night the hare. XCVI These were the arts by which she captived A thousand souls of young and lusty knights; These were the arms wherewith love conquered Their feeble hearts subdued in wanton fights: What wonder if Achilles were misled, Of great Alcides at their ladies' sights, Since these true champions of the Lord above Were thralls to beauty, yielden slaves to lore. FIFTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. Gernando scorns Rinaldo should aspire To rule that charge for which he seeks and strives, And slanders him so far, that in his ire The wronged knight his foe of life deprives: Far from the camp the slayer doth retire, Nor lets himself be bound in chains or gyves: Armide departs content, and from the seas Godfrey hears news which him and his displease. I While thus Armida false the knights misled In wandering errors of deceitful love, And thought, besides the champions promised, The other lordlings in her aid to move, In Godfrey's thought a strong contention bred Who fittest were this hazard great to prove; For all the worthies of the adventures' band Were like in birth, in power, in strength of hand. II But first the prince, by grave advice, decreed They should some knight choose at their own election, That in his charge Lord Dudon might succeed, And of that glorious troop should take protection; So none should grieve, displeased with the deed, Nor blame the causer of their new subjection: Besides, Godfredo showed by this device, How much he held that regiment in price. III He called the worthies then, and spake them so: "Lordlings, you know I yielded to your will, And gave you license with this dame to go, To win her kingdom and that tyrant kill: But now again I let you further know, In following her it may betide yon ill; Refrain therefore, and change this forward thought For death unsent for, danger comes unsought. IV "But if to shun these perils, sought so far, May seem disgraceful to the place yon hold; If grave advice and prudent counsel are Esteemed detractors from your courage bold; Then know, I none against his will debar, Nor what I granted erst I now withhold; But he mine empire, as it ought of right, Sweet, easy, pleasant, gentle, meek and light. V "Go then or tarry, each as likes him best, Free power I grant you on this enterprise; But first in Dudon's place, now laid in chest, Choose you some other captain stout and wise; Then ten appoint among the worthiest, But let no more attempt this hard emprise, In this my will content you that I have, For power constrained is but a glorious slave." VI Thus Godfrey said, and thus his brother spake, And answered for himself and all his peers: "My lord, as well it fitteth thee to make These wise delays and cast these doubts and fears, So 'tis our part at first to undertake; Courage and haste beseems our might and years; And this proceeding with so grave advice, Wisdom, in you, in us were cowardice. VII "Since then the feat is easy, danger none, All set in battle and in hardy fight, Do thou permit the chosen ten to gone And aid the damsel:" thus devised the knight, To make men think the sun of honor shone There where the lamp of Cupid gave the light: The rest perceive his guile, and it approve, And call that knighthood which was childish love. VIII But loving Eustace, that with jealous eye Beheld the worth of Sophia's noble child, And his fair shape did secretly envy, Besides the virtues in his breast compiled, And, for in love he would no company, He stored his mouth with speeches smoothly filed, Drawing his rival to attend his word; Thus with fair sleight he laid the knight abord: IX "Of great Bertoldo thou far greater heir, Thou star of knighthood, flower of chivalry, Tell me, who now shall lead this squadron fair, Since our late guide in marble cold doth lie? I, that with famous Dudon might compare In all, but years, hoar locks, and gravity, To whom should I, Duke Godfrey's brother, yield, Unless to thee, the Christian army's shield? X "Thee whom high birth makes equal with the best Thine acts prefer both me and all beforn; Nor that in fight thou both surpass the rest, And Godfrey's worthy self, I hold in scorn; Thee to obey then am I only pressed; Before these worthies be thine eagle borne; This honor haply thou esteemest light, Whose day of glory never yet found night. XI "Yet mayest thou further by this means display The spreading wings of thy immortal fame; I will procure it, if thou sayest not nay, And all their wills to thine election frame: But for I scantly am resolved which way To bend my force, or where employ the same, Leave me, I pray, at my discretion free To help Armida, or serve here with thee." XII This last request, for love is evil to hide, Empurpled both his cheeks with scarlet red; Rinaldo soon his passions had descried, And gently smiling turned aside his head, And, for weak Cupid was too feeble eyed To strike him sure, the fire in him was dead; So that of rivals was he naught afraid, Nor cared he for the journey or the maid. XIII But in his noble thought revolved he oft Dudon's high prowess, death and burial, And how Argantes bore his plumes aloft, Praising his fortunes for that worthy's fall; Besides, the knight's sweet words and praises soft To his due honor did him fitly call, And made his heart rejoice, for well he knew, Though much he praised him, all his words were true. XIV "Degrees," quoth he, "of honors high to hold, I would them first deserve, and the desire; And were my valor such as you have told, Would I for that to higher place aspire: But if to honors due raise me you would, I will not of my works refuse the hire; And much it glads me, that my power and might Ypraised is by such a valiant knight. XV "I neither seek it nor refuse the place, Which if I get, the praise and thanks be thine." Eustace, this spoken, hied thence apace To know which way his fellows' hearts incline: But Prince Gernando coveted the place, Whom though Armida sought to undermine, Gainst him yet vain did all her engines prove, His pride was such, there was no place for love. XVI Gernando was the King of Norway's son, That many a realm and region had to guide, And for his elders lands and crowns had won. His heart was puffed up with endless pride: The other boasts more what himself had done Than all his ancestors' great acts beside; Yet his forefathers old before him were Famous in war and peace five hundred years. XVII This barbarous prince, who only vainly thought That bliss in wealth and kingly power doth lie, And in respect esteemed all virtue naught Unless it were adorned with titles high, Could not endure, that to the place he sought A simple knight should dare to press so nigh; And in his breast so boiled fell despite, That ire and wrath exiled reason quite. XVIII The hidden devil, that lies in close await To win the fort of unbelieving man, Found entry there, where ire undid the gate, And in his bosom unperceived ran; It filled his heart with malice, strife and hate, It made him rage, blaspheme, swear, curse and ban, Invisible it still attends him near, And thus each minute whispereth in his ear. XIX What, shall Rinaldo match thee? dares he tell Those idle names of his vain pedigree? Then let him say, if thee he would excel, What lands, what realms his tributaries be: If his forefathers in the graves that dwell, Were honored like thine that live, let see: Oh how dares one so mean aspire so high, Born in that servile country Italy? XX Now, if he win, or if he lose the day, Yet is his praise and glory hence derived, For that the world will, to his credit, say, Lo, this is he that with Gernando strived. The charge some deal thee haply honor may, That noble Dudon had while here he lived; But laid on him he would the office shame, Let it suffice, he durst desire the same. XXI If when this breath from man's frail body flies The soul take keep, or know the things done here, Oh, how looks Dudon from the glorious skies? What wrath, what anger in his face appear, On this proud youngling while he bends his eyes, Marking how high he doth his feathers rear? Seeing his rash attempt, how soon he dare, Though but a boy, with his great worth compare. XXII He dares not only, but he strives and proves, Where chastisement were fit there wins he praise: One counsels him, his speech him forward moves; Another fool approveth all he says: If Godfrey favor him more than behoves, Why then he wrongeth thee an hundred ways; Nor let thy state so far disgraced be, Now what thou art and canst, let Godfrey see. XXIII With such false words the kindled fire began To every vein his poisoned heart to reach, It swelled his scornful heart, and forth it ran At his proud looks, and too audacious speech; All that he thought blameworthy in the man, To his disgrace that would be each where preach; He termed him proud and vain, his worth in fight He called fool-hardise, rashness, madness right. XXIV All that in him was rare or excellent, All that was good, all that was princely found, With such sharp words as malice could invent, He blamed, such power has wicked tongue to wound. The youth, for everywhere those rumors went, Of these reproaches heard sometimes the sound; Nor did for that his tongue the fault amend, Until it brought him to his woful end. XXV The cursed fiend that set his tongue at large, Still bred more fancies in his idle brain, His heart with slanders new did overcharge, And soothed him still in his angry vein; Amid the camp a place was broad and large, Where one fair regiment might easily train; And there in tilt and harmless tournament Their days of rest the youths and gallants spent. XXVI There, as his fortune would it should betide, Amid the press Gernando gan retire, To vomit out his venom unespied, Wherewith foul envy did his heart inspire. Rinaldo heard him as he stood beside, And as he could not bridle wrath and ire, "Thou liest," cried he loud, and with that word About his head he tossed his flaming sword. XXVII Thunder his voice, and lightning seemed his brand, So fell his look, and furious was his cheer, Gernando trembled, for he saw at hand Pale death, and neither help nor comfort near, Yet for the soldiers all to witness stand He made proud sign, as though he naught did fear, But bravely drew his little-helping blade, And valiant show of strong resistance made. XXVIII With that a thousand blades of burnished steel Glistered on heaps like flames of fire in sight, Hundreds, that knew not yet the quarrel weel, Ran thither, some to gaze and some to fight: The empty air a sound confused did feel Of murmurs low, and outcries loud on height, Like rolling waves and Boreas' angry blasts When roaring seas against the rocks he casts. XXIX But not for this the wronged warrior stayed His just displeasure and incensed ire, He cared not what the vulgar did or said, To vengeance did his courage fierce aspire: Among the thickest weapons way he made, His thundering sword made all on heaps retire, So that of near a thousand stayed not one, But Prince Gernando bore the brunt alone. XXX His hand, too quick to execute his wrath, Performed all, as pleased his eye and heart, At head and breast oft times he strucken hath, Now at the right, now at the other part: On every side thus did he harm and scath, And oft beguile his sight with nimble art, That no defence the prince of wounds acquits, Where least he thinks, or fears, there most he hits. XXXI Nor ceased be, till in Gernando's breast He sheathed once or twice his furious blade; Down fell the hapless prince with death oppressed, A double way to his weak soul was made; His bloody sword the victor wiped and dressed, Nor longer by the slaughtered body stayed, But sped him thence, and soon appeased hath His hate, his ire, his rancor and his wrath. XXXII Called by the tumult, Godfrey drew him near, And there beheld a sad and rueful sight, The signs of death upon his face appear, With dust and blood his locks were loathly dight, Sighs and complaints on each side might he hear, Made for the sudden death of that great knight: Amazed, he asked who durst and did so much; For yet he knew not whom the fault would touch. XXXIII Arnoldo, minion of the Prince thus slain, Augments the fault in telling it, and saith, This Prince murdered, for a quarrel vain, By young Rinaldo in his desperate wrath, And with that sword that should Christ's law maintain, One of Christ's champions bold he killed hath, And this he did in such a place and hour, As if he scorned your rule, despised your power. XXXIV And further adds, that he deserved death By law, and law should inviolate, That none offence could greater be uneath, And yet the place the fault did aggravate: If he escapes, that mischief would take breath, And flourish bold in spite of rule and state; And that Gernando's friends would venge the wrong, Although to justice that did first belong, XXXV And by that means, should discord, hate and strife Raise mutinies, and what therefore ensueth: Lastly he praised the dead, and still had rife All words he thought could vengeance move or rut Against him Tancred argued for life, With honest reasons to excuse the youth: The Duke heard all, but with such sober cheer, As banished hope, and still increased fear. XXXVI "Great Prince," quoth Tancred; "set before thine eyes Rinaldo's worth and courage what it is, How much our hope of conquest in him lies; Regard that princely house and race of his; He that correcteth every fault he spies, And judgeth all alike, doth all amiss; For faults, you know, are greater thought or less, As is the person's self that doth transgress." XXXVII Godfredo answered him; "If high and low Of sovereign power alike should feel the stroke, Then, Tancred, ill you counsel us, I trow; If lords should know no law, as erst you spoke, How vile and base our empire were you know, If none but slaves and peasants bear the yoke; Weak is the sceptre and the power is small That such provisos bring annexed withal. XXXVIII "But mine was freely given ere 'twas sought, Nor that it lessened be I now consent; Right well know I both when and where I ought To give condign reward and punishment, Since you are all in like subjection brought, Both high and low obey, and be content." This heard, Tancredi wisely stayed his words, Such weight the sayings have of kings and lords. XXXIX Old Raymond praised his speech, for old men think They ever wisest seem when most severe, "'Tis best," quoth he, "to make these great ones shrink, The people love him whom the nobles fear: There must the rule to all disorders sink, Where pardons more than punishments appear; For feeble is each kingdom, frail and weak, Unless his basis be this fear I speak." XL These words Tancredi heard and pondered well, And by them wist how Godfrey's thoughts were bent, Nor list he longer with these old men dwell, But turned his horse and to Rinaldo went, Who, when his noble foe death-wounded fell, Withdrew him softly to his gorgeous tent; There Tancred found him, and at large declared The words and speeches sharp which late you heard. XLI And said, "Although I wot the outward show Is not true witness of the secret thought, For that some men so subtle are, I trow, That what they purpose most appeareth naught; Yet dare I say Godfredo means, I know, Such knowledge hath his looks and speeches wrought, You shall first prisoner be, and then be tried As he shall deem it good and law provide." XLII With that a bitter smile well might you see Rinaldo cast, with scorn and high disdain, "Let them in fetters plead their cause," quoth he, "That are base peasants, born of servile stain, I was free born, I live and will die free Before these feet be fettered in a chain: These hands were made to shake sharp spears and swords, Not to be tied in gyves and twisted cords. XLIII "If my good service reap this recompense, To be clapt up in close and secret mew, And as a thief be after dragged from thence, To suffer punishment as law finds due; Let Godfrey come or send, I will not hence Until we know who shall this bargain rue, That of our tragedy the late done fact May be the first, and this the second, act. XLIV "Give me mine arms," he cried; his squire them brings, And clad his head, and dressed in iron strong, About his neck his silver shield he flings, Down by his side a cutting sword there hung; Among this earth's brave lords and mighty kings, Was none so stout, so fierce, so fair, so young, God Mars he seemed descending from his sphere, Or one whose looks could make great Mars to fear. XLV Tancredi labored with some pleasing speech His spirits fierce and courage to appease; "Young Prince, thy valor," thus he gan to preach, "Can chastise all that do thee wrong, at ease, I know your virtue can your enemies teach, That you can venge you when and where you please: But God forbid this day you lift your arm To do this camp and us your friends such harm. XLVI "Tell me what will you do? why would you stain Your noble hands in our unguilty blood? By wounding Christians, will you again Pierce Christ, whose parts they are and members good? Will you destroy us for your glory vain, Unstayed as rolling waves in ocean flood? Far be it from you so to prove your strength, And let your zeal appease your rage at length. XLVII "For God's love stay your heat, and just displeasure, Appease your wrath, your courage fierce assuage, Patience, a praise; forbearance, is a treasure; Suffrance, an angel's is; a monster, rage; At least you actions by example measure, And think how I in mine unbridled age Was wronged, yet I would not revengement take On all this camp, for one offender's sake. XLVIII "Cilicia conquered I, as all men wot, And there the glorious cross on high I reared, But Baldwin came, and what I nobly got Bereft me falsely when I least him feared; He seemed my friend, and I discovered not His secret covetise which since appeared; Yet strive I not to get mine own by fight, Or civil war, although perchance I might. XLIX "If then you scorn to be in prison pent, If bonds, as high disgrace, your hands refuse; Or if your thoughts still to maintain are bent Your liberty, as men of honor use: To Antioch what if forthwith you went? And leave me here your absence to excuse, There with Prince Boemond live in ease and peace, Until this storm of Godfrey's anger cease. L "For soon, if forces come from Egypt land, Or other nations that us here confine, Godfrey will beaten be with his own wand, And feel he wants that valor great of thine, Our camp may seem an arm without a hand, Amid our troops unless thy eagle shine:" With that came Guelpho and those words approved, And prayed him go, if him he feared or loved. LI Their speeches soften much the warrior's heart, And make his wilful thoughts at last relent, So that he yields, and saith he will depart, And leave the Christian camp incontinent. His friends, whose love did never shrink or start, Preferred their aid, what way soe'er he went: He thanked them all, but left them all, besides Two bold and trusty squires, and so he rides. LII He rides, revolving in his noble spright Such haughty thoughts as fill the glorious mind; On hard adventures was his whole delight, And now to wondrous acts his will inclined; Alone against the Pagans would he fight, And kill their kings from Egypt unto Inde, From Cynthia's hills and Nilus' unknown spring He would fetch praise and glorious conquest bring. LIII But Guelpho, when the prince his leave had take And now had spurred his courser on his way, No longer tarriance with the rest would make, But tastes to find Godfredo, if he may: Who seeing him approaching, forthwith spake, "Guelpho," quoth he, "for thee I only stay, For thee I sent my heralds all about, In every tent to seek and find thee out." LIV This said, he softly drew the knight aside Where none might hear, and then bespake him thus: "How chanceth it thy nephew's rage and pride, Makes him so far forget himself and us? Hardly could I believe what is betide, A murder done for cause so frivolous, How I have loved him, thou and all can tell; But Godfrey loved him but whilst he did well. LV "I must provide that every one have right, That all be heard, each cause be well discussed, As far from partial love as free from spite, I hear complaints, yet naught but proves I trust: Now if Rinaldo weigh our rule too light, And have the sacred lore of war so brust, Take you the charge that he before us come To clear himself and hear our upright dome. LVI "But let him come withouten bond or chain, For still my thoughts to do him grace are framed; But if our power he haply shall disdain, As well I know his courage yet untamed, To bring him by persuasion take some pain: Else, if I prove severe, both you be blamed, That forced my gentle nature gainst my thought To rigor, lest our laws return to naught." LVII Lord Guelpho answered thus: "What heart can bear Such slanders false, devised by hate and spite? Or with stayed patience, reproaches hear, And not revenge by battle or by fight? The Norway Prince hath bought his folly dear, But who with words could stay the angry knight? A fool is he that comes to preach or prate When men with swords their right and wrong debate. LVIII "And where you wish he should himself submit To hear the censure of your upright laws; Alas, that cannot be, for he is flit Out if this camp, withouten stay or pause, There take my gage, behold I offer it To him that first accused him in this cause, Or any else that dare, and will maintain That for his pride the prince was justly slain. LIX "I say with reason Lord Gernando's pride He hath abated, if he have offended Gainst your commands, who are his lord and guide, Oh pardon him, that fault shall be amended." "If he be gone," quoth Godfrey, "let him ride And brawl elsewhere, here let all strife be ended: And you, Lord Guelpho, for your nephew's sake, Breed us no new, nor quarrels old awake." LX This while, the fair and false Armida strived To get her promised aid in sure possession, The day to end, with endless plaint she derived; Wit, beauty, craft for her made intercession: But when the earth was once of light deprived, And western seas felt Titan's hot impression, 'Twixt two old knights, and matrons twain she went, Where pitched was her fair and curious tent. LXI But this false queen of craft and sly invention,-- Whose looks, love's arrows were; whose eyes his quivers; Whose beauty matchless, free from reprehension, A wonder left by Heaven to after-livers,-- Among the Christian lord had bred contention Who first should quench his flames in Cupid's rivers, While all her weapons and her darts rehearsed, Had not Godfredo's constant bosom pierced. LXII To change his modest thought the dame procureth, And proffereth heaps of love's enticing treasure: But as the falcon newly gorged endureth Her keeper lure her oft, but comes at leisure; So he, whom fulness of delight assureth What long repentance comes of love's short pleasure, Her crafts, her arts, herself and all despiseth, So base affections fall, when virtue riseth. LXIII And not one foot his steadfast foot was moved Out of that heavenly path, wherein he paced, Yet thousand wiles and thousand ways she proved, To have that castle fair of goodness raised: She used those looks and smiles that most behoved To melt the frost which his hard heart embraced, And gainst his breast a thousand shot she ventured, Yet was the fort so strong it was not entered. LXIV The dame who thought that one blink of her eye Could make the chastest heart feel love's sweet pain, Oh, how her pride abated was hereby! When all her sleights were void, her crafts were vain, Some other where she would her forces try, Where at more ease she might more vantage gain, As tired soldiers whom some fort keeps out, Thence raise their siege, and spoil the towns about. LXV But yet all ways the wily witch could find Could not Tancredi's heart to loveward move, His sails were filled with another wind, He list no blast of new affection prove; For, as one poison doth exclude by kind Another's force, so love excludeth love: These two alone nor more nor less the dame Could win, the rest all burnt in her sweet flame. LXVI The princess, though her purpose would not frame, As late she hoped, and as still she would, Yet, for the lords and knights of greatest name Became her prey, as erst you heard it told, She thought, ere truth-revealing time or frame Bewrayed her act, to lead them to some hold, Where chains and band she meant to make them prove, Composed by Vulcan not by gentle love. LXVII The time prefixed at length was come and past, Which Godfrey had set down to lend her aid, When at his feet herself to earth she cast, "The hour is come, my Lord," she humbly said, "And if the tyrant haply hear at last, His banished niece hath your assistance prayed, He will in arms to save his kingdom rise, So shall we harder make this enterprise. LXVIII "Before report can bring the tyrant news, Or his espials certify their king, Oh let thy goodness these few champions choose, That to her kingdom should thy handmaid bring; Who, except Heaven to aid the right refuse, Recover shall her crown, from whence shall spring Thy profit; for betide thee peace or war, Thine all her cities, all her subjects are." LXIX The captain sage the damsel fair assured, His word was passed and should not be recanted, And she with sweet and humble grace endured To let him point those ten, which late he granted: But to be one, each one fought and procured, No suit, no entreaty, intercession wanted; There envy each at others' love exceeded, And all importunate made, more than needed. LXX She that well saw the secret of their hearts, And knew how best to warm them in their blood, Against them threw the cursed poisoned darts Of jealousy, and grief at others' good, For love she wist was weak without those arts, And slow; for jealousy is Cupid's food; For the swift steed runs not so fast alone, As when some strain, some strive him to outgone. LXXI Her words in such alluring sort she framed, Her looks enticing, and her wooing smiles, That every one his fellows' favors blamed, That of their mistress he received erewhiles: This foolish crew of lovers unashamed, Mad with the poison of her secret wiles, Ran forward still, in this disordered sort, Nor could Godfredo's bridle rein them short. LXXII He that would satisfy each good desire, Withouten partial love, of every knight, Although he swelled with shame, with grief and ire To see these fellows and these fashions light; Yet since by no advice they would retire, Another way he sought to set them right: "Write all your names," quoth he, "and see whom chance Of lot, to this exploit will first advance." LXXIII Their names were writ, and in an helmet shaken, While each did fortune's grace and aid implore; At last they drew them, and the foremost taken The Earl of Pembroke was, Artemidore, Doubtless the county thought his bread well baken; Next Gerrard followed, then with tresses hoar Old Wenceslaus, that felt Cupid's rage Now in his doating and his dying age. LXXIV Oh how contentment in their foreheads shined! Their looks with joy; thoughts swelled with secret pleasure, These three it seemed good success designed To make the lords of love and beauty's treasure: Their doubtful fellows at their hap repined, And with small patience wait Fortune's leisure, Upon his lips that read the scrolls attending, As if their lives were on his words depending. LXXV Guasco the fourth, Ridolpho him succeeds, Then Ulderick whom love list so advance, Lord William of Ronciglion next he reads, Then Eberard, and Henry born in France, Rambaldo last, whom wicked lust so leads That he forsook his Saviour with mischance; This wretch the tenth was who was thus deluded, The rest to their huge grief were all excluded. LXXVI O'ercome with envy, wrath and jealousy, The rest blind Fortune curse, and all her laws, And mad with love, yet out on love they cry, That in his kingdom let her judge their cause: And for man's mind is such, that oft we try Things most forbidden, without stay or pause, In spite of fortune purposed many a knight To follow fair Armida when 'twas night. LXXVII To follow her, by night or else by day, And in her quarrel venture life and limb. With sighs and tears she gan them softly pray To keep that promise, when the skies were dim, To this and that knight did she plain and say, What grief she felt to part withouten him: Meanwhile the ten had donned their armor best, And taken leave of Godfrey and the rest. LXXVIII The duke advised them every one apart, How light, how trustless was the Pagan's faith, And told what policy, what wit, what art, Avoids deceit, which heedless men betray'th; His speeches pierce their ear, but not their heart, Love calls it folly, whatso wisdom saith: Thus warned he leaves them to their wanton guide, Who parts that night; such haste had she to ride. LXXIX The conqueress departs, and with her led These prisoners, whom love would captive keep, The hearts of those she left behind her bled, With point of sorrow's arrow pierced deep. But when the night her drowsy mantle spread, And filled the earth with silence, shade and sleep, In secret sort then each forsook his tent, And as blind Cupid led them blind they went. LXXX Eustatio first, who scantly could forbear, Till friendly night might hide his haste and shame, He rode in post, and let his breast him bear As his blind fancy would his journey frame, All night he wandered and he wist not where; But with the morning he espied the dame, That with her guard up from a village rode Where she and they that night had made abode. LXXXI Thither he galloped fast, and drawing near Rambaldo knew the knight, and loudly cried, "Whence comes young Eustace, and what seeks he here?" "I come," quoth he, "to serve the Queen Armide, If she accept me, would we all were there Where my good-will and faith might best be tried." "Who," quoth the other, "choseth thee to prove This high exploit of hers?" He answered, "Love." LXXXII "Love hath Eustatio chosen, Fortune thee, In thy conceit which is the best election?" "Nay, then, these shifts are vain," replied he, "These titles false serve thee for no protection, Thou canst not here for this admitted be Our fellow-servant, in this sweet subjection." "And who," quoth Eustace, angry, "dares deny My fellowship?" Rambaldo answered, "I." LXXXIII And with that word his cutting sword he drew, That glittered bright, and sparkled flaming fire; Upon his foe the other champion flew, With equal courage, and with equal ire. The gentle princess, who the danger knew, Between them stepped, and prayed them both retire. "Rambald," quoth she, "why should you grudge or plain, If I a champion, you an helper gain? LXXXIV "If me you love, why wish you me deprived In so great need of such a puissant knight? But welcome Eustace, in good time arrived, Defender of my state, my life, my right. I wish my hapless self no longer lived, When I esteem such good assistance light." Thus talked they on, and travelled on their way Their fellowship increasing every day. LXXXV From every side they come, yet wist there none Of others coming or of others' mind, She welcomes all, and telleth every one, What joy her thoughts in his arrival find. But when Duke Godfrey wist his knights were gone, Within his breast his wiser soul divined Some hard mishap upon his friends should light, For which he sighed all day, and wept all night. LXXXVI A messenger, while thus he mused, drew near, All soiled with dust and sweat, quite out of breath, It seemed the man did heavy tidings bear, Upon his looks sate news of loss and death: "My lord," quoth he, "so many ships appear At sea, that Neptune bears the load uneath, From Egypt come they all, this lets thee weet William Lord Admiral of the Genoa fleet, LXXXVII "Besides a convoy coming from the shore With victual for this noble camp of thine Surprised was, and lost is all that store, Mules, horses, camels laden, corn and wine; Thy servants fought till they could fight no more, For all were slain or captives made in fine: The Arabian outlaws them assailed by night, When least they feared, and least they looked for fight. LXXXVIII "Their frantic boldness doth presume so far, That many Christians have they falsely slain, And like a raging flood they spared are, And overflow each country, field and plain; Send therefore some strong troops of men of war, To force them hence, and drive them home again, And keep the ways between these tents of thine And those broad seas, the seas of Palestine." LXXXIX From mouth to mouth the heavy rumor spread Of these misfortunes, which dispersed wide Among the soldiers, great amazement bred; Famine they doubt, and new come foes beside: The duke, that saw their wonted courage fled, And in the place thereof weak fear espied, With merry looks these cheerful words he spake, To make them heart again and courage take. XC "You champions bold, with me that 'scaped have So many dangers, and such hard assays, Whom still your God did keep, defend and save In all your battles, combats, fights and frays, You that subdued the Turks and Persians brave, That thirst and hunger held in scorn always, And vanquished hills, and seas, with heat and cold, Shall vain reports appal your courage bold? XCI "That Lord who helped you out at every need, When aught befell this glorious camp amiss, Shall fortune all your actions well to speed, On whom his mercy large extended is; Tofore his tomb, when conquering hands you spreed, With what delight will you remember this? Be strong therefore, and keep your valors high To honor, conquest, fame and victory." XCII Their hopes half dead and courage well-nigh lost, Revived with these brave speeches of their guide; But in his breast a thousand cares he tost, Although his sorrows he could wisely hide; He studied how to feed that mighty host, In so great scarceness, and what force provide He should against the Egyptian warriors sly, And how subdue those thieves of Araby. SIXTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. Argantes calls the Christians out to just: Otho not chosen doth his strength assay, But from his saddle tumbleth in the dust, And captive to the town is sent away: Tancred begins new fight, and when both trust To win the praise and palm, night ends the fray: Erminia hopes to cure her wounded knight, And from the city armed rides by night. I But better hopes had them recomforted That lay besieged in the sacred town; With new supply late were they victualled, When night obscured the earth with shadows brown; Their armes and engines on the walls they spread, Their slings to cast, and stones to tumble down; And all that side which to the northward lies, High rampiers and strong bulwarks fortifies. II Their wary king commands now here now there, To build this tower, to make that bulwark strong, Whether the sun, the moon, or stars appear, To give them time to work, no time comes wrong: In every street new weapons forged were, By cunning smiths, sweating with labor long; While thus the careful prince provision made, To him Argantes came, and boasting said: III "How long shall we, like prisoners in chains, Captived lie inclosed within this wall? I see your workmen taking endless pains To make new weapons for no use at all; Meanwhile these western thieves destroy the plains, Your towns are burnt, your forts and castles fall, Yet none of us dares at these gates out-peep, Or sound one trumpet shrill to break their sleep. IV "Their time in feasting and good cheer they spend, Nor dare we once their banquets sweet molest, The days and night likewise they bring to end, In peace, assurance, quiet, ease and rest; But we must yield whom hunger soon will shend, And make for peace, to save our lives, request, Else, if th' Egyptian army stay too long, Like cowards die within this fortress strong. V "Yet never shall my courage great consent So vile a death should end my noble days, Nor on mine arms within these walls ypent To-morrow's sun shall spread his timely rays: Let sacred Heavens dispose as they are bent Of this frail life, yet not withouten praise Of valor, prowess, might, Argantes shall Inglorious die, or unrevenged fall. VI "But if the roots of wonted chivalry Be not quite dead your princely breast within, Devise not how with frame and praise to die, But how to live, to conquer and to win; Let us together at these gates outfly, And skirmish bold and bloody fight begin; For when last need to desperation driveth, Who dareth most he wisest counsel giveth. VII "But if in field your wisdom dare not venture To hazard all your troops to doubtful fight, Then bind yourself to Godfrey by indenture, To end your quarrels by one single knight: And for the Christian this accord shall enter With better will, say such you know your right That he the weapons, place and time shall choose, And let him for his best, that vantage use. VIII "For though your foe had hands, like Hector strong, With heart unfeared, and courage stern and stout, Yet no misfortune can your justice wrong, And what that wanteth, shall this arm help out, In spite of fate shall this right hand ere long, Return victorious: if hereof you doubt, Take it for pledge, wherein if trust you have, It shall yourself defend and kingdom save." IX "Bold youth," the tyrant thus began to speak, "Although I withered seem with age and years, Yet are not these old arms so faint and weak, Nor this hoar head so full of doubts and fears But whenas death this vital thread shall break, He shall my courage hear, my death who hears: And Aladine that lived a king and knight, To his fair morn will have an evening bright. X "But that which yet I would have further blazed, To thee in secret shall be told and spoken, Great Soliman of Nice, so far ypraised, To be revenged for his sceptre broken, The men of arms of Araby hath raised, From Inde to Africk, and, when we give token, Attends the favor of the friendly night To victual us, and with our foes to fight. XI "Now though Godfredo hold by warlike feat Some castles poor and forts in vile oppression, Care not for that; for still our princely seat, This stately town, we keep in our possession, But thou appease and calm that courage great, Which in thy bosom make so hot impression; And stay fit time, which will betide ere long, To increase thy glory, and revenge our wrong." XII The Saracen at this was inly spited, Who Soliman's great worth had long envied, To hear him praised thus he naught delighted, Nor that the king upon his aid relied: "Within your power, sir king," he says, "united Are peace and war, nor shall that be denied; But for the Turk and his Arabian band, He lost his own, shall he defend your land? XIII "Perchance he comes some heavenly messenger, Sent down to set the Pagan people free, Then let Argantes for himself take care, This sword, I trust, shall well safe-conduct me: But while you rest and all your forces spare, That I go forth to war at least agree; Though not your champion, yet a private knight, I will some Christian prove in single fight." XIV The king replied, "Though thy force and might Should be reserved to better time and use; Yet that thou challenge some renowned knight, Among the Christians bold I not refuse." The warrior breathing out desire of fight, An herald called, and said, "Go tell those news To Godfrey's self, and to the western lords, And in their hearings boldly say these words: XV "Say that a knight, who holds in great disdain To be thus closed up in secret mew, Will with his sword in open field maintain, If any dare deny his words for true, That no devotion, as they falsely feign, Hath moved the French these countries to subdue; But vile ambition, and pride's hateful vice, Desire of rule, and spoil, and covetice. XVI "And that to fight I am not only prest With one or two that dare defend the cause, But come the fourth or fifth, come all the rest, Come all that will, and all that weapon draws, Let him that yields obey the victor's hest, As wills the lore of mighty Mars his laws:" This was the challenge that fierce Pagan sent, The herald donned his coat-of-arms, and went. XVII And when the man before the presence came Of princely Godfrey, and his captains bold: "My Lord," quoth he, "may I withouten blame Before your Grace, my message brave unfold?" "Thou mayest," he answered, "we approve the same; Withouten fear, be thine ambassage told." "Then," quoth the herald, "shall your highness see, If this ambassage sharp or pleasing be." XVIII The challenge gan he then at large expose, With mighty threats, high terms and glorious words; On every side an angry murmur rose, To wrath so moved were the knights and lords. Then Godfrey spake, and said, "The man hath chose An hard exploit, but when he feels our swords, I trust we shall so far entreat the knight, As to excuse the fourth or fifth of fight. XIX "But let him come and prove, the field I grant, Nor wrong nor treason let him doubt or fear, Some here shall pay him for his glorious vaunt, Without or guile, or vantage, that I swear. The herald turned when he had ended scant, And hasted back the way he came whileare, Nor stayed he aught, nor once forslowed his pace, Till he bespake Argantes face to face. XX "Arm you, my lord," he said, "your bold defies By your brave foes accepted boldly been, This combat neither high nor low denies, Ten thousand wish to meet you on the green; A thousand frowned with angry flaming eyes, And shaked for rage their swords and weapons keen; The field is safely granted by their guide," This said, the champion for his armor cried. XXI While he was armed, his heart for ire nigh brake, So yearned his courage hot his foes to find: The King to fair Clorinda present spake; "If he go forth, remain not you behind, But of our soldiers best a thousand take, To guard his person and your own assigned; Yet let him meet alone the Christian knight, And stand yourself aloof, while they two fight." XXII Thus spake the King, and soon without abode The troop went forth in shining armor clad, Before the rest the Pagan champion rode, His wonted arms and ensigns all he had: A goodly plain displayed wide and broad, Between the city and the camp was spread, A place like that wherein proud Rome beheld The forward young men manage spear and shield. XXIII There all alone Argantes took his stand, Defying Christ and all his servants true, In stature, stomach, and in strength of hand, In pride, presumption, and in dreadful show, Encelade like, on the Phlegrean strand, Or that huge giant Jesse's infant slew; But his fierce semblant they esteemed light, For most not knew, or else not feared his might. XXIV As yet not one had Godfrey singled out To undertake this hardy enterprise, But on Prince Tancred saw he all the rout Had fixed their wishes, and had cast their eyes, On him he spied them gazing round about, As though their honor on his prowess lies, And now they whispered louder what they meant, Which Godfrey heard and saw, and was content. XXV The rest gave place; for every one descried To whom their chieftain's will did most incline, "Tancred," quoth he, "I pray thee calm the pride, Abate the rage of yonder Saracine:" No longer would the chosen champion bide, His face with joy, his eyes with gladness shine, His helm he took, and ready steed bestrode, And guarded with his trusty friends forth rode. XXVI But scantly had he spurred his courser swift Near to the plain, where proud Argantes stayed, When unawares his eyes he chanced to lift, And on the hill beheld the warlike maid, As white as snow upon the Alpine clift The virgin shone in silver arms arrayed, Her vental up so high, that he descried Her goodly visage, and her beauty's pride. XXVII He saw not where the Pagan stood, and stared, As if with looks he would his foeman kill, But full of other thoughts he forward fared, And sent his looks before him up the hill, His gesture such his troubled soul declared, At last as marble rock he standeth still, Stone cold without; within, burnt with love's flame, And quite forgot himself, and why he came. XXVIII The challenger, that yet saw none appear That made or sign or show he came to just, "How long," cried he, "shall I attend you here? Dares none come forth? dares none his fortune trust?" The other stood amazed, love stopped his ear, He thinks on Cupid, think of Mars who lust; But forth stert Otho bold, and took the field, A gentle knight whom God from danger shield. XXIX This youth was one of those, who late desired With that vain-glorious boaster to have fought, But Tancred chosen, he and all retired; Now when his slackness he awhile admired, And saw elsewhere employed was his thought, Nor that to just, though chosen, once he proffered, He boldly took that fit occasion offered. XXX No tiger, panther, spotted leopard, Runs half so swift, the forests wild among, As this young champion hasted thitherward, Where he attending saw the Pagan strong: Tancredi started with the noise he heard, As waked from sleep, where he had dreamed long, "Oh stay," he cried, "to me belongs this war!" But cried too late, Otho was gone too far. XXXI Then full of fury, anger and despite, He stayed his horse, and waxed red for shame, The fight was his, but now disgraced quite Himself he thought, another played his game; Meanwhile the Saracen did hugely smite On Otho's helm, who to requite the same, His foe quite through his sevenfold targe did bear, And in his breastplate stuck and broke his spear. XXXII The encounter such, upon the tender grass, Down from his steed the Christian backward fell; Yet his proud foe so strong and sturdy was, That he nor shook, nor staggered in his sell, But to the knight that lay full low, alas, In high disdain his will thus gan he tell, "Yield thee my slave, and this thine honor be, Thou may'st report thou hast encountered me." XXXIII "Not so," quoth he, "pardy it's not the guise Of Christian knights, though fall'n, so soon to yield; I can my fall excuse in better wise, And will revenge this shame, or die in field." The great Circassian bent his frowning eyes, Like that grim visage in Minerva's shield, "Then learn," quoth he, "what force Argantes useth Against that fool that proffered grace refuseth." XXXIV With that he spurred his horse with speed and haste, Forgetting what good knights to virtue owe, Otho his fury shunned, and, as he passed, At his right side he reached a noble blow, Wide was the wound, the blood outstreamed fast, And from his side fell to his stirrup low: But what avails to hurt, if wounds augment Our foe's fierce courage, strength and hardiment? XXXV Argantes nimbly turned his ready steed, And ere his foe was wist or well aware, Against his side he drove his courser's head, What force could he gainst so great might prepare? Weak were his feeble joints, his courage dead, His heart amazed, his paleness showed his care, His tender side gainst the hard earth he cast, Shamed, with the first fall; bruised, with the last. XXXVI The victor spurred again his light-foot steed, And made his passage over Otho's heart, And cried, "These fools thus under foot I tread, That dare contend with me in equal mart." Tancred for anger shook his noble head, So was he grieved with that unknightly part; The fault was his, he was so slow before, With double valor would he salve that sore. XXXVII Forward he galloped fast, and loudly cried: "Villain," quoth he, "thy conquest is thy shame, What praise? what honor shall this fact betide? What gain? what guerdon shall befall the same? Among the Arabian thieves thy face go hide, Far from resort of men of worth and fame, Or else in woods and mountains wild, by night, On savage beasts employ thy savage might." XXXVIII The Pagan patience never knew, nor used, Trembling for ire, his sandy locks he tore, Out from his lips flew such a sound confused, As lions make in deserts thick, which roar; Or as when clouds together crushed and bruised, Pour down a tempest by the Caspian shore; So was his speech imperfect, stopped, and broken, He roared and thundered when he should have spoken. XXXIX But when with threats they both had whetted keen Their eager rage, their fury, spite and ire, They turned their steeds and left large space between To make their forces greater, 'proaching nigher, With terms that warlike and that worthy been: O sacred Muse, my haughty thoughts inspire, And make a trumpet of my slender quill To thunder out this furious combat shrill. XL These sons of Mavors bore, instead of spears, Two knotty masts, which none but they could lift, Each foaming steed so fast his master bears, That never beast, bird, shaft flew half so swift; Such was their fury, as when Boreas tears The shattered crags from Taurus' northern clift, Upon their helms their lances long they broke, And up to heaven flew splinters, sparks and smoke. XLI The shock made all the towers and turrets quake, And woods and mountains all nigh hand resound; Yet could not all that force and fury shake The valiant champions, nor their persons wound; Together hurtled both their steeds, and brake Each other's neck, the riders lay on ground: But they, great masters of war's dreadful art, Plucked forth their swords and soon from earth up start. XLII Close at his surest ward each warrior lieth, He wisely guides his hand, his foot, his eye, This blow he proveth, that defence he trieth, He traverseth, retireth, presseth nigh, Now strikes he out, and now he falsifieth, This blow he wardeth, that he lets slip by, And for advantage oft he lets some part Discovered seem; thus art deludeth art. XLIII The Pagan ill defenced with sword or targe, Tancredi's thigh, as he supposed, espied And reaching forth gainst it his weapon large, Quite naked to his foe leaves his left-side; Tancred avoideth quick his furious charge, And gave him eke a wound deep, sore and wide; That done, himself safe to his ward retired, His courage praised by all, his skill admired. XLIV The proud Circassian saw his streaming blood, Down from his wound, as from a fountain, running, He sighed for rage, and trembled as he stood, He blamed his fortune, folly, want of cunning; He lift his sword aloft, for ire nigh wood, And forward rushed: Tancred his fury shunning, With a sharp thrust once more the Pagan hit, To his broad shoulder where his arm is knit. XLV Like as a bear through pierced with a dart Within the secret woods, no further flieth, But bites the senseless weapon mad with smart, Seeking revenge till unrevenged she dieth; So mad Argantes fared, when his proud heart Wound upon wound, and shame on shame espieth, Desire of vengeance so o'ercame his senses, That he forgot all dangers, all defences. XLVI Uniting force extreme, with endless wrath, Supporting both with youth and strength untired, His thundering blows so fast about he layeth, That skies and earth the flying sparkles fired; His foe to strike one blow no leisure hath, Scantly he breathed, though he oft desired, His warlike skill and cunning all was waste, Such was Argantes' force, and such his haste. XLVII Long time Tancredi had in vain attended When this huge storm should overblow and pass, Some blows his mighty target well defended, Some fell beside, and wounded deep the grass; But when he saw the tempest never ended, Nor that the Paynim's force aught weaker was, He high advanced his cutting sword at length, And rage to rage opposed, and strength to strength. XLVIII Wrath bore the sway, both art and reason fail, Fury new force, and courage new supplies, Their armors forged were of metal frail, On every side thereof, huge cantels flies, The land was strewed all with plate and mail. That, on the earth; on that, their warm blood lies. And at each rush and every blow they smote Thunder the noise, the sparks, seemed lightning hot. XLIX The Christian people and the Pagans gazed, On this fierce combat wishing oft the end, Twixt hope and fear they stood long time amazed, To see the knights assail, and eke defend, Yet neither sign they made, nor noise they raised, But for the issue of the fight attend, And stood as still, as life and sense they wanted, Save that their hearts within their bosoms panted. L Now were they tired both, and well-nigh spent, Their blows show greater will than power to wound; But Night her gentle daughter Darkness, sent, With friendly shade to overspread the ground, Two heralds to the fighting champions went, To part the fray, as laws of arms them bound Aridens born in France, and wise Pindore, The man that brought the challenge proud before. LI These men their sceptres interpose, between The doubtful hazards of uncertain fight; For such their privilege hath ever been, The law of nations doth defend their right; Pindore began, "Stay, stay, you warriors keen, Equal your honor, equal is your might; Forbear this combat, so we deem it best, Give night her due, and grant your persons rest. LII "Man goeth forth to labor with the sun, But with the night, all creatures draw to sleep, Nor yet of hidden praise in darkness won The valiant heart of noble knight takes keep:" Argantes answered him, "The fight begun Now to forbear, doth wound my heart right deep: Yet will I stay, so that this Christian swear, Before you both, again to meet me here." LIII "I swear," quoth Tancred, "but swear thou likewise To make return thy prisoner eke with thee; Else for achievement of this enterprise, None other time but this expect of me;" Thus swore they both; the heralds both devise, What time for this exploit should fittest be: And for their wounds of rest and cure had need, To meet again the sixth day was decreed. LIV This fight was deep imprinted in their hearts That saw this bloody fray to ending brought, An horror great possessed their weaker parts, Which made them shrink who on their combat thought: Much speech was of the praise and high desarts Of these brave champions that so nobly fought; But which for knightly worth was most ypraised, Of that was doubt and disputation raised. LV All long to see them end this doubtful fray, And as they favor, so they wish success, These hope true virtue shall obtain the day, Those trust on fury, strength and hardiness; But on Erminia most this burden lay, Whose looks her trouble and her fear express; For on this dangerous combat's doubtful end Her joy, her comfort, hope and life depend. LVI Her the sole daughter of that hapless king, That of proud Antioch late wore the crown, The Christian soldiers to Tancredi bring, When they had sacked and spoiled that glorious town; But he, in whom all good and virtue spring, The virgin's honor saved, and her renown; And when her city and her state was lost, Then was her person loved and honored most. LVII He honored her, served her, and leave her gave, And willed her go whither and when she list, Her gold and jewels had he care to save, And them restored all, she nothing missed, She, that beheld this youth and person brave, When, by this deed, his noble mind she wist, Laid ope her heart for Cupid's shaft to hit, Who never knots of love more surer knit. LVIII Her body free, captivated was her heart, And love the keys did of that prison bear, Prepared to go, it was a death to part From that kind Lord, and from that prison dear, But thou, O honor, which esteemed art The chiefest virtue noble ladies wear, Enforcest her against her will, to wend To Aladine, her mother's dearest friend. LIX At Sion was this princess entertained, By that old tyrant and her mother dear, Whose loss too soon the woful damsel plained, Her grief was such, she lived not half the year, Yet banishment, nor loss of friends constrained The hapless maid her passions to forbear, For though exceeding were her woe and grief, Of all her sorrows yet her love was chief. LX The silly maid in secret longing pined, Her hope a mote drawn up by Phoebus' rays, Her love a mountain seemed, whereon bright shined Fresh memory of Tancred's worth and praise, Within her closet if her self she shrined, A hotter fire her tender heart assays: Tancred at last, to raise her hope nigh dead, Before those walls did his broad ensign spread. LXI The rest to view the Christian army feared, Such seemed their number, such their power and might, But she alone her troubled forehead cleared, And on them spread her beauty shining bright; In every squadron when it first appeared, Her curious eye sought out her chosen knight; And every gallant that the rest excels, The same seems him, so love and fancy tells. LXII Within the kingly palace builded high, A turret standeth near the city's wall, From which Erminia might at ease descry The western host, the plains and mountains all, And there she stood all the long day to spy, From Phoebus' rising to his evening fall, And with her thoughts disputed of his praise, And every thought a scalding sigh did raise. LXIII From hence the furious combat she surveyed, And felt her heart tremble with fear and pain, Her secret thoughts thus to her fancy said, Behold thy dear in danger to be slain; So with suspect, with fear and grief dismayed, Attended she her darling's loss or gain, And ever when the Pagan lift his blade, The stroke a wound in her weak bosom made. LXIV But when she saw the end, and wist withal Their strong contention should eftsoons begin, Amazement strange her courage did appal, Her vital blood was icy cold within; Sometimes she sighed, sometimes tears let fall, To witness what distress her heart was in; Hopeless, dismayed, pale, sad, astonished, Her love, her fear; her fear, her torment bred. LXV Her idle brain unto her soul presented Death in an hundred ugly fashions painted, And if she slept, then was her grief augmented, With such sad visions were her thoughts acquainted; She saw her lord with wounds and hurts tormented, How he complained, called for her help, and fainted, And found, awaked from that unquiet sleeping, Her heart with panting sore; eyes, red with weeping. LXVI Yet these presages of his coming ill, Not greatest cause of her discomfort were, She saw his blood from his deep wounds distil, Nor what he suffered could she bide or bear: Besides, report her longing ear did fill, Doubling his danger, doubling so her fear, That she concludes, so was her courage lost, Her wounded lord was weak, faint, dead almost. LXVII And for her mother had her taught before The secret virtue of each herb that springs, Besides fit charms for every wound or sore Corruption breedeth or misfortune brings,-- An art esteemed in those times of yore, Beseeming daughters of great lords and kings-- She would herself be surgeon to her knight, And heal him with her skill, or with her sight. LXVIII Thus would she cure her love, and cure her foe She must, that had her friends and kinsfolk slain: Some cursed weeds her cunning hand did know, That could augment his harm, increase his pain; But she abhorred to be revenged so, No treason should her spotless person stain, And virtueless she wished all herbs and charms Wherewith false men increase their patients' harms. LXIX Nor feared she among the bands to stray Of armed men, for often had she seen The tragic end of many a bloody fray; Her life had full of haps and hazards been, This made her bold in every hard assay, More than her feeble sex became, I ween; She feared not the shake of every reed, So cowards are courageous made through need. LXX Love, fearless, hardy, and audacious love, Emboldened had this tender damsel so, That where wild beasts and serpents glide and move Through Afric's deserts durst she ride or go, Save that her honor, she esteemed above Her life and body's safety, told her no; For in the secret of her troubled thought, A doubtful combat, love and honor fought. LXXI "O spotless virgin," Honor thus begun, "That my true lore observed firmly hast, When with thy foes thou didst in bondage won, Remember then I kept thee pure and chaste, At liberty now, where wouldest thou run, To lay that field of princely virtue waste, Or lose that jewel ladies hold so dear? Is maidenhood so great a load to bear? LXXII "Or deem'st thou it a praise of little prize, The glorious title of a virgin's name? That thou will gad by night in giglot wise, Amid thine armed foes, to seek thy shame. O fool, a woman conquers when she flies, Refusal kindleth, proffers quench the flame. Thy lord will judge thou sinnest beyond measure, If vainly thus thou waste so rich a treasure." LXXIII The sly deceiver Cupid thus beguiled The simple damsel, with his filed tongue: "Thou wert not born," quoth he, "in desert wild The cruel bears and savage beasts among, That you shouldest scorn fair Citherea's child, Or hate those pleasures that to youth belong, Nor did the gods thy heart of iron frame; To be in love is neither sin nor shame. LXXIV "Go then, go, whither sweet desire inviteth, How can thy gentle knight so cruel be? Love in his heart thy grief and sorrows writeth, For thy laments how he complaineth, see. Oh cruel woman, whom no care exciteth To save his life, that saved and honored thee! He languished, one foot thou wilt not move To succor him, yet say'st thou art in love. LXXV "No, no, stay here Argantes' wounds to cure, And make him strong to shed thy darling's blood, Of such reward he may himself assure, That doth a thankless woman so much good: Ah, may it be thy patience can endure To see the strength of this Circassian wood, And not with horror and amazement shrink, When on their future fight thou hap'st to think? LXXVI "Besides the thanks and praises for the deed, Suppose what joy, what comfort shalt thou win, When thy soft hand doth wholesome plaisters speed, Upon the breaches in his ivory skin, Thence to thy dearest lord may health succeed, Strength to his limbs, blood to his cheeks so thin, And his rare beauties, now half dead and more, Thou may'st to him, him to thyself restore. LXXVII "So shall some part of his adventures bold And valiant acts henceforth be held as thine; His dear embracements shall thee straight enfold, Together joined in marriage rites divine: Lastly high place of honor shalt thou hold Among the matrons sage and dames Latine, In Italy, a land, as each one tells, Where valor true, and true religion dwells." LXXVIII With such vain hopes the silly maid abused, Promised herself mountains and hills of gold; Yet were her thoughts with doubts and fears confused How to escape unseen out of that hold, Because the watchman every minute used To guard the walls against the Christians bold, And in such fury and such heat of war, The gates or seld or never opened are. LXXIX With strong Clorinda was Erminia sweet In surest links of dearest friendship bound, With her she used the rising sun to greet, And her, when Phoebus glided under ground, She made the lovely partner of her sheet; In both their hearts one will, one thought was found; Nor aught she hid from that virago bold, Except her love, that tale to none she told. LXXX That kept she secret, if Clorinda heard Her make complaints, or secretly lament, To other cause her sorrow she referred: Matter enough she had of discontent, Like as the bird that having close imbarred Her tender young ones in the springing bent, To draw the searcher further from her nest, Cries and complains most where she needeth least. LXXXI Alone, within her chamber's secret part, Sitting one day upon her heavy thought, Devising by what means, what sleight, what art, Her close departure should be safest wrought, Assembled in her unresolved heart An hundred passions strove and ceaseless fought; At last she saw high hanging on the wall Clorinda's silver arms, and sighed withal: LXXXII And sighing, softly to herself she said, "How blessed is this virgin in her might? How I envy the glory of the maid, Yet envy not her shape, or beauty's light; Her steps are not with trailing garments stayed, Nor chambers hide her valor shining bright; But armed she rides, and breaketh sword and spear, Nor is her strength restrained by shame or fear. LXXXIII "Alas, why did not Heaven these members frail With lively force and vigor strengthen so That I this silken gown and slender veil Might for a breastplate and an helm forego? Then should not heat, nor cold, nor rain, nor hail, Nor storms that fall, nor blustering winds that blow Withhold me, but I would both day and night, In pitched field, or private combat fight. LXXXIV "Nor haddest thou, Argantes, first begun With my dear lord that fierce and cruel fight, But I to that encounter would have run, And haply ta'en him captive by my might; Yet should he find, our furious combat done, His thraldom easy, and his bondage light; For fetters, mine embracements should he prove; For diet, kisses sweet; for keeper, love. LXXXV "Or else my tender bosom opened wide, And heart though pierced with his cruel blade, The bloody weapon in my wounded side Might cure the wound which love before had made; Then should my soul in rest and quiet slide Down to the valleys of the Elysian shade, And my mishap the knight perchance would move, To shed some tears upon his murdered love. LXXXVI "Alas! impossible are all these things, Such wishes vain afflict my woful sprite, Why yield I thus to plaints and sorrowings, As if all hope and help were perished quite? My heart dares much, it soars with Cupid's wings, Why use I not for once these armors bright? I may sustain awhile this shield aloft, Though I be tender, feeble, weak and soft. LXXXVII "Love, strong, bold, mighty never-tired love, Supplieth force to all his servants true; The fearful stags he doth to battle move, Till each his horns in others' blood imbrue; Yet mean not I the haps of war to prove, A stratagem I have devised new, Clorinda-like in this fair harness dight, I will escape out of the town this night. LXXXVIII "I know the men that have the gate to ward, If she command dare not her will deny, In what sort else could I beguile the guard? This way is only left, this will I try: O gentle love, in this adventure hard Thine handmaid guide, assist and fortify! The time, the hour now fitteth best the thing, While stout Clorinda talketh with the king." LXXXIX Resolved thus, without delay she went, As her strong passion did her rashly guide, And those bright arms, down from the rafter hent, Within her closet did she closely hide; That might she do unseen, for she had sent The rest, on sleeveless errands from her side, And night her stealths brought to their wished end, Night, patroness of thieves, and lovers' friend. XC Some sparkling fires on heaven's bright visage shone; His azure robe the orient blueness lost, When she, whose wit and reason both were gone, Called for a squire she loved and trusted most, To whom and to a maid, a faithful one, Part of her will she told, how that in post She would depart from Juda's king, and feigned That other cause her sudden flight constrained. XCI The trusty squire provided needments meet, As for their journey fitting most should be; Meanwhile her vesture, pendant to her feet, Erminia doft, as erst determined she, Stripped to her petticoat the virgin sweet So slender was, that wonder was to see; Her handmaid ready at her mistress' will, To arm her helped, though simple were her skill. XCII The rugged steel oppressed and offended Her dainty neck, and locks of shining gold; Her tender arm so feeble was, it bended When that huge target it presumed to hold, The burnished steel bright rays far off extended, She feigned courage, and appeared bold; Fast by her side unseen smiled Venus' son, As erst he laughed when Alcides spun. XCIII Oh, with what labor did her shoulders bear That heavy burthen, and how slow she went! Her maid, to see that all the coasts were clear, Before her mistress, through the streets was sent; Love gave her courage, love exiled fear, Love to her tired limbs new vigor lent, Till she approached where the squire abode, There took they horse forthwith and forward rode. XCIV Disguised they went, and by unused ways, And secret paths they strove unseen to gone, Until the watch they meet, which sore affrays Their soldiers new, when swords and weapons shone Yet none to stop their journey once essays, But place and passage yielded every one; For that bright armor, and that helmet bright, Were known and feared, in the darkest night. XCV Erminia, though some deal she were dismayed, Yet went she on, and goodly countenance bore, She doubted lest her purpose were bewrayed, Her too much boldness she repented sore; But now the gate her fear and passage stayed, The heedless porter she beguiled therefore, "I am Clorinda, ope the gate," she cried, "Where as the king commands, this late I ride." XCVI Her woman's voice and terms all framed been, Most like the speeches of the princess stout, Who would have thought on horseback to have seen That feeble damsel armed round about? The porter her obeyed, and she, between Her trusty squire and maiden, sallied out, And through the secret dales they silent pass, Where danger least, least fear, least peril was. XCVII But when these fair adventurers entered were Deep in a vale, Erminia stayed her haste, To be recalled she had no cause to fear, This foremost hazard had she trimly past; But dangers new, tofore unseen, appear, New perils she descried, new doubts she cast. The way that her desire to quiet brought, More difficult now seemed than erst she thought. XCVIII Armed to ride among her angry foes, She now perceived it were great oversight, Yet would she not, she thought, herself disclose, Until she came before her chosen knight, To him she purposed to present the rose Pure, spotless, clean, untouched of mortal wight, She stayed therefore, and in her thoughts more wise, She called her squire, whom thus she gan advise. XCIX "Thou must," quoth she, "be mine ambassador, Be wise, be careful, true, and diligent, Go to the camp, present thyself before The Prince Tancredi, wounded in his tent; Tell him thy mistress comes to cure his sore, If he to grant her peace and rest consent Gainst whom fierce love such cruel war hath raised, So shall his wounds be cured, her torments eased. C "And say, in him such hope and trust she hath, That in his powers she fears no shame nor scorn, Tell him thus much, and whatso'er he saith, Unfold no more, but make a quick return, I, for this place is free from harm and scath, Within this valley will meanwhile sojourn." Thus spake the princess: and her servant true To execute the charge imposed, flew; CI And was received, he so discreetly wrought, First of the watch that guarded in their place, Before the wounded prince then was he brought, Who heard his message kind, with gentle grace, Which told, he left him tossing in his thought A thousand doubts, and turned his speedy pace To bring his lady and his mistress word, She might be welcome to that courteous lord. CII But she, impatient, to whose desire Grievous and harmful seemed each little stay, Recounts his steps, and thinks, now draws he nigher, Now enters in, now speaks, now comes his way; And that which grieved her most, the careful squire Less speedy seemed than e'er before that day; Lastly she forward rode with love to guide, Until the Christian tents at hand she spied. CIII Invested in her starry veil, the night In her kind arms embraced all this round, The silver moon from sea uprising bright Spread frosty pearl upon the candid ground: And Cynthia-like for beauty's glorious light The love-sick nymph threw glittering beams around, And counsellors of her old love she made Those valleys dumb, that silence, and that shade. CIV Beholding then the camp, quoth she, "O fair And castle-like pavilions, richly wrought! From you how sweet methinketh blows the air, How comforts it my heart, my soul, my thought? Through heaven's fair face from gulf of sad despair My tossed bark to port well-nigh is brought: In you I seek redress for all my harms, Rest, midst your weapons; peace, amongst your arms. CV "Receive me, then, and let me mercy find, As gentle love assureth me I shall, Among you had I entertainment kind When first I was the Prince Tancredi's thrall: I covet not, led by ambition blind You should me in my father's throne install, Might I but serve in you my lord so dear, That my content, my joy, my comfort were." CVI Thus parleyed she, poor soul, and never feared The sudden blow of Fortune's cruel spite, She stood where Phoebe's splendent beam appeared Upon her silver armor double bright, The place about her round she shining cleared With that pure white wherein the nymph was dight: The tigress great, that on her helmet laid, Bore witness where she went, and where she stayed. CVII So as her fortune would, a Christian band Their secret ambush there had closely framed, Led by two brothers of Italia land, Young Poliphern and Alicandro named, These with their forces watched to withstand Those that brought victuals to their foes untamed, And kept that passage; them Erminia spied, And fled as fast as her swift steed could ride. CVIII But Poliphern, before whose watery eyes, His aged father strong Clorinda slew, When that bright shield and silver helm he spies, The championess he thought he saw and knew; Upon his hidden mates for aid he cries Gainst his supposed foe, and forth he flew, As he was rash, and heedless in his wrath, Bending his lance, "Thou art but dead," he saith. CIX As when a chased hind her course doth bend To seek by soil to find some ease or goad; Whether from craggy rock the spring descend, Or softly glide within the shady wood; If there the dogs she meet, where late she wend To comfort her weak limbs in cooling flood, Again she flies swift as she fled at first, Forgetting weakness, weariness and thirst. CX So she, that thought to rest her weary sprite, And quench the endless thirst of ardent love With dear embracements of her lord and knight, But such as marriage rites should first approve, When she beheld her foe, with weapon bright Threatening her death, his trusty courser move, Her love, her lord, herself abandoned, She spurred her speedy steed, and swift she fled. CXI Erminia fled, scantly the tender grass Her Pegasus with his light footsteps bent, Her maiden's beast for speed did likewise pass; Yet divers ways, such was their fear, they went: The squire who all too late returned, alas. With tardy news from Prince Tancredi's tent, Fled likewise, when he saw his mistress gone, It booted not to sojourn there alone. CXII But Alicandro wiser than the rest, Who this supposed Clorinda saw likewise, To follow her yet was he nothing pressed, But in his ambush still and close he lies, A messenger to Godfrey he addressed, That should him of this accident advise, How that his brother chased with naked blade Clorinda's self, or else Clorinda's shade. CXIII Yet that it was, or that it could be she, He had small cause or reason to suppose, Occasion great and weighty must it be Should make her ride by night among her foes: What Godfrey willed that observed he, And with his soldiers lay in ambush close: These news through all the Christian army went, In every cabin talked, in every tent. CXIV Tancred, whose thoughts the squire had filled with doubt By his sweet words, supposed now hearing this, Alas! the virgin came to seek me out, And for my sake her life in danger is; Himself forthwith he singled from the rout, And rode in haste, though half his arms he miss; Among those sandy fields and valleys green, To seek his love, he galloped fast unseen. SEVENTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. A shepherd fair Erminia entertains, Whom whilst Tancredi seeks in vain to find, He is entrapped in Armida's trains: Raymond with strong Argantes is assigned To fight, an angel to his aid he gains: Satan that sees the Pagan's fury blind, And hasty wrath turn to his loss and harm, Doth raise new tempest, uproar and alarm. I Erminia's steed this while his mistress bore Through forests thick among the shady treen, Her feeble hand the bridle reins forlore, Half in a swoon she was, for fear I ween; But her fleet courser spared ne'er the more, To bear her through the desert woods unseen Of her strong foes, that chased her through the plain, And still pursued, but still pursued in vain. II Like as the weary hounds at last retire, Windless, displeased, from the fruitless chase, When the sly beast tapished in bush and brier, No art nor pains can rouse out of his place: The Christian knights so full of shame and ire Returned back, with faint and weary pace: Yet still the fearful dame fled swift as wind, Nor ever stayed, nor ever looked behind. III Through thick and thin, all night, all day, she drived, Withouten comfort, company, or guide, Her plaints and tears with every thought revived, She heard and saw her griefs, but naught beside: But when the sun his burning chariot dived In Thetis' wave, and weary team untied, On Jordan's sandy banks her course she stayed At last, there down she light, and down she laid. IV Her tears, her drink; her food, her sorrowings, This was her diet that unhappy night: But sleep, that sweet repose and quiet brings, To ease the griefs of discontented wight, Spread forth his tender, soft, and nimble wings, In his dull arms folding the virgin bright; And Love, his mother, and the Graces kept Strong watch and ward, while this fair lady slept. V The birds awaked her with their morning song, Their warbling music pierced her tender ear, The murmuring brooks and whistling winds among The rattling boughs and leaves, their parts did bear; Her eyes unclosed beheld the groves along Of swains and shepherd grooms that dwellings were; And that sweet noise, birds, winds and waters sent, Provoked again the virgin to lament. VI Her plaints were interrupted with a sound, That seemed from thickest bushes to proceed, Some jolly shepherd sung a lusty round, And to his voice he tuned his oaten reed; Thither she went, an old man there she found, At whose right hand his little flock did feed, Sat making baskets, his three sons among, That learned their father's art, and learned his song. VII Beholding one in shining Arms appear, The seely man and his were sore dismay'd; But sweet Erminia comforted their fear, Her vental up, her visage open laid; You happy folk, of heav'n beloved dear, Work on, quoth she, upon your harmless trade; These dreadful arms, I bear, no warfare bring To your sweet toil, nor those sweet tunes you sing. VIII "But, father, since this land, these towns and towers Destroyed are with sword, with fire and spoil, How may it be unhurt that you and yours In safety thus apply your harmless toil?" "My son," quoth he, "this poor estate of ours Is ever safe from storm of warlike broil; This wilderness doth us in safety keep, No thundering drum, no trumpet breaks our sleep. IX "Haply just Heaven's defence and shield of right Doth love the innocence of simple swains, The thunderbolts on highest mountains light, And seld or never strike the lower plains; So kings have cause to fear Bellona's might, Not they whose sweat and toil their dinner gains, Nor ever greedy soldier was enticed By poverty, neglected and despised. X "O poverty, chief of the heavenly brood, Dearer to me than wealth or kingly crown: No wish for honor, thirst of others' good, Can move my heart, contented with mine own: We quench our thirst with water of this flood, Nor fear we poison should therein be thrown; These little flocks of sheep and tender goats Give milk for food, and wool to make us coats. XI "We little wish, we need but little wealth, From cold and hunger us to clothe and feed; These are my sons, their care preserves from stealth Their father's flocks, nor servants more I need: Amid these groves I walk oft for my health, And to the fishes, birds, and beasts give heed, How they are fed, in forest, spring and lake, And their contentment for example take. XII "Time was, for each one hath his doating time, These silver locks were golden tresses then, That country life I hated as a crime, And from the forest's sweet contentment ran, And there became the mighty caliph's man, and though I but a simple gardener were, Yet could I mark abuses, see and hear. XIII "Enticed on with hope of future gain, I suffered long what did my soul displease; But when my youth was spent, my hope was vain. I felt my native strength at last decrease; I gan my loss of lusty years complain, And wished I had enjoyed the country's peace; I bade the court farewell, and with content My latter age here have I quiet spent." XIV While thus he spake, Erminia hushed and still His wise discourses heard, with great attention, His speeches grave those idle fancies kill Which in her troubled soul bred such dissension; After much thought reformed was her will, Within those woods to dwell was her intention, Till Fortune should occasion new afford, To turn her home to her desired lord. XV She said therefore, "O shepherd fortunate! That troubles some didst whilom feel and prove, Yet livest now in this contented state, Let my mishap thy thoughts to pity move, To entertain me as a willing mate In shepherd's life which I admire and love; Within these pleasant groves perchance my heart, Of her discomforts, may unload some part. XVI "If gold or wealth, of most esteemed dear, If jewels rich thou diddest hold in prize, Such store thereof, such plenty have I here, As to a greedy mind might well suffice:" With that down trickled many a silver tear, Two crystal streams fell from her watery eyes; Part of her sad misfortunes then she told, And wept, and with her wept that shepherd old. XVII With speeches kind, he gan the virgin dear Toward his cottage gently home to guide; His aged wife there made her homely cheer, Yet welcomed her, and placed her by her side. The princess donned a poor pastoral's gear, A kerchief coarse upon her head she tied; But yet her gestures and her looks, I guess, Were such as ill beseemed a shepherdess. XVIII Not those rude garments could obscure and hide The heavenly beauty of her angel's face, Nor was her princely offspring damnified Or aught disparaged by those labors base; Her little flocks to pasture would she guide, And milk her goats, and in their folds them place, Both cheese and butter could she make, and frame Herself to please the shepherd and his dame. XIX But oft, when underneath the greenwood shade Her flocks lay hid from Phoebus' scorching rays, Unto her knight she songs and sonnets made, And them engraved in bark of beech and bays; She told how Cupid did her first invade, How conquered her, and ends with Tancred's praise: And when her passion's writ she over read, Again she mourned, again salt tears she shed. XX "You happy trees forever keep," quoth she, "This woful story in your tender rind, Another day under your shade maybe Will come to rest again some lover kind; Who if these trophies of my griefs he see, Shall feel dear pity pierce his gentle mind;" With that she sighed and said, "Too late I prove There is no troth in fortune, trust in love. XXI "Yet may it be, if gracious heavens attend The earnest suit of a distressed wight, At my entreat they will vouchsafe to send To these huge deserts that unthankful knight, That when to earth the man his eyes shall bend, And sees my grave, my tomb, and ashes light, My woful death his stubborn heart may move, With tears and sorrows to reward my love. XXII "So, though my life hath most unhappy been, At least yet shall my spirit dead be blest, My ashes cold shall, buried on this green, Enjoy that good this body ne'er possessed." Thus she complained to the senseless treen, Floods in her eyes, and fires were in her breast; But he for whom these streams of tears she shed, Wandered far off, alas, as chance him led. XXIII He followed on the footsteps he had traced, Till in high woods and forests old he came, Where bushes, thorns and trees so thick were placed, And so obscure the shadows of the same, That soon he lost the tract wherein he paced; Yet went he on, which way he could not aim, But still attentive was his longing ear If noise of horse or noise of arms he hear. XXIV If with the breathing of the gentle wind, An aspen leaf but shaked on the tree, If bird or beast stirred in the bushes blind, Thither he spurred, thither he rode to see: Out of the wood by Cynthia's favor kind, At last, with travel great and pains, got he, And following on a little path, he heard A rumbling sound, and hasted thitherward. XXV It was a fountain from the living stone, That poured down clear streams in noble store, Whose conduit pipes, united all in one, Throughout a rocky channel ghastly roar; Here Tancred stayed, and called, yet answered none, Save babbling echo, from the crooked shore; And there the weary knight at last espies The springing daylight red and white arise. XXVI He sighed sore, and guiltless heaven gan blame, That wished success to his desire denied, And sharp revenge protested for the same, If aught but good his mistress fair betide; Then wished he to return the way he came, Although he wist not by what path to ride, And time drew near when he again must fight With proud Argantes, that vain-glorious knight. XXVII His stalwart steed the champion stout bestrode And pricked fast to find the way he lost, But through a valley as he musing rode, He saw a man that seemed for haste a post, His horn was hung between his shoulders broad, As is the guise with us: Tancredi crossed His way, and gently prayed the man to say, To Godfrey's camp how he should find the way. XXVIII "Sir," in the Italian language answered he, "I ride where noble Boemond hath me sent:" The prince thought this his uncle's man should be, And after him his course with speed he bent, A fortress stately built at last they see, Bout which a muddy stinking lake there went, There they arrived when Titan went to rest His weary limbs in night's untroubled nest. XXIX The courier gave the fort a warning blast; The drawbridge was let down by them within: "If thou a Christian be," quoth he, "thou mayest Till Phoebus shine again, here take thine inn, The County of Cosenza, three days past, This castle from the Turks did nobly win." The prince beheld the piece, which site and art Impregnable had made on every part. XXX He feared within a pile so fortified Some secret treason or enchantment lay, But had he known even there he should have died, Yet should his looks no sign of fear betray; For wheresoever will or chance him guide, His strong victorious hand still made him way: Yet for the combat he must shortly make, No new adventures list he undertake. XXXI Before the castle, in a meadow plain Beside the bridge's end, he stayed and stood, Nor was entreated by the speeches vain Of his false guide, to pass beyond the flood. Upon the bridge appeared a warlike swain, From top to toe all clad in armor good, Who brandishing a broad and cutting sword, Thus threatened death with many an idle word. XXXII "O thou, whom chance or will brings to the soil, Where fair Armida doth the sceptre guide, Thou canst not fly, of arms thyself despoil, And let thy hands with iron chains be tied; Enter and rest thee from thy weary toil. Within this dungeon shalt thou safe abide, And never hope again to see the day, Or that thy hair for age shall turn to gray; XXXIII "Except thou swear her valiant knights to aid Against those traitors of the Christian crew." Tancred at this discourse a little stayed, His arms, his gesture, and his voice he knew: It was Rambaldo, who for that false maid Forsook his country and religion true, And of that fort defender chief became, And those vile customs stablished in the same. XXXIV The warrior answered, blushing red for shame, "Cursed apostate, and ungracious wight, I am that Tancred who defend the name Of Christ, and have been aye his faithful knight; His rebel foes can I subdue and tame, As thou shalt find before we end this fight; And thy false heart cleft with this vengeful sword, Shall feel the ire of thy forsaken Lord." XXXV When that great name Rambaldo's ears did fill, He shook for fear and looked pale for dread, Yet proudly said, "Tancred, thy hap was ill To wander hither where thou art but dead, Where naught can help, thy courage, strength and skill; To Godfrey will I send thy cursed head, That he may see, how for Armida's sake, Of him and of his Christ a scorn I make." XXXVI This said, the day to sable night was turned, That scant one could another's arms descry, But soon an hundred lamps and torches burned, That cleared all the earth and all the sky; The castle seemed a stage with lights adorned, On which men play some pompous tragedy; Within a terrace sat on high the queen, And heard, and saw, and kept herself unseen. XXXVII The noble baron whet his courage hot, And busked him boldly to the dreadful fight; Upon his horse long while he tarried not, Because on foot he saw the Pagan knight, Who underneath his trusty shield was got, His sword was drawn, closed was his helmet bright, Gainst whom the prince marched on a stately pace, Wrath in his voice, rage in his eyes and face. XXXVIII His foe, his furious charge not well abiding, Traversed his ground, and stated here and there, But he, though faint and weary both with riding, Yet followed fast and still oppressed him near, And on what side he felt Rambaldo sliding, On that his forces most employed were; Now at his helm, not at his hauberk bright, He thundered blows, now at his face and sight. XXXIX Against those members battery chief he maketh, Wherein man's life keeps chiefest residence; At his proud threats the Gascoign warrior quaketh, And uncouth fear appalled every sense, To nimble shifts the knight himself betaketh, And skippeth here and there for his defence: Now with his rage, now with his trusty blade, Against his blows he good resistance made. XL Yet no such quickness for defence he used, As did the prince to work him harm and scathe; His shield was cleft in twain, his helmet bruised, And in his blood his other arms did bathe; On him he heaped blows, with thrusts confused, And more or less each stroke annoyed him hath; He feared, and in his troubled bosom strove Remorse of conscience, shame, disdain and love. XLI At last so careless foul despair him made, He meant to prove his fortune ill or good, His shield cast down, he took his helpless blade In both his hands, which yet had drawn no blood, And with such force upon the prince he laid, That neither plate nor mail the blow withstood, The wicked steel seized deep in his right side, And with his streaming blood his bases dyed: XLII Another stroke he lent him on the brow, So great that loudly rung the sounding steel; Yet pierced he not the helmet with the blow, Although the owner twice or thrice did reel. The prince, whose looks disdainful anger show, Now meant to use his puissance every deal, He shaked his head and crashed his teeth for ire, His lips breathed wrath, eyes sparkled shining fire. XLIII The Pagan wretch no longer could sustain The dreadful terror of his fierce aspect, Against the threatened blow he saw right plain No tempered armor could his life protect, He leapt aside, the stroke fell down in vain, Against a pillar near a bridge erect. Thence flaming fire and thousand sparks outstart, And kill with fear the coward Pagan's heart. XLIV Toward the bridge the fearful Paynim fled, And in swift flight, his hope of life reposed; Himself fast after Lord Tancredi sped, And now in equal pace almost they closed, When all the burning lamps extinguished The shining fort his goodly splendor losed, And all those stars on heaven's blue face that shone With Cynthia's self, dispeared were and gone. XLV Amid those witchcrafts and that ugly shade, No further could the prince pursue the chase, Nothing he saw, yet forward still he made, With doubtful steps, and ill assured pace; At last his foot upon a threshold trad, And ere he wist, he entered had the place; With ghastly noise the door-leaves shut behind, And closed him fast in prison dark and blind. XLVI As in our seas in the Commachian Bay, A silly fish, with streams enclosed, striveth, To shun the fury and avoid the sway Wherewith the current in that whirlpool driveth, Yet seeketh all in vain, but finds no way Out of that watery prison, where she diveth: For with such force there be the tides in brought, There entereth all that will, thence issueth naught: XLVII This prison so entrapped that valiant knight; Of which the gate was framed by subtle train, To close without the help of human wight, So sure none could undo the leaves again; Against the doors he bended all his might, But all his forces were employed in vain, At last a voice gan to him loudly call, "Yield thee," quoth it, "thou art Armida's thrall." XLVIII "Within this dungeon buried shalt thou spend The res'due of thy woful days and years;" The champion list not more with words contend, But in his heart kept close his griefs and fears, He blamed love, chance gan he reprehend, And gainst enchantment huge complaints he rears. "It were small loss," softly he thus begun, "To lose the brightness of the shining sun; XLIX "But I, alas, the golden beam forego Of my far brighter sun; nor can I say If these poor eyes shall e'er be blessed so, As once again to view that shining ray:" Then thought he on his proud Circassian foe, And said, "Ah! how shall I perform that fray? He, and the world with him, will Tancred blame, This is my grief, my fault, mine endless shame." L While those high spirits of this champion good, With love and honor's care are thus oppressed, While he torments himself, Argantes wood, Waxed weary of his bed and of his rest, Such hate of peace, and such desire of blood, Such thirst of glory, boiled in his breast; That though he scant could stir or stand upright, Yet longed he for the appointed day to fight. LI The night which that expected day forewent, Scantly the Pagan closed his eyes to sleep, He told how night her sliding hours spent, And rose ere springing day began to peep; He called for armor, which incontinent Was brought by him that used the same to keep, That harness rich old Aladine him gave, A worthy present for a champion brave. LII He donned them on, not long their riches eyed, Nor did he aught with so great weight incline, His wonted sword upon his thigh he tied, The blade was old and tough, of temper fine. As when a comet far and wide descried, In scorn of Phoebus midst bright heaven doth shine, And tidings sad of death and mischief brings To mighty lords, to monarchs, and to kings: LIII So shone the Pagan in bright armor clad, And rolled his eyes great swollen with ire and blood, His dreadful gestures threatened horror sad, And ugly death upon his forehead stood; Not one of all his squires the courage had To approach their master in his angry mood, Above his head he shook his naked blade, And gainst the subtle air vain battle made. LIV "The Christian thief," quoth he, "that was so bold To combat me in hard and single fight, Shall wounded fall inglorious on the mould, His locks with clods of blood and dust bedight, And living shall with watery eyes behold How from his back I tear his harness bright, Nor shall his dying words me so entreat, But that I'll give his flesh to dogs for meat." LV Like as a bull when, pricked with jealousy, He spies the rival of his hot desire, Through all the fields doth bellow, roar and cry, And with his thundering voice augments his ire, And threatening battle to the empty sky, Tears with his horn each tree, plant, bush and brier, And with his foot casts up the sand on height, Defying his strong foe to deadly fight: LVI Such was the Pagan's fury, such his cry. A herald called he then, and thus he spake; "Go to the camp, and in my name, defy The man that combats for his Jesus' sake;" This said, upon his steed he mounted high, And with him did his noble prisoner take, The town he thus forsook, and on the green He ran, as mad or frantic he had been. LVII A bugle small he winded loud and shrill, That made resound the fields and valleys near, Louder than thunder from Olympus hill Seemed that dreadful blast to all that hear; The Christian lords of prowess, strength and skill, Within the imperial tent assembled were, The herald there in boasting terms defied Tancredi first, and all that durst beside. LVIII With sober chear Godfredo look'd about, And viewed at leisure every lord and knight; But yet for all his looks not one stepped out, With courage bold, to undertake the fight: Absent were all the Christian champions stout, No news of Tancred since his secret flight; Boemond far off, and banished from the crew Was that strong prince who proud Gernando slew: LIX And eke those ten which chosen were by lot, And all the worthies of the camp beside, After Armida false were followed hot, When night were come their secret flight to hide; The rest their hands and hearts that trusted not, Blushed for shame, yet silent still abide; For none there was that sought to purchase fame In so great peril, fear exiled shame. LX The angry duke their fear discovered plain, By their pale looks and silence from each part, And as he moved was with just disdain, These words he said, and from his seat upstart: "Unworthy life I judge that coward swain To hazard it even now that wants the heart, When this vile Pagan with his glorious boast Dishonors and defies Christ's sacred host. LXI "But let my camp sit still in peace and rest, And my life's hazard at their ease behold. Come bring me here my fairest arms and best;" And they were brought sooner than could be told. But gentle Raymond in his aged breast, Who had mature advice, and counsel old, Than whom in all the camp were none or few Of greater might, before Godfredo drew, LXII And gravely said, "Ah, let it not betide, On one man's hand to venture all this host! No private soldier thou, thou art our guide, If thou miscarry, all our hope were lost, By thee must Babel fall, and all her pride; Of our true faith thou art the prop and post, Rule with thy sceptre, conquer with thy word, Let others combat make with spear and sword. LXIII "Let me this Pagan's glorious pride assuage, These aged arms can yet their weapons use, Let others shun Bellona's dreadful rage, These silver locks shall not Raymondo scuse: Oh that I were in prime of lusty age, Like you that this adventure brave refuse, And dare not once lift up your coward eyes, Gainst him that you and Christ himself defies! LXIV "Or as I was when all the lords of fame And Germain princes great stood by to view, In Conrad's court, the second of that name, When Leopold in single fight I slew; A greater praise I reaped by the same, So strong a foe in combat to subdue, Than he should do who all alone should chase Or kill a thousand of these Pagans base. LXV "Within these arms, had I that strength again, This boasting Paynim had not lived till now, Yet in this breast doth courage still remain; For age or years these members shall not bow; And if I be in this encounter slain, Scotfree Argantes shall not scape, I vow; Give me mine arms, this battle shall with praise Augment mine honor, got in younger days." LXVI The jolly baron old thus bravely spake, His words are spurs to virtue; every knight That seemed before to tremble and to quake, Now talked bold, example hath such might; Each one the battle fierce would undertake, Now strove they all who should begin the fight; Baldwin and Roger both, would combat fain, Stephen, Guelpho, Gernier and the Gerrards twain; LXVII And Pyrrhus, who with help of Boemond's sword Proud Antioch by cunning sleight opprest; The battle eke with many a lowly word, Ralph, Rosimond, and Eberard request, A Scotch, an Irish, and an English lord, Whose lands the sea divides far from the rest, And for the fight did likewise humbly sue, Edward and his Gildippes, lovers true. LXVIII But Raymond more than all the rest doth sue Upon that Pagan fierce to wreak his ire, Now wants he naught of all his armors due Except his helm that shone like flaming fire. To whom Godfredo thus; "O mirror true Of antique worth! thy courage doth inspire New strength in us, of Mars in thee doth shine The art, the honor and the discipline. LXIX "If ten like thee of valor and of age, Among these legions I could haply find, I should the best of Babel's pride assuage, And spread our faith from Thule to furthest Inde; But now I pray thee calm thy valiant rage, Reserve thyself till greater need us bind, And let the rest each one write down his name, And see whom Fortune chooseth to this game,-- LXX "Or rather see whom God's high judgement taketh, To whom is chance, and fate, and fortune slave." Raymond his earnest suit not yet forsaketh, His name writ with the residue would he have, Godfrey himself in his bright helmet shaketh The scrolls, with names of all the champions brave: They drew, and read the first whereon they hit, Wherein was "Raymond, Earl of Tholouse," writ. LXXI His name with joy and mighty shouts they bless; The rest allow his choice, and fortune praise, New vigor blushed through those looks of his; It seemed he now resumed his youthful days, Like to a snake whose slough new changed is, That shines like gold against the sunny rays: But Godfrey most approved his fortune high, And wished him honor, conquest, victory. LXXII Then from his side he took his noble brand, And giving it to Raymond, thus he spake: "This is the sword wherewith in Saxon land, The great Rubello battle used to make, From him I took it, fighting hand to hand, And took his life with it, and many a lake Of blood with it I have shed since that day, With thee God grant it proves as happy may." LXXIII Of these delays meanwhile impatient, Argantes threateneth loud and sternly cries, "O glorious people of the Occident! Behold him here that all your host defies: Why comes not Tancred, whose great hardiment, With you is prized so dear? Pardie he lies Still on his pillow, and presumes the night Again may shield him from my power and might. LXXIV "Why then some other come, by band and band, Come all, come forth on horseback, come on foot, If not one man dares combat hand to hand, In all the thousands of so great a rout: See where the tomb of Mary's Son doth stand, March thither, warriors hold, what makes you doubt? Why run you not, there for your sins to weep Or to what greater need these forces keep?" LXXV Thus scorned by that heathen Saracine Were all the soldiers of Christ's sacred name: Raymond, while others at his words repine, Burst forth in rage, he could not bear this shame: For fire of courage brighter far doth shine If challenges and threats augment the same; So that, upon his steed he mounted light, Which Aquilino for his swiftness hight. LXXVI This jennet was by Tagus bred; for oft The breeder of these beasts to war assigned, When first on trees burgeon the blossoms soft Pricked forward with the sting of fertile kind, Against the air casts up her head aloft And gathereth seed so from the fruitful wind And thus conceiving of the gentle blast, A wonder strange and rare, she foals at last. LXXVII And had you seen the beast, you would have said The light and subtile wind his father was; For if his course upon the sands he made No sign was left what way the beast did pass; Or if he menaged were, or if he played, He scantly bended down the tender grass: Thus mounted rode the Earl, and as he went, Thus prayed, to Heaven his zealous looks upbent. LXXVIII "O Lord, that diddest save, keep and defend Thy servant David from Goliath's rage, And broughtest that huge giant to his end, Slain by a faithful child of tender age; Like grace, O Lord, like mercy now extend! Let me this vile blasphemous pride assuage, That all the world may to thy glory know, Old men and babes thy foes can overthrow!" LXXIX Thus prayed the County, and his prayers dear Strengthened with zeal, with godliness and faith, Before the throne of that great Lord appear, In whose sweet grace is life, death in his wrath, Among his armies bright and legions clear, The Lord an angel good selected hath, To whom the charge was given to guard the knight, And keep him safe from that fierce Pagan's might. LXXX The angel good, appointed for the guard Of noble Raymond from his tender eild, That kept him then, and kept him afterward, When spear and sword he able was to wield, Now when his great Creator's will he heard, That in this fight he should him chiefly shield, Up to a tower set on a rock he flies, Where all the heavenly arms and weapons lies: LXXXI There stands the lance wherewith great Michael slew The aged dragon in a bloody fight, There are the dreadful thunders forged new, With storms and plagues that on poor sinners light; The massy trident mayest thou pendant view There on a golden pin hung up on height, Wherewith sometimes he smites this solid land, And throws down towns and towers thereon which stand. LXXXII Among the blessed weapons there which stands Upon a diamond shield his looks he bended, So great that it might cover all the lands, Twixt Caucasus and Atlas hills extended; With it the lord's dear flocks and faithful bands, The holy kings and cities are defended, The sacred angel took this target sheen, And by the Christian champion stood unseen. LXXXIII But now the walls and turrets round about, Both young and old with many thousands fill; The king Clorinda sent and her brave rout, To keep the field, she stayed upon the hill: Godfrey likewise some Christian bands sent out Which armed, and ranked in good array stood still, And to their champions empty let remain Twixt either troop a large and spacious plain. LXXXIV Argantes looked for Tancredi bold, But saw an uncouth foe at last appear, Raymond rode on, and what he asked him, told, Better by chance, "Tancred is now elsewhere, Yet glory not of that, myself behold Am come prepared, and bid thee battle here, And in his place, or for myself to fight, Lo, here I am, who scorn thy heathenish might." LXXXV The Pagan cast a scornful smile and said, "But where is Tancred, is he still in bed? His looks late seemed to make high heaven afraid; But now for dread he is or dead or fled; But whe'er earth's centre or the deep sea made His lurking hole, it should not save his head." "Thou liest," he says, "to say so brave a knight Is fled from thee, who thee exceeds in might." LXXXVI The angry Pagan said, "I have not spilt My labor then, if thou his place supply, Go take the field, and let's see how thou wilt Maintain thy foolish words and that brave lie;" Thus parleyed they to meet in equal tilt, Each took his aim at other's helm on high, Even in the fight his foe good Raymond hit, But shaked him not, he did so firmly sit. LXXXVII The fierce Circassian missed of his blow, A thing which seld befell the man before, The angel, by unseen, his force did know, And far awry the poignant weapon bore, He burst his lance against the sand below, And bit his lips for rage, and cursed and swore, Against his foe returned he swift as wind, Half mad in arms a second match to find. LXXXVIII Like to a ram that butts with horned head, So spurred he forth his horse with desperate race: Raymond at his right hand let slide his steed, And as he passed struck at the Pagan's face; He turned again, the earl was nothing dread, Yet stept aside, and to his rage gave place, And on his helm with all his strength gan smite, Which was so hard his courtlax could not bite. LXXXIX The Saracen employed his art and force To grip his foe within his mighty arms, But he avoided nimbly with his horse, He was no prentice in those fierce alarms, About him made he many a winding course, No strength, nor sleight the subtle warrior harms, His nimble steed obeyed his ready hand, And where he stept no print left in the sand. XC As when a captain doth besiege some hold, Set in a marsh or high up on a hill, And trieth ways and wiles a thousandfold, To bring the piece subjected to his will; So fared the County with the Pagan bold; And when he did his head and breast none ill, His weaker parts he wisely gan assail, And entrance searched oft 'twixt mail and mail. XCI At last he hit him on a place or twain, That on his arms the red blood trickled down, And yet himself untouched did remain, No nail was broke, no plume cut from his crown; Argantes raging spent his strength in vain, Waste were his strokes, his thrusts were idle thrown, Yet pressed he on, and doubled still his blows, And where he hits he neither cares nor knows. XCII Among a thousand blows the Saracine At last struck one, when Raymond was so near, That not the swiftness of his Aquiline Could his dear lord from that huge danger bear: But lo, at hand unseen was help divine, Which saves when worldly comforts none appear, The angel on his targe received that stroke, And on that shield Argantes' sword was broke. XCIII The sword was broke, therein no wonder lies If earthly tempered metal could not hold Against that target forged above the skies, Down fell the blade in pieces on the mould; The proud Circassian scant believed his eyes, Though naught were left him but the hilts of gold, And full of thoughts amazed awhile he stood, Wondering the Christian's armor was so good. XCIV The brittle web of that rich sword he thought, Was broke through hardness of the County's shield; And so thought Raymond, who discovered naught What succor Heaven did for his safety yield: But when he saw the man gainst whom he fought Unweaponed, still stood he in the field; His noble heart esteemed the glory light, At such advantage if he slew the knight. XCV "Go fetch," he would have said, "another blade," When in his heart a better thought arose, How for Christ's glory he was champion made, How Godfrey had him to this combat chose, The army's honor on his shoulder laid To hazards new he list not that expose; While thus his thoughts debated on the case, The hilts Argantes hurled at his face. XCVI And forward spurred his mounture fierce withal, Within his arms longing his foe to strain, Upon whose helm the heavy blow did fall, And bent well-nigh the metal to his brain: But he, whose courage was heroical, Leapt by, and makes the Pagan's onset vain, And wounds his hand, which he outstretched saw, Fiercer than eagles' talon, lions' paw. XCVII Now here, now there, on every side he rode, With nimble speed, and spurred now out, now in, And as he went and came still laid on load Where Lord Argantes' arms were weak and thin; All that huge force which in his arms abode, His wrath, his ire, his great desire to win, Against his foe together all he bent, And heaven and fortune furthered his intent. XCVIII But he, whose courage for no peril fails, Well armed, and better hearted, scorns his power. Like a tall ship when spent are all her sails, Which still resists the rage of storm and shower, Whose mighty ribs fast bound with bands and nails, Withstand fierce Neptune's wrath, for many an hour, And yields not up her bruised keel to winds, In whose stern blast no ruth nor grace she finds: XCIX Argantes such thy present danger was, When Satan stirred to aid thee at thy need, In human shape he forged an airy mass, And made the shade a body seem indeed; Well might the spirit for Clorinda pass, Like her it was, in armor and in weed, In stature, beauty, countenance and face, In looks, in speech, in gesture, and in pace. C And for the spirit should seem the same indeed, From where she was whose show and shape it had, Toward the wall it rode with feigned speed, Where stood the people all dismayed and sad, To see their knight of help have so great need, And yet the law of arms all help forbad. There in a turret sat a soldier stout To watch, and at a loop-hole peeped out; CI The spirit spake to him, called Oradine, The noblest archer then that handled bow, "O Oradine," quoth she, "who straight as line Can'st shoot, and hit each mark set high or low, If yonder knight, alas! be slain in fine, As likest is, great ruth it were you know, And greater shame, if his victorious foe Should with his spoils triumphant homeward go. CII "Now prove thy skill, thine arrow's sharp head dip In yonder thievish Frenchman's guilty blood, I promise thee thy sovereign shall not slip To give thee large rewards for such a good;" Thus said the spirit; the man did laugh and skip For hope of future gain, nor longer stood, But from his quiver huge a shaft he hent, And set it in his mighty bow new bent, CIII Twanged the string, out flew the quarrel long, And through the subtle air did singing pass, It hit the knight the buckles rich among, Wherewith his precious girdle fastened was, It bruised them and pierced his hauberk strong, Some little blood down trickled on the grass; Light was the wound; the angel by unseen, The sharp head blunted of the weapon keen. CIV Raymond drew forth the shaft, as much behoved, And with the steel, his blood out streaming came, With bitter words his foe he then reproved, For breaking faith, to his eternal shame. Godfrey, whose careful eyes from his beloved Were never turned, saw and marked the same, And when he viewed the wounded County bleed, He sighed, and feared, more perchance than need; CV And with his words, and with his threatening eyes, He stirred his captains to revenge that wrong; Forthwith the spurred courser forward hies, Within their rests put were their lances long, From either side a squadron brave out flies, And boldly made a fierce encounter strong, The raised dust to overspread begun Their shining arms, and far more shining sun. CVI Of breaking spears, of ringing helm and shield, A dreadful rumor roared on every side, There lay a horse, another through the field Ran masterless, dismounted was his guide; Here one lay dead, there did another yield, Some sighed, some sobbed, some prayed, and some cried; Fierce was the fight, and longer still it lasted, Fiercer and fewer, still themselves they wasted. CVII Argantes nimbly leapt amid the throng, And from a soldier wrung an iron mace, And breaking through the ranks and ranges long, Therewith he passage made himself and place, Raymond he sought, the thickest press among. To take revenge for late received disgrace, A greedy wolf he seemed, and would assuage With Raymond's blood his hunger and his rage. CVIII The way he found not easy as he would, But fierce encounters put him oft to pain, He met Ormanno and Rogero bold, Of Balnavile, Guy, and the Gerrards twain; Yet nothing might his rage and haste withhold, These worthies strove to stop him, but in vain, With these strong lets increased still his ire, Like rivers stopped, or closely smouldered fire. CIX He slew Ormanno, and wounded Guy, and laid Rogero low, among the people slain, On every side new troops the man invade, Yet all their blows were waste, their onsets vain, But while Argantes thus his prizes played, And seemed alone this skirmish to sustain, The duke his brother called and thus he spake, "Go with thy troop, fight for thy Saviour's sake; CX "There enter in where hottest is the fight, Thy force against the left wing strongly bend." This said, so brave an onset gave the knight, That many a Paynim bold there made his end: The Turks too weak seemed to sustain his might, And could not from his power their lives defend, Their ensigns rent, and broke was their array, And men and horse on heaps together lay. CXI O'erthrown likewise away the right wing ran, Nor was there one again that turned his face, Save bold Argantes, else fled every man, Fear drove them thence on heaps, with headlong chase: He stayed alone, and battle new began, Five hundred men, weaponed with sword and mace, So great resistance never could have made, As did Argantes with his single blade: CXII The strokes of swords and thrusts of many a spear, The shock of many a joust he long sustained, He seemed of strength enough this charge to bear, And time to strike, now here, now there, he gained His armors broke, his members bruised were, He sweat and bled, yet courage still he feigned; But now his foes upon him pressed so fast, That with their weight they bore him back at last. CXIII His back against this storm at length he turned, Whose headlong fury bore him backward still, Not like to one that fled, but one that mourned Because he did his foes no greater ill, His threatening eyes like flaming torches burned, His courage thirsted yet more blood to spill, And every way and every mean he sought, To stay his flying mates, but all for naught. CXIV This good he did, while thus he played his part, His bands and troops at ease, and safe, retired; Yet coward dread lacks order, fear wants art, Deaf to attend, commanded or desired. But Godfrey that perceived in his wise heart, How his bold knights to victory aspired, Fresh soldiers sent, to make more quick pursuit, And help to gather conquest's precious fruit. CXV But this, alas, was not the appointed day, Set down by Heaven to end this mortal war: The western lords this time had borne away The prize, for which they travelled had so far, Had not the devils, that saw the sure decay Of their false kingdom by this bloody war, At once made heaven and earth with darkness blind, And stirred up tempests, storms, and blustering wind. CXVI Heaven's glorious lamp, wrapped in an ugly veil Of shadows dark, was hid from mortal eye, And hell's grim blackness did bright skies assail; On every side the fiery lightnings fly, The thunders roar, the streaming rain and hail Pour down and make that sea which erst was dry. The tempests rend the oaks and cedars brake, And make not trees but rocks and mountains shake. CXVII The rain, the lightning, and the raging wind, Beat in the Frenchmen's eyes with hideous force, The soldiers stayed amazed in heart and mind, The terror such that stopped both man and horse. Surprised with this evil no way they find, Whither for succor to direct their course, But wise Clorinda soon the advantage spied, And spurring forth thus to her soldiers cried: CXVIII "You hardy men at arms behold," quoth she, "How Heaven, how Justice in our aid doth fight, Our visages are from this tempest free, Our hands at will may wield our weapons bright, The fury of this friendly storm you see Upon the foreheads of our foes doth light, And blinds their eyes, then let us take the tide, Come, follow me, good fortune be our guide." CXIX This said, against her foes on rode the dame, And turned their backs against the wind and rain; Upon the French with furious rage she came, And scorned those idle blows they struck in vain; Argantes at the instant did the same, And them who chased him now chased again, Naught but his fearful back each Christian shows Against the tempest, and against their blows. CXX The cruel hail, and deadly wounding blade, Upon their shoulders smote them as they fled, The blood new spilt while thus they slaughter made, The water fallen from skies had dyed red, Among the murdered bodies Pyrrhus laid, And valiant Raiphe his heart blood there out bled, The first subdued by strong Argantes' might, The second conquered by that virgin knight. CXXI Thus fled the French, and then pursued in chase The wicked sprites and all the Syrian train: But gainst their force and gainst their fell menace Of hail and wind, of tempest and of rain, Godfrey alone turned his audacious face, Blaming his barons for their fear so vain, Himself the camp gate boldly stood to keep, And saved his men within his trenches deep. CXXII And twice upon Argantes proud he flew, And beat him backward, maugre all his might, And twice his thirsty sword he did imbrue, In Pagan's blood where thickest was the fight; At last himself with all his folk withdrew, And that day's conquest gave the virgin bright, Which got, she home retired and all her men, And thus she chased this lion to his den. CXXIII Yet ceased not the fury and the ire Of these huge storms, of wind, of rain and hail, Now was it dark, now shone the lightning fire, The wind and water every place assail, No bank was safe, no rampire left entire, No tent could stand, when beam and cordage fail, Wind, thunder, rain, all gave a dreadful sound, And with that music deafed the trembling ground. EIGHTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. A messenger to Godfrey sage doth tell The Prince of Denmark's valour, death and end: The Italians, trusting signs untrue too well, Think their Rinaldo slain: the wicked fiend Breeds fury in their breasts, their bosoms swell With ire and hate, and war and strife forth send: They threaten Godfrey; he prays to the Lord, And calms their fury with his look and word. I Now were the skies of storms and tempests cleared, Lord Aeolus shut up his winds in hold, The silver-mantled morning fresh appeared, With roses crowned, and buskined high with gold; The spirits yet which had these tempests reared, Their malice would still more and more unfold; And one of them that Astragor was named, His speeches thus to foul Alecto framed. II "Alecto, see, we could not stop nor stay The knight that to our foes new tidings brings, Who from the hands escaped, with life away, Of that great prince, chief of all Pagan kings: He comes, the fall of his slain lord to say, Of death and loss he tells, and such sad things, Great news he brings, and greatest dangers is, Bertoldo's son shall be called home for this. III "Thou knowest what would befall, bestir thee than; Prevent with craft, what force could not withstand, Turn to their evil the speeches of the man, With his own weapon wound Godfredo's hand; Kindle debate, infect with poison wan The English, Switzer, and Italian band, Great tumult move, make brawls and quarrels rife, Set all the camp on uproar and at strife. IV "This act beseems thee well, and of the deed Much may'st thou boast before our lord and king." Thus said the sprite. Persuasion small did need, The monster grants to undertake the thing. Meanwhile the knight, whose coming thus they dread, Before the camp his weary limbs doth bring, And well-nigh breathless, "Warriors bold," he cried, "Who shall conduct me to your famous guide?" V An hundred strove the stranger's guide to be, To hearken news the knights by heaps assemble, The man fell lowly down upon his knee, And kissed the hand that made proud Babel tremble; "Right puissant lord, whose valiant acts," quoth he, "The sands and stars in number best resemble, Would God some gladder news I might unfold," And there he paused, and sighed; then thus he told: VI "Sweno, the King of Denmark's only heir, The stay and staff of his declining eild, Longed to be among these squadrons fair Who for Christ's faith here serve with spear and shield; No weariness, no storms of sea or air, No such contents as crowns and sceptres yield, No dear entreaties of so kind a sire, Could in his bosom quench that glorious fire. VII "He thirsted sore to learn this warlike art Of thee, great lord and master of the same; And was ashamed in his noble heart, That never act he did deserved fame; Besides, the news and tidings from each part Of young Rinaldo's worth and praises came: But that which most his courage stirred hath, Is zeal, religion, godliness, and faith. VIII "He hasted forward, then without delay, And with him took of knights a chosen band, Directly toward Thrace we took the way, To Byzance old, chief fortress of that land, There the Greek monarch gently prayed him stay, And there an herald sent from you we fand, How Antioch was won, who first declared, And how defended nobly afterward. IX "Defended gainst Corbana, valiant knight, That all the Persian armies had to guide, And brought so many soldiers bold to fight, That void of men he left that kingdom wide; He told thine acts, thy wisdom and thy might, And told the deeds of many a lord beside, His speech at length to young Rinaldo passed, And told his great achievements, first and last: X "And how this noble camp of yours, of late Besieged had this town, and in what sort, And how you prayed him to participate Of the last conquest of this noble fort. In hardy Sweno opened was the gate Of worthy anger by this brave report, So that each hour seemed five years long, Till he were fighting with these Pagans strong. XI "And while the herald told your fights and frays, Himself of cowardice reproved he thought, And him to stay that counsels him, or prays, He hears not, or, else heard, regardeth naught, He fears no perils but whilst he delays, Lest this last work without his help be wrought: In this his doubt, in this his danger lies, No hazard else he fears, no peril spies. XII "Thus hasting on, he hasted on his death, Death that to him and us was fatal guide. The rising morn appeared yet aneath, When he and we were armed, and fit to ride, The nearest way seemed best, o'er hold and heath We went, through deserts waste, and forests wide, The streets and ways he openeth as he goes, And sets each land free from intruding foes. XIII "Now want of food, now dangerous ways we find, Now open war, now ambush closely laid; Yet passed we forth, all perils left behind, Our foes or dead or run away afraid, Of victory so happy blew the wind, That careless all the heedless to it made: Until one day his tents he happed to rear, To Palestine when we approached near. XIV "There did our scouts return and bring us news, That dreadful noise of horse and arms they hear, And that they deemed by sundry signs and shows There was some mighty host of Pagans near. At these sad tidings many changed their hues, Some looked pale for dread, some shook for fear, Only our noble lord was altered naught, In look, in face, in gesture, or in thought. XV "But said, 'A crown prepare you to possess Of martyrdom, or happy victory; For this I hope, for that I wish no less, Of greater merit and of greater glory. Brethren, this camp will shortly be, I guess, A temple, sacred to our memory, To which the holy men of future age, To view our graves shall come in pilgrimage.' XVI "This said, he set the watch in order right To guard the camp, along the trenches deep, And as he armed was, so every knight He willed on his back his arms to keep. Now had the stillness of the quiet night Drowned all the world in silence and in sleep, When suddenly we heard a dreadful sound, Which deafed the earth, and tremble made the ground. XVII "'Arm, arm,' they cried; Prince Sweno at the same, Glistering in shining steel leaped foremost out, His visage shone, his noble looks did flame, With kindled brand of courage bold and stout, When lo, the Pagans to assault us came, And with huge numbers hemmed us round about, A forest thick of spears about us grew, And over us a cloud of arrows flew: XVIII "Uneven the fight, unequal was the fray, Our enemies were twenty men to one, On every side the slain and wounded lay Unseen, where naught but glistering weapons shone: The number of the dead could no man say, So was the place with darkness overgone, The night her mantle black upon its spreads, Hiding our losses and our valiant deeds. XIX "But hardy Sweno midst the other train, By his great acts was well descried I wot, No darkness could his valor's daylight stain, Such wondrous blows on every side he smote; A stream of blood, a bank of bodies slain, About him made a bulwark, and a mote, And when soe'er he turned his fatal brand, Dread in his looks and death sate in his hand. XX "Thus fought we till the morning bright appeared, And strewed roses on the azure sky, But when her lamp had night's thick darkness cleared, Wherein the bodies dead did buried lie, Then our sad cries to heaven for grief we reared, Our loss apparent was, for we descry How all our camp destroyed was almost, And all our people well-nigh slain and lost; XXI "Of thousands twain an hundred scant survived. When Sweno murdered saw each valiant knight, I know not if his heart in sunder rived For dear compassion of that woful sight; He showed no change, but said: 'Since so deprived We are of all our friends by chance of fight, Come follow them, the path to heaven their blood Marks out, now angels made, of martyrs good.' XXII "This said, and glad I think of death at hand, The signs of heavenly joy shone through his eyes, Of Saracens against a mighty band, With fearless heart and constant breast he flies; No steel could shield them from his cutting brand But whom he hits without recure he dies, He never struck but felled or killed his foe And wounded was himself from top to toe. XXIII "Not strength, but courage now, preserved on live This hardy champion, fortress of our faith, Strucken he strikes, still stronger more they strive, The more they hurt him, more he doth them scathe, When toward him a furious knight gan drive, Of members huge, fierce looks, and full of wrath, That with the aid of many a Pagan crew, After long fight, at last Prince Sweno slew. XXIV "Ah, heavy chance! Down fell the valiant youth, Nor mongst us all did one so strong appear As to revenge his death: that this is truth, By his dear blood and noble bones I swear, That of my life I had not care nor ruth, No wounds I shunned, no blows I would off bear, And had not Heaven my wished end denied, Even there I should, and willing should, have died. XXV "Alive I fell among my fellows slain, Yet wounded so that each one thought me dead, Nor what our foes did since can I explain, So sore amazed was my heart and head; But when I opened first mine eyes again, Night's curtain black upon the earth was spread, And through the darkness to my feeble sight, Appeared the twinkling of a slender light. XXVI "Not so much force or judgement in me lies As to discern things seen and not mistake, I saw like them who ope and shut their eyes By turns, now half asleep, now half awake; My body eke another torment tries, My wounds began to smart, my hurts to ache; For every sore each member pinched was With night's sharp air, heaven's frost and earth's cold grass. XXVII "But still the light approached near and near, And with the same a whispering murmur run, Till at my side arrived both they were, When I to spread my feeble eyes begun: Two men behold in vestures long appear, With each a lamp in hand, who said, 'O son In that dear Lord who helps his servants, trust, Who ere they ask, grants all things to the just.' XXVIII "This said, each one his sacred blessings flings Upon my corse, with broad our-stretched hand, And mumbled hymns and psalms and holy things, Which I could neither hear nor understand; 'Arise,' quoth they, with that as I had wings, All whole and sound I leaped up from the land. Oh miracle, sweet, gentle, strange and true! My limbs new strength received, and vigor new. XXIX "I gazed on them like one whose heart denieth To think that done, he sees so strangely wrought; Till one said thus, 'O thou of little faith, What doubts perplex thy unbelieving thought? Each one of us a living body hath, We are Christ's chosen servants, fear us naught, Who to avoid the world's allurements vain, In wilful penance, hermits poor remain. XXX "'Us messengers to comfort thee elect That Lord hath sent that rules both heaven and hell; Who often doth his blessed will effect, By such weak means, as wonder is to tell; He will not that this body lie neglect, Wherein so noble soul did lately dwell To which again when it uprisen is It shall united be in lasting bliss. XXXI "'I say Lord Sweno's corpse, for which prepared A tomb there is according to his worth, By which his honor shall be far declared, And his just praises spread from south to north:" But lift thine eyes up to the heavens ward, Mark yonder light that like the sun shines forth That shall direct thee with those beams so clear, To find the body of thy master dear.' XXXII "With that I saw from Cynthia's silver face, Like to a falling star a beam down slide, That bright as golden line marked out the place, And lightened with clear streams the forest wide; So Latmos shone when Phoebe left the chase, And laid her down by her Endymion's side, Such was the light that well discern I could, His shape, his wounds, his face, though dead, yet bold. XXXIII "He lay not grovelling now, but as a knight That ever had to heavenly things desire, So toward heaven the prince lay bolt upright, Like him that upward still sought to aspire, His right hand closed held his weapon bright, Ready to strike and execute his ire, His left upon his breast was humbly laid, That men might know, that while he died he prayed. XXXIV "Whilst on his wounds with bootless tears I wept, That neither helped him, nor eased my care, One of those aged fathers to him stepped, And forced his hand that needless weapon spare: 'This sword,' quoth he, 'hath yet good token kept, That of the Pagans' blood he drunk his share, And blusheth still he could not save his lord, Rich, strong and sharp, was never better sword. XXXV "'Heaven, therefore, will not, though the prince be slain, Who used erst to wield this precious brand That so brave blade unused should remain; But that it pass from strong to stronger hand, Who with like force can wield the same again, And longer shall in grace of fortune stand, And with the same shall bitter vengeance take On him that Sweno slew, for Sweno's sake. XXXVI "'Great Solyman killed Sweno, Solyman For Sweno's sake, upon this sword must die. Here, take the blade, and with it haste thee than Thither where Godfrey doth encamped lie, And fear not thou that any shall or can Or stop thy way, or lead thy steps awry; For He that doth thee on this message send, Thee with His hand shall guide, keep and defend. XXXVII "'Arrived there it is His blessed will, With true report that thou declare and tell The zeal, the strength, the courage and the skill In thy beloved lord that late did dwell, How for Christ's sake he came his blood to spill, And sample left to all of doing well, That future ages may admire his deed, And courage take when his brave end they read. XXXVIII "'It resteth now, thou know that gentle knight That of this sword shall be thy master's heir, It is Rinaldo young, with whom in might And martial skill no champion may compare, Give it to him and say, "The Heavens bright Of this revenge to him commit the care." While thus I listened what this old man said, A wonder new from further speech us stayed; XXXIX "For there whereas the wounded body lay, A stately tomb with curious work, behold, And wondrous art was built out of the clay, Which, rising round, the carcass did enfold; With words engraven in the marble gray, The warrior's name, his worth and praise that told, On which I gazing stood, and often read That epitaph of my dear master dead. XL "'Among his soldiers,' quoth the hermit, 'here Must Sweno's corpse remain in marble chest, While up to heaven are flown their spirits dear, To live in endless joy forever blest, His funeral thou hast with many a tear Accompanied, it's now high time to rest, Come be my guest, until the morning ray Shall light the world again, then take thy way.' XLI "This said, he led me over holts and hags, Through thorns and bushes scant my legs I drew Till underneath a heap of stones and crags At last he brought me to a secret mew; Among the bears, wild boars, the wolves and stags, There dwelt he safe with his disciple true, And feared no treason, force, nor hurt at all, His guiltless conscience was his castle's wall. XLII "My supper roots; my bed was moss and leaves; But weariness in little rest found ease: But when the purple morning night bereaves Of late usurped rule on lands and seas, His loathed couch each wakeful hermit leaves, To pray rose they, and I, for so they please, I congee took when ended was the same, And hitherward, as they advised me, came." XLIII The Dane his woful tale had done, when thus The good Prince Godfrey answered him, "Sir knight, Thou bringest tidings sad and dolorous, For which our heavy camp laments of right, Since so brave troops and so dear friends to us, One hour hath spent, in one unlucky fight; And so appeared hath thy master stout, As lightning doth, now kindled, now quenched out. XLIV "But such a death and end exceedeth all The conquests vain of realms, or spoils of gold, Nor aged Rome's proud stately capital, Did ever triumph yet like theirs behold; They sit in heaven on thrones celestial, Crowned with glory, for their conquest bold, Where each his hurts I think to other shows, And glories in those bloody wounds and blows. XLV "But thou who hast part of thy race to run, With haps and hazards of this world ytost, rejoice, for those high honors they have won, Which cannot be by chance or fortune crossed: But for thou askest for Bertoldo's son, Know, that he wandereth, banished from this host, And till of him new tidings some man tell, Within this camp I deem it best thou dwell." XLVI These words of theirs in many a soul renewed The sweet remembrance of fair Sophia's child, Some with salt tears for him their cheeks bedewed, Lest evil betide him mongst the Pagans wild, And every one his valiant prowess showed, And of his battles stories long compiled, Telling the Dane his acts and conquests past, Which made his ears amazed, his heart aghast. XLVII Now when remembrance of the youth had wrought A tender pity in each softened mind, Behold returned home with all they caught The bands that were to forage late assigned, And with them in abundance great they brought Both flocks and herds of every sort and kind. And corn, although not much, and hay to feed Their noble steeds and coursers when they need. XLVIII They also brought of misadventure sad Tokens and signs, seemed too apparent true, Rinaldo's armor, frushed and hacked they had, Oft pierced through, with blood besmeared new; About the camp, for always rumors bad Are farthest spread, these woful tidings flew. Thither assembled straight both high and low, Longing to see what they were loth to know. XLIX His heavy hauberk was both seen and known, And his brand shield, wherein displayed flies The bird that proves her chickens for her own By looking gainst the sun with open eyes; That shield was to the Pagans often shown, In many a hard and hardy enterprise, But now with many a gash and many a stroke They see, and sigh to see it, frushed and broke. L While all his soldiers whispered under hand, And here and there the fault and cause do lay, Godfrey before him called Aliprand Captain of those that brought of late this prey, A man who did on points of virtue stand, Blameless in words, and true whate'er he say, "Say," quoth the duke, "where you this armor had, Hide not the truth, but tell it good or bad." LI He answered him, "As far from hence think I As on two days a speedy post well rideth, To Gaza-ward a little plain doth lie, Itself among the steepy hills which hideth, Through it slow falling from the mountains high, A rolling brook twixt bush and bramble glideth, Clad with thick shade of boughs of broad-leaved treen, Fit place for men to lie in wait unseen. LII "Thither, to seek some flocks or herds, we went Perchance close hid under the green-wood shaw, And found the springing grass with blood besprent, A warrior tumbled in his blood we saw, His arms though dusty, bloody, hacked and rent, Yet well we knew, when near the corse we draw; To which, to view his face, in vain I started, For from his body his fair head was parted; LIII "His right hand wanted eke, with many a wound The trunk through pierced was from back to breast, A little by, his empty helm we found The silver eagle shining on his crest; To spy at whom to ask we gazed round, A churl then toward us his steps addressed, But when us armed by the corse he spied, He ran away his fearful face to hide: LIV "But we pursued him, took him, spake him fair, Till comforted at last he answer made, How that, the day before, he saw repair A band of soldiers from that forest shade, Of whom one carried by the golden hair A head but late cut off with murdering blade, The face was fair and young, and on the chin No sign of heard to bud did yet begin. LV "And how in sindal wrapt away he bore That head with him hung at his saddle-bow. And how the murtherers by the arms they wore, For soldiers of our camp he well did know; The carcass I disarmed and weeping sore, Because I guessed who should that harness owe, Away I brought it, but first order gave, That noble body should be laid in grave. LVI "But if it be his trunk whom I believe, A nobler tomb his worth deserveth well." This said, good Aliprando took his leave, Of certain troth he had no more to tell, Sore sighed the duke, so did these news him grieve, Fears in his heart, doubts in his bosom dwell, He yearned to know, to find and learn the truth, And punish would them that had slain the youth. LVII But now the night dispread her lazy wings O'er the broad fields of heaven's bright wilderness, Sleep, the soul's rest, and ease of careful things, Buried in happy peace both more and less, Thou Argillan alone, whom sorrow stings, Still wakest, musing on great deeds I guess, Nor sufferest in thy watchful eyes to creep The sweet repose of mild and gentle sleep. LVIII This man was strong of limb, and all his 'says Were bold, of ready tongue, and working sprite, Near Trento born, bred up in brawls and frays, In jars, in quarrels, and in civil fight, For which exiled, the hills and public ways He filled with blood, and robberies day and night Until to Asia's wars at last he came, And boldly there he served, and purchased fame. LIX He closed his eyes at last when day drew near. Yet slept he not, but senseless lay opprest With strange amazedness and sudden fear Which false Alecto breathed in his breast, His working powers within deluded were, Stone still he quiet lay, yet took no rest, For to his thought the fiend herself presented, And with strange visions his weak brain tormented. LX A murdered body huge beside him stood, Of head and right hand both but lately spoiled, His left hand bore the head, whose visage good, Both pale and wan, with dust and gore defoiled, Yet spake, though dead, with whose sad words the blood Forth at his lips in huge abundance boiled, "Fly, Argillan, from this false camp fly far, Whose guide, a traitor; captains, murderers are. LXI "Godfrey hath murdered me by treason vile, What favor then hope you my trusty friends? His villain heart is full of fraud and guile, To your destruction all his thoughts he bends, Yet if thou thirst of praise for noble stile, If in thy strength thou trust, thy strength that ends All hard assays, fly not, first with his blood Appease my ghost wandering by Lethe flood; LXII "I will thy weapon whet, inflame thine ire, Arm thy right hand, and strengthen every part." This said; even while she spake she did inspire With fury, rage, and wrath his troubled heart: The man awaked, and from his eyes like fire The poisoned sparks of headstrong madness start, And armed as he was, forth is he gone, And gathered all the Italian bands in one. LXIII He gathered them where lay the arms that late Were good Rinaldo's; then with semblance stout And furious words his fore-conceived hate In bitter speeches thus he vomits out; "Is not this people barbarous and ingrate, In whom truth finds no place, faith takes no rout? Whose thirst unquenched is of blood and gold, Whom no yoke boweth, bridle none can hold. LXIV "So much we suffered have these seven years long, Under this servile and unworthy yoke, That thorough Rome and Italy our wrong A thousand years hereafter shall be spoke: I count not how Cilicia's kingdom strong, Subdued was by Prince Tancredi's stroke, Nor how false Baldwin him that land bereaves Of virtue's harvest, fraud there reaped the sheaves: LXV "Nor speak I how each hour, at every need, Quick, ready, resolute at all assays, With fire and sword we hasted forth with speed, And bore the brunt of all their fights and frays; But when we had performed and done the deed, At ease and leisure they divide the preys, We reaped naught but travel for our toil, Theirs was the praise, the realms, the gold, the spoil. LXVI "Yet all this season were we willing blind, Offended unrevenged, wronged but unwroken, Light griefs could not provoke our quiet mind, But now, alas! the mortal blow is stroken, Rinaldo have they slain, and law of kind, Of arms, of nations, and of high heaven broken, Why doth not heaven kill them with fire and thunder? To swallow them why cleaves not earth asunder? LXVII "They have Rinaldo slain, the sword and shield Of Christ's true faith, and unrevenged he lies; Still unrevenged lieth in the field His noble corpse to feed the crows and pies: Who murdered him? who shall us certain yield? Who sees not that, although he wanted eyes? Who knows not how the Italian chivalry Proud Godfrey and false Baldwin both envy LXVIII "What need we further proof? Heaven, heaven, I swear, Will not consent herein we be beguiled, This night I saw his murdered sprite appear, Pale, sad and wan, with wounds and blood defiled, A spectacle full both of grief and fear; Godfrey, for murdering him, the ghost reviled. I saw it was no dream, before mine eyes, Howe'er I look, still, still methinks it flies. LXIX "What shall we do? shall we be governed still By this false hand, contaminate with blood? Or else depart and travel forth, until To Euphrates we come, that sacred flood, Where dwells a people void of martial skill, Whose cities rich, whose land is fat and good, Where kingdoms great we may at ease provide, Far from these Frenchmen's malice, from their pride; LXX "Then let us go, and no revengement take For this brave knight, though it lie in our power: No, no, that courage rather newly wake, Which never sleeps in fear and dread one hour, And this pestiferous serpent, poisoned snake, Of all our knights that hath destroyed the flower, First let us slay, and his deserved end Example make to him that kills his friend. LXXI "I will, I will, if your courageous force, Dareth so much as it can well perform, Tear out his cursed heart without remorse, The nest of treason false and guile enorm." Thus spake the angry knight with headlong course; The rest him followed with a furious storm, "Arm, arm." they cried, to arms the soldiers ran. And as they run, "Arm, arm," cried every man. LXXII Mongst them Alecto strowed wasteful fire, Envenoming the hearts of most and least, Folly, disdain, madness, strife, rancor, ire, Thirst to shed blood, in every breast increased, This ill spread far, and till it set on fire With rage the Italian lodgings, never ceased, From thence unto the Switzers' camp it went, And last infected every English tent. LXXIII Not public loss of their beloved knight, Alone stirred up their rage and wrath untamed, But fore-conceived griefs, and quarrels light, The ire still nourished, and still inflamed, Awaked was each former cause of spite, The Frenchmen cruel and unjust they named, And with bold threats they made their hatred known, Hate seld kept close, and oft unwisely shown: LXXIV Like boiling liquor in a seething pot, That fumeth, swelleth high, and bubbleth fast, Till o'er the brims among the embers hot, Part of the broth and of the scum is cast, Their rage and wrath those few appeased not In whom of wisdom yet remained some taste, Camillo, William, Tancred were away, And all whose greatness might their madness stay. LXXV Now headlong ran to harness in this heat These furious people, all on heaps confused, The roaring trumpets battle gan to threat, As it in time of mortal war is used, The messengers ran to Godfredo great, And bade him arm, while on this noise he mused, And Baldwin first well clad in iron hard, Stepped to his side, a sure and faithful guard. LXXVI Their murmurs heard, to heaven he lift his een, As was his wont, to God for aid he fled; "O Lord, thou knowest this right hand of mine Abhorred ever civil blood to shed, Illumine their dark souls with light divine, Repress their rage, by hellish fury bred, The innocency of my guiltless mind Thou knowest, and make these know, with fury blind." LXXVII Tis said he felt infused in each vein, A sacred heat from heaven above distilled, A heat in man that courage could constrain That his brave look with awful boldness filled. Well guarded forth he went to meet the train Of those that would revenge Rinaldo killed; And though their threats he heard, and saw them bent To arms on every side, yet on he went. LXXVIII Above his hauberk strong a coat he ware, Embroidered fair with pearl and richest stone, His hands were naked, and his face was bare, Wherein a lamp of majesty bright shone; He shook his golden mace, wherewith he dare Resist the force of his rebellious foe: Thus he appeared, and thus he gan them teach, In shape an angel, and a God in speech: LXXIX "What foolish words? what threats be these I hear? What noise of arms? who dares these tumults move? Am I so honored? stand you so in fear? Where is your late obedience? where your love? Of Godfrey's falsehood who can witness bear? Who dare or will these accusations prove? Perchance you look I should entreaties bring, Sue for your favors, or excuse the thing. LXXX "Ah, God forbid these lands should hear or see Him so disgraced at whose great name they quake; This sceptre and my noble acts for me A true defence before the world can make: Yet for sharp justice governed shall be With clemency, I will no vengeance take For this offence, but for Rinaldo's love, I pardon you, hereafter wiser prove. LXXXI "But Argillano's guilty blood shall wash This stain away, who kindled this debate, And led by hasty rage and fury rash, To these disorders first undid the gate;" While thus he spoke, the lightning beams did flash Out of his eyes of majesty and state, That Argillan,--who would have thought it?--shook For fear and terror, conquered with his look. LXXXII The rest with indiscreet and foolish wrath Who threatened late with words of shame and pride, Whose hands so ready were to harm and scath, And brandished bright swords on every side; Now hushed and still attend what Godfrey saith, With shame and fear their bashful looks they hide, And Argillan they let in chains be bound, Although their weapons him environed round. LXXXIII So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane, And beats his tail with courage proud and wroth, If his commander come, who first took pain To tame his youth, his lofty crest down goeth, His threats he feareth, and obeys the rein Of thralldom base, and serviceage, though loth, Nor can his sharp teeth nor his armed paws, Force him rebel against his ruler's laws. LXXXIV Fame as a winged warrior they beheld, With semblant fierce and furious look that stood, And in his left hand had a splendent shield Wherewith he covered safe their chieftain good, His other hand a naked sword did wield, From which distilling fell the lukewarm blood, The blood pardie of many a realm and town, Whereon the Lord his wrath had poured down. LXXXV Thus was the tumult, without bloodshed, ended. Their arms laid down, strife into exile sent. Godfrey his thoughts to greater actions bended. And homeward to his rich pavilion went, For to assault the fortress he intended Before the second or third day were spent; Meanwhile his timber wrought he oft surveyed Whereof his ram and engines great he made. NINTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. Alecto false great Solyman doth move By night the Christians in their tents to kill: But God who their intents saw from above, Sends Michael down from his sacred hill: The spirits foul to hell the angels drove; The knights delivered from the witch, at will Destroy the Pagans, scatter all their host: The Soldan flies when all his bands are lost. I The grisly child of Erebus the grim, Who saw these tumults done and tempest spent, Gainst stream of grace who ever strove to swim And all her thoughts against Heaven's wisdom bent, Departed now, bright Titan's beams were dim And fruitful lands waxed barren as she went. She sought the rest of her infernal crew, New storms to raise, new broils, and tumults new. II She, that well wist her sisters had enticed, By their false arts, far from the Christian host, Tancred, Rinaldo, and the rest, best prized For martial skill, for might esteemed most, Said, of these discords and these strifes advised, "Great Solyman, when day his light hath lost, These Christians shall assail with sudden war, And kill them all while thus they strive and jar." III With that where Solyman remained she flew, And found him out with his Arabian bands, Great Solyman, of all Christ's foes untrue, Boldest of courage, mightiest of his hands, Like him was none of all that earth-bred crew That heaped mountains on the Aemonian sands, Of Turks he sovereign was, and Nice his seat, Where late he dwelt, and ruled that kingdom great. IV The lands forenenst the Greekish shore he held, From Sangar's mouth to crooked Meander's fall, Where they of Phrygia, Mysia, Lydia dwelled, Bithynia's towns, and Pontus' cities all: But when the hearts of Christian princes swelled, And rose in arms to make proud Asia thrall, Those lands were won where he did sceptre wield And he twice beaten was in pitched field. V When Fortune oft he had in vain assayed, And spent his forces, which availed him naught, To Egypt's king himself he close conveyed, Who welcomed him as he could best have thought, Glad in his heart, and inly well apayed, That to his court so great a lord was brought: For he decreed his armies huge to bring To succor Juda land and Juda's king. VI But, ere he open war proclaimed, he would That Solyman should kindle first the fire, And with huge sums of false enticing gold The Arabian thieves he sent him forth to hire, While he the Asian lords and Morians hold Unites; the Soldan won to his desire Those outlaws, ready aye for gold to fight, The hope of gain hath such alluring might. VII Thus made their captain to destroy and burn, In Juda land he entered is so far, That all the ways whereby he should return By Godfrey's people kept and stopped are, And now he gan his former losses mourn, This wound had hit him on an elder scar, On great adventures ran his hardy thought, But naught assured, he yet resolved on naught. VIII To him Alecto came, and semblant bore Of one whose age was great, whose looks were grave, Whose cheeks were bloodless, and whose locks were hoar Mustaches strouting long and chin close shave, A steepled turban on her head she wore, Her garment wide, and by her side, her glaive, Her gilden quiver at her shoulders hung, And in her hand a bow was, stiff and strong. IX "We have." Quoth she, "through wildernesses gone, Through sterile sands, strange paths, and uncouth ways, Yet spoil or booty have we gotten none, Nor victory deserving fame or praise, Godfrey meanwhile to ruin stick and stone Of this fair town, with battery sore assays; And if awhile we rest, we shall behold This glorious city smoking lie in mould. X "Are sheep-cotes burnt, or preys of sheep or kine, The cause why Solyman these bands did arm? Canst thou that kingdom lately lost of thine Recover thus, or thus redress thy harm? No, no, when heaven's small candles next shall shine, Within their tents give them a bold alarm; Believe Araspes old, whose grave advice Thou hast in exile proved, and proved in Nice. XI "He feareth naught, he doubts no sudden broil From these ill-armed and worse-hearted bands, He thinks this people, used to rob and spoil, To such exploit dares not lift up their hands; Up then and with thy courage put to foil This fearless camp, while thus secure it stands." This said, her poison in his breast she hides, And then to shapeless air unseen she glides. XII The Soldan cried, "O thou which in my thought Increased hast my rage and fury so, Nor seem'st a wight of mortal metal wrought, I follow thee, whereso thee list to go, Mountains of men by dint of sword down brought Thou shalt behold, and seas of red blood flow Where'er I go; only be thou my guide When sable night the azure skies shall hide." XIII When this was said, he mustered all his crew, Reproved the cowards, and allowed the bold: His forward camp, inspired with courage new, Was ready dight to follow where he would: Alecto's self the warning trumpet blew And to the wind his standard great unrolled, Thus on they marched, and thus on they went, Of their approach their speed the news prevent. XIV Alecto left them, and her person dight Like one that came some tidings new to tell: It was the time, when first the rising night Her sparkling diamonds poureth forth to sell, When, into Sion come, she marched right Where Juda's aged tyrant used to dwell, To whom of Solyman's designment bold, The place, the manner, and the time she told. XV Their mantle dark, the grisly shadows spread, Stained with spots of deepest sanguine hue, Warm drops of blood, on earth's black visage shed, Supplied the place of pure and precious dew, The moon and stars for fear of sprites were fled, The shrieking goblins eachwhere howling flew, The furies roar, the ghosts and fairies yell, The earth was filled with devils, and empty hell. XVI The Soldan fierce, through all this horror, went Toward the camp of his redoubted foes, The night was more than half consumed and spent; Now headlong down the western hill she goes, When distant scant a mile from Godfrey's tent He let his people there awhile repose, And victualled them, and then he boldly spoke These words which rage and courage might provoke: XVII "See there a camp, full stuffed of spoils and preys, Not half so strong as false report recordeth; See there the storehouse, where their captain lays Our treasures stolen, where Asia's wealth he hoardeth; Now chance the ball unto our racket plays, Take then the vantage which good luck affordeth; For all their arms, their horses, gold and treasure Are ours, ours without loss, harm or displeasure. XVIII "Nor is this camp that great victorious host That slew the Persian lords, and Nice hath won: For those in this long war are spent and lost, These are the dregs, the wine is all outrun, And these few left, are drowned and dead almost In heavy sleep, the labor half is done To send them headlong to Avernus deep, For little differs death and heavy sleep. XIX "Come, come, this sword the passage open shall Into their camp, and on their bodies slain We will pass o'er their rampire and their wall; This blade, as scythes cut down the fields of grain, Shall cut them so, Christ's kingdom now shall fall, Asia her freedom, you shall praise obtain." Thus he inflamed his soldiers to the fight, And led them on through silence of the night. XX The sentinel by starlight, lo, descried This mighty Soldan and his host draw near, Who found not as he hoped the Christians' guide Unware, ne yet unready was his gear: The scouts, when this huge army they descried, Ran back, and gan with shouts the 'larum rear; The watch stert up and drew their weapons bright, And busked them bold to battle and to fight. XXI The Arabians wist they could not come unseen, And therefore loud their jarring trumpets sound, Their yelling cries to heaven upheaved been, The horses thundered on the solid ground, The mountains roared, and the valley green, The echoes sighed from the caves around, Alecto with her brand, kindled in hell, Tokened to them in David's tower that dwell. XXII Before the rest forth pricked the Soldan fast, Against the watch, not yet in order just, As swift as hideous Boreas' hasty blast From hollow rocks when first his storms outburst, The raging floods, that trees and rocks down cast, Thunders, that towns and towers drive to dust: Earthquakes, to tear the world in twain that threat, Are naught, compared to his fury great. XXIII He struck no blow, but that his foe he hit; And never hit, but made a grievous wound: And never wounded, but death followed it; And yet no peril, hurt or harm he found, No weapon on his hardened helmet bit, No puissant stroke his senses once astound, Yet like a bell his tinkling helmet rung, And thence flew flames of fire and sparks among. XXIV Himself well nigh had put the watch to flight, A jolly troop of Frenchmen strong and stout, When his Arabians came by heaps to fight, Covering, like raging floods, the fields about; The beaten Christians run away full light, The Pagans, mingled with the flying rout, Entered their camp, and filled, as they stood, Their tents with ruin, slaughter, death and blood. XXV High on the Soldan's helm enamelled laid An hideous dragon, armed with many a scale, With iron paws, and leathern wings displayed, Which twisted on a knot her forked tail, With triple tongue it seemed she hissed and brayed, About her jaws the froth and venom trail, And as he stirred, and as his foes him hit, So flames to cast and fire she seemed to spit. XXVI With this strange light, the Soldan fierce appeared Dreadful to those that round about him been, As to poor sailors, when huge storms are reared, With lightning flash the rafting seas are seen; Some fled away, because his strength they feared, Some bolder gainst him bent their weapons keen, And forward night, in evils and mischiefs pleased, Their dangers hid, and dangers still increased. XXVII Among the rest that strove to merit praise, Was old Latinus, born by Tiber's bank, To whose stout heart in fights and bloody frays, For all his eild, base fear yet never sank; Five sons he had, the comforts of his days, That from his side in no adventure shrank, But long before their time, in iron strong They clad their members, tender, soft and young. XXVIII The bold ensample of their father's might Their weapons whetted and their wrath increased, "Come let us go," quoth he, "where yonder knight Upon our soldiers makes his bloody feast, Let not their slaughter once your hearts affright, Where danger most appears, there fear it least, For honor dwells in hard attempts, my sons, And greatest praise, in greatest peril, wons." XXIX Her tender brood the forest's savage queen, Ere on their crests their rugged manes appear, Before their mouths by nature armed been, Or paws have strength a silly lamb to tear, So leadeth forth to prey, and makes them keen, And learns by her ensample naught to fear The hunter, in those desert woods that takes The lesser beasts whereon his feast he makes. XXX The noble father and his hardy crew Fierce Solyman on every side invade, At once all six upon the Soldan flew, With lances sharp, and strong encounters made, His broken spear the eldest boy down threw, And boldly, over-boldly, drew his blade, Wherewith he strove, but strove therewith in vain, The Pagan's steed, unmarked, to have slain. XXXI But as a mountain or a cape of land Assailed with storms and seas on every side, Doth unremoved, steadfast, still withstand Storm, thunder, lightning, tempest, wind, and tide: The Soldan so withstood Latinus' band, And unremoved did all their justs abide, And of that hapless youth, who hurt his steed, Down to the chin he cleft in twain the head. XXXII Kind Aramante, who saw his brother slain, To hold him up stretched forth his friendly arm, Oh foolish kindness, and oh pity vain, To add our proper loss, to other's harm! The prince let fall his sword, and cut in twain About his brother twined, the child's weak arm. Down from their saddles both together slide, Together mourned they, and together died. XXXIII That done, Sabino's lance with nimble force He cut in twain, and 'gainst the stripling bold He spurred his steed, that underneath his horse The hardy infant tumbled on the mould, Whose soul, out squeezed from his bruised corpse, With ugly painfulness forsook her hold, And deeply mourned that of so sweet a cage She left the bliss, and joys of youthful age. XXXIV But Picus yet and Lawrence were on live, Whom at one birth their mother fair brought out, A pair whose likeness made the parents strive Oft which was which, and joyed in their doubt: But what their birth did undistinguished give, The Soldan's rage made known, for Picus stout Headless at one huge blow he laid in dust, And through the breast his gentle brother thrust. XXXV Their father, but no father now, alas! When all his noble sons at once were slain, In their five deaths so often murdered was, I know not how his life could him sustain, Except his heart were forged of steel or brass, Yet still he lived, pardie, he saw not plain Their dying looks, although their deaths he knows, It is some ease not to behold our woes. XXXVI He wept not, for the night her curtain spread Between his cause of weeping and his eyes, But still he mourned and on sharp vengeance fed, And thinks he conquers, if revenged he dies; He thirsts the Soldan's heathenish blood to shed, And yet his own at less than naught doth prize, Nor can he tell whether he liefer would, Or die himself, or kill the Pagan bold. XXXVII At last, "Is this right hand," quoth he, "so weak, That thou disdain'st gainst me to use thy might? Can it naught do? can this tongue nothing speak That may provoke thine ire, thy wrath and spite?" With that he struck, his anger great to wreak, A blow, that pierced the mail and metal bright, And in his flank set ope a floodgate wide, Whereat the blood out streamed from his side. XXXVIII Provoked with his cry, and with that blow, The Turk upon him gan his blade discharge, He cleft his breastplate, having first pierced through, Lined with seven bulls' hides, his mighty targe, And sheathed his weapons in his guts below; Wretched Latinus at that issue large, And at his mouth, poured out his vital blood, And sprinkled with the same his murdered brood. XXXIX On Apennine like as a sturdy tree, Against the winds that makes resistance stout, If with a storm it overturned be, Falls down and breaks the trees and plants about; So Latine fell, and with him felled he And slew the nearest of the Pagans' rout, A worthy end, fit for a man of fame, That dying, slew; and conquered, overcame. XL Meanwhile the Soldan strove his rage To satisfy with blood of Christian spilled, The Arabians heartened by their captain stern, With murder every tent and cabin filled, Henry the English knight, and Olipherne, O fierce Draguto, by thy hands were killed! Gilbert and Philip were by Ariadene Both slain, both born upon the banks of Rhone. XLI Albazar with his mace Ernesto slew, Under Algazel Engerlan down fell, But the huge murder of the meaner crew, Or manner of their deaths, what tongue can tell? Godfrey, when first the heathen trumpets blew, Awaked, which heard, no fear could make him dwell, But he and his were up and armed ere long, And marched forward with a squadron strong. XLII He that well heard the rumor and the cry, And marked the tumult still grow more and more, The Arabian thieves he judged by and by Against his soldiers made this battle sore; For that they forayed all the countries nigh, And spoiled the fields, the duke knew well before, Yet thought he not they had the hardiment So to assail him in his armed tent. XLIII All suddenly he heard, while on he went, How to the city-ward, "Arm, arm!" they cried, The noise upreared to the firmament, With dreadful howling filled the valleys wlde: This was Clorinda, whom the king forth sent To battle, and Argantes by her side. The duke, this heard, to Guelpho turned, and prayed Him his lieutenant be, and to him said: XLIV "You hear this new alarm from yonder part, That from the town breaks out with so much rage, Us needeth much your valor and your art To calm their fury, and their heat to 'suage; Go thither then, and with you take some part Of these brave soldiers of mine equipage, While with the residue of my champions bold I drive these wolves again out of our fold." XLV They parted, this agreed on them between, By divers paths, Lord Guelpho to the hill, And Godfrey hasted where the Arabians keen His men like silly sheep destroy and kill; But as he went his troops increased been, From every part the people flocked still, That now grown strong enough, he 'proached nigh Where the fierce Turk caused many a Christian die. XLVI So from the top of Vesulus the cold, Down to the sandy valleys, tumbleth Po, Whose streams the further from the fountain rolled Still stronger wax, and with more puissance go; And horned like a bull his forehead bold He lifts, and o'er his broken banks doth flow, And with his horns to pierce the sea assays, To which he proffereth war, not tribute pays. XLVII The duke his men fast flying did espy, And thither ran, and thus, displeased, spake, "What fear is this? Oh, whither do you fly? See who they be that this pursuit do make, A heartless band, that dare no battle try, Who wounds before dare neither give nor take, Against them turn your stern eye's threatening sight, An angry look will put them all to flight." XLVIII This said, he spurred forth where Solyman Destroyed Christ's vineyard like a savage boar, Through streams of blood, through dust and dirt he ran, O'er heaps of bodies wallowing in their gore, The squadrons close his sword to ope began, He broke their ranks, behind, beside, before, And, where he goes, under his feet he treads The armed Saracens, and barbed steeds. XLIX This slaughter-house of angry Mars he passed, Where thousands dead, half-dead, and dying were. The hardy Soldan saw him come in haste, Yet neither stepped aside nor shrunk for fear, But busked him bold to fight, aloft he cast His blade, prepared to strike, and stepped near, These noble princes twain, so Fortune wrought From the world's end here met, and here they fought: L With virtue, fury; strength with courage strove, For Asia's mighty empire, who can tell With how strange force their cruel blows they drove? How sore their combat was? how fierce, how fell? Great deeds they wrought, each other's harness clove; Yet still in darkness, more the ruth, they dwell. The night their acts her black veil covered under, Their acts whereat the sun, the world might wonder. LI The Christians by their guide's ensample hearted, Of their best armed made a squadron strong, And to defend their chieftain forth they started: The Pagans also saved their knight from wrong, Fortune her favors twixt them evenly parted, Fierce was the encounter, bloody, doubtful, long; These won, those lost; these lost, those won again; The loss was equal, even the numbers slain. LII With equal rage, as when the southern wind, Meeteth in battle strong the northern blast, The sea and air to neither is resigned, But cloud gainst cloud, and wave gainst wave they cast: So from this skirmish neither part declined, But fought it out, and kept their footings fast, And oft with furious shock together rush, And shield gainst shield, and helm gainst helm they crush. LIII The battle eke to Sionward grew hot, The soldiers slain, the hardy knights were killed, Legions of sprites from Limbo's prisons got, The empty air, the hills and valleys filled, Hearting the Pagans that they shrinked not, Till where they stood their dearest blood they spilled; And with new rage Argantes they inspire, Whose heat no flames, whose burning need no fire. LIV Where he came in he put to shameful flight The fearful watch, and o'er the trenches leaped, Even with the ground he made the rampire's height, And murdered bodies in the ditch unheaped, So that his greedy mates with labor light, Amid the tents, a bloody harvest reaped: Clorinda went the proud Circassian by, So from a piece two chained bullets fly. LV Now fled the Frenchmen, when in lucky hour Arrived Guelpho, and his helping band, He made them turn against this stormy shower, And with bold face their wicked foes withstand. Sternly they fought, that from their wounds downpour The streams of blood and run on either hand: The Lord of heaven meanwhile upon this fight, From his high throne bent down his gracious sight. LVI From whence with grace and goodness compassed round, He ruleth, blesseth, keepeth all he wrought, Above the air, the fire, the sea and ground, Our sense, our wit, our reason and our thought, Where persons three, with power and glory crowned, Are all one God, who made all things of naught, Under whose feet, subjected to his grace, Sit nature, fortune, motion, time and place. LVII This is the place, from whence like smoke and dust Of this frail world the wealth, the pomp and power, He tosseth, tumbleth, turneth as he lust, And guides our life, our death, our end and hour: No eye, however virtuous, pure and just, Can view the brightness of that glorious bower, On every side the blessed spirits be, Equal in joys, though differing in degree. LVIII With harmony of their celestial song The palace echoed from the chambers pure, At last he Michael called, in harness strong Of never yielding diamonds armed sure, "Behold," quoth he, "to do despite and wrong To that dear flock my mercy hath in cure, How Satan from hell's loathsome prison sends His ghosts, his sprites, his furies and his fiends. LIX "Go bid them all depart, and leave the care Of war to soldiers, as doth best pertain: Bid them forbear to infect the earth and air; To darken heaven's fair light, bid them refrain; Bid them to Acheron's black flood repair, Fit house for them, the house of grief and pain: There let their king himself and them torment, So I command, go tell them mine intent." LX This said, the winged warrior low inclined At his Creator's feet with reverence due; Then spread his golden feathers to the wind, And swift as thought away the angel flew, He passed the light, and shining fire assigned The glorious seat of his selected crew, The mover first, and circle crystalline, The firmament, where fixed stars all shine; LXI Unlike in working then, in shape and show, At his left hand, Saturn he left and Jove, And those untruly errant called I trow, Since he errs not, who them doth guide and move: The fields he passed then, whence hail and snow, Thunder and rain fall down from clouds above, Where heat and cold, dryness and moisture strive, Whose wars all creatures kill, and slain, revive. LXII The horrid darkness, and the shadows dun Dispersed he with his eternal wings, The flames which from his heavenly eyes outrun Beguiled the earth and all her sable things; After a storm so spreadeth forth the sun His rays and binds the clouds in golden strings, Or in the stillness of a moonshine even A falling star so glideth down from Heaven. LXIII But when the infernal troop he 'proached near, That still the Pagans' ire and rage provoke, The angel on his wings himself did bear, And shook his lance, and thus at last he spoke: "Have you not learned yet to know and fear The Lord's just wrath, and thunder's dreadful stroke? Or in the torments of your endless ill, Are you still fierce, still proud, rebellious still? LXIV "The Lord hath sworn to break the iron bands The brazen gates of Sion's fort which close, Who is it that his sacred will withstands? Against his wrath who dares himself oppose? Go hence, you cursed, to your appointed lands, The realms of death, of torments, and of woes, And in the deeps of that infernal lake Your battles fight, and there your triumphs make. LXV "There tyrannize upon the souls you find Condemned to woe, and double still their pains; Where some complain, where some their teeth do grind, Some howl, and weep, some clank their iron chains:" This said they fled, and those that stayed behind, With his sharp lance he driveth and constrains; They sighing left the lands, his silver sheep Where Hesperus doth lead, doth feed, and keep. LXVI And toward hell their lazy wings display, To wreak their malice on the damned ghosts; The birds that follow Titan's hottest ray, Pass not in so great flocks to warmer coasts, Nor leaves in so great numbers fall away When winter nips them with his new-come frosts; The earth delivered from so foul annoy, Recalled her beauty, and resumed her joy. LXVII But not for this in fierce Argantes' breast Lessened the rancor and decreased the ire, Although Alecto left him to infest With the hot brands of her infernal fire, Round his armed head his trenchant blade he blest, And those thick ranks that seemed moist entire He breaks; the strong, the high, the weak, the low, Were equalized by his murdering blow. LXVIII Not far from him amid the blood and dust, Heads, arms, and legs, Clorinda strewed wide Her sword through Berengarius' breast she thrust, Quite through the heart, where life doth chiefly bide, And that fell blow she struck so sure and just, That at his back his life and blood forth glide; Even in the mouth she smote Albinus then, And cut in twain the visage of the man. LXIX Gernier's right hand she from his arm divided, Whereof but late she had received a wound; The hand his sword still held, although not guided, The fingers half alive stirred on the ground; So from a serpent slain the tail divided Moves in the grass, rolleth and tumbleth round, The championess so wounded left the knight, And gainst Achilles turned her weapon bright. LXX Upon his neck light that unhappy blow, And cut the sinews and the throat in twain, The head fell down upon the earth below, And soiled with dust the visage on the plain; The headless trunk, a woful thing to know, Still in the saddle seated did remain; Until his steed, that felt the reins at large, With leaps and flings that burden did discharge. LXXI While thus this fair and fierce Bellona slew The western lords, and put their troops to flight, Gildippes raged mongst the Pagan crew, And low in dust laid many a worthy knight: Like was their sex, their beauty and their hue, Like was their youth, their courage and their might; Yet fortune would they should the battle try Of mightier foes, for both were framed to die. LXXII Yet wished they oft, and strove in vain to meet, So great betwixt them was the press and throng, But hardy Guelpho gainst Clorinda sweet Ventured his sword to work her harm and wrong, And with a cutting blow so did her greet, That from her side the blood streamed down along; But with a thrust an answer sharp she made, And 'twixt his ribs colored somedeal her blade. LXXIII Lord Guelpho struck again, but hit her not, For strong Osmida haply passed by, And not meant him, another's wound he got, That cleft his front in twain above his eye: Near Guelpho now the battle waxed hot, For all the troops he led gan thither hie, And thither drew eke many a Paynim knight, That fierce, stern, bloody, deadly waxed the fight. LXXIV Meanwhile the purple morning peeped o'er The eastern threshold to our half of land, And Argillano in this great uproar From prison loosed was, and what he fand, Those arms he hent, and to the field them bore, Resolved to take his chance what came to hand, And with great acts amid the Pagan host Would win again his reputation lost. LXXV As a fierce steed 'scaped from his stall at large, Where he had long been kept for warlike need, Runs through the fields unto the flowery marge Of some green forest where he used to feed, His curled mane his shoulders broad doth charge And from his lofty crest doth spring and spreed, Thunder his feet, his nostrils fire breathe out, And with his neigh the world resounds about. LXXVI So Argillan rushed forth, sparkled his eyes, His front high lifted was, no fear therein, Lightly he leaps and skips, it seems he flies, He left no sign in dust imprinted thin, And coming near his foes, he sternly cries, As one that forced not all their strength a pin, "You outcasts of the world, you men of naught What hath in you this boldness newly wrought? LXXVII "Too weak are you to bear a helm or shield Unfit to arm your breast in iron bright, You run half-naked trembling through the field, Your blows are feeble, and your hope in flight, Your facts and all the actions that you wield, The darkness hides, your bulwark is the night, Now she is gone, how will your fights succeed? Now better arms and better hearts you need." LXXVIII While thus he spoke, he gave a cruel stroke Against Algazel's throat with might and main; And as he would have answered him, and spoke, He stopped his words, and cut his jaws in twain; Upon his eyes death spread his misty cloak, A chilling frost congealed every vein, He fell, and with his teeth the earth he tore, Raging in death, and full of rage before. LXXIX Then by his puissance mighty Saladine, Proud Agricalt and Muleasses died, And at one wondrous blow his weapon fine, Did Adiazel in two parts divide, Then through the breast he wounded Ariadine, Whom dying with sharp taunts he gan deride, He lifting up uneath his feeble eyes, To his proud scorns thus answereth, ere he dies: LXXX "Not thou, whoe'er thou art, shall glory long Thy happy conquest in my death, I trow, Like chance awaits thee from a hand more strong, Which by my side will shortly lay thee low:" He smiled, and said, "Of mine hour short or long Let heaven take care; but here meanwhile die thou, Pasture for wolves and crows," on him his foot He set, and drew his sword and life both out. LXXXI Among this squadron rode a gentle page, The Soldan's minion, darling, and delight, On whose fair chin the spring-time of his age Yet blossomed out her flowers, small or light; The sweat spread on his cheeks with heat and rage Seemed pearls or morning dews on lilies white, The dust therein uprolled adorned his hair, His face seemed fierce and sweet, wrathful and fair. LXXXII His steed was white, and white as purest snow That falls on tops of aged Apennine, Lightning and storm are not so 'swift I trow As he, to run, to stop, to turn and twine; A dart his right hand shaked, prest to throw; His cutlass by his thigh, short, hooked, fine, And braving in his Turkish pomp he shone, In purple robe, o'erfret with gold and stone. LXXXIII The hardy boy, while thirst of warlike praise Bewitched so his unadvised thought, Gainst every band his childish strength assays, And little danger found, though much he sought, Till Argillan, that watched fit time always In his swift turns to strike him as he fought, Did unawares his snow-white courser slay, And under him his master tumbling lay: LXXXIV And gainst his face, where love and pity stand, To pray him that rich throne of beauty spare, The cruel man stretched forth his murdering hand, To spoil those gifts, whereof he had no share: It seemed remorse and sense was in his brand Which, lighting flat, to hurt the lad forbare; But all for naught, gainst him the point he bent That, what the edge had spared, pierced and rent. LXXXV Fierce Solyman that with Godfredo strived Who first should enter conquest's glorious gate, Left off the fray and thither headlong drived, When first he saw the lad in such estate; He brake the press, and soon enough arrived To take revenge, but to his aid too late, Because he saw his Lesbine slain and lost, Like a sweet flower nipped with untimely frost. LXXXVI He saw wax dim the starlight of his eyes, His ivory neck upon his shoulders fell, In his pale looks kind pity's image lies, That death even mourned, to hear his passing bell. His marble heart such soft impression tries, That midst his wrath his manly tears outwell, Thou weepest, Solyman, thou that beheld Thy kingdoms lost, and not one tear could yield. LXXXVII But when the murderer's sword he hapt to view Dropping with blood of his Lesbino dead, His pity vanished, ire and rage renew, He had no leisure bootless tears to shed; But with his blade on Argillano flew, And cleft his shield, his helmet, and his head, Down to his throat; and worthy was that blow Of Solyman, his strength and wrath to show: LXXXVIII And not content with this, down from his horse He lights, and that dead carcass rent and tore, Like a fierce dog that takes his angry course To bite the stone which had him hit before. Oh comfort vain for grief of so great force, To wound the senseless earth that feels no sore! But mighty Godfrey 'gainst the Soldan's train Spent not, this while, his force and blows in vain. LXXXIX A thousand hardy Turks affront he had In sturdy iron armed from head to foot, Resolved in all adventures good or bad, In actions wise, in execution stout, Whom Solyman into Arabia lad, When from his kingdom he was first cast out, Where living wild with their exiled guide To him in all extremes they faithful bide; XC All these in thickest order sure unite, For Godfrey's valor small or nothing shrank, Corcutes first he on the face did smite, Then wounded strong Rosteno in the flank, At one blow Selim's head he stroke off quite, Then both Rossano's arms, in every rank The boldest knights, of all that chosen crew, He felled, maimed, wounded, hurt and slew. XCI While thus he killed many a Saracine And all their fierce assaults unhurt sustained, Ere fortune wholly from the Turks decline, While still they hoped much, though small they gained, Behold a cloud of dust, wherein doth shine Lightning of war in midst thereof contained, Whence unawares burst forth a storm of swords, Which tremble made the Pagan knights and lords. XCII These fifty champions were, mongst whom there stands, In silver field, the ensign of Christ's death, If I had mouths and tongues as Briareus hands, If voice as iron tough, if iron breath, What harm this troop wrought to the heathen bands, What knights they slew, I could recount uneath In vain the Turks resist, the Arabians fly; If they fly, they are slain; if fight, they die. XCIII Fear, cruelty, grief, horror, sorrow, pain, Run through the field, disguised in divers shapes, Death might you see triumphant on the plain, Drowning in blood him that from blows escapes. The king meanwhile with parcel of his train Comes hastily out, and for sure conquest gapes, And from a bank whereon he stood, beheld The doubtful hazard of that bloody field. XCIV But when he saw the Pagans shrink away, He sounded the retreat, and gan desire His messengers in his behalf to pray Argantes and Clorinda to retire; The furious couple both at once said nay, Even drunk with shedding blood, and mad with ire, At last they went, and to recomfort thought And stay their troops from flight, but all for nought. XCV For who can govern cowardice or fear? Their host already was begun to fly, They cast their shields and cutting swords arrear, As not defended but made slow thereby, A hollow dale the city's bulwarks near From west to south outstretched long doth lie, Thither they fled, and in a mist of dust, Toward the walls they run, they throng, they thrust. XCVI While down the bank disordered thus they ran, The Christian knights huge slaughter on them made; But when to climb the other hill they gan, Old Aladine came fiercely to their aid: On that steep brae Lord Guelpho would not than Hazard his folk, but there his soldiers stayed, And safe within the city's walls the king. The relics small of that sharp fight did bring: XCVII Meanwhile the Soldan in this latest charge Had done as much as human force was able, All sweat and blood appeared his members large, His breath was short, his courage waxed unstable, His arm grew weak to bear his mighty targe, His hand to rule his heavy sword unable, Which bruised, not cut, so blunted was the blade It lost the use for which a sword was made. XCVIII Feeling his weakness, he gan musing stand, And in his troubled thought this question tossed, If he himself should murder with his hand, Because none else should of his conquest boast, Or he should save his life, when on the land Lay slain the pride of his subdued host, "At last to fortune's power," quoth he, "I yield, And on my flight let her her trophies build. XCIX "Let Godfrey view my flight, and smile to see This mine unworthy second banishment, For armed again soon shall he hear of me, From his proud head the unsettled crown to rent, For, as my wrongs, my wrath etern shall be, At every hour the bow of war new bent, I will rise again, a foe, fierce, bold, Though dead, though slain, though burnt to ashes cold." TENTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. Ismen from sleep awakes the Soldan great, And into Sion brings the Prince by night Where the sad king sits fearful on his seat, Whom he emboldeneth and excites to fight; Godfredo hears his lords and knights repeat How they escaped Armida's wrath and spite: Rinaldo known to live, Peter foresays His Offspring's virtue, good deserts, and praise. I A gallant steed, while thus the Soldan said, Came trotting by him, without lord or guide, Quickly his hand upon the reins he laid, And weak and weary climbed up to ride; The snake that on his crest hot fire out-braid Was quite cut off, his helm had lost the pride, His coat was rent, his harness hacked and cleft, And of his kingly pomp no sign was left. II As when a savage wolf chased from the fold, To hide his head runs to some holt or wood, Who, though he filled have while it might hold His greedy paunch, yet hungreth after food, With sanguine tongue forth of his lips out-rolled About his jaws that licks up foam and blood; So from this bloody fray the Soldan hied, His rage unquenched, his wrath unsatisfied. III And, as his fortune would, he scaped free From thousand arrows which about him flew, From swords and lances, instruments that be Of certain death, himself he safe withdrew, Unknown, unseen, disguised, travelled he, By desert paths and ways but used by few, And rode revolving in his troubled thought What course to take, and yet resolved on naught. IV Thither at last he meant to take his way, Where Egypt's king assembled all his host, To join with him, and once again assay To win by fight, by which so oft he lost: Determined thus, he made no longer stay, But thitherward spurred forth his steed in post, Nor need he guide, the way right well he could, That leads to sandy plains of Gaza old. V Nor though his smarting wounds torment him oft, His body weak and wounded back and side, Yet rested he, nor once his armor doffed, But all day long o'er hills and dales doth ride: But when the night cast up her shade aloft And all earth's colors strange in sables dyed, He light, and as he could his wounds upbound, And shook ripe dates down from a palm he found. VI On them he supped, and amid the field To rest his weary limbs awhile he sought, He made his pillow of his broken shield To ease the griefs of his distempered thought, But little ease could so hard lodging yield, His wounds so smarted that he slept right naught, And, in his breast, his proud heart rent in twain, Two inward vultures, Sorrow and Disdain. VII At length when midnight with her silence deep Did heaven and earth hushed, still, and quiet make, Sore watched and weary, he began to steep His cares and sorrows in oblivion's lake, And in a little, short, unquiet sleep Some small repose his fainting spirits take; But, while he slept, a voice grave and severe At unawares thus thundered in his ear: VIII "O Solyman! thou far-renowned king, Till better season serve, forbear thy rest; A stranger doth thy lands in thraldom bring, Nice is a slave, by Christian yoke oppressed; Sleepest thou here, forgetful of this thing, That here thy friends lie slain, not laid in chest, Whose bones bear witness of thy shame and scorn! And wilt thou idly here attend the morn?" IX The king awoke, and saw before his eyes A man whose presence seemed grave and old, A writhen staff his steps unstable guies, Which served his feeble members to uphold. "And what art thou?" the prince in scorn replies, "What sprite to vex poor passengers so bold, To break their sleep? or what to thee belongs My shame, my loss, my vengeance or my wrongs." X "I am the man of thine intent," quoth he, "And purpose new that sure conjecture hath, And better than thou weenest know I thee: I proffer thee my service and my faith. My speeches therefore sharp and biting be, Because quick words the whetstones are of wrath,-- Accept in gree, my lord, the words I spoke, As spurs thine ire and courage to provoke. XI "But now to visit Egypt's mighty king, Unless my judgment fall, you are prepared, I prophesy, about a needless thing You suffer shall a voyage long and hard: For though you stay, the monarch great will bring His new assembled host to Juda-ward, No place of service there, no cause of fight, Nor gainst our foes to use your force and might. XII "But if you follow me, within this wall With Christian arms hemmed in on every side, Withouten battle, fight, or stroke at all, Even at noonday, I will you safely guide, Where you delight, rejoice, and glory shall In perils great to see your prowess tried. That noble town you may preserve and shield, Till Egypt's host come to renew the field." XIII While thus he parleyed, of this aged guest The Turk the words and looks did both admire, And from his haughty eyes and furious breast He laid apart his pride, his rage and ire, And humbly said, "I willing am and prest To follow where thou leadest, reverend sire, And that advice best fits my angry vein That tells of greatest peril, greatest pain." XIV The old man praised his words, and for the air His late received wounds to worse disposes, A quintessence therein he poured fair, That stops the bleeding, and incision closes: Beholding then before Apollo's chair How fresh Aurora violets strewed and roses, "It's time," he says, "to wend, for Titan bright To wonted labor summons every wight." XV And to a chariot, that beside did stand, Ascended he, and with him Solyman, He took the reins, and with a mastering hand Ruled his steeds, and whipped them now and than, The wheels or horses' feet upon the land Had left no sign nor token where they ran, The coursers pant and smoke with lukewarm sweat And, foaming cream, their iron mouthfuls eat. XVI The air about them round, a wondrous thing, Itself on heaps in solid thickness drew, The chariot hiding and environing, The subtle mist no mortal eye could view; And yet no stone from engine cast or sling Could pierce the cloud, it was of proof so true; Yet seen it was to them within which ride, And heaven and earth without, all clear beside. XVII His beetle brows the Turk amazed bent, He wrinkled up his front, and wildly stared Upon the cloud and chariot as it went, For speed to Cynthia's car right well compared: The other seeing his astonishment How he bewondered was, and how he fared, All suddenly by name the prince gan call, By which awaked thus he spoke withal: XVIII "Whoe'er thou art above all worldly wit That hast these high and wondrous marvels brought, And know'st the deep intents which hidden sit In secret closet of man's private thought, If in thy skilful heart this lot be writ, To tell the event of things to end unbrought; Then say, what issue and what ends the stars Allot to Asia's troubles, broils and wars. XIX "But tell me first thy name, and by what art Thou dost these wonders strange, above our skill; For full of marvel is my troubled heart, Tell then and leave me not amazed still." The wizard smiled and answered, "In some part Easy it is to satisfy thy will, Ismen I hight, called an enchanter great, Such skill have I in magic's secret feat; XX "But that I should the sure events unfold Of things to come, or destinies foretell, Too rash is your desire, your wish too bold, To mortal heart such knowledge never fell; Our wit and strength on us bestowed I hold, To shun the evils and harms, mongst which we dwell, They make their fortune who are stout and wise, Wit rules the heavens, discretion guides the skies. XXI "That puissant arm of thine that well can rend From Godfrey's brow the new usurped crown, And not alone protect, save and defend From his fierce people, this besieged town, Gainst fire and sword with strength and courage bend, Adventure, suffer, trust, tread perils down, And to content, and to encourage thee, Know this, which as I in a cloud foresee: XXII "I guess, before the over-gliding sun Shall many years mete out by weeks and days, A prince that shall in fertile Egypt won, Shall fill all Asia with his prosperous frays, I speak not of his acts in quiet done, His policy, his rule, his wisdom's praise, Let this suffice, by him these Christians shall In fight subdued fly, and conquered fall. XXIII "And their great empire and usurped state Shall overthrown in dust and ashes lie, Their woful remnant in an angle strait Compassed with sea themselves shall fortify, From thee shall spring this lord of war and fate." Whereto great Solyman gan thus reply: "O happy man to so great praise ybore!" Thus he rejoiced, but yet envied more; XXIV And said, "Let chance with good or bad aspect Upon me look as sacred Heaven's decree, This heart to her I never will subject, Nor ever conquered shall she look on me; The moon her chariot shall awry direct Ere from this course I will diverted be." While thus he spake, it seemed he breathed fire, So fierce his courage was, so hot his ire. XXV Thus talked they, till they arrived been Nigh to the place where Godfrey's tents were reared, There was a woful spectacle yseen, Death in a thousand ugly forms appeared, The Soldan changed hue for grief and teen, On that sad book his shame and loss he lead, Ah, with what grief his men, his friends he found; And standards proud, inglorious lie on ground! XXVI And saw one visage of some well-known friend. In foul despite, a rascal Frenchman tread, And there another ragged peasant rend The arms and garments from some champion dead, And there with stately pomp by heaps they wend, And Christians slain roll up in webs of lead; Lastly the Turks and slain Arabians, brought On heaps, he saw them burn with fire to naught. XXVII Deeply he sighed, and with naked sword Out of the coach he leaped in the mire, But Ismen called again the angry lord, And with grave words appeased his foolish ire. The prince content remounted at his sword, Toward a hill on drove the aged sire, And hasting forward up the bank they pass, Till far behind the Christian leaguer was. XXVIII There they alight and took their way on foot, The empty chariot vanished out of sight, Yet still the cloud environed them about. At their left hand down went they from the height Of Sion's Hill, till they approached the route On that side where to west he looketh right, There Ismen stayed, and his eyesight bent Upon the bushy rocks, and thither went. XXIX A hollow cave was in the craggy stone, Wrought out by hand a number years tofore, And for of long that way had walked none, The vault was hid with plants and bushes hoar, The wizard stooping in thereat to gone, The thorns aside and scratching brambles bore, His right hand sought the passage through the cleft, And for his guide he gave the prince his left: XXX "What," quoth the Soldan, "by what privy mine, What hidden vault behoves it me to creep? This sword can find a better way than thine, Although our foes the passage guard and keep." "Let not," quoth he, "thy princely foot repine To tread this secret path, though dark and deep; For great King Herod used to tread the same, He that in arms had whilom so great fame. XXXI "This passage made he, when he would suppress His subjects' pride, and them in bondage hold; By this he could from that small forteress Antonia called, of Antony the bold, Convey his folk unseen of more and less Even to the middest of the temple old, Thence, hither; where these privy ways begin, And bring unseen whole armies out and in. XXXII "But now saye I in all this world lives none That knows the secret of this darksome place, Come then where Aladine sits on his throne, With lords and princes set about his grace; He feareth more than fitteth such an one, Such signs of doubt show in his cheer and face; Fitly you come, hear, see, and keep you still, Till time and season serve, then speak your fill." XXXIII This said, that narrow entrance passed the knight, So creeps a camel through a needle's eye, And through the ways as black as darkest night He followed him that did him rule and guie; Strait was the way at first, withouten light, But further in, did further amplify; So that upright walked at ease the men Ere they had passed half that secret den, XXXIV A privy door Ismen unlocked at last, And up they clomb a little-used stair, Thereat the day a feeble beam in cast, Dim was the light, and nothing clear the air; Out of the hollow cave at length they passed Into a goodly hall, high, broad and fair, Where crowned with gold, and all in purple clad Sate the sad king, among his nobles sad. XXXV The Turk, close in his hollow cloud imbarred, Unseen, at will did all the prease behold, These heavy speeches of the king he heard, Who thus from lofty siege his pleasure told; "My lords, last day our state was much impaired, Our friends were slain, killed were our soldiers bold, Great helps and greater hopes are us bereft, Nor aught but aid from Egypt land is left: XXXVI "And well you see far distant is that aid, Upon our heels our danger treadeth still, For your advice was this assembly made, Each what he thinketh speak, and what he will." A whisper soft arose when this was said, As gentle winds the groves with murmur fill, But with bold face, high looks and merry cheer, Argantes rose, the rest their talk forbear. XXXVII "O worthy sovereign," thus began to say The hardy young man to the tyrant wise, "What words be these? what fears do you dismay? Who knows not this, you need not our advice! But on your hand your hope of conquest lay, And, for no loss true virtue damnifies, Make her our shield, pray her us succors give, And without her let us not wish to live. XXXVIII "Nor say I this for that I aught misdeem That Egypt's promised succors fail us might, Doubtful of my great master's words to seem To me were neither lawful, just, nor right! I speak these words, for spurs I them esteem To waken up each dull and fearful sprite, And make our hearts resolved to all assays, To win with honor, or to die with praise." XXXIX Thus much Argantes said, and said no more, As if the case were clear of which he spoke. Orcano rose, of princely stem ybore, Whose presence 'mongst them bore a mighty stroke, A man esteemed well in arms of yore, But now was coupled new in marriage yoke; Young babes he had, to fight which made him loth, He was a husband and a father both. XL "My lord," quoth he, "I will not reprehend The earnest zeal of this audacious speech, From courage sprung, which seld is close ypend In swelling stomach without violent breach: And though to you our good Circassian friend In terms too bold and fervent oft doth preach, Yet hold I that for good, in warlike feat For his great deeds respond his speeches great. XLI "But if it you beseem, whom graver age And long experience hath made wise and sly, To rule the heat of youth and hardy rage, Which somewhat have misled this knight awry, In equal balance ponder then and gauge Your hopes far distant, with your perils nigh; This town's old walls and rampires new compare With Godfrey's forces and his engines rare. XLII "But, if I may say what I think unblamed, This town is strong, by nature, site and art, But engines huge and instruments are framed Gainst these defences by our adverse part, Who thinks him most secure is eathest shamed; I hope the best, yet fear unconstant mart, And with this siege if we be long up pent, Famine I doubt, our store will all be spent. XLIII "For all that store of cattle and of grain Which yesterday within these walls you brought, While your proud foes triumphant through the plain On naught but shedding blood, and conquest thought, Too little is this city to sustain, To raise the siege unless some means be sought; And it must last till the prefixed hour That it be raised by Egypt's aid and power. XLIV "But what if that appointed day they miss? Or else, ere we expect, what if they came? The victory yet is not ours for this, Oh save this town from ruin, us from shame! With that same Godfrey still our warfare is, These armies, soldiers, captains are the same Who have so oft amid the dusty plain Turks, Persians, Syrians and Arabians slain. XLV "And thou Argantes wotest what they be; Oft hast thou fled from that victorious host, Thy shoulders often hast thou let them see, And in thy feet hath been thy safeguard most; Clorinda bright and I fled eke with thee, None than his fellows had more cause to boast, Nor blame I any; for in every fight We showed courage, valor, strength and might. XLVI "And though this hardy knight the certain threat Of near-approaching death to hear disdain; Yet to this state of loss and danger great, From this strong foe I see the tokens plain; No fort how strong soe'er by art or seat, Can hinder Godfrey why he should not reign: This makes me say,--to witness heaven I bring, Zeal to this state, love to my lord and king-- XLVII "The king of Tripoli was well advised To purchase peace, and so preserve his crown: But Solyman, who Godfrey's love despised, Is either dead or deep in prison thrown; Else fearful is he run away disguised, And scant his life is left him for his own, And yet with gifts, with tribute, and with gold, He might in peace his empire still have hold." XLVIII Thus spake Orcanes, and some inkling gave In doubtful words of that he would have said; To sue for peace or yield himself a slave He durst not openly his king persuade: But at those words the Soldan gan to rave, And gainst his will wrapt in the cloud he stayed, Whom Ismen thus bespake, "How can you bear These words, my lord? or these reproaches hear?" XLIX "Oh, let me speak," quoth he, "with ire and scorn I burn, and gains, my will thus hid I stay!" This said, the smoky cloud was cleft and torn, Which like a veil upon them stretched lay, And up to open heaven forthwith was borne, And left the prince in view of lightsome day, With princely look amid the press he shined, And on a sudden, thus declared his mind. L "Of whom you speak behold the Soldan here, Neither afraid nor run away for dread, And that these slanders, lies and fables were, This hand shall prove upon that coward's head, I, who have shed a sea of blood well near, And heaped up mountains high of Christians dead, I in their camp who still maintained the fray, My men all murdered, I that run away. LI "If this, or any coward vile beside, False to his faith and country, dares reply; And speak of concord with yon men of pride, By your good leave, Sir King, here shall he die, The lambs and wolves shall in one fold abide, The doves and serpents in one nest shall lie, Before one town us and these Christians shall In peace and love unite within one wall." LII While thus he spoke, his broad and trenchant sword His hand held high aloft in threatening guise; Dumb stood the knights, so dreadful was his word; A storm was in his front, fire in his eyes, He turned at last to Sion's aged lord, And calmed his visage stern in humbler wise: "Behold," quoth he, "good prince, what aid I bring, Since Solyman is joined with Juda's king." LIII King Aladine from his rich throne upstart And said, "Oh how I joy thy face to view, My noble friend! it lesseneth in some part My grief, for slaughter of my subjects true; My weak estate to stablish come thou art, And mayest thine own again in time renew, If Heavens consent:" with that the Soldan bold In dear embracements did he long enfold. LIV Their greetings done, the king resigned his throne To Solyman, and set himself beside, In a rich seat adorned with gold and stone, And Ismen sage did at his elbow bide, Of whom he asked what way they two had gone, And he declared all what had them betide: Clorinda bright to Solyman addressed Her salutations first, then all the rest. LV Among them rose Ormusses' valiant knight, Whom late the Soldan with a convoy sent, And when most hot and bloody was the fight, By secret paths and blind byways he went, Till aided by the silence and the night Safe in the city's walls himself he pent, And there refreshed with corn and cattle store The pined soldiers famished nigh before. LVI With surly countenance and disdainful grace, Sullen and sad, sat the Circassian stout, Like a fierce lion grumbling in his place, His fiery eyes that turns and rolls about; Nor durst Orcanes view the Soldan's face, But still upon the floor did pore and tout: Thus with his lords and peers in counselling, The Turkish monarch sat with Juda's king. LVII Godfrey this while gave victory the rein, And following her the straits he opened all; Then for his soldiers and his captains slain, He celebrates a stately funeral, And told his camp within a day or twain He would assault the city's mighty wall, And all the heathen there enclosed doth threat, With fire and sword, with death and danger great. LVIII And for he had that noble squadron known, In the last fight which brought him so great aid, To be the lords and princes of his own Who followed late the sly enticing maid, And with them Tancred, who had late been thrown In prison deep, by that false witch betrayed, Before the hermit and some private friends, For all those worthies, lords and knights, he sends; LIX And thus he said, "Some one of you declare Your fortunes, whether good or to be blamed, And to assist us with your valors rare In so great need, how was your coming framed?" They blush, and on the ground amazed stare, For virtue is of little guilt ashamed, At last the English prince with countenance bold, The silence broke, and thus their errors told: LX "We, not elect to that exploit by lot, With secret flight from hence ourselves withdrew, Following false Cupid, I deny it not, Enticed forth by love and beauty's hue; A jealous fire burnt in our stomachs hot, And by close ways we passed least in view, Her words, her looks, alas I know too late, Nursed our love, our jealousy, our hate. LXI "At last we gan approach that woful clime, Where fire and brimstone down from Heaven was sent To take revenge for sin and shameful crime Gainst kind commit, by those who nould repent; A loathsome lake of brimstone, pitch and lime, O'ergoes that land, erst sweet and redolent, And when it moves, thence stench and smoke up flies Which dim the welkin and infect the skies. LXII "This is the lake in which yet never might Aught that hath weight sink to the bottom down, But like to cork or leaves or feathers light, Stones, iron, men, there fleet and never drown; Therein a castle stands, to which by sight But o'er a narrow bridge no way is known, Hither us brought, here welcomed us the witch, The house within was stately, pleasant, rich. LXIII "The heavens were clear, and wholsome was the air, High trees, sweet meadows, waters pure and good; For there in thickest shade of myrtles fair A crystal spring poured out a silver flood; Amid the herbs, the grass and flowers rare, The falling leaves down pattered from the wood, The birds sung hymns of love; yet speak I naught Of gold and marble rich, and richly wrought. LXIV "Under the curtain of the greenwood shade, Beside the brook upon the velvet grass, In massy vessel of pure silver made, A banquet rich and costly furnished was, All beasts, all birds beguiled by fowler's trade, All fish were there in floods or seas that pass, All dainties made by art, and at the table An hundred virgins served, for husbands able. LXV "She with sweet words and false enticing smiles, Infused love among the dainties set, And with empoisoned cups our souls beguiles, And made each knight himself and God forget: She rose and turned again within short whiles, With changed looks where wrath and anger met, A charming rod, a book with her she brings, On which she mumbled strange and secret things. LXVI "She read, and change I felt my will and thought, I longed to change my life, and place of biding, That virtue strange in me no pleasure wrought, I leapt into the flood myself there hiding, My legs and feet both into one were brought, Mine arms and hands into my shoulders sliding, My skin was full of scales, like shields of brass, Now made a fish, where late a knight I was. LXVII "The rest with me like shape, like garments wore, And dived with me in that quicksilver stream, Such mind, to my remembrance, then I bore, As when on vain and foolish things men dream; At last our shade it pleased her to restore, Then full of wonder and of fear we seem, And with an ireful look the angry maid Thus threatened us, and made us thus afraid. LXVIII "'You see,' quoth she, 'my sacred might and skill, How you are subject to my rule and power, In endless thraldom damned if I will I can torment and keep you in this tower, Or make you birds, or trees on craggy hill, To bide the bitter blasts of storm and shower; Or harden you to rocks on mountains old, Or melt your flesh and bones to rivers cold: LXIX "'Yet may you well avoid mine ire and wrath, If to my will your yielding hearts you bend, You must forsake your Christendom and faith, And gainst Godfredo false my crown defend.' We all refused, for speedy death each prayeth, Save false Rambaldo, he became her friend, We in a dungeon deep were helpless cast, In misery and iron chained fast. LXX "Then, for alone they say falls no mishap, Within short while Prince Tancred thither came, And was unwares surprised in the trap: But there short while we stayed, the wily dame In other folds our mischiefs would upwrap. From Hidraort an hundred horsemen came, Whose guide, a baron bold to Egypt's king, Should us disarmed and bound in fetters bring. LXXI "Now on our way, the way to death we ride, But Providence Divine thus for us wrought, Rinaldo, whose high virtue is his guide To great exploits, exceeding human thought, Met us, and all at once our guard defied, And ere he left the fight to earth them brought. And in their harness armed us in the place, Which late were ours, before our late disgrace. LXXII "I and all these the hardy champion knew, We saw his valor, and his voice we heard; Then is the rumor of his death untrue, His life is safe, good fortune long it guard, Three times the golden sun hath risen new, Since us he left and rode to Antioch-ward; But first his armors, broken, hacked and cleft, Unfit for service, there he doft and left." LXXIII Thus spake the Briton prince, with humble cheer The hermit sage to heaven cast up his eyne, His color and his countenance changed were, With heavenly grace his looks and visage shine, Ravished with zeal his soul approached near The seat of angels pure, and saints divine, And there he learned of things and haps to come, To give foreknowledge true, and certain doom. LXXIV At last he spoke, in more than human sound, And told what things his wisdom great foresaw, And at his thundering voice the folk around Attentive stood, with trembling and with awe: "Rinaldo lives," he said, "the tokens found From women's craft their false beginnings draw, He lives, and heaven will long preserve his days, To greater glory, and to greater praise. LXXV "These are but trifles yet, though Asia's kings Shrink at his name, and tremble at his view, I well foresee he shall do greater things, And wicked emperors conquer and subdue; Under the shadow of his eagle's wings Shall holy Church preserve her sacred crew, From Caesar's bird he shall the sable train Pluck off, and break her talons sharp in twain. LXXVI "His children's children at his hardiness And great attempts shall take example fair, From emperors unjust in all distress They shall defend the state of Peter's chair, To raise the humble up, pride to suppress, To help the innocents shall be their care. This bird of east shall fly with conquest great, As far as moon gives light or sun gives heat; LXXVII "Her eyes behold the truth and purest light, And thunders down in Peter's aid she brings, And where for Christ and Christian faith men fight, There forth she spreadeth her victorious wings, This virtue nature gives her and this might; Then lure her home, for on her presence hings The happy end of this great enterprise, So Heaven decrees, and so command the skies." LXXVIII These words of his of Prince Rinaldo's death Out of their troubled hearts, the fear had rased; In all this joy yet Godfrey smiled uneath. In his wise thought such care and heed was placed. But now from deeps of regions underneath Night's veil arose, and sun's bright lustre chased, When all full sweetly in their cabins slept, Save he, whose thoughts his eyes still open kept. ELEVENTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. With grave procession, songs and psalms devout Heaven's sacred aid the Christian lords invoke; That done, they scale the wall which kept them out: The fort is almost won, the gates nigh broke: Godfrey is wounded by Clorinda stout, And lost is that day's conquest by the stroke; The angel cures him, he returns to fight, But lost his labor, for day lost his light. I The Christian army's great and puissant guide, To assault the town that all his thoughts had bent, Did ladders, rams, and engines huge provide, When reverend Peter to him gravely went, And drawing him with sober grace aside, With words severe thus told his high intent; "Right well, my lord, these earthly strengths you move, But let us first begin from Heaven above: II "With public prayer, zeal and faith devout, The aid, assistance, and the help obtain Of all the blessed of the heavenly rout, With whose support you conquest sure may gain; First let the priests before thine armies stout With sacred hymns their holy voices strain. And thou and all thy lords and peers with thee, Of godliness and faith examples be." III Thus spake the hermit grave in words severe: Godfrey allowed his counsel, sage, and wise, "Of Christ the Lord," quoth he, "thou servant dear, I yield to follow thy divine advice, And while the princes I assemble here, The great procession, songs and sacrifice, With Bishop William, thou and Ademare, With sacred and with solemn pomp prepare." IV Next morn the bishops twain, the heremite, And all the clerks and priests of less estate, Did in the middest of the camp unite Within a place for prayer consecrate, Each priest adorned was in a surplice white, The bishops donned their albes and copes of state, Above their rochets buttoned fair before, And mitres on their heads like crowns they wore. V Peter alone, before, spread to the wind The glorious sign of our salvation great, With easy pace the choir come all behind, And hymns and psalms in order true repeat, With sweet respondence in harmonious kind Their humble song the yielding air doth beat, "Lastly, together went the reverend pair Of prelates sage, William and Ademare, VI The mighty duke came next, as princes do, Without companion, marching all alone, The lords and captains then came two and two, With easy pace thus ordered, passing through The trench and rampire, to the fields they gone, No thundering drum, no trumpet shrill they hear, Their godly music psalms and prayers were. VII To thee, O Father, Son, and sacred Sprite, One true, eternal, everlasting King; To Christ's dear mother, Mary, vlrgin bright, Psalms of thanksgiving and of praise they sing; To them that angels down from heaven to fight Gainst the blasphemous beast and dragon bring; To him also that of our Saviour good, Washed the sacred font in Jordan's flood. VIII Him likewise they invoke, called the Rock Whereon the Lord, they say, his Church did rear, Whose true successors close or else unlock The blessed gates of grace and mercy dear; And all the elected twelve the chosen flock, Of his triumphant death who witness bear; And them by torment, slaughter, fire and sword Who martyrs died to confirm his word; IX And them also whose books and writings tell What certain path to heavenly bliss us leads; And hermits good, and ancresses that dwell Mewed up in walls, and mumble on their beads, And virgin nuns in close and private cell, Where, but shrift fathers, never mankind treads: On these they called, and on all the rout Of angels, martyrs, and of saints devout. X Singing and saying thus, the camp devout Spread forth her zealous squadrons broad and wide'; Toward mount Olivet went all this route, So called of olive trees the hills which hide, A mountain known by fame the world throughout, Which riseth on the city's eastern side, From it divided by the valley green Of Josaphat, that fills the space between. XI Hither the armies went, and chanted shrill, That all the deep and hollow dales resound; From hollow mounts and caves in every hill, A thousand echoes also sung around, It seemed some clever, that sung with art and skill, Dwelt in those savage dens and shady ground, For oft resounds from the banks they hear, The name of Christ and of his mother dear. XII Upon the walls the Pagans old and young Stood hushed and still, amated and amazed, At their grave order and their humble song, At their strange pomp and customs new they gazed: But when the show they had beholden long, An hideous yell the wicked miscreants raised, That with vile blasphemies the mountain hoar, The woods, the waters, and the valleys roar. XIII But yet with sacred notes the hosts proceed, Though blasphemies they hear and cursed things; So with Apollo's harp Pan tunes his reed, So adders hiss where Philomela sings; Nor flying darts nor stones the Christians dreed, Nor arrows shot, nor quarries cast from slings; But with assured faith, as dreading naught, The holy work begun to end they brought. XIV A table set they on the mountain's height To minister thereon the sacrament, In golden candlesticks a hallowed light At either end of virgin wax there brent; In costly vestments sacred William dight, With fear and trembling to the altar went, And prayer there and service loud begins, Both for his own and all the army's sins. XV Humbly they heard his words that stood him nigh, The rest far off upon him bent their eyes, But when he ended had the service high, "You servants of the Lord depart," he cries: His hands he lifted then up to the sky, And blessed all those warlike companies; And they dismissed returned the way they came, Their order as before, their pomp the same. XVI Within their camp arrived, this voyage ended, Toward his tent the duke himself withdrew, Upon their guide by heaps the bands attended, Till his pavilion's stately door they view, There to the Lord his welfare they commended, And with him left the worthies of the crew, Whom at a costly and rich feast he placed, And with the highest room old Raymond graced. XVII Now when the hungry knights sufficed are With meat, with drink, with spices of the best, Quoth he, "When next you see the morning star, To assault the town be ready all and prest: To-morrow is a day of pains and war, This of repose, of quiet, peace, and rest; Go, take your ease this evening, and this night, And make you strong against to-morrow's fight." XVIII They took their leave, and Godfrey's heralds rode To intimate his will on every side, And published it through all the lodgings broad, That gainst the morn each should himself provide; Meanwhile they might their hearts of cares unload, And rest their tired limbs that eveningtide; Thus fared they till night their eyes did close, Night friend to gentle rest and sweet repose. XIX With little sign as yet of springing day Out peeped, not well appeared the rising morn, The plough yet tore not up the fertile lay, Nor to their feed the sheep from folds return, The birds sate silent on the greenwood spray Amid the groves unheard was hound and horn, When trumpets shrill, true signs of hardy fights, Called up to arms the soldiers, called the knights: XX "Arm, arm at once!" an hundred squadrons cried, And with their cry to arm them all begin. Godfrey arose, that day he laid aside His hauberk strong he wonts to combat in, And donned a breastplate fair, of proof untried, Such one as footmen use, light, easy, thin. Scantly the warlord thus clothed had his gromes, When aged Raymond to his presence comes. XXI And furnished to us when he the man beheld, By his attire his secret thought he guessed, "Where is," quoth he, "your sure and trusty shield? Your helm, your hauberk strong? where all the rest? Why be you half disarmed? why to the field Approach you in these weak defences dressed? I see this day you mean a course to run, Wherein may peril much, small praise be won. XXII "Alas, do you that idle prise expect, To set first foot this conquered wall above? Of less account some knight thereto object Whose loss so great and harmful cannot prove; My lord, your life with greater care protect, And love yourself because all us you love, Your happy life is spirit, soul, and breath Of all this camp, preserve it then from death." XXIII To this he answered thus, "You know," he said, "In Clarimont by mighty Urban's hand When I was girded with this noble blade, For Christ's true faith to fight in every land, To God even then a secret vow I made, Not as a captain here this day to stand And give directions, but with shield and sword To fight, to win, or die for Christ my Lord. XXIV "When all this camp in battle strong shall be Ordained and ordered, well disposed all, And all things done which to the high degree And sacred place I hold belongen shall; Then reason is it, nor dissuade thou me, That I likewise assault this sacred wall, Lest from my vow to God late made I swerve: He shall this life defend, keep and preserve." XXV Thus he concludes, and every hardy knight His sample followed, and his brethren twain, The other princes put on harness light, As footmen use: but all the Pagan train Toward that side bent their defensive might Which lies exposed to view of Charles's wain And Zephyrus' sweet blasts, for on that part The town was weakest, both by side and art. XXVI On all parts else the fort was strong by site, With mighty hills defenced from foreign rage, And to this part the tyrant gan unite His subjects born and bands that serve for wage, From this exploit he spared nor great nor lite, The aged men, and boys of tender age, To fire of angry war still brought new fuel, Stones, darts, lime, brimstone and bitumen cruel. XXVII All full of arms and weapons was the wall, Under whose basis that fair plain doth run, There stood the Soldan like a giant tall, So stood at Rhodes the Coloss of the sun, Waist high, Argantes showed himself withal, At whose stern looks the French to quake begun, Clorinda on the corner tower alone, In silver arms like rising Cynthia shone. XXVIII Her rattling quiver at her shoulders hung, Therein a flash of arrows feathered weel. In her left hand her bow was bended strong, Therein a shaft headed with mortal steel, So fit to shoot she singled forth among Her foes who first her quarries' strength should feel, So fit to shoot Latona's daughter stood When Niobe she killed and all her brood. XXIX The aged tyrant tottered on his feet From gate to gate, from wall to wall he flew, He comforts all his bands with speeches sweet, And every fort and bastion doth review, For every need prepared in every street New regiments he placed and weapons new. The matrons grave within their temples high To idols false for succors call and cry, XXX "O Macon, break in twain the steeled lance On wicked Godfrey with thy righteous hands, Against thy name he doth his arm advance, His rebel blood pour out upon these sands;" These cries within his ears no enterance Could find, for naught he hears, naught understands. While thus the town for her defence ordains, His armies Godfrey ordereth on the plains; XXXI His forces first on foot he forward brought, With goodly order, providence and art, And gainst these towers which to assail he thought, In battles twain his strength he doth depart, Between them crossbows stood, and engines wrought To cast a stone, a quarry, or a dart, From whence like thunder's dint or lightnings new Against the bulwark stones and lances flew. XXXII His men at arms did back his bands on foot, The light horse ride far off and serve for wings, He gave the sign, so mighty was the rout Of those that shot with bows and cast with slings, Such storms of shafts and stones flew all about, That many a Pagan proud to death it brings, Some died, some at their loops durst scant outpeep, Some fled and left the place they took to keep. XXXIII The hardy Frenchmen, full of heat and haste, Ran boldly forward to the ditches large, And o'er their heads an iron pentice vast They built, by joining many a shield and targe, Some with their engines ceaseless shot and cast, And volleys huge of arrows sharp discharge, Upon the ditches some employed their pain To fill the moat and even it with the plain. XXXIV With slime or mud the ditches were not soft, But dry and sandy, void of waters clear, Though large and deep the Christians fill them oft, With rubbish, fagots, stones, and trees they bear: Adrastus first advanced his crest aloft, And boldly gan a strong scalado rear, And through the falling storm did upward climb Of stones, darts, arrows, fire, pitch and lime: XXXV The hardy Switzer now so far was gone That half way up with mickle pain he got, A thousand weapons he sustained alone, And his audacious climbing ceased not; At last upon him fell a mighty stone, As from some engine great it had been shot, It broke his helm, he tumbled from the height, The strong Circassian cast that wondrous weight; XXXVI Not mortal was the blow, yet with the fall On earth sore bruised the man lay in a swoon. Argantes gan with boasting words to call, "Who cometh next? this first is tumbled down, Come, hardy soldiers, come, assault this wall, I will not shrink, nor fly, nor hide my crown, If in your trench yourselves for dread you hold, There shall you die like sheep killed in their fold." XXXVII Thus boasted he; but in their trenches deep, The hidden squadrons kept themselves from scath, The curtain made of shields did well off keep Both darts and shot, and scorned all their wrath. But now the ram upon the rampiers steep, On mighty beams his head advanced hath, With dreadful horns of iron tough tree great, The walls and bulwarks trembled at his threat. XXXVIII An hundred able men meanwhile let fall The weights behind, the engine tumbled down And battered flat the battlements and wall: So fell Taigetus hill on Sparta town, It crushed the steeled shield in pieces small, And beat the helmet to the wearers' crown, And on the ruins of the walls and stones, Dispersed left their blood their brains and bones. XXXIX The fierce assailants kept no longer close Undcr the shelter of their target fine, But their bold fronts to chance of war expose, And gainst those towers let their virtue shine, The scaling ladders up to skies arose, The ground-works deep some closely undermine, The walls before the Frenchmen shrink and shake, And gaping sign of headlong falling make: XL And fallen they had, so far the strength extends Of that fierce ram and his redoubted stroke, But that the Pagan's care the place defends And saved by warlike skill the wall nigh broke: For to what part soe'er the engine bends, Their sacks of wool they place the blow to choke, Whose yielding breaks the strokes thereon which light, So weakness oft subdues the greatest might. XLI While thus the worthies of the western crew Maintained their brave assault and skirmish hot, Her mighty bow Clorinda often drew, And many a sharp and deadly arrow shot; And from her bow no steeled shaft there flew But that some blood the cursed engine got, Blood of some valiant knight or man of fame, For that proud shootress scorned weaker game. XLII The first she hit among the Christian peers Was the bold son of England's noble king, Above the trench himself he scantly rears, But she an arrow loosed from the string, The wicked steel his gauntlet breaks and tears, And through his right hand thrust the piercing sting; Disabled thus from fight, he gan retire, Groaning for pain, but fretting more for ire. XLIII Lord Stephen of Amboise on the ditch's brim, And on a ladder high, Clotharius died, From back to breast an arrow pierced him, The other was shot through from side to side: Then as he managed brave his courser trim, On his left arm he hit the Flemings' guide, He stopped, and from the wound the reed out-twined, But left the iron in his flesh behind. XLIV As Ademare stood to behold the fight High on the bank, withdrawn to breathe a space, A fatal shaft upon his forehead light, His hand he lifted up to feel the place, Whereon a second arrow chanced right, And nailed his hand unto his wounded face, He fell, and with his blood distained the land, His holy blood shed by a virgin's hand. XLV While Palamede stood near the battlement, Despising perils all, and all mishap, And upward still his hardy footings bent, On his right eye he caught a deadly clap, Through his right eye Clorinda's seventh shaft went, And in his neck broke forth a bloody gap; He underneath that bulwark dying fell, Which late to scale and win he trusted well. XLVI Thus shot the maid: the duke with hard assay And sharp assault, meanwhile the town oppressed, Against that part which to his campward lay An engine huge and wondrous he addressed, A tower of wood built for the town's decay As high as were the walls and bulwarks best, A turret full of men and weapons pent, And yet on wheels it rolled, moved, and went. XLVII This rolling fort his nigh approaches made, And darts and arrows spit against his foes, As ships are wont in fight, so it assayed With the strong wall to grapple and to close, The Pagans on each side the piece invade, And all their force against this mass oppose, Sometimes the wheels, sometimes the battlement With timber, logs and stones, they broke and rent, XLVIII So thick flew stones and darts, that no man sees The azure heavens, the sun his brightness lost, The clouds of weapons, like to swarms of bees, Move the air, and there each other crossed: And look how falling leaves drop down from trees, When the moist sap is nipped with timely frost, Or apples in strong winds from branches fall; The Saracens so tumbled from the wall. XLIX For on their part the greatest slaughter light, They had no shelter gainst so sharp a shower, Some left on live betook themselves to flight, So feared they this deadly thundering tower: But Solyman stayed like a valiant knight, And some with him, that trusted in his power, Argantes with a long beech tree in hand, Ran thither, this huge engine to withstand: L With this he pushed the tower, and back it drives The length of all his tree, a wondrous way, The hardy virgin by his side arrives, To help Argantes in this hard assay: The band that used the ram, this season strives To cut the cords, wherein the woolpacks lay, Which done, the sacks down in the trenches fall, And to the battery naked left the wall. LI The tower above, the ram beneath doth thunder, What lime and stone such puissance could abide? The wall began, new bruised and crushed asunder, Her wounded lap to open broad and wide, Godfrey himself and his brought safely under The shattered wall, where greatest breach he spied, Himself he saves behind his mighty targe, A shield not used but in some desperate charge. LII From hence he sees where Solyman descends, Down to the threshold of the gaping breach, And there it seems the mighty prince intends Godfredo's hoped entrance to impeach: Argantes, and with him the maid, defends The walls above, to which the tower doth reach, His noble heart, when Godfrey this beheld, With courage new with wrath and valor swelled. LIII He turned about and to good Sigiere spake, Who bare his greatest shield and mighty bow, "That sure and trusty target let me take, Impenetrable is that shield I know, Over these ruins will I passage make, And enter first, the way is eath and low, And time requires that by some noble feat I should make known my strength and puissance great." LIV He scant had spoken, scant received the charge, When on his leg a sudden shaft him hit, And through that part a hole made wide and large, Where his strong sinews fastened were and knit. Clorinda, thou this arrow didst discharge, And let the Pagans bless thy hand for it, For by that shot thou savedst them that day From bondage vile, from death and sure decay. LV The wounded duke, as though he felt no pain, Still forward went, and mounted up the breach His high attempt at first he nould refrain, And after called his lords with cheerful speech; But when his leg could not his weight sustain, He saw his will did far his power outreach, And more he strove his grief increased the more, The bold assault he left at length therefore: LVI And with his hand he beckoned Guelpho near, And said, "I must withdraw me to my tent, My place and person in mine absence bear, Supply my want, let not the fight relent, I go, and will ere long again be here; I go and straight return:" this said, he went, On a light steed he leaped, and o'er the green He rode, but rode not, as he thought, unseen. LVII When Godfrey parted, parted eke the heart, The strength and fortune of the Christian bands, Courage increased in their adverse part, Wrath in their hearts, and vigor in their hands: Valor, success, strength, hardiness and art, Failed in the princes of the western lands, Their swords were blunt, faint was their trumpet's blast, Their sun was set, or else with clouds o'ercast. LVIII Upon the bulwarks now appeared bold That fearful band that late for dread was fled! The women that Clorinda's strength behold, Their country's love to war encouraged, They weapons got, and fight like men they would, Their gowns tucked up, their locks were loose and spread, Sharp darts they cast, and without dread or fear, Exposed their breasts to save their fortress dear. LIX But that which most dismayed the Christian knights, And added courage to the Pagans most, Was Guelpho's sudden fall in all men's sights, Who tumbled headlong down, his footing lost, A mighty stone upon the worthy lights, But whence it came none wist, nor from what coast; And with like blow, which more their hearts dismayed, Beside him low in dust old Raymond laid: LX And Eustace eke within the ditches large, To narrow shifts and last extremes they drive, Upon their foes so fierce the Pagans charge, And with good-fortune so their blows they give, That whom they hit, in spite of helm or targe, They deeply wound, or else of life deprive. At this their good success Argantes proud, Waxing more fell, thus roared and cried aloud: LXI "This is not Antioch, nor the evening dark Can help your privy sleights with friendly shade, The sun yet shines, your falsehood can we mark, In other wise this bold assault is made; Of praise and glory quenched is the spark That made you first these eastern lands invade, Why cease you now? why take you not this fort? What! are you weary for a charge so short?" LXII Thus raged he, and in such hellish sort Increased the fury in the brain-sick knight, That he esteemed that large and ample fort Too strait a field, wherein to prove his might, There where the breach had framed a new-made port, Himself he placed, with nimble skips and light, He cleared the passage out, and thus he cried To Solyman, that fought close by his side: LXIII "Come, Solyman, the time and place behold, That of our valors well may judge the doubt, What sayest thou? amongst these Christians bold, First leap he forth that holds himself most stout:" While thus his will the mighty champion told, Both Solyman and he at once leaped out, Fury the first provoked, disdain the last, Who scorned the challenge ere his lips it passed. LXIV Upon their foes unlooked-for they flew, Each spited other for his virtue's sake, So many soldiers this fierce couple slew, So many shields they cleft and helms they break, So many ladders to the earth they threw, That well they seemed a mount thereof to make, Or else some vamure fit to save the town, Instead of that the Christians late beat down. LXV The folk that strove with rage and haste before Who first the wall and rampire should ascend, Retire, and for that honor strive no more, Scantly they could their limbs and lives defend, They fled, their engines lost the Pagans tore In pieces small, their rams to naught they rend, And all unfit for further service make With so great force and rage their beams they brake. LXVI The Pagans ran transported with their ire, Now here, now there, and woful slaughters wrought, At last they called for devouring fire, Two burning pines against the tower they brought, So from the palace of their hellish sire, When all this world they would consume to naught, The fury sisters come with fire in hands, Shaking their snaky locks and sparkling brands: LXVII But noble Tancred, who this while applied Grave exhortations to his bold Latines, When of these knights the wondrous acts he spied, And saw the champions with their burning pines, He left his talk, and thither forthwith hied, To stop the rage of those fell Saracines. And with such force the fight he there renewed, That now they fled and lost who late pursued. LXVIII Thus changed the state and fortune of the fray, Meanwhile the wounded duke, in grief and teen, Within his great pavilion rich and gay, Good Sigiere and Baldwin stood between; His other friends whom his mishap dismay, With grief and tears about assembled been: He strove in haste the weapon out to wind, And broke the reed, but left the head behind. LXIX He bade them take the speediest way they might, Of that unlucky hurt to make him sound, And to lay ope the depth thereof to sight, He willed them open, search and lance the wound, "Send me again," quoth he, "to end this fight, Before the sun be sunken under ground;" And leaning on a broken spear, he thrust His leg straight out, to him that cure it must. LXX Erotimus, born on the banks of Po, Was he that undertook to cure the knight, All what green herbs or waters pure could do, He knew their power, their virtue, and their might, A noble poet was the man also, But in this science had a more delight, He could restore to health death-wounded men, And make their names immortal with his pen. LXXI The mighty duke yet never changed cheer, But grieved to see his friends lamenting stand; The leech prepared his cloths and cleansing gear, And with a belt his gown about him band, Now with his herbs the steely head to tear Out of the flesh he proved, now with his hand, Now with his hand, now with his instrument He shaked and plucked it, yet not forth it went. LXXII His labor vain, his art prevailed naught, His luck was ill, although his skill were good, To such extremes the wounded prince he brought, That with fell pain he swooned as he stood: But the angel pure, that kept him, went and sought Divine dictamnum, out of Ida wood, This herb is rough, and bears a purple flower, And in his budding leaves lies all his power. LXXIII Kind nature first upon the craggy clift Bewrayed this herb unto the mountain goat, That when her sides a cruel shaft hath rift, With it she shakes the reed out of her coat; This in a moment fetched the angel swift, And brought from Ida hill, though far remote, The juice whereof in a prepared bath Unseen the blessed spirit poured hath. LXXIV Pure nectar from that spring of Lydia than, And panaces divine therein he threw, The cunning leech to bathe the wound began, And of itself the steely head outflew; The bleeding stanched, no vermile drop outran, The leg again waxed strong with vigor new: Erotimus cried out, "This hurt and wound No human art or hand so soon makes sound: LXXV "Some angel good I think come down from skies Thy surgeon is, for here plain tokens are Of grace divine which to thy help applies, Thy weapon take and haste again to war." In precious cloths his leg the chieftain ties, Naught could the man from blood and fight debar; A sturdy lance in his right hand he braced, His shield he took, and on his helmet laced: LXXVI And with a thousand knights and barons bold, Toward the town he hasted from his camp, In clouds of dust was Titan's face enrolled, Trembled the earth whereon the worthies stamp, His foes far off his dreadful looks behold, Which in their hearts of courage quenched the lamp, A chilling fear ran cold through every vein, Lord Godfrey shouted thrice and all his train: LXXVII Their sovereign's voice his hardy people knew, And his loud cries that cheered each fearful heart; Thereat new strength they took and courage new, And to the fierce assault again they start. The Pagans twain this while themselves withdrew Within the breach to save that battered part, And with great loss a skirmish hot they hold Against Tancredi and his squadron bold. LXXVIII Thither came Godfrey armed round about In trusty plate, with fierce and dreadful look; At first approach against Argantes stout Headed with poignant steel a lance he shook, No casting engine with such force throws out A knotty spear, and as the way it took, It whistled in the air, the fearless knight Opposed his shield against that weapon's might. LXXIX The dreadful blow quite through his target drove, And bored through his breastplate strong and thick, The tender skin it in his bosom rove, The purple-blood out-streamed from the quick; To wrest it out the wounded Pagan strove And little leisure gave it there to stick; At Godfrey's head the lance again he cast, And said, "Lo, there again thy dart thou hast." LXXX The spear flew back the way it lately came, And would revenge the harm itself had done, But missed the mark whereat the man did aim, He stepped aside the furious blow to shun: But Sigiere in his throat received the same, The murdering weapon at his neck out-run, Nor aught it grieved the man to lose his breath, Since in his prince's stead he suffered death. LXXXI Even then the Soldan struck with monstrous main The noble leader of the Norman band, He reeled awhile and staggered with the pain, And wheeling round fell grovelling on the sand: Godfrey no longer could the grief sustain Of these displeasures, but with flaming brand, Up to the breach in heat and haste he goes, And hand to hand there combats with his foes; LXXXII And there great wonders surely wrought he had, Mortal the fight, and fierce had been the fray, But that dark night, from her pavilion sad, Her cloudy wings did on the earth display, Her quiet shades she interposed glad To cause the knights their arms aside to lay; Godfrey withdrew, and to their tents they wend, And thus this bloody day was brought to end. LXXXIII The weak and wounded ere he left the field, The godly duke to safety thence conveyed, Nor to his foes his engines would he yield, In them his hope to win the fortress laid; Then to the tower he went, and it beheeld, The tower that late the Pagan lords dismayed But now stood bruised, broken, cracked and shivered, From some sharp storm as it were late delivered. LXXXIV From dangers great escaped, but late it was, And now to safety brought well-nigh it seems, But as a ship that under sail doth pass The roaring billows and the raging streams, And drawing nigh the wished port, alas, Breaks on some hidden rocks her ribs and beams; Or as a steed rough ways that well hath passed, Before his inn stumbleth and falls at last: LXXXV Such hap befell that tower, for on that side Gainst which the Pagans' force and battery bend, Two wheels were broke whereon the piece should ride, The maimed engine could no further wend, The troop that guarded it that part provide To underprop with posts, and it defend Till carpenters and cunning workmen came Whose skill should help and rear again the same. LXXXVI Thus Godfrey bids, and that ere springing-day, The cracks and bruises all amend they should, Each open passage, and each privy way About the piece, he kept with soldiers bold: But the loud rumor, both of that they say, And that they do, is heard within the hold, A thousand lights about the tower they view, And what they wrought all night both saw and knew. TWELFTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. Clorinda hears her eunuch old report Her birth, her offspring, and her native land; Disguised she fireth Godfrey's rolling fort. The burned piece falls smoking on the sand: With Tancred long unknown in desperate sort She fights, and falls through pierced with his brand: Christened she dies; with sighs, with plaints and tears. He wails her death; Argant revengement swears. I Now in dark night was all the world embarred; But yet the tired armies took no rest, The careful French kept heedful watch and ward, While their high tower the workmen newly dressed, The Pagan crew to reinforce prepared The weakened bulwarks, late to earth down kest, Their rampiers broke and bruised walls to mend, Lastly their hurts the wounded knights attend. II Their wounds were dressed, part of the work was brought To wished end, part left to other days, A dull desire to rest deep midnight wrought, His heavy rod sleep on their eyelids lays: Yet rested not Clorinda's working thought, Which thirsted still for fame and warlike praise, Argantes eke accompanied the maid From place to place, which to herself thus said: III "This day Argantes strong, and Solyman, Strange things have done, and purchased great renown, Among our foes out of the walls they ran, Their rams they broke and rent their engines down: I used my bow, of naught else boast I can, My self stood safe meanwhile within this town, And happy was my shot, and prosperous too, But that was all a woman's hand could do. IV "On birds and beasts in forests wild that feed It were more fit mine arrows to bestow, Than for a feeble maid in warlike deed With strong and hardy knights herself to show. Why take I not again my virgin's weed, And spend my days in secret cell unknow?" Thus thought, thus mused, thus devised the maid, And turning to the knight, at last thus said: V "My thoughts are full, my lord, of strange desire Some high attempt of war to undertake, Whether high God my mind therewith inspire Or of his will his God mankind doth make, Among our foes behold the light and fire, I will among them wend, and burn or break The tower, God grant therein I have my will And that performed, betide me good or ill. VI "But if it fortune such my chance should be, That to this town I never turn again, Mine eunuch, whom I dearly love, with thee I leave my faithful maids, and all my train, To Egypt then conducted safely see Those woful damsels and that aged swain, Help them, my lord, in that distressed case, Their feeble sex, his age, deserveth grace." VII Argantes wondering stood, and felt the effect Of true renown pierce through his glorious mind, "And wilt thou go," quoth he, "and me neglect, Disgraced, despised, leave in this fort behind? Shall I while these strong walls my life protect Behold thy flames and fires tossed in the wind, No, no, thy fellow have I been in arms, And will be still, in praise, in death, in harms. VIII "This heart of mine death's bitter stroke despiseth, For praise this life, for glory take this breath." "My soul and more," quoth she, "thy friendship prizeth, For this thy proffered aid required uneath, I but a woman am, no loss ariseth To this besieged city by my death, But if, as God forbid, this night thou fall, Ah! who shall then, who can, defend this wall!" IX "Too late these 'scuses vain," the knight replied, "You bring; my will is firm, my mind is set, I follow you whereso you list me guide, Or go before if you my purpose let." This said, they hasted to the palace wide About their prince where all his lords were met, Clorinda spoke for both, and said, "Sir king, Attend my words, hear, and allow the thing: X "Argantes here, this bold and hardy knight, Will undertake to burn the wondrous tower, And I with him, only we stay till night Bury in sleep our foes at deadest hour." The king with that cast up his hands on height, The tears for joy upon his cheeks down pour. "Praised," quoth he, "be Macon whom we serve, This land I see he keeps and will preserve: XI "Nor shall so soon this shaken kingdom fall, While such unconquered hearts my state defend: But for this act what praise or guerdon shall I give your virtues, which so far extend? Let fame your praises sound through nations all, And fill the world therewith to either end, Take half my wealth and kingdom for your meed? You are rewarded half even with the deed." XII Thus spake the prince, and gently 'gan distrain, Now him, now her, between his friendly arms: The Soldan by, no longer could refrain That noble envy which his bosom warms, "Nor I," quoth he, "bear this broad sword in vain, Nor yet am unexpert in night alarms, Take me with you: ah." Quoth Clorinda, "no! Whom leave we here of prowess if you go?" XIII This spoken, ready with a proud refuse Argantes was his proffered aid to scorn, Whom Aladine prevents, and with excuse To Solyman thus gan his speeches torn: "Right noble prince, as aye hath been your use Your self so still you bear and long have borne, Bold in all acts, no danger can affright Your heart, nor tired is your strength with fight. XIV "If you went forth great things perform you would, In my conceit yet far unfit it seems That you, who most excel in courage bold, At once should leave this town in these extremes, Nor would I that these twain should leave this hold, My heart their noble lives far worthier deems, If this attempt of less importance were, Or weaker posts so great a weight could bear. XV "But for well-guarded is the mighty tower With hardy troops and squadrons round about, And cannot harmed be with little power, Nor fit the time to send whole armies out, This pair who passed have many a dreadful stowre, And proffer now to prove this venture stout, Alone to this attempt let them go forth, Alone than thousands of more price and worth. XVI "Thou, as it best beseems a mighty king, With ready bands besides the gate attend, That when this couple have performed the thing, And shall again their footsteps homeward bend, From their strong foes upon them following Thou may'st them keep, preserve, save and defend:" Thus said the king, "The Soldan must consent," Silent remained the Turk, and discontent. XVII Then Ismen said, "You twain that undertake This hard attempt, awhile I pray you stay, Till I a wildfire of fine temper make, That this great engine burn to ashes may; Haply the guard that now doth watch and wake, Will then lie tumbled sleeping on the lay;" Thus they conclude, and in their chambers sit, To wait the time for this adventure fit. XVIII Clorinda there her silver arms off rent, Her helm, her shield, her hauberk shining bright, An armor black as jet or coal she hent, Wherein withouten plume herself she dight; For thus disguised amid her foes she meant To pass unseen, by help of friendly night, To whom her eunuch, old Arsetes, came, That from her cradle nursed and kept the dame. XIX This aged sire had followed far and near, Through lands and seas, the strong and hardy maid, He saw her leave her arms and wonted gear, Her danger nigh that sudden change foresaid: By his white locks from black that changed were In following her, the woful man her prayed, By all his service and his taken pain, To leave that fond attempt, but prayed in vain. XX "At last," quoth he, "since hardened to thine ill, Thy cruel heart is to thy loss prepared, That my weak age, nor tears that down distil, Not humble suit, nor plaint, thou list regard; Attend awhile, strange things unfold I will, Hear both thy birth and high estate declared; Follow my counsel, or thy will that done," She sat to hear, the eunuch thus begun: XXI "Senapus ruled, and yet perchance doth reign In mighty Ethiop, and her deserts waste, The lore of Christ both he and all his train Of people black, hath kept and long embraced, To him a Pagan was I sold for gain, And with his queen, as her chief eunuch, placed; Black was this queen as jet, yet on her eyes Sweet loveliness, in black attired, lies. XXII "The fire of love and frost of jealousy, Her husband's troubled soul alike torment, The tide of fond suspicion flowed high, The foe to love and plague to sweet content, He mewed her up from sight of mortal eye, Nor day he would his beams on her had bent: She, wise and lowly, by her husband's pleasure, Her joy, her peace, her will, her wish did measure. XXIII "Her prison was a chamber, painted round With goodly portraits and with stories old, As white as snow there stood a virgin bound, Besides a dragon fierce, a champion bold The monster did with poignant spear through wound, The gored beast lay dead upon the mould; The gentle queen before this image laid. She plained, she mourned, she wept, she sighed, she prayed: XXIV "At last with child she proved, and forth she brought, And thou art she, a daughter fair and bright, In her thy color white new terror wrought, She wondered on thy face with strange affright, But yet she purposed in her fearful thought To hide thee from the king, thy father's sight, Lest thy bright hue should his suspect approve, For seld a crow begets a silver dove. XXV "And to her spouse to show she was disposed A negro's babe late born, in room of thee, And for the tower wherein she lay enclosed, Was with her damsels only wond and me, To me, on whose true faith she most reposed, She gave thee, ere thou couldest christened be, Nor could I since find means thee to baptize, In Pagan lands thou knowest it's not the guise. XXVI "To me she gave thee, and she wept withal, To foster thee in some far distant place. Who can her griefs and plaints to reckoning call, How oft she swooned at the last embrace: Her streaming tears amid her kisses fall, Her sighs, her dire complaints did interlace? And looking up at last, 'O God,' quoth she, 'Who dost my heart and inward mourning see, XXVII "'If mind and body spotless to this day, If I have kept my bed still undefiled, Not for myself a sinful wretch I pray, That in thy presence am an abject vilde, Preserve this babe, whose mother must denay To nourish it, preserve this harmless child, Oh let it live, and chaste like me it make, But for good fortune elsewhere sample take. XXVIII "'Thou heavenly soldier which delivered hast That sacred virgin from the serpent old, If on thine altars I have offerings placed, And sacrificed myrrh, frankincense and gold, On this poor child thy heavenly looks down cast, With gracious eye this silly babe behold;' This said, her strength and living sprite was fled, She sighed, she groaned, she swooned in her bed. XXIX "Weeping I took thee, in a little chest, Covered with herbs and leaves, I brought thee out So secretly, that none of all the rest Of such an act suspicion had or doubt, To wilderness my steps I first addressed, Where horrid shades enclosed me round about, A tigress there I met, in whose fierce eyes Fury and wrath, rage, death and terror lies: XXX "Up to a tree I leaped, and on the grass, Such was my sudden fear, I left thee lying, To thee the beast with furious course did pass, With curious looks upon thy visage prying, All suddenly both meek and mild she was, With friendly cheer thy tender body eying: At last she licked thee, and with gesture mild About thee played, and thou upon her smiled. XXXI "Her fearful muzzle full of dreadful threat, In thy weak hand thou took'st withouten dread; The gentle beast with milk-outstretched teat, As nurses' custom, proffered thee to feed. As one that wondereth on some marvel great, I stood this while amazed at the deed. When thee she saw well filled and satisfied, Unto the woods again the tigress hied. XXXII "She gone, down from the tree I came in haste, And took thee up, and on my journey wend, Within a little thorp I stayed at last, And to a nurse the charge of thee commend, And sporting with thee there long time I passed, Till term of sixteen months were brought to end, And thou begun, as little children do, With half clipped words to prattle, and to go. XXXIII "But having passed the August of mine age, When more than half my tap of life was run, Rich by rewards given by your mother sage, For merits past, and service yet undone, I longed to leave this wandering pilgrimage, And in my native soil again to won, To get some seely home I had desire, Loth still to warm me at another's fire. XXXIV "To Egypt-ward, where I was born, I went, And bore thee with me, by a rolling flood, Till I with savage thieves well-nigh was hent; Before the brook, the thieves behind me stood: Thee to forsake I never could consent, And gladly would I 'scape those outlaws wood, Into the flood I leaped far from the brim, My left hand bore thee, with the right I swim. XXXV "Swift was the current, in the middle stream A whirlpool gaped with devouring jaws, The gulf, on such mishap ere I could dream, Into his deep abyss my carcass draws, There I forsook thee, the wild waters seem To pity thee, a gentle wind there blows Whose friendly puffs safe to the shore thee drive, Where wet and weary I at last arrive: XXXVI "I took thee up, and in my dream that night, When buried was the world in sleep and shade, I saw a champion clad in armor bright That o'er my head shaked a flaming blade, He said, 'I charge thee execute aright, That charge this infant's mother on thee laid, Baptize the child, high Heaven esteems her dear, And I her keeper will attend her near: XXXVII "'I will her keep, defend, save and protect, I made the waters mild, the tigress tame, O wretch that heavenly warnings dost reject!' The warrior vanished having said the same. I rose and journeyed on my way direct When blushing morn from Tithon's bed forth came, But for my faith is true and sure I ween, And dreams are false, you still unchristened been. XXXVIII "A Pagan therefore thee I fostered have, Nor of thy birth the truth did ever tell, Since you increased are in courage brave, Your sex and nature's-self you both excel, Full many a realm have you made bond and slave, Your fortunes last yourself remember well, And how in peace and war, in joy and teen, I have your servant, and your tutor been. XXXIX "Last morn, from skies ere stars exiled were, In deep and deathlike sleep my senses drowned, The self-same vision did again appear, With stormy wrathful looks, and thundering sound, 'Villain,' quoth he, 'within short while thy dear Must change her life, and leave this sinful ground, Thine be the loss, the torment, and the care,' This said, he fled through skies, through clouds and air. XL "Hear then my joy, my hope, my darling, hear, High Heaven some dire misfortune threatened hath, Displeased pardie, because I did thee lere A lore repugnant to thy parents' faith; Ah, for my sake, this bold attempt forbear; Put off these sable arms, appease thy wrath." This said, he wept, she pensive stood and sad, Because like dream herself but lately had. XLI With cheerful smile she answered him at last, "I will this faith observe, it seems me true, Which from my cradle age thou taught me hast; I will not change it for religion new, Nor with vain shows of fear and dread aghast This enterprise forbear I to pursue, No, not if death in his most dreadful face Wherewith he scareth mankind, kept the place." XLII Approachen gan the time, while thus she spake, Wherein they ought that dreadful hazard try; She to Argantes went, who should partake Of her renown and praise, or with her die. Ismen with words more hasty still did make Their virtue great, which by itself did fly, Two balls he gave them made of hollow brass, Wherein enclosed fire, pitch, and brimstone was. XLIII And forth they went, and over dale and hill They hasted forward with a speedy pace, Unseen, unmarked, undescried, until Beside the engine close themselves they place, New courage there their swelling hearts did fill, Rage in their breasts, fury shown in their face, They yearned to blow the fire, and draw the sword. The watch descried them both, and gave the word. XLIV Silent they passed on, the watch begun To rear a huge alarm with hideous cries, Therewith the hardy couple forward run To execute their valiant enterprise: So from a cannon or a roaring gun At once the noise, the flame, and bullet flies, They run, they give the charge, begin the fray, And all at once their foes break, spoil and slay. XLV They passed first through thousand thousand blows, And then performed their designment bold, A fiery ball each on the engine throws, The stuff was dry, the fire took quickly hold, Furious upon the timber-work it grows, How it increased cannot well be told, How it crept up the piece, and how to skies The burning sparks and towering smoke upflies. XLVI A mass of solid fire burning bright Rolled up in smouldering fumes, there bursteth out, And there the blustering winds add strength and might And gather close the sparsed flames about: The Frenchmen trembled at the dreadful light, To arms in haste and fear ran all the rout, Down fell the piece dreaded so much in war, Thus what long days do make one hour doth mar. XLVII Two Christian bands this while came to the place With speedy haste, where they beheld the fire, Argantes to them cried with scornful grace, "Your blood shall quench these flames, and quench mine ire:" This said, the maid and he with sober pace Drew back, and to the banks themselves retire, Faster than brooks which falling showers increase Their foes augment, and faster on them press. XLVIII The gilden port was opened, and forth stepped With all his soldiers bold, the Turkish king, Ready to aid the two his force he kept, When fortune should them home with conquest bring, Over the bars the hardy couple leapt And after them a band of Christians fling, Whom Solyman drove back with courage stout, And shut the gate, but shut Clorinda out. XLIX Alone was she shut forth, for in that hour Wherein they closed the port, the virgin went, And full of heat and wrath, her strength and power Gainst Arimon, that struck her erst, she bent, She slew the knight, nor Argant in that stowre Wist of her parting, or her fierce intent, The fight, the press, the night, and darksome skies Care from his heart had ta'en, sight from his eyes. L But when appeased was her angry mood, Her fury calmed, and settled was her head, She saw the gates were shut, and how she stood Amid her foes, she held herself for dead; While none her marked at last she thought it good, To save her life, some other path to tread, She feigned her one of them, and close her drew Amid the press that none her saw or knew: LI Then as a wolf guilty of some misdeed Flies to some grove to hide himself from view, So favored with the night, with secret speed Dissevered from the press the damsel flew: Tancred alone of her escape took heed, He on that quarter was arrived new, When Arimon she killed he thither came, He saw it, marked it, and pursued the dame. LII He deemed she was some man of mickle might, And on her person would he worship win, Over the hills the nymph her journey dight Toward another port, there to get in: With hideous noise fast after spurred the knight, She heard and stayed, and thus her words begin, "What haste hast thou? ride softly, take thy breath, What bringest thou?" He answered, "War and death." LIII "And war and death," quoth she, "here mayest thou get If thou for battle come," with that she stayed: Tancred to ground his foot in haste down set, And left his steed, on foot he saw the maid, Their courage hot, their ire and wrath they whet, And either champion drew a trenchant blade, Together ran they, and together stroke, Like two fierce bulls whom rage and love provoke. LIV Worthy of royal lists and brightest day, Worthy a golden trump and laurel crown, The actions were and wonders of that fray Which sable knight did in dark bosom drown: Yet night, consent that I their acts display And make their deeds to future ages known, And in records of long enduring story Enrol their praise, their fame, their worth and glory. LV They neither shrunk, nor vantage sought of ground, They traverse not, nor skipped from part to part, Their blows were neither false nor feigned found, The night, their rage would let them use no art, Their swords together clash with dreadful sound, Their feet stand fast, and neither stir nor start, They move their hands, steadfast their feet remain, Nor blow nor loin they struck, or thrust in vain. LVI Shame bred desire a sharp revenge to take, And vengeance taken gave new cause of shame: So that with haste and little heed they strake, Fuel enough they had to feed the flame; At last so close their battle fierce they make, They could not wield their swords, so nigh they came, They used the hilts, and each on other rushed, And helm to helm, and shield to shield they crushed. LVII Thrice his strong arms he folds about her waist, And thrice was forced to let the virgin go, For she disdained to be so embraced, No lover would have strained his mistress so: They took their swords again, and each enchased Deep wounds in the soft flesh of his strong foe, Till weak and weary, faint, alive uneath, They both retired at once, at once took breath. LVIII Each other long beheld, and leaning stood Upon their swords, whose points in earth were pight, When day-break, rising from the eastern flood, Put forth the thousand eyes of blindfold night; Tancred beheld his foe's out-streaming blood, And gaping wounds, and waxed proud with the sight, Oh vanity of man's unstable mind, Puffed up with every blast of friendly wind! LIX Why joy'st thou, wretch? Oh, what shall be thy gain? What trophy for this conquest is't thou rears? Thine eyes shall shed, in case thou be not slain, For every drop of blood a sea of tears: The bleeding warriors leaning thus remain, Each one to speak one word long time forbears, Tancred the silence broke at last, and said, For he would know with whom this fight he made: LX "Evil is our chance and hard our fortune is Who here in silence, and in shade debate, Where light of sun and witness all we miss That should our prowess and our praise dilate: If words in arms find place, yet grant me this, Tell me thy name, thy country, and estate; That I may know, this dangerous combat done, Whom I have conquered, or who hath me won." LXI "What I nill tell, you ask," quoth she, "in vain, Nor moved by prayer, nor constrained by power, But thus much know, I am one of those twain Which late with kindled fire destroyed the tower." Tancred at her proud words swelled with disdain, "That hast thou said," quoth he, "in evil hour; Thy vaunting speeches, and thy silence both, Uncivil wretch, hath made my heart more wroth." LXII Ire in their chafed breasts renewed the fray, Fierce was the fight, though feeble were their might, Their strength was gone, their cunning was away, And fury in their stead maintained the fight, Their swords both points and edges sharp embay In purple blood, whereso they hit or light, And if weak life yet in their bosoms lie, They lived because they both disdained to die. LXIII As Aegean seas when storms be calmed again That rolled their tumbling waves with troublous blasts, Do yet of tempests past some shows retain, And here and there their swelling billows casts; So, though their strength were gone and might were vain, Of their first fierceness still the fury lasts, Wherewith sustained, they to their tackling stood, And heaped wound on wound, and blood on blood. LXIV But now, alas, the fatal hour arrives That her sweet life must leave that tender hold, His sword into her bosom deep he drives, And bathed in lukewarm blood his iron cold, Between her breasts the cruel weapon rives Her curious square, embossed with swelling gold, Her knees grow weak, the pains of death she feels, And like a falling cedar bends and reels. LXV The prince his hand upon her shield doth stretch, And low on earth the wounded damsel layeth, And while she fell, with weak and woful speech, Her prayers last and last complaints she sayeth, A spirit new did her those prayers teach, Spirit of hope, of charity, and faith; And though her life to Christ rebellious were, Yet died she His child and handmaid dear. LXVI "Friend, thou hast won, I pardon thee, nor save This body, that all torments can endure, But save my soul, baptism I dying crave, Come wash away my sins with waters pure:" His heart relenting nigh in sunder rave, With woful speech of that sweet creature, So that his rage, his wrath, and anger died, And on his cheeks salt tears for ruth down slide. LXVII With murmur loud down from the mountain's side A little runnel tumbled near the place, Thither he ran and filled his helmet wide, And quick returned to do that work of grace, With trembling hands her beaver he untied, Which done he saw, and seeing, knew her face, And lost therewith his speech and moving quite, Oh woful knowledge, ah unhappy sight! LXVIII He died not, but all his strength unites, And to his virtues gave his heart in guard, Bridling his grief, with water he requites The life that he bereft with iron hard, And while the sacred words the knight recites, The nymph to heaven with joy herself prepared; And as her life decays her joys increase, She smiled and said, "Farewell, I die in peace." LXIX As violets blue mongst lilies pure men throw, So paleness midst her native white begun; Her looks to heaven she cast, their eyes I trow Downward for pity bent both heaven and sun, Her naked hand she gave the knight, in show Of love and peace, her speech, alas, was done, And thus the virgin fell on endless sleep,-- Love, Beauty, Virtue, for your darling weep! LXX But when he saw her gentle soul was went, His manly courage to relent began, Grief, sorrow, anguish, sadness, discontent, Free empire got and lordship on the man, His life within his heart they close up pent, Death through his senses and his visage ran: Like his dead lady, dead seemed Tancred good, In paleness, stillness, wounds and streams of blood. LXXI And his weak sprite, to be unbodied From fleshly prison free that ceaseless strived, Had followed her fair soul but lately fled Had not a Christian squadron there arrived, To seek fresh water thither haply led, And found the princess dead, and him deprived Of signs of life; yet did the knight remain On live, nigh dead, for her himself had slain. LXXII Their guide far off the prince knew by his shield, And thither hasted full of grief and fear, Her dead, him seeming so, he there beheld, And for that strange mishap shed many a tear; He would not leave the corpses fair in field For food to wolves, though she a Pagan were, But in their arms the soldiers both uphent, And both lamenting brought to Tancred's tent. LXXIII With those dear burdens to their camp they pass, Yet would not that dead seeming knight awake, At last he deeply groaned, which token was His feeble soul had not her flight yet take: The other lay a still and heavy mass, Her spirit had that earthen cage forsake; Thus were they brought, and thus they placed were In sundry rooms, yet both adjoining near. LXXIV All skill and art his careful servants used To life again their dying lord to bring, At last his eyes unclosed, with tears suffused, He felt their hands and heard their whispering, But how he thither came long time he mused, His mind astonished was with everything; He gazed about, his squires in fine he knew, Then weak and woful thus his plaints out threw: LXXV "What, live I yet? and do I breathe and see Of this accursed day the hateful light? This spiteful ray which still upbraideth me With that accursed deed I did this night, Ah, coward hand, afraid why should'st thou be; Thou instrument of death, shame and despite, Why should'st thou fear, with sharp and trenchant knife, To cut the thread of this blood-guilty life? LXXVI "Pierce through this bosom, and my cruel heart In pieces cleave, break every string and vein; But thou to slaughters vile which used art, Think'st it were pity so to ease my pain: Of luckless love therefore in torments' smart A sad example must I still remain, A woful monster of unhappy love, Who still must live, lest death his comfort prove: LXXVII "Still must I live in anguish, grief, and care; Furies my guilty conscience that torment, The ugly shades, dark night, and troubled air In grisly forms her slaughter still present, Madness and death about my bed repair, Hell gapeth wide to swallow up this tent; Swift from myself I run, myself I fear, Yet still my hell within myself I bear. LXXVIII "But where, alas, where be those relics sweet, Wherein dwelt late all love, all joy, all good? My fury left them cast in open street, Some beast hath torn her flesh and licked her blood, Ah noble prey! for savage beast unmeet, Ah sweet! too sweet, and far too precious food, Ah, seely nymph! whom night and darksome shade To beasts, and me, far worse than beasts, betrayed. LXXIX "But where you be, if still you be, I wend To gather up those relics dear at least, But if some beast hath from the hills descend, And on her tender bowels made his feast, Let that fell monster me in pieces rend, And deep entomb me in his hollow chest: For where she buried is, there shall I have A stately tomb, a rich and costly grave." LXXX Thus mourned the knight, his squires him told at last, They had her there for whom those tears he shed; A beam of comfort his dim eyes outcast, Like lightning through thick clouds of darkness spread, The heavy burden of his limbs in haste, With mickle pain, he drew forth of his bed, And scant of strength to stand, to move or go, Thither he staggered, reeling to and fro. LXXXI When he came there, and in her breast espied His handiwork, that deep and cruel wound, And her sweet face with leaden paleness dyed, Where beauty late spread forth her beams around, He trembled so, that nere his squires beside To hold him up, he had sunk down to ground, And said, "O face in death still sweet and fair! Thou canst not sweeten yet my grief and care: LXXXII "O fair right hand, the pledge of faith and love? Given me but late, too late, in sign of peace, How haps it now thou canst not stir nor move? And you, dear limbs, now laid in rest and ease, Through which my cruel blade this flood-gate rove, Your pains have end, my torments never cease, O hands, O cruel eyes, accursed alike! You gave the wound, you gave them light to strike. LXXXIII "But thither now run forth my guilty blood, Whither my plaints, my sorrows cannot wend." He said no more, but, as his passion wood Inforced him, he gan to tear and rend His hair, his face, his wounds, a purple flood Did from each side in rolling streams descend, He had been slain, but that his pain and woe Bereft his senses, and preserved him so. LXXXIV Cast on his bed his squires recalled his sprite To execute again her hateful charge, But tattling fame the sorrows of the knight And hard mischance had told this while at large: Godfrey and all his lords of worth and might, Ran thither, and the duty would discharge Of friendship true, and with sweet words the rage Of bitter grief and woe they would assuage. LXXXV But as a mortal wound the more doth smart The more it searched is, handled or sought; So their sweet words to his afflicted heart More grief, more anguish, pain and torment brought But reverend Peter that would set apart Care of his sheep, as a good shepherd ought, His vanity with grave advice reproved And told what mourning Christian knights behoved: LXXXVI "O Tancred, Tancred, how far different From thy beginnings good these follies be? What makes thee deaf? what hath thy eyesight blent? What mist, what cloud thus overshadeth thee? This is a warning good from heaven down sent, Yet His advice thou canst not hear nor see Who calleth and conducts thee to the way From which thou willing dost and witting stray: LXXXVII "To worthy actions and achievements fit For Christian knights He would thee home recall; But thou hast left that course and changed it, To make thyself a heathen damsel's thrall; But see, thy grief and sorrow's painful fit Is made the rod to scourge thy sins withal, Of thine own good thyself the means He makes, But thou His mercy, goodness, grace forsakes. LXXXVIII "Thou dost refuse of heaven the proffered And gainst it still rebel with sinful ire, Oh wretch! Oh whither doth thy rage thee chase? Refrain thy grief, bridle thy fond desire, At hell's wide gate vain sorrow doth thee place, Sorrow, misfortune's son, despair's foul fire: Oh see thine evil, thy plaint and woe refrain, The guides to death, to hell, and endless pain." LXXXIX This said, his will to die the patient Abandoned, that second death he feared, These words of comfort to his heart down went, And that dark night of sorrow somewhat cleared; Yet now and then his grief deep sighs forth sent, His voice shrill plaints and sad laments oft reared, Now to himself, now to his murdered love, He spoke, who heard perchance from heaven above. XC Till Phoebus' rising from his evening fall To her, for her, he mourns, he calls, he cries; The nightingale so when her children small Some churl takes before their parents' eyes, Alone, dismayed, quite bare of comforts all, Tires with complaints the seas, the shores, the skies, Till in sweet sleep against the morning bright She fall at last; so mourned, so slept the knight. XCI And clad in starry veil, amid his dream, For whose sweet sake he mourned, appeared the maid, Fairer than erst, yet with that heavenly beam. Not out of knowledge was her lovely shade, With looks of ruth her eyes celestial seem To pity his sad plight, and thus she said, "Behold how fair, how glad thy love appears, And for my sake, my dear, forbear these tears. XCII "Thine be the thanks, my soul thou madest flit At unawares out of her earthly nest, Thine be the thanks, thou hast advanced it In Abraham's dear bosom long to rest, There still I love thee, there for Tancred fit A seat prepared is among the blest; There in eternal joy, eternal light, Thou shalt thy love enjoy, and she her knight; XCIII "Unless thyself, thyself heaven's joys envy, And thy vain sorrow thee of bliss deprive, Live, know I love thee, that I nill deny, As angels, men: as saints may wights on live:" This said, of zeal and love forth of her eye An hundred glorious beams bright shining drive, Amid which rays herself she closed from sigh, And with new joy, new comfort left her knight. XCIV Thus comforted he waked, and men discreet In surgery to cure his wounds were sought, Meanwhile of his dear love the relics sweet, As best he could, to grave with pomp he brought: Her tomb was not of varied Spartan greet, Nor yet by cunning hand of Scopas wrought, But built of polished stone, and thereon laid The lively shape and portrait of the maid. XCV With sacred burning lamps in order long And mournful pomp the corpse was brought to ground Her arms upon a leafless pine were hung, The hearse, with cypress; arms, with laurel crowned: Next day the prince, whose love and courage strong Drew forth his limbs, weak, feeble, and unsound, To visit went, with care and reverence meet, The buried ashes of his mistress sweet: XCVI Before her new-made tomb at last arrived, The woful prison of his living sprite, Pale, cold, sad, comfortless, of sense deprived, Upon the marble gray he fixed his sight, Two streams of tears were from his eyes derived: Thus with a sad "Alas!" began the knight, "O marble dear on my dear mistress placed! My flames within, without my tears thou hast. XCVII "Not of dead bones art thou the mournful grave, But of quick love the fortress and the hold, Still in my heart thy wonted brands I have More bitter far, alas! but not more cold; Receive these sighs, these kisses sweet receive, In liquid drops of melting tears enrolled, And give them to that body pure and chaste, Which in thy bosom cold entombed thou hast. XCVIII "For if her happy soul her eye doth bend On that sweet body which it lately dressed, My love, thy pity cannot her offend, Anger and wrath is not in angels blessed, She pardon will the trespass of her friend, That hope relieves me with these griefs oppressed, This hand she knows hath only sinned, not I, Who living loved her, and for love now die: XCIX "And loving will I die, oh happy day Whene'er it chanceth! but oh far more blessed If as about thy polished sides I stray, My bones within thy hollow grave might rest, Together should in heaven our spirits stay, Together should our bodies lie in chest; So happy death should join what life doth sever, O Death, O Life! sweet both, both blessed ever." C Meanwhile the news in that besieged town Of this mishap was whispered here and there, Forthwith it spread, and for too true was known, Her woful loss was talked everywhere, Mingled with cries and plaints to heaven upthrown, As if the city's self new taken were With conquering foes, or as if flame and fire, Nor house, nor church, nor street had left entire. CI But all men's eyes were on Arsetes bent, His sighs were deep, his looks full of despair, Out of his woful eyes no tear there went, His heart was hardened with his too much care, His silver locks with dust he foul besprent, He knocked his breast, his face he rent and tare, And while the press flocked to the eunuch old, Thus to the people spake Argantes bold: CII "I would, when first I knew the hardy maid Excluded was among her Christian foes, Have followed her to give her timely aid, Or by her side this breath and life to lose, What did I not, or what left I unsaid To make the king the gates again unclose? But he denied, his power did aye restrain My will, my suit was waste, my speech was vain: CIII "Ah, had I gone, I would from danger free Have brought to Sion that sweet nymph again, Or in the bloody fight, where killed was she, In her defence there nobly have been slain: But what could I do more? the counsels be Of God and man gainst my designments plain, Dead is Clorinda fair, laid in cold grave, Let me revenge her whom I could not save. CIV "Jerusalem, hear what Argantes saith, Hear Heaven, and if he break his oath and word, Upon this head cast thunder in thy wrath: I will destroy and kill that Christian lord Who this fair dame by night thus murdered hath, Nor from my side I will ungird this sword Till Tancred's heart it cleave, and shed his blood, And leave his corpse to wolves and crows for food." CV This said, the people with a joyful shout Applaud his speeches and his words approve, And calmed their grief in hope the boaster stout Would kill the prince, who late had slain his love. O promise vain! it otherwise fell out: Men purpose, but high gods dispose above, For underneath his sword this boaster died Whom thus he scorned and threatened in his pride. THIRTEENTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. Ismeno sets to guard the forest old The wicked sprites, whose ugly shapes affray And put to flight the men, whose labor would To their dark shades let in heaven's golden ray: Thither goes Tancred hardy, faithful, bold, But foolish pity lets him not assay His strength and courage: heat the Christian power Annoys, whom to refresh God sends a shower. I But scant, dissolved into ashes cold, The smoking tower fell on the scorched grass, When new device found out the enchanter old By which the town besieged secured was, Of timber fit his foes deprive he would, Such terror bred that late consumed mass: So that the strength of Sion's walls to shake, They should no turrets, rams, nor engines make. II From Godfrey's camp a grove a little way Amid the valleys deep grows out of sight, Thick with old trees whose horrid arms display An ugly shade, like everlasting night; There when the sun spreads forth his clearest ray, Dim, thick, uncertain, gloomy seems the light; As when in evening, day and darkness strive Which should his foe from our horizon drive. III But when the sun his chair in seas doth steep, Night, horror, darkness thick the place invade, Which veil the mortal eyes with blindness deep And with sad terror make weak hearts afraid, Thither no groom drives forth his tender sheep To browse, or ease their faint in cooling shade, Nor traveller nor pilgrim there to enter, So awful seems that forest old, dare venture. IV United there the ghosts and goblins meet To frolic with their mates in silent night, With dragons' wings some cleave the welkin fleet, Some nimbly run o'er hills and valleys light, A wicked troop, that with allurements sweet Draws sinful man from that is good and right, And there with hellish pomp their banquets brought They solemnize, thus the vain Parians thought. V No twist, no twig, no bough nor branch, therefore, The Saracens cut from that sacred spring; But yet the Christians spared ne'er the more The trees to earth with cutting steel to bring: Thither went Ismen old with tresses hoar, When night on all this earth spread forth her wing, And there in silence deaf and mirksome shade His characters and circles vain he made: VI He in the circle set one foot unshod, And whispered dreadful charms in ghastly wise, Three times, for witchcraft loveth numbers odd, Toward the east he gaped, westward thrice, He struck the earth thrice with his charmed rod Wherewith dead bones he makes from grave to rise, And thrice the ground with naked foot he smote, And thus he cried loud, with thundering note: VII "Hear, hear, you spirits all that whilom fell, Cast down from heaven with dint of roaring thunder; Hear, you amid the empty air that dwell And storms and showers pour on these kingdoms under; Hear, all you devils that lie in deepest hell And rend with torments damned ghosts asunder, And of those lands of death, of pain and fear, Thou monarch great, great Dis, great Pluto, hear! VIII "Keep you this forest well, keep every tree, Numbered I give you them and truly told; As souls of men in bodies clothed be So every plant a sprite shall hide and hold, With trembling fear make all the Christians flee, When they presume to cut these cedars old:" This said, his charms he gan again repeat, Which none can say but they that use like feat. IX At those strange speeches, still night's splendent fires Quenched their lights, and shrunk away for doubt, The feeble moon her silver beams retires, And wrapt her horns with folding clouds about, Ismen his sprites to come with speed requires, "Why come you not, you ever damned rout? Why tarry you so long? pardie you stay Till stronger charms and greater words I say. X "I have not yet forgot for want of use, What dreadful terms belong this sacred feat, My tongue, if still your stubborn hearts refuse, That so much dreaded name can well repeat, Which heard, great Dis cannot himself excuse, But hither run from his eternal seat, O great and fearful!"--More he would have said, But that he saw the sturdy sprites obeyed. XI Legions of devils by thousands thither come, Such as in sparsed air their biding make, And thousands also which by Heavenly doom Condemned lie in deep Avernus lake, But slow they came, displeased all and some Because those woods they should in keeping take, Yet they obeyed and took the charge in hand, And under every branch and leaf they stand. XII When thus his cursed work performed was, The wizard to his king declared the feat, "My lord, let fear, let doubt and sorrow pass, Henceforth in safety stands your regal seat, Your foe, as he supposed, no mean now has To build again his rams and engines great:" And then he told at large from part to part, All what he late performed by wondrous art. XIII "Besides this help, another hap," quoth he, "Will shortly chance that brings not profit small. Within few days Mars and the Sun I see Their fiery beams unite in Leo shall; And then extreme the scorching heat will be, Which neither rain can quench nor dews that fall, So placed are the planets high and low, That heat, fire, burning all the heavens foreshow: XIV "So great with us will be the warmth therefore, As with the Garamants or those of Inde; Yet nill it grieve us in this town so sore, We have sweet shade and waters cold by kind: Our foes abroad will be tormented more, What shield can they or what refreshing find? Heaven will them vanquish first, then Egypt's crew Destroy them quite, weak, weary, faint and few: XV "Thou shalt sit still and conquer; prove no more The doubtful hazard of uncertain fight. But if Argantes bold, that hates so sore All cause of quiet peace, though just and right, Provoke thee forth to battle, as before, Find means to calm the rage of that fierce knight, For shortly Heaven will send thee ease and peace, And war and trouble mongst thy foes increase." XVI The king assured by these speeches fair, Held Godfrey's power, his might and strength in scorn, And now the walls he gan in part repair, Which late the ram had bruised with iron horn, With wise foresight and well advised care He fortified each breach and bulwark torn, And all his folk, men, women, children small, With endless toil again repaired the wall. XVII But Godfrey nould this while bring forth his power To give assault against that fort in vain, Till he had builded new his dreadful tower, And reared high his down-fallen rams again: His workmen therefore he despatched that hour To hew the trees out of the forest main, They went, and scant the wood appeared in sight When wonders new their fearful hearts affright: XVIII As silly children dare not bend their eye Where they are told strange bugbears haunt the place, Or as new monsters, while in bed they lie, Their fearful thoughts present before their face; So feared they, and fled, yet wist not why, Nor what pursued them in that fearful chase. Except their fear perchance while thus they fled, New chimeras, sphinxes, or like monsters bred: XIX Swift to the camp they turned back dismayed, With words confused uncertain tales they told, That all which heard them scorned what they said And those reports for lies and fables hold. A chosen crew in shining arms arrayed Duke Godfrey thither sent of soldiers bold, To guard the men and their faint arms provoke To cut the dreadful trees with hardy stroke: XX These drawing near the wood where close ypent The wicked sprites in sylvan pinfolds were, Their eyes upon those shades no sooner bent But frozen dread pierced through their entrails dear; Yet on they stalked still, and on they went, Under bold semblance hiding coward fear, And so far wandered forth with trembling pace, Till they approached nigh that enchanted place: XXI When from the grove a fearful sound outbreaks, As if some earthquake hill and mountain tore, Wherein the southern wind a rumbling makes, Or like sea waves against the scraggy shore; There lions grumble, there hiss scaly snakes, There howl the wolves, the rugged bears there roar, There trumpets shrill are heard and thunders fell, And all these sounds one sound expressed well. XXII Upon their faces pale well might you note A thousand signs of heart-amating fear, Their reason gone, by no device they wot How to press nigh, or stay still where they were, Against that sudden dread their breasts which smote, Their courage weak no shield of proof could bear, At last they fled, and one than all more bold, Excused their flight, and thus the wonders told: XXIII "My lord, not one of us there is, I grant, That dares cut down one branch in yonder spring, I think there dwells a sprite in every plant, There keeps his court great Dis infernal king, He hath a heart of hardened adamant That without trembling dares attempt the thing, And sense he wanteth who so hardy is To hear the forest thunder, roar and hiss." XXIV This said, Alcasto to his words gave heed, Alcasto leader of the Switzers grim, A man both void of wit and void of dreed, Who feared not loss of life nor loss of limb. No savage beasts in deserts wild that feed Nor ugly monster could dishearten him, Nor whirlwind, thunder, earthquake, storm, or aught That in this world is strange or fearful thought. XXV He shook his head, and smiling thus gan say, "The hardiness have I that wood to fell, And those proud trees low in the dust to lay Wherein such grisly fiends and monsters dwell; No roaring ghost my courage can dismay, No shriek of birds, beast's roar, or dragon's yell; But through and through that forest will I wend, Although to deepest hell the paths descend." XXVI Thus boasted he, and leave to go desired, And forward went with joyful cheer and will, He viewed the wood and those thick shades admired, He heard the wondrous noise and rumbling shrill; Yet not one foot the audacious man retired, He scorned the peril, pressing forward still, Till on the forest's outmost marge he stepped, A flaming fire from entrance there him kept. XXVII The fire increased, and built a stately wall Of burning coals, quick sparks, and embers hot, And with bright flames the wood environed all, That there no tree nor twist Alcasto got; The higher stretched the flames seemed bulwarks tall, Castles and turrets full of fiery shot, With slings and engines strong of every sort;-- What mortal wight durst scale so strange a fort? XXVIII Oh what strange monsters on the battlement In loathsome forms stood to defend the place? Their frowning looks upon the knight they bent, And threatened death with shot, with sword and mace: At last he fled, and though but slow he went, As lions do whom jolly hunters chase; Yet fled the man and with sad fear withdrew, Though fear till then he never felt nor knew. XXIX That he had fled long time he never wist, But when far run he had discoverd it, Himself for wonder with his hand he blist, A bitter sorrow by the heart him bit, Amazed, ashamed, disgraced, sad, silent, trist, Alone he would all day in darkness sit, Nor durst he look on man of worth or fame, His pride late great, now greater made his shame. XXX Godfredo called him, but he found delays And causes why he should his cabin keep, At length perforce he comes, but naught he says, Or talks like those that babble in their sleep. His shamefacedness to Godfrey plain bewrays His flight, so does his sighs and sadness deep: Whereat amazed, "What chance is this?" quoth he. "These witchcrafts strange or nature's wonders be. XXXI "But if his courage any champion move To try the hazard of this dreadful spring, I give him leave the adventure great to prove, Some news he may report us of the thing:" This said, his lords attempt the charmed grove, Yet nothing back but fear and flight they bring, For them inforced with trembling to retire, The sight, the sound, the monsters and the fire. XXXII This happed when woful Tancred left his bed To lay in marble cold his mistress dear, The lively color from his cheek was fled, His limbs were weak his helm or targe to bear; Nathless when need to high attempts him led, No labor would he shun, no danger fear, His valor, boldness, heart and courage brave, To his faint body strength and vigor gave. XXXIII To this exploit forth went the venturous knight, Fearless, yet heedful; silent, well advised, The terrors of that forest's dreadful sight, Storms, earthquakes, thunders, cries, he all despised: He feared nothing, yet a motion light, That quickly vanished, in his heart arised When lo, between him and the charmed wood, A fiery city high as heaven up stood. XXXIV The knight stepped back and took a sudden pause, And to himself, "What help these arms?" quoth he, "If in this fire, or monster's gaping jaws I headlong cast myself, what boots it me? For common profit, or my country's cause, To hazard life before me none should be: But this exploit of no such weight I hold, For it to lose a prince or champion bold. XXXV But if I fly, what will the Pagans say? If I retire, who shall cut down this spring? Godfredo will attempt it every day. What if some other knight perform the thing? These flames uprisen to forestall my way Perchance more terror far than danger bring. But hap what shall;" this said, he forward stepped, And through the fire, oh wondrous boldness, leapt! XXXVI He bolted through, but neither warmth nor heat! He felt, nor sign of fire or scorching flame; Yet wist he not in his dismayed conceit, If that were fire or no through which he came; For at first touch vanished those monsters great, And in their stead the clouds black night did frame And hideous storms and showers of hail and rain; Yet storms and tempests vanished straight again. XXXVII Amazed but not afraid the champion good Stood still, but when the tempest passed he spied, He entered boldly that forbidden wood, And of the forest all the secrets eyed, In all his walk no sprite or phantasm stood That stopped his way or passage free denied, Save that the growing trees so thick were set, That oft his sight, and passage oft they let. XXXVIII At length a fair and spacious green he spied, Like calmest waters, plain, like velvet, soft, Wherein a cypress clad in summer's pride, Pyramid-wise, lift up his tops aloft; In whose smooth bark upon the evenest side, Strange characters he found, and viewed them oft, Like those which priests of Egypt erst instead Of letters used, which none but they could read. XXXIX Mongst them he picked out these words at last, Writ in the Syriac tongue, which well he could, "Oh hardy knight, who through these woods hast passed: Where Death his palace and his court doth hold! Oh trouble not these souls in quiet placed, Oh be not cruel as thy heart is bold, Pardon these ghosts deprived of heavenly light, With spirits dead why should men living fight?" XL This found he graven in the tender rind, And while he mused on this uncouth writ, Him thought he heard the softly whistling wind His blasts amid the leaves and branches knit And frame a sound like speech of human kind, But full of sorrow grief and woe was it, Whereby his gentle thoughts all filled were With pity, sadness, grief, compassion, fear. XLI He drew his sword at last, and gave the tree A mighty blow, that made a gaping wound, Out of the rift red streams he trickling see That all bebled the verdant plain around, His hair start up, yet once again stroke he, He nould give over till the end he found Of this adventure, when with plaint and moan, As from some hollow grave, he heard one groan. XLII "Enough, enough!" the voice lamenting said, "Tancred, thou hast me hurt, thou didst me drive Out of the body of a noble maid Who with me lived, whom late I kept on live, And now within this woful cypress laid, My tender rind thy weapon sharp doth rive, Cruel, is't not enough thy foes to kill, But in their graves wilt thou torment them still? XLIII "I was Clorinda, now imprisoned here, Yet not alone within this plant I dwell, For every Pagan lord and Christian peer, Before the city's walls last day that fell, In bodies new or graves I wot not clear, But here they are confined by magic's spell, So that each tree hath life, and sense each bough, A murderer if thou cut one twist art thou." XLIV As the sick man that in his sleep doth see Some ugly dragon, or some chimera new, Though he suspect, or half persuaded be, It is an idle dream, no monster true, Yet still he fears, he quakes, and strives to flee, So fearful is that wondrous form to view; So feared the knight, yet he both knew and thought All were illusions false by witchcraft wrought: XLV But cold and trembling waxed his frozen heart, Such strange effects, such passions it torment, Out of his feeble hand his weapon start, Himself out of his wits nigh, after went: Wounded he saw, he thought, for pain and smart, His lady weep, complain, mourn, and lament, Nor could he suffer her dear blood to see, Or hear her sighs that deep far fetched be. XLVI Thus his fierce heart which death had scorned oft, Whom no strange shape or monster could dismay, With feigned shows of tender love made soft, A spirit false did with vain plaints betray; A whirling wind his sword heaved up aloft, And through the forest bare it quite away. O'ercome retired the prince, and as he came, His sword he found, and repossessed the same, XLVII Yet nould return, he had no mind to try His courage further in those forests green; But when to Godfrey's tent he proached nigh, His spirits waked, his thoughts composed been, "My Lord." quoth he, "a witness true am I Of wonders strange, believe it scant though seen, What of the fire, the shades, the dreadful sound You heard, all true by proof myself have found; XLVIII "A burning fire, so are those deserts charmed, Built like a battled wall to heaven was reared; Whereon with darts and dreadful weapons armed, Of monsters foul mis-shaped whole bands appeared; But through them all I passed, unhurt, unharmed, No flame or threatened blow I felt or feared, Then rain and night I found, but straight again To day, the night, to sunshine turned the rain. XLIX "What would you more? each tree through all that wood Hath sense, hath life, hath speech, like human kind, I heard their words as in that grove I stood, That mournful voice still, still I bear in mind: And, as they were of flesh, the purple blood At every blow streams from the wounded rind; No, no, not I, nor any else, I trow, Hath power to cut one leaf, one branch, one bough." L While thus he said, the Christian's noble guide Felt uncouth strife in his contentious thought, He thought, what if himself in perzon tried Those witchcrafts strange, and bring those charms to naught, For such he deemed them, or elsewhere provide For timber easier got though further sought, But from his study he at last abraid, Called by the hermit old that to him said: LI "Leave off thy hardy thought, another's hands Of these her plants the wood dispoilen shall, Now, now the fatal ship of conquest lands, Her sails are struck, her silver anchors fall, Our champion broken hath his worthless bands, And looseth from the soil which held him thrall, The time draws nigh when our proud foes in field Shall slaughtered lie, and Sion's fort shall yield." LII This said, his visage shone with beams divine, And more than mortal was his voice's sound, Godfredo's thought to other acts incline, His working brain was never idle found. But in the Crab now did bright Titan shine, And scorched with scalding beams the parched ground, And made unfit for toil or warlike feat His soldiers, weak with labor, faint with sweat: LIII The planets mild their lamps benign quenched out, And cruel stars in heaven did signorize, Whose influence cast fiery flames about And hot impressions through the earth and skies, The growing heat still gathered deeper rout, The noisome warmth through lands and kingdoms flies, A harmful night a hurtful day succeeds, And worse than both next morn her light outspreads. LIV When Phoebus rose he left his golden weed, And donned a gite in deepest purple dyed, His sanguine beams about his forehead spread, A sad presage of ill that should betide, With vermeil drops at even his tresses bleed, Foreshows of future heat, from the ocean wide When next he rose, and thus increased still Their present harms with dread of future ill, LV While thus he bent gainst earth his scorching rays, He burnt the flowers, burnt his Clytie dear, The leaves grew wan upon the withered sprays, The grass and growing herbs all parched were, Earth cleft in rifts, in floods their streams decays, The barren clouds with lightning bright appear, And mankind feared lest Climenes' child again Had driven awry his sire's ill-guided wain. LVI As from a furnace flew the smoke to skies, Such smoke as that when damned Sodom brent, Within his caves sweet Zephyr silent lies, Still was the air, the rack nor came nor went, But o'er the lands with lukewarm breathing flies The southern wind, from sunburnt Afric sent, Which thick and warm his interrupted blasts Upon their bosoms, throats, and faces casts. LVII Nor yet more comfort brought the gloomy night, In her thick shades was burning heat uprolled, Her sable mantle was embroidered bright With blazing stars and gliding fires for gold, Nor to refresh, sad earth, thy thirsty sprite, The niggard moon let fall her May dews cold, And dried up the vital moisture was, In trees, in plants, in herbs, in flowers, in grass. LVIII Sleep to his quiet dales exiled fled From these unquiet nights, and oft in vain The soldiers restless sought the god in bed, But most for thirst they mourned and most complain; For Juda's tyrant had strong poison shed, Poison that breeds more woe and deadly pain, Than Acheron or Stygian waters bring, In every fountain, cistern, well and spring: LIX And little Siloe that his store bestows Of purest crystal on the Christian bands, The pebbles naked in his channel shows And scantly glides above the scorched sands, Nor Po in May when o'er his banks he flows, Nor Ganges, waterer of the Indian lands, Nor seven-mouthed Nile that yields all Egypt drink, To quench their thirst the men sufficient think. LX He that the gliding rivers erst had seen Adown their verdant channels gently rolled, Or falling streams which to the valleys green Distilled from tops of Alpine mountains cold, Those he desired in vain, new torments been, Augmented thus with wish of comforts old, Those waters cool he drank in vain conceit, Which more increased his thirst, increased his heat. LXI The sturdy bodies of the warriors strong, Whom neither marching far, nor tedious way, Nor weighty arms which on their shoulders hung, Could weary make, nor death itself dismay; Now weak and feeble cast their limbs along, Unwieldly burdens, on the burned clay, And in each vein a smouldering fire there dwelt, Which dried their flesh and solid bones did melt. LXII Languished the steed late fierce, and proffered grass, His fodder erst, despised and from him cast, Each step he stumbled, and which lofty was And high advanced before now fell his crest, His conquests gotten all forgotten pass, Nor with desire of glory swelled his breast, The spoils won from his foe, his late rewards, He now neglects, despiseth, naught regards. LXIII Languished the faithful dog, and wonted care Of his dear lord and cabin both forgot, Panting he laid, and gathered fresher air To cool the burning in his entrails hot: But breathing, which wise nature did prepare To suage the stomach's heat, now booted not, For little ease, alas, small help, they win That breathe forth air and scalding fire suck in. LXIV Thus languished the earth, in this estate Lay woful thousands of the Christians stout, The faithful people grew nigh desperate Of hoped conquest, shameful death they doubt, Of their distress they talk and oft debate, These sad complaints were heard the camp throughout: "What hope hath Godfrey? shall we still here lie Till all his soldiers, all our armies die? LXV "Alas, with what device, what strength, thinks he To scale these walls, or this strong fort to get? Whence hath he engines new? doth he not see, How wrathful Heaven gainst us his sword doth whet? These tokens shown true signs and witness be Our angry God our proud attempts doth let, And scorching sun so hot his beams outspreads, That not more cooling Inde nor Aethiop needs. LXVI "Or thinks he it an eath or little thing That us despised, neglected, and disdained, Like abjects vile, to death he thus should bring, That so his empire may be still maintained? Is it so great a bliss to be a king, When he that wears the crown with blood is stained And buys his sceptre with his people's lives? See whither glory vain, fond mankind drives. LXVII "See, see the man, called holy, just, and good, That courteous, meek, and humble would be thought, Yet never cared in what distress we stood If his vain honor were diminished naught, When dried up from us his spring and flood His water must from Jordan streams be brought, And how he sits at feasts and banquets sweet And mingleth waters fresh with wines of Crete." LXVIII The French thus murmured, but the Greekish knight Tatine, that of this war was weary grown: "Why die we here," quoth he, "slain without fight, Killed, not subdued, murdered, not overthrown? Upon the Frenchmen let the penance light Of Godfrey's folly, let me save mine own," And as he said, without farewell, the knight And all his comet stole away by night. LXIX His bad example many a troop prepares To imitate, when his escape they know, Clotharius his band, and Ademare's, And all whose guides in dust were buried low, Discharged of duty's chains and bondage snares, Free from their oath, to none they service owe, But now concluded all on secret flight, And shrunk away by thousands every night. LXX Godfredo this both heard, and saw, and knew, Yet nould with death them chastise though he mought, But with that faith wherewith he could renew The steadfast hills and seas dry up to naught He prayed the Lord upon his flock to rue, To ope the springs of grace and ease this drought, Out of his looks shone zeal, devotion, faith, His hands and eyes to heaven he heaves, and saith: LXXI "Father and Lord, if in the deserts waste Thou hadst compassion on thy children dear, The craggy rock when Moses cleft and brast, And drew forth flowing streams of waters clear, Like mercy, Lord, like grace on us down cast; And though our merits less than theirs appear, Thy grace supply that want, for though they be Thy first-born son, thy children yet are we." LXXII These prayers just, from humble hearts forth sent, Were nothing slow to climb the starry sky, But swift as winged bird themselves present Before the Father of the heavens high: The Lord accepted them, and gently bent Upon the faithful host His gracious eye, And in what pain and what distress it laid, He saw, and grieved to see, and thus He said: LXXIII "Mine armies dear till now have suffered woe, Distress and danger, hell's infernal power Their enemy hath been, the world their foe, But happy be their actions from this hour: What they begin to blessed end shall go, I will refresh them with a gentle shower; Rinaldo shall return, the Egyptian crew They shall encounter, conquer, and subdue." LXXIV At these high words great heaven began to shake, The fixed stars, the planets wandering still, Trembled the air, the earth and ocean quake, Spring, fountain, river, forest, dale and hill; From north to east, a lightning flash outbrake, And coming drops presaged with thunders shrill: With joyful shouts the soldiers on the plain, These tokens bless of long-desired rain. LXXV A sudden cloud, as when Helias prayed, Not from dry earth exhaled by Phoebus' beams, Arose, moist heaven his windows open laid, Whence clouds by heaps out rush, and watery streams, The world o'erspread was with a gloomy shade, That like a dark mirksome even it seems; The crashing rain from molten skies down fell, And o'er their banks the brooks and fountains swell. LXXVI In summer season, when the cloudy sky Upon the parched ground doth rain down send, As duck and mallard in the furrows dry With merry noise the promised showers attend, And spreading broad their wings displayed lie To keep the drops that on their plumes descend, And where the streams swell to a gathered lake, Therein they dive, and sweet refreshing take: LXXVII So they the streaming showers with shouts and cries Salute, which heaven shed on the thirsty lands, The falling liquor from the dropping skies He catcheth in his lap, he barehead stands, And his bright helm to drink therein unties, In the fresh streams he dives his sweaty hands, Their faces some, and some their temples wet, And some to keep the drops large vessels set. LXXVIII Nor man alone to ease his burning sore, Herein doth dive and wash, and hereof drinks, But earth itself weak, feeble, faint before, Whose solid limbs were cleft with rifts and chinks, Received the falling showers and gathered store Of liquor sweet, that through her veins down sinks, And moisture new infused largely was In trees, in plants, in herbs, in flowers, in grass. LXXIX Earth, like the patient was, whose lively blood Hath overcome at last some sickness strong, Whose feeble limbs had been the bait and food Whereon this strange disease depastured long, But now restored, in health and welfare stood, As sound as erst, as fresh, as fair, as young; So that forgetting all his grief and pain, His pleasant robes and crowns he takes again. LXXX Ceased the rain, the sun began to shine, With fruitful, sweet, benign, and gentle ray, Full of strong power and vigor masculine, As be his beams in April or in May. O happy zeal! who trusts in help divine The world's afflictions thus can drive away, Can storms appease, and times and seasons change, And conquer fortune, fate, and destiny strange. FOURTEENTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. The Lord to Godfrey in a dream doth show His will; Rinaldo must return at last; They have their asking who for pardon sue: Two knights to find the prince are sent in haste, But Peter, who by vision all foreknew, Sendeth the searchers to a wizard, placed Deep in a vault, who first at large declares Armida's trains, then how to shun those snares. I Now from the fresh, the soft and tender bed Of her still mother, gentle night out flew, The fleeting balm on hills and dales she shed, With honey drops of pure and precious dew, And on the verdure of green forests spread The virgin primrose and the violet blue, And sweet-breathed Zephyr on his spreading wings, Sleep, ease, repose, rest, peace and quiet brings. II The thoughts and troubles of broad-waking day, They softly dipped in mild Oblivion's lake; But he whose Godhead heaven and earth doth sway, In his eternal light did watch and wake, And bent on Godfrey down the gracious ray Of his bright eye, still ope for Godfrey's sake, To whom a silent dream the Lord down sent. Which told his will, his pleasure and intent. III Far in the east, the golden gate beside Whence Phoebus comes, a crystal port there is, And ere the sun his broad doors open wide The beam of springing day uncloseth this, Hence comes the dreams, by which heaven's sacred guide Reveals to man those high degrees of his, Hence toward Godfrey ere he left his bed A vision strange his golden plumes bespread. IV Such semblances, such shapes, such portraits fair, Did never yet in dream or sleep appear, For all the forms in sea, in earth or air, The signs in heaven, the stars in every sphere All that was wondrous, uncouth, strange and rare, All in that vision well presented were. His dream had placed him in a crystal wide, Beset with golden fires, top, bottom, side, V There while he wondereth on the circles vast, The stars, their motions, course and harmony, A knight, with shining rays and fire embraced, Presents himself unwares before his eye, Who with a voice that far for sweetness passed All human speech, thus said, approaching nigh: "What, Godfrey, knowest thou not thy Hugo here? Come and embrace thy friend and fellow dear!" VI He answered him, "Thy glorious shining light Which in thine eyes his glistering beams doth place, Estranged hath from my foreknowledge quite Thy countenance, thy favor, and thy face:" This said, three times he stretched his hands outright And would in friendly arms the knight embrace, And thrice the spirit fled, that thrice he twined Naught in his folded arms but air and wind. VII Lord Hugo smiled, "Not as you think," quoth he, "I clothed am in flesh and earthly mould, My spirit pure, and naked soul, you see, A citizen of this celestial hold: This place is heaven, and here a room for thee Prepared is among Christ's champions bold:" "Ah when," quoth he, "these mortal bonds unknit, Shall I in peace, in ease and rest there sit?" VIII Hugo replied, "Ere many years shall run, Amid the saints in bliss here shalt thou reign; But first great wars must by thy hand be done, Much blood be shed, and many Pagans slain, The holy city by assault be won, The land set free from servile yoke again, Wherein thou shalt a Christian empire frame, And after thee shall Baldwin rule the same. IX "But to increase thy love and great desire To heavenward, this blessed place behold, These shining lamps, these globes of living fire, How they are turned, guided, moved and rolled; The angels' singing hear, and all their choir; Then bend thine eyes on yonder earth and mould, All in that mass, that globe and compass see, Land, sea, spring, fountain, man, beast, grass and tree. X "How vile, how small, and of how slender price, Is their reward of goodness, virtue's gain! A narrow room our glory vain upties, A little circle doth our pride contain, Earth like an isle amid the water lies, Which sea sometime is called, sometime the main, Yet naught therein responds a name so great, It's but a lake, a pond, a marish strait." XI Thus said the one, the other bended down His looks to ground, and half in scorn he smiled, He saw at once earth, sea, flood, castle, town, Strangely divided, strangely all compiled, And wondered folly man so far should drown, To set his heart on things so base and vild, That servile empire searcheth and dumb fame, And scorns heaven's bliss, yet proffereth heaven the same. XII Wherefore he answered, "Since the Lord not yet Will free my spirit from this cage of clay, Lest worldly error vain my voyage let, Teach me to heaven the best and surest way:" Hugo replied, "Thy happy foot is set In the true path, nor from this passage stray, Only from exile young Rinaldo call, This give I thee in charge, else naught at all. XIII "For as the Lord of hosts, the King of bliss, Hath chosen thee to rule the faithful band; So he thy stratagems appointed is To execute, so both shall win this land: The first is thine, the second place is his, Thou art this army's head, and he the hand, No other champion can his place supply, And that thou do it doth thy state deny. XIV "The enchanted forest, and her charmed treen, With cutting steel shall he to earth down hew, And thy weak armies which too feeble been To scale again these walls reinforced new, And fainting lie dispersed on the green, Shall take new strength new courage at his view, The high-built towers, the eastern squadrons all, Shall conquered be, shall fly, shall die, shall fall." XV He held his peace; and Godfrey answered so: "Oh, how his presence would recomfort me! You that man's hidden thoughts perceive and know: If I say truth, or if I love him, see. But say, what messengers shall for him go? What shall their speeches, what their errand be? Shall I entreat, or else command the man? With credit neither well perform I can." XVI "The eternal Lord," the other knight replied, "That with so many graces hath thee blest, Will, that among the troops thou hast to guide, Thou honored be and feared of most and least: Then speak not thou lest blemish some betide Thy sacred empire if thou make request; But when by suit thou moved art to ruth, Then yield, forgive, and home recall the youth. XVII "Guelpho shall pray thee, God shall him inspire, To pardon this offence, this fault commit By hasty wrath, by rash and headstrong ire, To call the knight again; yield thou to it: And though the youth, enwrapped in fond desire, Far hence in love and looseness idle sit, Year fear it not, he shall return with speed, When most you wish him and when most you need. XVIII "Your hermit Peter, to whose sapient heart High Heaven his secrets opens, tells and shews, Your messengers direct can to that part, Where of the prince they shall hear certain news, And learn the way, the manner, and the art To bring him back to these thy warlike crews, That all thy soldiers, wandered and misgone, Heaven may unite again and join in one. XIX "But this conclusion shall my speeches end: Know that his blood shall mixed be with thine, Whence barons bold and worthies shall descend, That many great exploits shall bring to fine." This said, he vanished from his sleeping friend, Like smoke in wind, or mist in Titan's shine; Sleep fled likewise, and in his troubled thought, With wonder, pleasure; joy, with marvel fought. XX The duke looked up, and saw the azure sky With argent beams of silver morning spread, And started up, for praise axed virtue lie In toil and travel, sin and shame in bed: His arms he took, his sword girt to his thigh, To his pavilion all his lords them sped, And there in council grave the princes sit, For strength by wisdom, war is ruled by wit. XXI Lord Guelpho there, within whose gentle breast Heaven had infused that new and sudden thought, His pleasing words thus to the duke addressed: "Good prince, mild, though unasked, kind, unbesought, Oh let thy mercy grant my just request, Pardon this fault by rage not malice wrought; For great offence, I grant, so late commit, My suit too hasty is, perchance unfit. XXII But since to Godfrey meek benign and kind, For Prince Rinaldo bold, I humbly sue, And that the suitor's self is not behind Thy greatest friends in state or friendship true; I trust I shall thy grace and mercy find Acceptable to me and all this crew; Oh call him home, this trespass to amend, He shall his blood in Godfrey's service spend. XXIII "And if not he, who else dares undertake Of this enchanted wood to cut one tree? Gainst death and danger who dares battle make, With so bold face, so fearless heart as he? Beat down these walls, these gates in pieces break, Leap o'er these rampires high, thou shalt him see, Restore therefore to this desirous band Their wish, their hope, their strength, their shield, their hand; XXIV "To me my nephew, to thyself restore A trusty help, when strength of hand thou needs, In idleness let him consume no more, Recall him to his noble acts and deeds! Known be his worth as was his strength of yore Wher'er thy standard broad her cross outspreads, Oh, let his fame and praise spread far and wide, Be thou his lord, his teacher and his guidel" XXV Thus he entreated, and the rest approve His words, with friendly murmurs whispered low. Godfrey as though their suit his mind did move To that whereon he never thought tell now, "How can my heart," quoth he, "if you I love, To your request and suit but bend and bow? Let rigor go, that right and justice be Wherein you all consent and all agree. XXVI "Rinaldo shall return; let him restrain Henceforth his headstrong wrath and hasty ire, And with his hardy deeds let him take pain To correspond your hope and my desire: Guelpho, thou must call home the knight again, See that with speed he to these tents retire, The messengers appoint as likes thy mind, And teach them where they should the young man find." XXVII Up start the Dane that bare Prince Sweno's brand, "I will," quoth he, "that message undertake, I will refuse no pains by sea or land, To give the knight this sword, kept for his sake." This man was bold of courage, strong of hand, Guelpho was glad he did the proffer make: "Thou shalt," quoth he, "Ubaldo shalt thou have To go with thee, a knight, stout, wise, and grave." XXVIII Ubaldo in his youth had known and seen The fashions strange of many an uncouth land, And travelled over all the realms between The Arctic circle and hot Meroe's strand, And as a man whose wit his guide had been, Their customs use he could, tongues understand, Forthy when spent his youthful seasons were Lord Guelpho entertained and held him dear. XXIX To these committed was the charge and care To find and bring again the champion bold, Guelpho commands them to the fort repair, Where Boemond doth his seat and sceptre hold, For public fame said that Bertoldo's heir There lived, there dwelt, there stayed; the hermit old, That knew they were misled by false report, Among them came, and parleyed in this sort: XXX "Sir knights," quoth he, "if you intend to ride, And follow each report fond people say, You follow but a rash and truthless guide That leads vain men amiss and makes them stray; Near Ascalon go to the salt seaside, Where a swift brook fails in with hideous sway, An aged sire, our friend, there shall you find, All what he saith, that do, that keep in mind. XXXI "Of this great voyage which you undertake, Much by his skill, and much by mine advise Hath he foreknown, and welcome for my sake You both shall be, the man is kind and wise." Instructed thus no further question make The twain elected for this enterprise, But humbly yielded to obey his word, For what the hermit said, that said the Lord. XXXII They took their leave, and on their journey went, Their will could brook no stay, their zeal, no let; To Ascalon their voyage straight they bent, Whose broken shores with brackish waves are wet, And there they heard how gainst the cliffs, besprent With bitter foam, the roaring surges bet, A tumbling brook their passage stopped and stayed, Which late-fall'n rain had proud and puissant made, XXXIII So proud that over all his banks he grew, And through the fields ran swift as shaft from bow, While here they stopped and stood, before them drew An aged sire, grave and benign in show, Crowned with a beechen garland gathered new, Clad in a linen robe that raught down low, In his right hand a rod, and on the flood Against the stream he marched, and dry shod yode. XXXIV As on the Rhene, when winter's freezing cold Congeals the streams to thick and hardened glass, The beauties fair of shepherds' daughters bold With wanton windlays run, turn, play and pass; So on this river passed the wizard old, Although unfrozen soft and swift it was, And thither stalked where the warriors stayed, To whom, their greetings done, he spoke and said: XXXV "Great pains, great travel, lords, you have begun, And of a cunning guide great need you stand, Far off, alas! is great Bertoldo's son, Imprisoned in a waste and desert land, What soil remains by which you must not run, What promontory, rock, sea, shore or sand Your search must stretch before the prince be found, Beyond our world, beyond our half of ground! XXXVI But yet vouchsafe to see my cell I pray, In hidden caves and vaults though builded low, Great wonders there, strange things I will bewray, Things good for you to hear, and fit to know:" This said, he bids the river make them way, The flood retired, backward gan to flow, And here and there two crystal mountains rise, So fled the Red Sea once, and Jordan thrice. XXXVII He took their hands, and led them headlong down Under the flood, through vast and hollow deeps, Such light they had as when through shadows brown Of thickest deserts feeble Cynthia peeps, Their spacious caves they saw all overflown, There all his waters pure great Neptune keeps, And thence to moisten all the earth he brings Seas, rivers, floods, lakes, fountains, wells and springs: XXXVIII Whence Ganges, Indus, Volga, Ister, Po, Whence Euphrates, whence Tigris' spring they view, Whence Tanais, whence Nilus comes also, Although his head till then no creature knew, But under these a wealthy stream doth go, That sulphur yields and ore, rich, quick and new, Which the sunbeams doth polish, purge and fine, And makes it silver pure, and gold divine. XXXIX And all his banks the rich and wealthy stream Hath fair beset with pearl and precious stone Like stars in sky or lamps on stage that seem, The darkness there was day, the night was gone, There sparkled, clothed in his azure-beam, The heavenly sapphire, there the jacinth shone, The carbuncle there flamed, the diamond sheen, There glistered bright, there smiled the emerald green. XL Amazed the knights amid these wonders passed, And fixed so deep the marvels in their thought, That not one word they uttered, till at last Ubaldo spake, and thus his guide besought: "O father, tell me by what skill thou hast These wonders done? and to what place us brought? For well I know not if I wake or sleep, My heart is drowned in such amazement deep." XLI "You are within the hollow womb," quoth he, "Of fertile earth, the nurse of all things made, And but you brought and guided are by me, Her sacred entrails could no wight invade; My palace shortly shall you splendent see, With glorious light, though built in night and shade. A Pagan was I born, but yet the Lord To grace, by baptism, hath my soul restored. XLII "Nor yet by help of devil, or aid from hell, I do this uncouth work and wondrous feat, The Lord forbid I use or charm or spell To raise foul Dis from his infernal seat: But of all herbs, of every spring and well, The hidden power I know and virtue great, And all that kind hath hid from mortal sight, And all the stars, their motions, and their might. XLIII "For in these caves I dwell not buried still From sight of Heaven, but often I resort To tops of Lebanon or Carmel hill, And there in liquid air myself disport, There Mars and Venus I behold at will! As bare as erst when Vulcan took them short, And how the rest roll, glide and move, I see, How their aspects benign or froward be." XLIV "And underneath my feet the clouds I view, Now thick, now thin, now bright with Iris' bow, The frost and snow, the rain, the hail, the dew, The winds, from whence they come and whence they blow, How Jove his thunder makes and lightning new, How with the bolt he strikes the earth below, How comate, crinite, caudate stars are framed I knew; my skill with pride my heart inflamed. XLV "So learned, cunning, wise, myself I thought, That I supposed my wit so high might climb To know all things that God had framed or wrought, Fire, air, sea, earth, man, beast, sprite, place and time; But when your hermit me to baptism brought, And from my soul had washed the sin and crime, Then I perceived my sight was blindness still, My wit was folly, ignorance my skill. XLVI "Then saw I, that like owls in shining sun, So gainst the beams of truth our souls are blind, And at myself to smile I then begun, And at my heart, puffed up with folly's wind, Yet still these arts, as I before had done, I practised, such was the hermit's mind: Thus hath he changed my thoughts, my heart, my will, And rules mine art, my knowledge, and my skill. XLVII "In him I rest, on him my thoughts depend, My lord, my teacher, and my guide is he, This noble work he strives to bring to end, He is the architect, the workmen we, The hardy youth home to this camp to send From prison strong, my care, my charge shall be; So He commands, and me ere this foretold Your coming oft, to seek the champion bold." XLVIII While this he said, he brought the champions twain Down to a vault, wherein he dwells and lies, It was a cave, high, wide, large, ample, plain, With goodly rooms, halls, chambers, galleries, All what is bred in rich and precious vein Of wealthy earth, and hid from mortal eyes, There shines, and fair adorned was every part With riches grown by kind, not framed by art: XLIX An hundred grooms, quick, diligent and neat, Attendance gave about these strangers bold, Against the wall there stood a cupboard great Of massive plate, of silver, crystal, gold. But when with precious wines and costly meat They filled were, thus spake the wizard old: "Now fits the time, sir knights, I tell and show What you desire to hear, and long to know. L "Armida's craft, her sleight and hidden guile You partly wot, her acts and arts untrue, How to your camp she came, and by what wile The greatest lords and princes thence she drew; You know she turned them first to monsters vile, And kept them since closed up in secret mew, Lastly, to Gaza-ward in bonds them sent, Whom young Rinaldo rescued as they went. LI "What chanced since I will at large declare, To you unknown, a story strange and true. When first her prey, got with such pain and care, Escaped and gone the witch perceived and knew, Her hands she wrung for grief, her clothes she tare, And full of woe these heavy words outthrew: 'Alas! my knights are slain, my prisoners free, Yet of that conquest never boast shall he, LII "'He in their place shall serve me, and sustain Their plagues, their torments suffer, sorrows bear, And they his absence shall lament in vain, And wail his loss and theirs with many a tear:' Thus talking to herself she did ordain A false and wicked guile, as you shall hear; Thither she hasted where the valiant knight Had overcome and slain her men in fight. LIII "Rinaldo there had dolt and left his own, And on his back a Pagan's harness tied, Perchance he deemed so to pass unknown, And in those arms less noted false to ride. A headless corse in fight late overthrown, The witch in his forsaken arms did hide, And by a brook exposed it on the sand Whither she wished would come a Christian band: LIV "Their coming might the dame foreknow right well, For secret spies she sent forth thousand ways, Which every day news from the camp might tell, Who parted thence, booties to search or preys: Beside, the sprites conjured by sacred spell, All what she asks or doubts, reveals and says, The body therefore placed she in that part That furthered best her sleight, her craft and art; LV "And near the corpse a varlet false and sly She left, attired in shepherd's homely weed, And taught him how to counterfeit and lie As time required, and he performed the deed; With him your soldiers spoke, of jealousy And false suspect mongst them he strewed the seed, That since brought forth the fruit of strife and jar, Of civil brawls, contention, discord, war. LVI "And as she wished so the soldiers thought By Godfrey's practice that the prince was slain, Yet vanished that suspicion false to naught When truth spread forth her silver wings again Her false devices thus Armida wrought, This was her first deceit, her foremost train; What next she practised, shall you hear me tell, Against our knight, and what thereof befell. LVII "Armida hunted him through wood and plain, Till on Orontes' flowery banks he stayed, There, where the stream did part and meet again And in the midst a gentle island made, A pillar fair was pight beside the main, Near which a little frigate floating laid, The marble white the prince did long behold, And this inscription read, there writ in gold: LVIII "'Whoso thou art whom will or chance doth bring With happy steps to flood Orontes' sides, Know that the world hath not so strange a thing, Twixt east and west, as this small island hides, Then pass and see, without more tarrying.' The hasty youth to pass the stream provides, And for the cogs was narrow, small and strait, Alone he rowed, and bade his squires there wait; LIX "Landed he stalks about, yet naught he sees But verdant groves, sweet shades, and mossy rocks With caves and fountains, flowers, herbs and trees, So that the words he read he takes for mocks: But that green isle was sweet at all degrees, Wherewith enticed down sits he and unlocks His closed helm, and bares his visage fair, To take sweet breath from cool and gentle air. LX "A rumbling sound amid the waters deep Meanwhile he heard, and thither turned his sight, And tumbling in the troubled stream took keep How the strong waves together rush and fight, Whence first he saw, with golden tresses, peep The rising visage of a virgin bright, And then her neck, her breasts, and all, as low As he for shame could see, or she could show. LXI "So in the twilight does sometimes appear A nymph, a goddess, or a fairy queen, And though no siren but a sprite this were Yet by her beauty seemed it she had been One of those sisters false which haunted near The Tyrrhene shores and kept those waters sheen, Like theirs her face, her voice was, and her sound, And thus she sung, and pleased both skies and ground: LXII "'Ye happy youths, who April fresh and May Attire in flowering green of lusty age, For glory vain, or virtue's idle ray, Do not your tender limbs to toil engage; In calm streams, fishes; birds, in sunshine play, Who followeth pleasure he is only sage, So nature saith, yet gainst her sacred will Why still rebel you, and why strive you still? LXIII "'O fools who youth possess, yet scorn the same, A precious, but a short-abiding treasure, Virtue itself is but an idle name, Prized by the world 'bove reason all and measure, And honor, glory, praise, renown and fame, That men's proud harts bewitch with tickling pleasure, An echo is, a shade, a dream, a flower, With each wind blasted, spoiled with every shower. LXIV "'But let your happy souls in joy possess The ivory castles of your bodies fair, Your passed harms salve with forgetfulness, Haste not your coming evils with thought and care, Regard no blazing star with burning tress, Nor storm, nor threatening sky, nor thundering air, This wisdom is, good life, and worldly bliss, Kind teacheth us, nature commands us this.' LXV "Thus sung the spirit false, and stealing sleep, To which her tunes enticed his heavy eyes, By step and step did on his senses creep, Still every limb therein unmoved lies, Not thunders loud could from this slumber deep, Of quiet death true image, make him rise: Then from her ambush forth Armida start, Swearing revenge, and threatening torments smart. LXVI "But when she looked on his face awhile, And saw how sweet he breathed, how still he lay, How his fair eyes though closed seemed to smile, At first she stayed, astound with great dismay, Then sat her down, so love can art beguile, And as she sat and looked, fled fast away Her wrath, that on his forehead gazed the maid, As in his spring Narcissus tooting laid; LXVII "And with a veil she wiped now and then From his fair cheeks the globes of silver sweat, And cool air gathered with a trembling fan, To mitigate the rage of melting heat, Thus, who would think it, his hot eye-glance can Of that cold frost dissolve the hardness great Which late congealed the heart of that fair dame, Who late a foe, a lover now became. LXVIII "Of woodbines, lilies, and of roses sweet, Which proudly flowered through that wanton plain, All platted fast, well knit, and joined meet, She framed a soft but surely holding chain, Wherewith she bound his neck his hands and feet; Thus bound, thus taken, did the prince remain, And in a coach which two old dragons drew, She laid the sleeping knight, and thence she flew: LXIX "Nor turned she to Damascus' kingdoms large, Nor to the fort built in Asphalte's lake, But jealous of her dear and precious charge, And of her love ashamed, the way did take, To the wide ocean whither skiff or barge From us doth seld or never voyage make, And there to frolic with her love awhile, She chose a waste, a sole and desert isle. LXX "An isle that with her fellows bears the name Of Fortunate, for temperate air and mould, There in a mountain high alight the dame, A hill obscured with shades of forests old, Upon whose sides the witch by art did frame Continual snow, sharp frost and winter cold, But on the top, fresh, pleasant, sweet and green, Beside a lake a palace built this queen. LXXI "There in perpetual sweet and flowering spring, She lives at ease, and joys her lord at will; The hardy youth from this strange prison bring Your valors must, directed by my skill, And overcome each monster and each thing, That guards the palace or that keeps the hill, Nor shall you want a guide, or engines fit, To bring you to the mount, or conquer it. LXXII "Beside the stream, yparted shall you find A dame, in visage young, but old in years, Her curled locks about her front are twined, A party-colored robe of silk she wears: This shall conduct you swift as air or wind, Or that flit bird that Jove's hot weapon bears, A faithful pilot, cunning, trusty, sure, As Tiphys was, or skilful Palinure. LXXIII "At the hill's foot, whereon the witch doth dwell, The serpents hiss, and cast their poison vilde, The ugly boars do rear their bristles fell, There gape the bears, and roar the lions wild; But yet a rod I have can easily quell Their rage and wrath, and make them meek and mild. Yet on the top and height of all the hill, The greatest danger lies, and greatest ill: LXXIV "There welleth out a fair, clear, bubbling spring, Whose waters pure the thirsty guests entice, But in those liquors cold the secret sting Of strange and deadly poison closed lies, One sup thereof the drinker's heart doth bring To sudden joy, whence laughter vain doth rise, Nor that strange merriment once stops or stays, Till, with his laughter's end, he end his days: LXXV "Then from those deadly, wicked streams refrain Your thirsty lips, despise the dainty cheer You find exposed upon the grassy plain, Nor those false damsels once vouchsafe to hear, That in melodious tunes their voices strain, Whose faces lovely, smiling, sweet, appear; But you their looks, their voice, their songs despise, And enter fair Armida's paradise. LXXVI "The house is builded like a maze within, With turning stairs, false doors and winding ways, The shape whereof plotted in vellum thin I will you give, that all those sleights bewrays, In midst a garden lies, where many a gin And net to catch frail hearts, false Cupid lays; There in the verdure of the arbors green, With your brave champion lies the wanton queen. LXXVII "But when she haply riseth from the knight, And hath withdrawn her presence from the place, Then take a shield I have of diamonds bright, And hold the same before the young man's face, That he may glass therein his garments light, And wanton soft attire, and view his case, That with the sight shame and disdain may move His heart to leave that base and servile love. LXXVIII "Now resteth naught that needful is to tell, But that you go secure, safe, sure and bold, Unseen the palace may you enter well, And pass the dangers all I have foretold, For neither art, nor charm, nor magic spell, Can stop your passage or your steps withhold, Nor shall Armida, so you guarded be, Your coming aught foreknow or once foresee: LXXIX "And eke as safe from that enchanted fort You shall return and scape unhurt away; But now the time doth us to rest exhort, And you must rise by peep of springing day." This said, he led them through a narrow port, Into a lodging fair wherein they lay, There glad and full of thoughts he left his guests, And in his wonted bed the old man rests. FIFTEENTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. The well instructed knights forsake their host, And come where their strange bark in harbor lay, And setting sail behold on Egypt's coast The monarch's ships and armies in array: Their wind and pilot good, the seas in post They pass, and of long journeys make short way: The far-sought isle they find; Armida's charms They scorn, they shun her sleights, despise her arms. I The rosy-fingered morn with gladsome ray Rose to her task from old Tithonus' lap When their grave host came where the warriors lay, And with him brought the shield, the rod, the map. "Arise," quoth he, "ere lately broken day, In his bright arms the round world fold or wrap, All what I promised, here I have them brought, Enough to bring Armida's charms to naught." II They started up, and every tender limb In sturdy steel and stubborn plate they dight, Before the old man stalked, they followed him Through gloomy shades of sad and sable night, Through vaults obscure again and entries dim, The way they came their steps remeasured right; But at the flood arrived, "Farewell," quoth he, "Good luck your aid, your guide good fortune be." III The flood received them in his bottom low And lilt them up above his billows thin; The waters so east up a branch or bough, By violence first plunged and dived therein: But when upon the shore the waves them throw, The knights for their fair guide to look begin, And gazing round a little bark they spied, Wherein a damsel sate the stern to guide. IV Upon her front her locks were curled new, Her eyes were courteous, full of peace and love; In look a saint, an angel bright in show, So in her visage grace and virtue strove; Her robe seemed sometimes red and sometimes blue, And changed still as she did stir or move; That look how oft man's eye beheld the same So oft the colors changed, went and came. V The feathers so, that tender, soft, and plain, About the dove's smooth neck close couched been, Do in one color never long remain, But change their hue gainst glimpse of Phoebus' sheen; And now of rubies bright a vermeil chain, Now make a carknet rich of emeralds green; Now mingle both, now alter, turn and change To thousand colors, rich, pure, fair, and strange. VI "Enter this boat, you happy men," she says, "Wherein through raging waves secure I ride, To which all tempest, storm, and wind obeys, All burdens light, benign is stream and tide: My lord, that rules your journeys and your ways, Hath sent me here, your servant and your guide." This said, her shallop drove she gainst the sand, And anchor cast amid the steadfast land. VII They entered in, her anchors she upwound, And launched forth to sea her pinnace flit, Spread to the wind her sails she broad unbound, And at the helm sat down to govern it, Swelled the flood that all his banks he drowned To bear the greatest ship of burthen fit; Yet was her fatigue little, swift and light, That at his lowest ebb bear it he might. VIII Swifter than thought the friendly wind forth bore The sliding boat upon the rolling wave, With curded foam and froth the billows hoar About the cable murmur roar and rave; At last they came where all his watery store The flood in one deep channel did engrave, And forth to greedy seas his streams he sent, And so his waves, his name, himself he spent. IX The wondrous boat scant touched the troubled main But all the sea still, hushed and quiet was, Vanished the clouds, ceased the wind and rain, The tempests threatened overblow and pass, A gentle breathing air made even and plain The azure face of heaven's smooth looking-glass, And heaven itself smiled from the skies above With a calm clearness on the earth his love. X By Ascalon they sailed, and forth drived, Toward the west their speedy course they frame, In sight of Gaza till the bark arrived, A little port when first it took that name; But since, by others' loss so well it thrived A city great and rich that it became, And there the shores and borders of the land They found as full of armed men as sand. XI The passengers to landward turned their sight, And there saw pitched many a stately tent, Soldier and footman, captain, lord and knight, Between the shore and city, came and went: Huge elephants, strong camels, coursers light, With horned hoofs the sandy ways outrent, And in the haven many a ship and boat, With mighty anchors fastened, swim and float; XII Some spread their sails, some with strong oars sweep The waters smooth, and brush the buxom wave, Their breasts in sunder cleave the yielding deep, The broken seas for anger foam and rave, When thus their guide began, "Sir knights, take keep How all these shores are spread with squadrons brave And troops of hardy knights, yet on these sands The monarch scant hath gathered half his bands. XIII "Of Egypt only these the forces are, And aid from other lands they here attend, For twixt the noon-day sun and morning star, All realms at his command do bow and bend; So that I trust we shall return from far, And bring our journey long to wished end, Before this king or his lieutenant shall These armies bring to Zion's conquered wall." XIV While thus she said, as soaring eagles fly Mongst other birds securely through the air, And mounting up behold with wakeful eye, The radiant beams of old Hyperion's hair, Her gondola so passed swiftly by Twixt ship and ship, withouten fear or care Who should her follow, trouble, stop or stay, And forth to sea made lucky speed and way. XV Themselves fornenst old Raffia's town they fand, A town that first to sailors doth appear As they from Syria pass to Egypt land: The sterile coasts of barren Rhinocere They passed, and seas where Casius hill doth stand That with his trees o'erspreads the waters near, Against whose roots breaketh the brackish wave Where Jove his temple, Pompey hath his grave: XVI Then Damiata next, where they behold How to the sea his tribute Nilus pays By his seven mouths renowned in stories old, And by an hundred more ignoble ways: They pass the town built by the Grecian bold, Of him called Alexandria till our days, And Pharaoh's tower and isle removed of yore Far from the land, now joined to the shore: XVII Both Crete and Rhodes they left by north unseen, And sailed along the coasts of Afric lands, Whose sea towns fair, but realms more inward been All full of monsters and of desert sands: With her five cities then they left Cyrene, Where that old temple of false Hammon stands: Next Ptolemais, and that sacred wood Whence spring the silent streams of Lethe flood. XVIII The greater Syrte, that sailors often cast In peril great of death and loss extreme, They compassed round about, and safely passed, The Cape Judeca and flood Magra's stream; Then Tripoli, gainst which is Malta placed, That low and hid, to lurk in seas doth seem: The little Syrte then, and Alzerhes isle, Where dwelt the folk that Lotos ate erewhile. XIX Next Tunis on the crooked shore they spied, Whose bay a rock on either side defends, Tunis all towns in beauty, wealth and pride Above, as far as Libya's bounds extends; Gainst which, from fair Sicilia's fertile side, His rugged front great Lilybaeum bends. The dame there pointed out where sometime stood Rome's stately rival whilom, Carthage proud; XX Great Carthage low in ashes cold doth lie, Her ruins poor the herbs in height scant pass, So cities fall, so perish kingdoms high, Their pride and pomp lies hid in sand and grass: Then why should mortal man repine to die, Whose life, is air; breath, wind; and body, glass? From thence the seas next Bisert's walls they cleft, And far Sardinia on their right hand left. XXI Numidia's mighty plains they coasted then, Where wandering shepherds used their flocks to feed, Then Bugia and Argier, the infamous den Of pirates false, Oran they left with speed, All Tingitan they swiftly overren, Where elephants and angry lions breed, Where now the realms of Fez and Maroc be, Gainst which Granada's shores and coasts they see. XXII Now are they there, where first the sea brake in By great Alcides' help, as stories feign, True may it be that where those floods begin It whilom was a firm and solid main Before the sea there through did passage win And parted Afric from the land of Spain, Abila hence, thence Calpe great upsprings, Such power hath time to change the face of things. XXIII Four times the sun had spread his morning ray Since first the dame launched forth her wondrous barge And never yet took port in creek or bay, But fairly forward bore the knights her charge; Now through the strait her jolly ship made way, And boldly sailed upon the ocean large; But if the sea in midst of earth was great, Oh what was this, wherein earth hath her seat? XXIV Now deep engulphed in the mighty flood They saw not Gades, nor the mountains near, Fled was the land, and towns on land that stood, Heaven covered sea, sea seemed the heavens to bear. "At last, fair lady," quoth Ubaldo good, "That in this endless main dost guide us here, If ever man before here sailed tell, Or other lands here be wherein men dwell." XXV "Great Hercules," quoth she, "when he had quailed The monsters fierce in Afric and in Spain, And all along your coasts and countries sailed, Yet durst he not assay the ocean main, Within his pillars would he have impaled The overdaring wit of mankind vain, Till Lord Ulysses did those bounders pass, To see and know he so desirous was. XXVI "He passed those pillars, and in open wave Of the broad sea first his bold sails untwined, But yet the greedy ocean was his grave, Naught helped him his skill gainst tide and wind; With him all witness of his voyage brave Lies buried there, no truth thereof we find, And they whom storm hath forced that way since, Are drowned all, or unreturned from thence: XXVII "So that this mighty sea is yet unsought, Where thousand isles and kingdoms lie unknown, Not void of men as some have vainly thought, But peopled well, and wonned like your own; The land is fertile ground, but scant well wrought, Air wholesome, temperate sun, grass proudly grown." "But," quoth Ubaldo, "dame, I pray thee teach Of that hid world, what be the laws and speech?" XXVIII "As diverse be their nations," answered she, "Their tongues, their rites, their laws so different are; Some pray to beasts, some to a stone or tree, Some to the earth, the sun, or morning star; Their meats unwholesome, vile, and hateful be, Some eat man's flesh, and captives ta'en in war, And all from Calpe's mountain west that dwell, In faith profane, in life are rude and fell." XXIX "But will our gracious God," the knight replied, "That with his blood all sinful men hath bought, His truth forever and his gospel hide From all those lands, as yet unknown, unsought?" "Oh no," quoth she, "his name both far and wide Shall there be known, all learning thither brought, Nor shall these long and tedious ways forever Your world and theirs, their lands, your kingdoms sever. XXX "The time shall come that sailors shall disdain To talk or argue of Alcides' streat, And lands and seas that nameless yet remain, Shall well be known, their boundaries, site and seat, The ships encompass shall the solid main, As far as seas outstretch their waters great, And measure all the world, and with the sun About this earth, this globe, this compass, run. XXXI "A knight of Genes shall have the hardiment Upon this wondrous voyage first to wend, Nor winds nor waves, that ships in sunder rent, Nor seas unused, strange clime, or pool unkenned, Nor other peril nor astonishment That makes frail hearts of men to bow and bend, Within Abilas' strait shall keep and hold The noble spirit of this sailor bold. XXXII "Thy ship, Columbus, shall her canvas wing Spread o'er that world that yet concealed lies, That scant swift fame her looks shall after bring, Though thousand plumes she have, and thousand eyes; Let her of Bacchus and Alcides sing, Of thee to future age let this suffice, That of thine acts she some forewarning give, Which shall in verse and noble story live." XXXIII Thus talking, swift twixt south and west they run, And sliced out twixt froth and foam their way; At once they saw before, the setting sun; Behind, the rising beam of springing day; And when the morn her drops and dews begun To scatter broad upon the flowering lay, Far off a hill and mountain high they spied, Whose top the clouds environ, clothe and hide; XXXIV And drawing near, the hill at ease they view, When all the clouds were molten, fallen and fled, Whose top pyramid-wise did pointed show, High, narrow, sharp, the sides yet more outspread, Thence now and then fire, flame and smoke outflew, As from that hill, whereunder lies in bed Enceladus, whence with imperious sway Bright fire breaks out by night, black smoke by day. XXXV About the hill lay other islands small, Where other rocks, crags, cliffs, and mountains stood, The Isles Fortunate these elder time did call, To which high Heaven they reigned so kind and good, And of his blessings rich so liberal, That without tillage earth gives corn for food, And grapes that swell with sweet and precious wine There without pruning yields the fertile vine. XXXVI The olive fat there ever buds and flowers, The honey-drops from hollow oaks distil, The falling brook her silver streams downpours With gentle murmur from their native hill, The western blast tempereth with dews and showers The sunny rays, lest heat the blossoms kill, The fields Elysian, as fond heathen sain, Were there, where souls of men in bliss remain. XXXVII To these their pilot steered, "And now," quoth she, "Your voyage long to end is brought well-near, The happy Isles of Fortune now you see, Of which great fame, and little truth, you hear, Sweet, wholesome, pleasant, fertile, fat they be, Yet not so rich as fame reports they were." This said, toward an island fresh she bore, The first of ten, that lies next Afric's shore; XXXVIII When Charles thus, "If, worthy governess, To our good speed such tarriance be no let, Upon this isle that Heaven so fair doth bless, To view the place, on land awhile us set, To know the folk and what God they confess, And all whereby man's heart may knowledge get, That I may tell the wonders therein seen Another day, and say, there have I been." XXXIX She answered him, "Well fits this high desire Thy noble heart, yet cannot I consent; For Heaven's decree, firm, stable, and entire, Thy wish repugns, and gainst thy will is bent, Nor yet the time hath Titan's gliding fire Met forth, prefixed for this discoverment, Nor is it lawful of the ocean main That you the secrets know, or known explain. XL "To you withouten needle, map or card It's given to pass these seas, and there arrive Where in strong prison lies your knight imbarred, And of her prey you must the witch deprive: If further to aspire you be prepared, In vain gainst fate and Heaven's decree you strive." While thus she said, the first seen isle gave place, And high and rough the second showed his face. XLI They saw how eastward stretched in order long, The happy islands sweetly flowering lay; And how the seas betwixt those isles enthrong, And how they shouldered land from land away: In seven of them the people rude among The shady trees their sheds had built of clay, The rest lay waste, unless wild beasts unseen, Or wanton nymphs, roamed on the mountains green. XLII A secret place they found in one of those, Where the cleft shore sea in his bosom takes, And 'twixt his stretched arms doth fold and close An ample bay, a rock the haven makes, Which to the main doth his broad back oppose, Whereon the roaring billow cleaves and breaks, And here and there two crags like turrets high, Point forth a port to all that sail thereby: XLIII The quiet seas below lie safe and still, The green wood like a garland grows aloft, Sweet caves within, cool shades and waters shrill, Where lie the nymphs on moss and ivy soft; No anchor there needs hold her frigate still, Nor cable twisted sure, though breaking oft: Into this desert, silent, quiet, glad, Entered the dame, and there her haven made. XLIV "The palace proudly built," quoth she, "behold, That sits on top of yonder mountain's height, Of Christ's true faith there lies the champion bold In idleness, love, fancy, folly light; When Phoebus shall his rising beams unfold, Prepare you gainst the hill to mount upright, Nor let this stay in your bold hearts breed care, For, save that one, all hours unlucky are; XLV "But yet this evening, if you make good speed, To that hill's foot with daylight might you pass." Thus said the dame their guide, and they agreed, And took their leave and leaped forth on the grass; They found the way that to the hill doth lead, And softly went that neither tired was, But at the mountain's foot they both arrived, Before the sun his team in waters dived. XLVI They saw how from the crags and clefts below His proud and stately pleasant top grew out, And how his sides were clad with frost and snow, The height was green with herbs and flowerets sout, Like hairy locks the trees about him grow, The rocks of ice keep watch and ward about, The tender roses and the lilies new, Thus art can nature change, and kind subdue. XLVII Within a thick, a dark and shady plot, At the hill's foot that night the warriors dwell, But when the sun his rays bright, shining, hot, Dispread of golden light the eternal well, "Up, up," they cried, and fiercely up they got, And climbed boldly gainst the mountain fell; But forth there crept, from whence I cannot say, An ugly serpent which forestalled their way. XLVIII Armed with golden scales his head and crest He lifted high, his neck swelled great with ire, Flamed his eyes, and hiding with his breast All the broad path, he poison breathed and fire, Now reached he forth in folds and forward pressed, Now would he back in rolls and heaps retire, Thus he presents himself to guard the place, The knights pressed forward with assured pace: XLIX Charles drew forth his brand to strike the snake; Ubaldo cried, "Stay, my companion dear, Will you with sword or weapon battle make Against this monster that affronts us here?" This said, he gan his charmed rod to shake, So that the serpent durst not hiss for fear, But fled, and dead for dread fell on the grass, And so the passage plain, eath, open was. L A little higher on the way they met A lion fierce that hugely roared and cried, His crest he reared high, and open set Of his broad-gaping jaws the furnace wide, His stern his back oft smote, his rage to whet, But when the sacred staff he once espied A trembling fear through his bold heart was spread, His native wrath was gone, and swift he fled. LI The hardy couple on their way forth wend, And met a host that on them roar and gape, Of savage beasts, tofore unseen, unkend, Differing in voice, in semblance, and in shape; All monsters which hot Afric doth forthsend, Twixt Nilus, Atlas, and the southern cape, Were all there met, and all wild beasts besides Hyrcania breeds, or Hyrcane forest hides. LII But yet that fierce, that strange and savage host Could not in presence of those worthies stand, But fled away, their heart and courage lost, When Lord Ubaldo shook his charming wand. No other let their passage stopped or crossed; Till on the mountain's top themselves they land, Save that the ice, the frost, and drifted snow, Oft made them feeble, weary, faint and slow. LIII But having passed all that frozen ground, And overgone that winter sharp and keen, A warm, mild, pleasant, gentle sky they found, That overspread a large and ample green, The winds breathed spikenard, myrrh, and balm around, The blasts were firm, unchanged, stable been, Not as elsewhere the winds now rise now fall, And Phoebus there aye shines, sets not at all. LIV Not as elsewhere now sunshine bright now showers, Now heat now cold, there interchanged were, But everlasting spring mild heaven down pours,-- In which nor rain, nor storm, nor clouds appear,-- Nursing to fields, their grass; to grass, his flowers; To flowers their smell; to trees, the leaves they bear: There by a lake a stately palace stands, That overlooks all mountains, seas and lands: LV The passage hard against the mountain steep These travellers had faint and weary made, That through those grassy plains they scantly creep; They walked, they rested oft, they went, they stayed, When from the rocks, that seemed for joy to weep, Before their feet a dropping crystal played Enticing them to drink, and on the flowers The plenteous spring a thousand streams down pours, LVI All which, united in the springing grass, Ate forth a channel through the tender green And underneath eternal shade did pass, With murmur shrill, cold, pure, and scantly seen; Yet so transparent, that perceived was The bottom rich, and sands that golden been, And on the brims the silken grass aloft Proffered them seats, sweet, easy, fresh and soft. LVII "See here the stream of laughter, see the spring," Quoth they, "of danger and of deadly pain, Here fond desire must by fair governing Be ruled, our lust bridled with wisdom's rein, Our ears be stopped while these Sirens sing, Their notes enticing man to pleasure vain." Thus passed they forward where the stream did make An ample pond, a large and spacious lake. LVIII There on a table was all dainty food That sea, that earth, or liquid air could give, And in the crystal of the laughing flood They saw two naked virgins bathe and dive, That sometimes toying, sometimes wrestling stood, Sometimes for speed and skill in swimming strive, Now underneath they dived, now rose above, And ticing baits laid forth of lust and love. LIX These naked wantons, tender, fair and white, Moved so far the warriors' stubborn hearts, That on their shapes they gazed with delight; The nymphs applied their sweet alluring arts, And one of them above the waters quite, Lift up her head, her breasts and higher parts, And all that might weak eyes subdue and take, Her lower beauties veiled the gentle lake. LX As when the morning star, escaped and fled From greedy waves, with dewy beams up flies, Or as the Queen of Love, new born and bred Of the Ocean's fruitful froth, did first arise: So vented she her golden locks forth shed Round pearls and crystal moist therein which lies: But when her eyes upon the knights she cast, She start, and feigned her of their sight aghast. LXI And her fair locks, that in a knot were tied High on her crown, she 'gan at large unfold; Which falling long and thick and spreading wide, The ivory soft and white mantled in gold: Thus her fair skin the dame would clothe and hide, And that which hid it no less fair was hold; Thus clad in waves and locks, her eyes divine, From them ashamed did she turn and twine. LXII Withal she smiled and she blushed withal, Her blush, her smilings, smiles her blushing graced: Over her face her amber tresses fall, Whereunder Love himself in ambush placed: At last she warbled forth a treble small, And with sweet looks her sweet songs interlaced; "Oh happy men I that have the grace," quoth she, "This bliss, this heaven, this paradise to see. LXIII "This is the place wherein you may assuage Your sorrows past, here is that joy and bliss That flourished in the antique golden age, Here needs no law, here none doth aught amiss: Put off those arms and fear not Mars his rage, Your sword, your shield, your helmet needless is; Then consecrate them here to endless rest, You shall love's champions be, and soldiers blest. LXIV "The fields for combat here are beds of down, Or heaped lilies under shady brakes; But come and see our queen with golden crown, That all her servants blest and happy makes, She will admit you gently for her own, Numbered with those that of her joy partakes: But first within this lake your dust and sweat Wash off, and at that table sit and eat." LXV While thus she sung, her sister lured them nigh With many a gesture kind and loving show, To music's sound as dames in court apply Their cunning feet, and dance now swift now slow: But still the knights unmoved passed by, These vain delights for wicked charms they know, Nor could their heavenly voice or angel's look, Surprise their hearts, if eye or ear they took. LXVI For if that sweetness once but touched their hearts, And proffered there to kindle Cupid's fire, Straight armed Reason to his charge up starts, And quencheth Lust, and killeth fond Desire; Thus scorned were the dames, their wiles and arts And to the palace gates the knights retire, While in their stream the damsels dived sad, Ashamed, disgraced, for that repulse they had. SIXTEENTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. The searchers pass through all the palace bright Where in sweet prison lies Rinaldo pent, And do so much, that full of rage and spite, With them he goes sad, shamed, discontent: With plaints and prayers to retain her knight Armida strives; he hears, but thence he went, And she forlorn her palace great and fair Destroys for grief, and flies thence through the air. I The palace great is builded rich and round, And in the centre of the inmost hold There lies a garden sweet, on fertile ground, Fairer than that where grew the trees of gold: The cunning sprites had buildings reared around With doors and entries false a thousandfold, A labyrinth they made that fortress brave, Like Daedal's prison, or Porsenna's grave. II The knights passed through the castle's largest gate, Though round about an hundred ports there shine, The door-leaves framed of carved silver-plate, Upon their golden hinges turn and twine. They stayed to view this work of wit and state. The workmanship excelled the substance fine, For all the shapes in that rich metal wrought, Save speech, of living bodies wanted naught. III Alcides there sat telling tales, and spun Among the feeble troops of damsels mild, He that the fiery gates of hell had won And heaven upheld; false Love stood by and smiled: Armed with his club fair Iole forth run, His club with blood of monsters foul defiled, And on her back his lion's skin had she, Too rough a bark for such a tender tree. IV Beyond was made a sea, whose azure flood The hoary froth crushed from the surges blue, Wherein two navies great well ranged stood Of warlike ships, fire from their arms outflew, The waters burned about their vessels good, Such flames the gold therein enchased threw, Caesar his Romans hence, the Asian kings Thence Antony and Indian princes brings. V The Cyclades seemed to swim amid the main, And hill gainst hill, and mount gainst mountain smote, With such great fury met those armies twain; Here burnt a ship, there sunk a bark or boat, Here darts and wild-fire flew, there drowned or slain Of princes dead the bodies fleet and float; Here Caesar wins, and yonder conquered been The Eastern ships, there fled the Egyptian queen: VI Antonius eke himself to flight betook, The empire lost to which he would aspire, Yet fled not he nor fight for fear forsook, But followed her, drawn on by fond desire: Well might you see within his troubled look, Strive and contend, love, courage, shame and ire; Oft looked he back, oft gazed he on the fight, But oftener on his mistress and her flight. VII Then in the secret creeks of fruitful Nile, Cast in her lap, he would sad death await, And in the pleasure of her lovely smile Sweeten the bitter stroke of cursed fate: All this did art with curious hand compile In the rich metal of that princely gate. The knights these stories viewed first and last, Which seen, they forward pressed, and in they passed: VIII As through his channel crooked Meander glides With turns and twines, and rolls now to, now fro, Whose streams run forth there to the salt sea sides Here back return and to their springward go: Such crooked paths, such ways this palace hides; Yet all the maze their map described so, That through the labyrinth they got in fine, As Theseus did by Ariadne's line. IX When they had passed all those troubled ways, The garden sweet spread forth her green to show, The moving crystal from the fountains plays, Fair trees, high plants, strange herbs and flowerets new, Sunshiny hills, dales hid from Phoebus' rays, Groves, arbors, mossy caves, at once they view, And that which beauty moat, most wonder brought, Nowhere appeared the art which all this wrought. X So with the rude the polished mingled was That natural seemed all and every part, Nature would craft in counterfeiting pass, And imitate her imitator art: Mild was the air, the skies were clear as glass, The trees no whirlwind felt, nor tempest smart, But ere the fruit drop off, the blossom comes, This springs, that falls, that ripeneth and this blooms. XI The leaves upon the self-same bough did hide Beside the young the old and ripened fig, Here fruit was green, there ripe with vermeil side, The apples new and old grew on one twig, The fruitful vine her arms spread high and wide That bended underneath their clusters big, The grapes were tender here, hard, young and sour, There purple ripe, and nectar sweet forth pour. XII The joyous birds, hid under greenwood shade, Sung merry notes on every branch and bough, The wind that in the leaves and waters played With murmur sweet, now sung, and whistled now; Ceased the birds, the wind loud answer made, And while they sung, it rumbled soft and low; Thus were it hap or cunning, chance or art, The wind in this strange music bore his part. XIII With party-colored plumes' and purple bill, A wondrous bird among the rest there flew, That in plain speech sung love-lays loud and shrill, Her leden was like human language true; So much she talked, and with such wit and skill, That strange it seemed how much good she knew, Her feathered fellows all stood hush to hear, Dumb was the wind, the waters silent were. XIV "The gently budding rose," quoth she, "behold, That first scant peeping forth with virgin beams, Half ope, half shut, her beauties doth upfold In their dear leaves, and less seen, fairer seems, And after spreads them forth more broad and bold, Then languisheth and dies in last extremes, Nor seems the same, that decked bed and bower Of many a lady late, and paramour; XV "So, in the passing of a day, doth pass The bud and blossom of the life of man, Nor e'er doth flourish more, but like the grass Cut down, becometh withered, pale and wan: Oh gather then the rose while time thou hast Short is the day, done when it scant began, Gather the rose of love, while yet thou mayest, Loving, be loved; embracing, be embraced." XVI He ceased, and as approving all he spoke, The choir of birds their heavenly tunes renew, The turtles sighed, and sighs with kisses broke, The fowls to shades unseen by pairs withdrew; It seemed the laurel chaste, and stubborn oak, And all the gentle trees on earth that grew, It seemed the land, the sea, and heaven above, All breathed out fancy sweet, and sighed out love. XVII Through all this music rare, and strong consent Of strange allurements, sweet bove mean and measure, Severe, firm, constant, still the knights forthwent, Hardening their hearts gainst false enticing pleasure, Twixt leaf and leaf their sight before they sent, And after crept themselves at ease and leisure, Till they beheld the queen, set with their knight Besides the lake, shaded with boughs from sight: XVIII Her breasts were naked, for the day was hot, Her locks unbound waved in the wanton wind; Some deal she sweat, tired with the game you wot, Her sweat-drops bright, white, round, like pearls of Ind; Her humid eyes a fiery smile forthshot That like sunbeams in silver fountains shined, O'er him her looks she hung, and her soft breast The pillow was, where he and love took rest. XIX His hungry eyes upon her face he fed, And feeding them so, pined himself away; And she, declining often down her head, His lips, his cheeks, his eyes kissed, as he lay, Wherewith he sighed, as if his soul had fled From his frail breast to hers, and there would stay With her beloved sprite: the armed pair These follies all beheld and this hot fare. XX Down by the lovers' side there pendent was A crystal mirror, bright, pure, smooth, and neat, He rose, and to his mistress held the glass, A noble page, graced with that service great; She, with glad looks, he with inflamed, alas, Beauty and love beheld, both in one seat; Yet them in sundry objects each espies, She, in the glass, he saw them in her eyes: XXI Her, to command; to serve, it pleased the knight; He proud of bondage; of her empire, she; "My dear," he said, "that blessest with thy sight Even blessed angels, turn thine eyes to me, For painted in my heart and portrayed right Thy worth, thy beauties and perfections be, Of which the form; the shape and fashion best, Not in this glass is seen, but in my breast. XXII "And if thou me disdain, yet be content At least so to behold thy lovely hue, That while thereon thy looks are fixed and bent Thy happy eyes themselves may see and view; So rare a shape no crystal can present, No glass contain that heaven of beauties true; Oh let the skies thy worthy mirror be! And in dear stars try shape and image see." XXIII And with that word she smiled, and ne'ertheless Her love-toys still she used, and pleasures bold! Her hair, that done, she twisted up in tress, And looser locks in silken laces rolled, Her curles garlandwise she did up-dress, Wherein, like rich enamel laid on gold, The twisted flowers smiled, and her white breast The lilies there that spring with roses dressed. XXIV The jolly peacock spreads not half so fair The eyed feathers of his pompous train; Nor golden Iris so bends in the air Her twenty-colored bow, through clouds of rain; Yet all her ornaments, strange, rich and rare, Her girdle did in price and beauty stain, Nor that, with scorn, which Tuscan Guilla lost, Igor Venus Ceston, could match this for cost. XXV Of mild denays, of tender scorns, of sweet Repulses, war, peace, hope, despair, joy, fear, Of smiles, jests, mirth, woe, grief, and sad regreet, Sighs, sorrows, tears, embracements, kisses dear, That mixed first by weight and measure meet, Then at an easy fire attempered were, This wondrous girdle did Armida frame, And, when she would be loved, wore the same. XXVI But when her wooing fit was brought to end, She congee took, kissed him, and went her way; For once she used every day to wend Bout her affairs, her spells and charms to say: The youth remained, yet had no power to bend One step from thence, but used there to stray Mongst the sweet birds, through every walk and grove Alone, save for an hermit false called Love. XXVII And when the silence deep and friendly shade Recalled the lovers to their wonted sport, In a fair room for pleasure built, they laid, And longest nights with joys made sweet and short. Now while the queen her household things surveyed, And left her lord her garden and disport, The twain that hidden in the bushes were Before the prince in glistering arms appear: XXVIII As the fierce steed for age withdrawn from war Wherein the glorious beast had always wone, That in vile rest from fight sequestered far, Feeds with the mares at large, his service done, If arms he see, or hear the trumpet's jar, He neigheth loud and thither fast doth run, And wiseth on his back the armed knight, Longing for jousts, for tournament and fight: XXIX So fared Rinaldo when the glorious light Of their bright harness glistered in his eyes, His noble sprite awaked at that sight His blood began to warm, his heart to rise, Though, drunk with ease, devoid of wonted might On sleep till then his weakened virtue lies. Ubaldo forward stepped, and to him hield Of diamonds clear that pure and precious shield. XXX Upon the targe his looks amazed he bent, And therein all his wanton habit spied, His civet, balm, and perfumes redolent, How from his locks they smoked and mantle wide, His sword that many a Pagan stout had shent, Bewrapped with flowers, hung idly by his side, So nicely decked that it seemed the knight Wore it for fashion's sake but not for fight. XXXI As when, from sleep and idle dreams abraid, A man awaked calls home his wits again; So in beholding his attire he played, But yet to view himself could not sustain, His looks he downward cast and naught he said, Grieved, shamed, sad, he would have died fain, And oft he wished the earth or ocean wide Would swallow him, and so his errors hide. XXXII Ubaldo took the time, and thus begun, "All Europe now and Asia be in war, And all that Christ adore and fame have won, In battle strong, in Syria fighting are; But thee alone, Bertoldo's noble son, This little corner keeps, exiled far From all the world, buried in sloth and shame, A carpet champion for a wanton dame. XXXIII "What letharge hath in drowsiness up-penned Thy courage thus? what sloth doth thee infect? Up, up, our camp and Godfrey for thee send, Thee fortune, praise and victory expect, Come, fatal champion, bring to happy end This enterprise begun, all that sect Which oft thou shaken hast to earth full low With thy sharp brand strike down, kill, overthrow." XXXIV This said, the noble infant stood a space Confused, speechless, senseless, ill-ashamed; But when that shame to just disdain gave place, To fierce disdain, from courage sprung untamed, Another redness blushed through his face, Whence worthy anger shone, displeasure flamed, His nice attire in scorn he rent and tore, For of his bondage vile that witness bore; XXXV That done, he hasted from the charmed fort, And through the maze passed with his searchers twain. Armida of her mount and chiefest port Wondered to find the furious keeper slain, Awhile she feared, but she knew in short, That her dear lord was fled, then saw she plain, Ah, woful sight! how from her gates the man In haste, in fear, in wrath, in anger ran. XXXVI "Whither, O cruel! leavest thou me alone?" She would have cried, her grief her speeches stayed, So that her woful words are backward gone, And in her heart a bitter echo made; Poor soul, of greater skill than she was one Whose knowledge from her thus her joy conveyed, This wist she well, yet had desire to prove If art could keep, if charms recall her love. XXXVII All what the witches of Thessalia land, With lips unpure yet ever said or spake, Words that could make heaven's rolling circles stand, And draw the damned ghosts from Limbo lake, All well she knew, but yet no time she fand To use her knowledge or her charms to make, But left her arts, and forth she ran to prove If single beauty were best charm for love. XXXVIII She ran, nor of her honor took regard, Oh where be all her vaunts and triumphs now? Love's empire great of late she made or marred, To her his subjects humbly bend and bow, And with her pride mixed was a scorn so hard, That to be loved she loved, yet whilst they woo Her lovers all she hates; that pleased her will To conquer men, and conquered so, to kill. XXXIX But now herself disdained, abandoned, Ran after him; that from her fled in scorn, And her despised beauty labored With humble plaints and prayers to adorn: She ran and hasted after him that fled, Through frost and snow, through brier, bush and thorn, And sent her cries on message her before, That reached not him till he had reached the shore. XL "Oh thou that leav'st but half behind," quoth she, "Of my poor heart, and half with thee dost carry, Oh take this part, or render that to me, Else kill them both at once, ah tarry, tarry: Hear my last words, no parting kiss of thee I crave, for some more fit with thee to marry Keep them, unkind; what fear'st thou if thou stay? Thou may'st deny, as well as run away." XLI At this Rinaldo stopped, stood still, and stayed, She came, sad, breathless, weary, faint and weak, So woe-begone was never nymph or maid And yet her beauty's pride grief could not break, On him she looked, she gazed, but naught she said, She would not, could not, or she durst not speak, At her he looked not, glanced not, if he did, Those glances shamefaced were, close, secret, hid. XLII As cunning singers, ere they strain on high, In loud melodious tunes, their gentle voice, Prepare the hearers' ears to harmony With feignings sweet, low notes and warbles choice: So she, not having yet forgot pardie Her wonted shifts and sleights in Cupid's toys, A sequence first of sighs and sobs forthcast, To breed compassion dear, then spake at last: XLIII "Suppose not, cruel, that I come to vow Or pray, as ladies do their loves and lords; Such were we late, if thou disdain it now, Or scorn to grant such grace as love affords, At least yet as an enemy listen thou: Sworn foes sometimes will talk and chaffer words, For what I ask thee, may'st thou grant right well, And lessen naught thy wrath and anger fell. XLIV "If me thou hate, and in that hate delight, I come not to appease thee, hate me still, It's like for like; I bore great hate and spite Gainst Christians all, chiefly I wish thee ill: I was a Pagan born, and all my might Against Godfredo bent, mine art and skill: I followed thee, took thee, and bore thee far, To this strange isle, and kept thee safe from war. XLV "And more, which more thy hate may justly move, More to thy loss, more to thy shame and grief, I thee inchanted, and allured to love, Wicked deceit, craft worthy sharp reprief; Mine honor gave I thee all gifts above, And of my beauties made thee lord and chief, And to my suitors old what I denayed, That gave I thee, my lover new, unprayed. XLVI "But reckon that among, my faults, and let Those many wrongs provoke thee so to wrath, That hence thou run, and that at naught thou set This pleasant house, so many joys which hath; Go, travel, pass the seas, fight, conquest get, Destroy our faith, what shall I say, our faith? Ah no! no longer ours; before thy shrine Alone I pray, thou cruel saint of mine; XLVII "All only let me go with thee, unkind, A small request although I were thy foe, The spoiler seldom leaves the prey behind, Who triumphs lets his captives with him go; Among thy prisoners poor Armida bind, And let the camp increase thy praises so, That thy beguiler so thou couldst beguile, And point at me, thy thrall and bondslave vile. XLVIII "Despised bondslave, since my lord doth hate These locks, why keep I them or hold them dear? Come cut them off, that to my servile state My habit answer may, and all my gear: I follow thee in spite of death and fate, Through battles fierce where dangers most appear, Courage I have, and strength enough perchance, To lead thy courser spare, and bear thy lance: XLIX "I will or bear, or be myself, thy shield, And to defend thy life, will lose mine own: This breast, this bosom soft shall be thy bield Gainst storms of arrows, darts and weapons thrown; Thy foes, pardie, encountering thee in field, Will spare to strike thee, mine affection known, Lest me they wound, nor will sharp vengeance take On thee, for this despised beauty's sake. L "O wretch! dare I still vaunt, or help invoke From this poor beauty, scorned and disdained?" She said no more, her tears her speeches broke, Which from her eyes like streams from springs down rained: She would have caught him by the hand or cloak, But he stepped backward, and himself restrained, Conquered his will, his heart ruth softened not, There plaints no issue, love no entrance got. LI Love entered not to kindle in his breast, Which Reason late had quenched, his wonted flame; Yet entered Pity in the place at least, Love's sister, but a chaste and sober dame, And stirred him so, that hardly he suppressed The springing tears that to his eyes up came; But yet even there his plaints repressed were, And, as he could, he looked, and feigned cheer. LII "Madam," quoth he, "for your distress I grieve, And would amend it, if I might or could. From your wise heart that fond affection drive: I cannot hate nor scorn you though I would, I seek no vengeance, wrongs I all forgive, Nor you my servant nor my foe I hold, Truth is, you erred, and your estate forgot, Too great your hate was, and your love too hot. LIII "But those are common faults, and faults of kind, Excused by nature, by your sex and years; I erred likewise, if I pardon find None can condemn you, that our trespass hears; Your dear remembrance will I keep in mind, In joys, in woes, in comforts, hopes and fears, Call me your soldier and your knight, as far As Christian faith permits, and Asia's war. LIV "Ah, let our faults and follies here take end, And let our errors past you satisfy, And in this angle of the world ypend, Let both the fame and shame thereof now die, From all the earth where I am known and kenned, I wish this fact should still concealed lie: Nor yet in following me, poor knight, disgrace Your worth, your beauty, and your princely race. LV "Stay here in peace, I go, nor wend you may With me, my guide your fellowship denies, Stay here or hence depart some better way, And calm your thoughts, you are both sage and wise." While thus he spoke, her passions found no stay, But here and there she turned and rolled her eyes, And staring on his face awhile, at last Thus in foul terms, her bitter wrath forth brast: LVI "Of Sophia fair thou never wert the child, Nor of the Azzain race ysprung thou art, The mad sea-waves thee hare, some tigress wild On Caucasus' cold crags nursed thee apart; Ah, cruel man l in whom no token mild Appears, of pity, ruth, or tender heart, Could not my griefs, my woes, my plaints, and all One sigh strain from thy breast, one tear make fall? LVII "What shall I say, or how renew my speech? He scorns me, leaves me, bids me call him mine: The victor hath his foe within his reach; Yet pardons her, that merits death and pine; Hear how he counsels me; how he can preach, Like chaste Xenocrates, gainst love divine; O heavens, O gods! why do these men of shame, Thus spoil your temples and blaspheme your name? LVIII "Go cruel, go, go with such peace, such rest, Such joy, such comfort, as thou leavest me here: My angry soul discharged from this weak breast, Shall haunt thee ever, and attend thee near, And fury-like in snakes and firebrands dressed, Shall aye torment thee, whom it late held dear: And if thou 'scape the seas, the rocks, and sands And come to fight among the Pagan bands, LIX "There lying wounded, mongst the hurt and slain, Of these my wrongs thou shalt the vengeance bear, And oft Armida shalt thou call in vain, At thy last gasp; this hope I soon to hear:" Here fainted she, with sorrow, grief and pain, Her latest words scant well expressed were, But in a swoon on earth outstretched she lies, Stiff were her frozen limbs, closed were her eyes. LX Thou closed thine eyes, Armida, heaven envied Ease to thy grief, or comfort to thy woe; Ah, open then again, see tears down slide From his kind eyes, whom thou esteem'st thy foe, If thou hadst heard, his sighs had mollified Thine anger, hard he sighed and mourned so; And as he could with sad and rueful look His leave of thee and last farewell he took. LXI What should he do? leave on the naked sand This woful lady half alive, half dead? Kindness forbade, pity did that withstand; But hard constraint, alas! did thence him lead; Away he went, the west wind blew from land Mongst the rich tresses of their pilot's head, And with that golden sail the waves she cleft, To land he looked, till land unseen he left. LXII Waked from her trance, foresaken, speechless, sad, Armida wildly stared and gazed about, "And is he gone," quoth she, "nor pity had To leave me thus twixt life and death in doubt? Could he not stay? could not the traitor-lad From this last trance help or recall me out? And do I love him still, and on this sand Still unrevenged, still mourn, still weeping stand? LXIII "Fie no! complaints farewell! with arms and art I will pursue to death this spiteful knight, Not earth's low centre, nor sea's deepest part, Not heaven, nor hell, can shield him from my might, I will o'ertake him, take him, cleave his heart, Such vengeance fits a wronged lover's spite, In cruelty that cruel knight surpass I will, but what avail vain words, alas? LXIV "O fool! thou shouldest have been cruel than, For then this cruel well deserved thine ire, When thou in prison hadst entrapped the man, Now dead with cold, too late thou askest fire; But though my wit, my cunning nothing can, Some other means shall work my heart's desire, To thee, my beauty, thine be all these wrongs, Vengeance to thee, to thee revenge belongs. LXV "Thou shalt be his reward, with murdering brand That dare this traitor of his head deprive, O you my lovers, on this rock doth stand The castle of her love for whom you strive, I, the sole heir of all Damascus land, For this revenge myself and kingdom give, If by this price my will I cannot gain, Nature gives beauty; fortune, wealth in vain. LXVI "But thee, vain gift, vain beauty, thee I scorn, I hate the kingdom which I have to give, I hate myself, and rue that I was born, Only in hope of sweet revenge I live." Thus raging with fell ire she gan return From that bare shore in haste, and homeward drive, And as true witness of her frantic ire, Her locks waved loose, face shone, eyes sparkled fire. LXVII When she came home, she called with outcries shrill, A thousand devils in Limbo deep that won, Black clouds the skies with horrid darkness fill, And pale for dread became the eclipsed sun, The whirlwind blustered big on every hill, And hell to roar under her feet begun, You might have heard how through the palace wide, Some spirits howled, some barked, some hissed, some cried. LXVIII A shadow, blacker than the mirkest night, Environed all the place with darkness sad, Wherein a firebrand gave a dreadful light, Kindled in hell by Tisiphone the mad; Vanished the shade, the sun appeared in sight, Pale were his beams, the air was nothing glad, And all the palace vanished was and gone, Nor of so great a work was left one stone. LXIX As oft the clouds frame shapes of castles great Amid the air, that little time do last, But are dissolved by wind or Titan's heat, Or like vain dreams soon made, and sooner past: The palace vanished so, nor in his seat Left aught but rocks and crags, by kind there placed; She in her coach which two old serpents drew, Sate down, and as she used, away she flew. LXX She broke the clouds, and cleft the yielding sky, And bout her gathered tempest, storm and wind, The lands that view the south pole flew she by, And left those unknown countries far behind, The Straits of Hercules she passed, which lie Twixt Spain and Afric, nor her flight inclined To north or south, but still did forward ride O'er seas and streams, till Syria's coasts she spied. LXXI Now she went forward to Damascus fair, But of her country dear she fled the sight, And guided to Asphaltes' lake her chair, Where stood her castle, there she ends her flight, And from her damsels far, she made repair To a deep vault, far from resort and light, Where in sad thoughts a thousand doubts she cast, Till grief and shame to wrath gave place at last. LXXII "I will not hence," quoth she, "till Egypt's lord In aid of Zion's king his host shall move; Then will I use all helps that charms afford, And change my shape or sex if so behove: Well can I handle bow, or lance, or sword, The worthies all will aid me, for my love: I seek revenge, and to obtain the same, Farewell, regard of honor; farewell, shame. LXXIII "Nor let mine uncle and protector me Reprove for this, he most deserves the blame, My heart and sex, that weak and tender be, He bent to deeds that maidens ill became; His niece a wandering damsel first made he, He spurred my youth, and I cast off my shame, His be the fault, if aught gainst mine estate I did for love, or shall commit for hate." LXXIV This said, her knights, her ladies, pages, squires She all assembleth, and for journey fit In such fair arms and vestures them attires As showed her wealth, and well declared her wit; And forward marched, full of strange desires, Nor rested she by day or night one whit, Till she came there, where all the eastern bands, Their kings and princes, lay on Gaza's sands. SEVENTEENTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. Egypt's great host in battle-ray forth brought, The Caliph sends with Godfrey's power to fight; Armida, who Rinaldo's ruin sought, To them adjoins herself and Syria's might. To satisfy her cruel will and thought, She gives herself to him that kills her knight: He takes his fatal arms, and in his shield His ancestors and their great deeds beheld. I Gaza the city on the frontier stands Of Juda's realm, as men to Egypt ride, Built near the sea, beside it of dry sands Huge wildernesses lie and deserts wide Which the strong winds lift from the parched lands And toss like roaring waves in roughest tide, That from those storms poor passengers almost No refuge find, but there are drowned and lost. II Within this town, won from the Turks of yore Strong garrison the king of Egypt placed, And for it nearer was, and fitted more That high emprise to which his thoughts he cast, He left great Memphis, and to Gaza bore His regal throne, and there, from countries vast Of his huge empire all the puissant host Assembled he, and mustered on the coast. III Come say, my Muse, what manner times these were, And in those times how stood the state of things, What power this monarch had, what arms they bear, What nations subject, and what friends he brings; From all lands the southern ocean near, Or morning star, came princes, dukes and kings, And only thou of half the world well-nigh The armies, lords, and captains canst descry. IV When Egypt from the Greekish emperor Rebelled first, and Christ's true faith denied, Of Mahomet's descent a warrior There set his throne and ruled that kingdom wide, Caliph he hight, and Caliphs since that hour Are his successors named all beside: So Nilus old his kings long time had seen That Ptolemies and Pharaohs called had been. V Established was that kingdom in short while, And grew so great, that over Asia's lands And Lybia's realms it stretched many a mile, From Syria's coasts as far as Cirene sands, And southward passed gainst the course of Nile, Through the hot clime where burnt Syene stands, Hence bounded in with sandy deserts waste, And thence with Euphrates' rich flood embraced. VI Maremma, myrrh and spices that doth bring, And all the rich red sea it comprehends, And to those lands, toward the morning spring That lie beyond that gulf, it far extends; Great is that empire, greater by the king That rules it now, whose worth the land amends, And makes more famous, lord thereof by blood, By wisdom, valor, and all virtues good. VII With Turks and Persians war he oft did wage, And oft he won, and sometimes lost the field, Nor could his adverse fortune aught assuage His valor's heat or make his proud heart yield, But when he grew unfit for war through age, He sheathed his sword and laid aside his shield: But yet his warlike mind he laid not down, Nor his great thirst of rule, praise and renown, VIII But by his knights still cruel wars maintained. So wise his words, so quick his wit appears, That of the kingdom large o'er which he reigned, The charge seemed not too weighty for his years; His greatness Afric's lesser kings constrained To tremble at his name, all Ind him fears, And other realms that would his friendship hold; Some armed soldiers sent, some gifts, some gold. IX This mighty prince assembled had the flower Of all his realms, against the Frenchmen stout, To break their rising empire and their power, Nor of sure conquest had he fear or doubt: To him Armida came, even at the hour When in the plains, old Gaza's walls without, The lords and leaders all their armies bring In battle-ray, mustered before their king. X He on his throne was set, to which on height Who clomb an hundred ivory stairs first told, Under a pentise wrought of silver bright, And trod on carpets made of silk and gold; His robes were such as best beseemen might A king, so great, so grave, so rich, so old, And twined of sixty ells of lawn and more A turban strange adorned his tresses hoar. XI His right hand did his precious sceptre wield, His beard was gray, his looks severe and grave, And from his eyes, not yet made dim with eild, Sparkled his former worth and vigor brave, His gestures all the majesty upheild And state, as his old age and empire crave, So Phidias carved, Apelles so, pardie, Erst painted Jove, Jove thundering down from sky. XII On either side him stood a noble lord, Whereof the first held in his upright hand Of severe justice the unpartial sword; The other bare the seal, and causes scanned, Keeping his folk in peace and good accord, And termed was lord chancellor of the land; But marshal was the first, and used to lead His armies forth to war, oft with good speed. XIII Of bold Circassians with their halberts long, About his throne his guards stood in a ring, All richly armed in gilden corslets strong, And by their sides their crooked swords down hing: Thus set, thus seated, his grave lords among, His hosts and armies great beheld the king, And every band as by his throne it went, Their ensigns low inclined, and arms down bent: XIV Their squadrons first the men of Egypt show, In four troops, and each his several guide, Of the high country two, two of the low Which Nile had won out of the salt seaside, His fertile slime first stopped the waters' flow, Then hardened to firm land the plough to bide, So Egypt still increased, within far placed That part is now where ships erst anchor cast. XV The foremost band the people were that dwelled In Alexandria's rich and fertile plain, Along the western shore, whence Nile expelled The greedy billows of the swelling main; Araspes was their guide, who more excelled In wit and craft than strength or warlike pain, To place an ambush close, or to devise A treason false, was none so sly, so wise. XVI The people next that gainst the morning rays Along the coasts of Asia have their seat, Arontes led them, whom no warlike praise Ennobled, but high birth and titles great, His helm ne'er made him sweat in toilsome frays, Nor was his sleep e'er broke with trumpet's threat, But from soft ease to try the toil of fight His fond ambition brought this carpet knight. XVII The third seemed not a troop or squadron small, But an huge host; nor seemed it so much grain In Egypt grew as to sustain them all; Yet from one town thereof came all that train, A town in people to huge shires equal, That did a thousand streets and more contain, Great Caire it hight, whose commons from each side Came swarming out to war, Campson their guide. XVIII Next under Gazel marched they that plough The fertile lands above that town which lie Up to the place where Nilus tumbling low Falls from his second cataract from high; The Egyptians weaponed were with sword and bow, No weight of helm or hauberk list they try, And richly armed, in their strong foes no dreed Of death but great desire of spoil they breed. XIX The naked folk of Barca these succeed, Unarmed half, Alarcon led that band, That long in deserts lived, in extreme need, On spoils and preys purchased by strength of hand. To battle strong unfit, their king did lead His army next brought from Zumara land. Then he of Tripoli, for sudden fight And skirmish short, both ready, bold, and light. XX Two captains next brought forth their bands to show Whom Stony sent and Happy Araby, Which never felt the cold of frost and snow, Or force of burning heat, unless fame lie, Where incense pure and all sweet odors grow, Where the sole phoenix doth revive, not die, And midst the perfumes rich and flowerets brave Both birth and burial, cradle hath and grave. XXI Their clothes not rich, their garments were not gay, But weapons like the Egyptian troops they had, The Arabians next that have no certain stay, No house, no home, no mansion good or bad, But ever, as the Scythian hordes stray, From place to place their wandering cities gad: These have both voice and stature feminine, Hair long and black, black face, and fiery eyne. XXII Long Indian canes, with iron armed, they bear, And as upon their nimble steeds they ride, Like a swift storm their speedy troops appear, If winds so fast bring storms from heavens wide: By Syphax led the first Arabians were; Aldine the second squadron had no guide, And Abiazar proud, brought to the fight The third, a thief, a murderer, not a knight. XXIII The islanders came then their prince before Whose lands Arabia's gulf enclosed about, Wherein they fish and gather oysters store, Whose shells great pearls rich and round pour out; The Red Sea sent with them from his left shore, Of negroes grim a black and ugly rout; These Agricalt and those Osmida brought, A man that set law, faith and truth at naught. XXIV The Ethiops next which Meroe doth breed, That sweet and gentle isle of Meroe, Twixt Nile and Astrabore that far doth spread, Where two religions are, and kingdoms three, These Assimiro and Canario led, Both kings, both Pagans, and both subjects be To the great Caliph, but the third king kept Christ's sacred faith, nor to these wars outstepped. XXV After two kings, both subjects also, ride, And of two bands of archers had the charge, The first Soldan of Ormus placed in the wide Huge Persian Bay, a town rich, fair, and large: The last of Boecan, which at every tide The sea cuts off from Persia's southern marge, And makes an isle; but when it ebbs again, The passage there is sandy, dry and plain. XXVI Nor thee, great Altamore, in her chaste bed Thy loving queen kept with her dear embrace, She tore her locks, she smote her breast, and shed Salt tears to make thee stay in that sweet place, "Seem the rough seas more calm, cruel," she said, "Than the mild looks of thy kind spouse's face? Or is thy shield, with blood and dust defiled, A dearer armful than thy tender child?" XXVII This was the mighty king of Samarcand, A captain wise, well skilled in feats of war, In courage fierce, matchless for strength of hand, Great was his praise, his force was noised far; His worth right well the Frenchmen understand, By whom his virtues feared and loved are: His men were armed with helms and hauberks strong, And by their sides broad swords and maces hong. XXVIII Then from the mansions bright of fresh Aurore Adrastus came, the glorious king of Ind, A snake's green skin spotted with black he wore, That was made rich by art and hard by kind, An elephant this furious giant bore, He fierce as fire, his mounture swift as wind; Much people brought he from his kingdoms wide, Twixt Indus, Ganges, and the salt seaside. XXIX The king's own troop come next, a chosen crew, Of all the camp the strength, the crown, the flower, Wherein each soldier had with honors due Rewarded been, for service ere that hour; Their arms were strong for need, and fair for show, Upon fierce steeds well mounted rode this power, And heaven itself with the clear splendor shone Of their bright armor, purple, gold and stone. XXX Mongst these Alarco fierce, and Odemare The muster master was, and Hidraort, And Rimedon, whose rashness took no care To shun death's bitter stroke, in field or fort, Tigranes, Rapold stem, the men that fare By sea, that robbed in each creek and port, Ormond, and Marlabust the Arabian named, Because that land rebellious he reclaimed. XXXI There Pirga, Arimon, Orindo are, Brimarte the scaler, and with him Suifant The breaker of wild horses brought from far; Then the great wresteler strong Aridamant, And Tisapherne, the thunderbolt of war, Whom none surpassed, whom none to match durst vaunt At tilt, at tourney, or in combat brave, With spear or lance, with sword, with mace or glaive. XXXII A false Armenian did this squadron guide, That in his youth from Christ's true faith and light To the blind lore of Paganism did slide, That Clement late, now Emireno, hight; Yet to his king he faithful was, and tried True in all causes, his in wrong and right: A cunning leader and a soldier bold, For strength and courage, young; for wisdom, old. XXXIII When all these regiments were passed and gone, Appeared Armide, and came her troop to show; Set in a chariot bright with precious stone, Her gown tucked up, and in her hand a bow; In her sweet face her new displeasures shone, Mixed with the native beauties there which grow, And quickened so her looks that in sharp wise It seems she threats and yet her threats entice. XXXIV Her chariot like Aurora's glorious wain, With carbuncles and jacinths glistered round: Her coachman guided with the golden rein Four unicorns, by couples yoked and bound; Of squires and lovely ladies hundreds twain, Whose rattling quivers at their backs resound, On milk-white steeds, wait on the chariot bright, Their steeds to manage, ready; swift, to flight. XXXV Followed her troop led forth by Aradin, Which Hidraort from Syria's kingdom sent, As when the new-born phoenix doth begin To fly to Ethiop-ward, at the fair bent Of her rich wings strange plumes and feathers thin Her crowns and chains with native gold besprent, The world amazed stands; and with her fly An host of wondering birds, that sing and cry: XXXVI So passed Armida, looked on, gazed on, so, A wondrous dame in habit, gesture, face; There lived no wight to love so great a foe But wished and longed those beauties to embrace, Scant seen, with anger sullen, sad for woe, She conquered all the lords and knights in place, What would she do, her sorrows passed, think you, When her fair eyes, her looks and smiles shall woo? XXXVII She passed, the king commanded Emiren Of his rich throne to mount the lofty stage, To whom his host, his army, and his men, He would commit, now in his graver age. With stately grace the man approached then; His looks his coming honor did presage: The guard asunder cleft and passage made, He to the throne up went, and there he stayed. XXXVIII To earth he cast his eyes, and bent his knee: To whom the king thus gan his will explain, "To thee this sceptre, Emiren, to thee These armies I commit, my place sustain Mongst them, go set the king of Judah free, And let the Frenchmen feel my just disdain, Go meet them, conquer them, leave none alive; Or those that scape from battle, bring captive." XXXIX Thus spake the tyrant, and the sceptre laid With all his sovereign power upon the knight: "I take this sceptre at your hand," he said, "And with your happy fortune go to fight, And trust, my lord, in your great virtue's aid To venge all Asia's harms, her wrongs to right, Nor e'er but victor will I see your face; Our overthrow shall bring death, not disgrace. XL "Heavens grant if evil, yet no mishap I dread, Or harm they threaten against this camp of thine, That all that mischief fall upon my head, Theirs be the conquest, and the danger mine; And let them safe bring home their captain dead, Buried in pomp of triumph's glorious shine." He ceased, and then a murmur loud up went, With noise of joy and sound of instrument. XLI Amid the noise and shout uprose the king, Environed with many a noble peer That to his royal tent the monarch bring, And there he feasted them and made them cheer, To him and him he talked, and carved each thing, The greatest honored, meanest graced were; And while this mirth, this joy and feast doth last, Armida found fit time her nets to cast: XLII But when the feast was done, she, that espied All eyes on her fair visage fixed and bent, And by new notes and certain signs described, How love's empoisoned fire their entrails brent, Arose, and where the king sate in his pride, With stately pace and humble gestures, went; And as she could in looks in voice she strove Fierce, stern, bold, angry, and severe to prove. XLIII "Great Emperor, behold me here," she said. "For thee, my country, and my faith to fight, A dame, a virgin, but a royal maid; And worthy seems this war a princess hight, For by the sword the sceptre is upstayed, This hand can use them both with skill and might, This hand of mine can strike, and at each blow Thy foes and ours kill, wound, and overthrow. XLIV "Nor yet suppose this is the foremost day Wherein to war I bent my noble thought, But for the surety of thy realms, and stay Of our religion true, ere this I wrought: Yourself best know if this be true I say, Or if my former deeds rejoiced you aught, When Godfrey's hardy knights and princes strong I captive took, and held in bondage long. XLV "I took them, bound them, and so sent them bound To thee, a noble gift, with whom they had Condemned low in dungeon under ground Forever dwelt, in woe and torment sad: So might thine host an easy way have found To end this doubtful war, with conquest glad, Had not Rinaldo fierce my knights all slain, And set those lords, his friends, at large again. XLVI "Rinaldo is well known," and there a long And true rehearsal made she of his deeds, "This is the knight that since hath done me wrong, Wrong yet untold, that sharp revengement needs: Displeasure therefore, mixed with reason strong, This thirst of war in me, this courage breeds; Nor how he injured me time serves to tell, Let this suffice, I seek revengement fell, XLVII "And will procure it, for all shafts that fly Light not in vain; some work the shooter's will, And Jove's right hand with thunders cast from sky Takes open vengeance oft for secret ill: But if some champion dare this knight defy To mortal battle, and by fight him kill, And with his hateful head will me present, That gift my soul shall please, my heart content: XLVIII "So please, that for reward enjoy he shall, The greatest gift I can or may afford, Myself, my beauty, wealth, and kingdoms all, To marry him, and take him for my lord, This promise will I keep whate'er befall, And thereto bind myself by oath and word: Now he that deems this purchase worth his pain, Let him step forth and speak, I none disdain." XLIX While thus the princess said, his hungry eyne Adrastus fed on her sweet beauty's light, "The gods forbid," quoth he, "one shaft of thine Should be discharged gainst that discourteous knight, His heart unworthy is, shootress divine, Of thine artillery to feel the might; To wreak thine ire behold me prest and fit, I will his head cut off, and bring thee it. L "I will his heart with this sharp sword divide, And to the vultures cast his carcass out." Thus threatened he, but Tisapherne envied To hear his glorious vaunt and boasting stout, And said, "But who art thou, that so great pride Thou showest before the king, me, and this rout? Pardie here are some such, whose worth exceeds Thy vaunting much yet boast not of their deeds." LI The Indian fierce replied, "I am the man Whose acts his words and boasts have aye surpassed; But if elsewhere the words thou now began Had uttered been, that speech had been thy last." Thus quarrelled they; the monarch stayed them than, And 'twixt the angry knights his sceptre cast: Then to Armida said, "Fair Queen, I see Thy heart is stout, thy thoughts courageous be; LII "Thou worthy art that their disdain and ire At thy commands these knights should both appease, That gainst thy foe their courage hot as fire Thou may'st employ, both when and where you please, There all their power and force, and what desire They have to serve thee, may they show at ease." The monarch held his peace when this was said, And they new proffer of their service made. LIII Nor they alone, but all that famous were In feats of arms boast that he shall be dead, All offer her their aid, all say and swear, To take revenge on his condemned head: So many arms moved she against her dear, And swore her darling under foot to tread, But he, since first the enchanted isle he left, Safe in his barge the roaring waves still cleft. LIV By the same way returned the well-taught boat By which it came, and made like haste, like speed; The friendly wind, upon her sail that smote, So turned as to return her ship had need: The youth sometimes the Pole or Bear did note, Or wandering stars which dearest nights forthspread: Sometimes the floods, the hills, or mountains steep, Whose woody fronts o'ershade the silent deep. LV Now of the camp the man the state inquires, Now asks the customs strange of sundry lands; And sailed, till clad in beams and bright attires The fourth day's sun on the eastern threshold stands: But when the western seas had quenched those fires, Their frigate struck against the shore and sands; Then spoke their guide, "The land of Palestine This is, here must your journey end and mine." LVI The knights she set upon the shore all three, And vanished thence in twinkling of an eye, Uprose the night in whose deep blackness be All colors hid of things in earth or sky, Nor could they house, or hold, or harbor see, Or in that desert sign of dwelling spy, Nor track of man or horse, or aught that might Inform them of some path or passage right. LVII When they had mused what way they travel should, From the west shore their steps at last they twined, And lo, far off at last their eyes behold Something, they wist not what, that clearly shined With rays of silver and with beams of gold Which the dark folds of night's black mantle lined. Forward they went and marched against the light, To see and find the thing that shone so bright. LVIII High on a tree they saw an armor new, That glistered bright gainst Cynthia's silver ray, Therein, like stars in skies, the diamonds show Fret in the gilden helm and hauberk gay, The mighty shield all scored full they view Of pictures fair, ranged in meet array; To keep them sate an aged man beside, Who to salute them rose, when them he spied. LIX The twain who first were sent in this pursuit Of their wise friend well knew the aged face: But when the wizard sage their first salute Received and quitted had with kind embrace, To the young prince, that silent stood and mute, He turned his speech, "In this unused place For you alone I wait, my lord," quoth he, "My chiefest care your state and welfare be. LX "For, though you wot it not, I am your friend, And for your profit work, as these can tell, I taught them how Armida's charms to end, And bring you thither from love's hateful cell, Now to my words, though sharp perchance, attend, Nor be aggrieved although they seem too fell, But keep them well in mind, till in the truth A wise and holier man instruct thy youth. LXI "Not underneath sweet shades and fountains shrill, Among the nymphs, the fairies, leaves and flowers; But on the steep, the rough and craggy hill Of virtue stands this bliss, this good of ours: By toil and travel, not by sitting still In pleasure's lap, we come to honor's bowers; Why will you thus in sloth's deep valley lie? The royal eagles on high mountains fly. LXII "Nature lifts up thy forehead to the skies, And fills thy heart with high and noble thought, That thou to heavenward aye shouldst lift thine eyes, And purchase fame by deeds well done and wrought; She gives thee ire, by which not courage flies To conquests, not through brawls and battles fought For civil jars, nor that thereby you might Your wicked malice wreak and cursed spite. LXIII "But that your strength spurred forth with noble wrath, With greater fury might Christ's foes assault, And that your bridle should with lesser scath Each secret vice, and kill each inward fault; For so his godly anger ruled hath Each righteous man beneath heaven's starry vault, And at his will makes it now hot, now cold, Now lets it run, now doth it fettered hold." LXIV Thus parleyed he; Rinaldo, hushed and still, Great wisdom heard in those few words compiled, He marked his speech, a purple blush did fill His guilty checks, down went his eyesight mild. The hermit by his bashful looks his will Well understood, and said, "Look up, my child, And painted in this precious shield behold The glorious deeds of thy forefathers old. LXV "Thine elders' glory herein see and know, In virtue's path how they trod all their days, Whom thou art far behind, a runner slow In this true course of honor, fame and praise: Up, up, thyself incite by the fair show Of knightly worth which this bright shield bewrays, That be thy spur to praise!" At last the knight Looked up, and on those portraits bent his sight. LXVI The cunning workman had in little space Infinite shapes of men there well expressed, For there described was the worthy race And pedigree of all of the house of Est: Come from a Roman spring o'er all the place Flowed pure streams of crystals east and west, With laurel crowned stood the princes old, Their wars the hermit and their battles told. LXVII He showed them Caius first, when first in prey To people strange the falling empire went, First Prince of Est, that did the sceptre sway O'er such as chose him lord by tree consent; His weaker neighbors to his rule obey, Need made them stoop, constraint doth force content; After, when Lord Honorius called the train Of savage Goths into his land again, LXVIII And when all Italy did burn and flame With bloody war, by this fierce people mad, When Rome a captive and a slave became, And to be quite destroyed was most afraid, Aurelius, to his everlasting fame, Preserved in peace the folk that him obeyed: Next whom was Forest, who the rage withstood Of the bold Huns, and of their tyrant proud. LXIX Known by his look was Attila the fell, Whose dragon eyes shone bright with anger's spark, Worse faced than a dog, who viewed him well Supposed they saw him grin and heard him bark; But when in single fight he lost the bell, How through his troops he fled there might you mark, And how Lord Forest after fortified Aquilea's town, and how for it he died. LXX For there was wrought the fatal end and fine, Both of himself and of the town he kept: But his great son renowned Acarine, Into his father's place and honor stepped: To cruel fate, not to the Huns, Altine Gave place, and when time served again forth leapt, And in the vale of Po built for his seat Of many a village a small city great; LXXI Against the swelling flood he banked it strong, And thence uprose the fair and noble town Where they of Est should by succession long Command, and rule in bliss and high renown: Gainst Odoacer then he fought, but wrong Oft spoileth right, fortune treads courage down, For there he died for his dear country's sake, And of his father's praise did so partake. LXXII With him died Alforisio, Azzo was With his dear brother into exile sent, But homeward they in arms again repass-- The Herule king oppressed--from banishment. His front through pierced with a dart, alas, Next them, of Est the Epaminondas went, That smiling seemed to cruel death to yield, When Totila was fled, and safe his shield. LXXIII Of Boniface I speak; Valerian, His son, in praise and power succeeded him, Who durst sustain, in years though scant a man, Of the proud Goths an hundred squadrons trim: Then he that gainst the Sclaves much honor wan, Ernesto, threatening stood with visage grim; Before him Aldoard, the Lombard stout Who from Monselce boldly erst shut out. LXXIV There Henry was and Berengare the bold That served great Charles in his conquest high, Who in each battle give the onset would, A hardy soldier and a captain sly; After, Prince Lewis did he well uphold Against his nephew, King of Italy, He won the field and took that king on live: Next him stood Otho with his children five. LXXV Of Almeric the image next they view, Lord Marquis of Ferrara first create, Founder of many churches, that upthrew His eyes, like one that used to contemplate; Gainst him the second Azzo stood in rew, With Berengarius that did long debate, Till after often change of fortune stroke, He won, and on all Italy laid the yoke. LXXVI Albert his son the Germans warred among, And there his praise and fame was spread so wide, That having foiled the Danes in battle strong, His daughter young became great Otho's bride. Behind him Hugo stood with warfare long, That broke the horn of all the Romans' pride, Who of all Italy the marquis hight, And Tuscan whole possessed as his right. LXXVII After Tebaldo, puissant Boniface And Beatrice his dear possessed the stage; Nor was there left heir male of that great race, To enjoy the sceptre, state and heritage; The Princess Maud alone supplied the place, Supplied the want in number, sex and age; For far above each sceptre, throne and crown, The noble dame advanced her veil and gown. LXXVIII With manlike vigor shone her noble look, And more than manlike wrath her face o'erspread, There the fell Normans, Guichard there forsook The field, till then who never feared nor fled; Henry the Fourth she beat, and from him took His standard, and in Church it offered; Which done, the Pope back to the Vatican She brought, and placed in Peter's chair again. LXXIX As he that honored her and held her dear, Azzo the Fifth stood by her lovely side; But the fourth Azzo's offspring far and near Spread forth, and through Germania fructified; Sprung from the branch did Guelpho bold appear, Guelpho his son by Cunigond his bride, And in Bavaria's field transplanted new The Roman graft flourished, increased and grew. LXXX A branch of Est there in the Guelfian tree Engrafted was, which of itself was old, Whereon you might the Guelfoes fairer see, Renew their sceptres and their crowns of gold, Of which Heaven's good aspects so bended be That high and broad it spread and flourished bold, Till underneath his glorious branches laid Half Germany, and all under his shade. LXXXI This regal plant from his Italian rout Sprung up as high, and blossomed fair above, Fornenst Lord Guelpho, Bertold issued out, With the sixth Azzo whom all virtues love; This was the pedigree of worthies stout, Who seemed in that bright shield to live and move. Rinaldo waked up and cheered his face, To see these worthies of his house and race. LXXXII To do like acts his courage wished and sought, And with that wish transported him so far That all those deeds which filled aye his thought, Towns won, forts taken, armies killed in war, As if they were things done indeed and wrought, Before his eyes he thinks they present are, He hastily arms him, and with hope and haste, Sure conquest met, prevented and embraced. LXXXIII But Charles, who had told the death and fall Of the young prince of Danes, his late dear lord, Gave him the fatal weapon, and withal, "Young knight," quoth he, "take with good luck this sword, Your just, strong, valiant hand in battle shall Employ it long, for Christ's true faith and word, And of his former lord revenge the wrongs, Who loved you so, that deed to you belongs." LXXXIV He answered, "God for his mercy's sake, Grant that this hand which holds this weapon good For thy dear master may sharp vengeance take, May cleave the Pagan's heart, and shed his blood." To this but short reply did Charles make, And thanked him much, nor more on terms they stood: For lo, the wizard sage that was their guide On their dark journey hastes them forth to ride. LXXXV "High time it is," quoth he, "for you to wend Where Godfrey you awaits, and many a knight, There may we well arrive ere night doth end, And through this darkness can I guide you right." This said, up to his coach they all ascend, On his swift wheels forth rolled the chariot light, He gave his coursers fleet the rod and rein, And galloped forth and eastward drove amain; LXXXVI While silent so through night's dark shade they fly, The hermit thus bespake the young man stout: "Of thy great house, thy race, thine offspring high, Here hast thou seen the branch, the bole, the root, And as these worthies born to chivalry And deeds of arms it hath tofore brought out, So is it, so it shall be fertile still, Nor time shall end, nor age that seed shall kill. LXXXVII "Would God, as drawn from the forgetful lap Of antique time, I have thine elders shown; That so I could the catalogue unwrap Of thy great nephews yet unborn, unknown, That ere this light they view, their fate and hap I might foretell, and how their chance is thrown, That like thine elders so thou mightst behold Thy children, many, famous, stout and bold. LXXXVIII "But not by art or skill, of things future Can the plain truth revealed be and told, Although some knowledge doubtful, dark, obscure We have of coming haps in clouds uprolled; Nor all which in this cause I know for sure Dare I foretell: for of that father old, The hermit Peter, learned I much, and he Withouten veil heaven's secrets great doth see. LXXXIX "But this, to him revealed by grace divine, By him to me declared, to thee I say, Was never race Greek, barbarous, or Latine, Great in times past, or famous at this day, Richer in hardy knights than this of thine; Such blessings Heaven shall on thy children lay That they in fame shall pass, in praise o'ercome, The worthies old of Sparta, Carthage, Rome. XC "But mongst the rest I chose Alphonsus bold, In virtue first, second in place and name, He shall be born when this frail world grows old, Corrupted, poor, and bare of men of fame, Better than he none shall, none can, or could, The sword or sceptre use or guide the same, To rule in peace or to command in fight, Thine offspring's glory and thy house's light. XCI "His younger age foretokens true shall yield Of future valor, puissance, force and might, From him no rock the savage beast shall shield; At tilt or tourney match him shall no knight: After, he conquer shall in pitched field Great armies and win spoils in single fight, And on his locks, rewards for knightly praise, Shall garlands wear of grass, of oak, of bays. XCII "His graver age, as well that eild it fits, Shall happy peace preserve and quiet blest, And from his neighbors strong mongst whom he sits Shall keep his cities safe in wealth and rest, Shall nourish arts and cherish pregnant wits, Make triumphs great, and feast his subjects best, Reward the good, the evil with pains torment, Shall dangers all foresee, and seen, prevent. XCIII "But if it hap against those wicked bands That sea and earth invest with blood and war, And in these wretched times to noble lands Give laws of peace false and unjust that are, That he be sent, to drive their guilty hands From Christ's pure altars and high temples far, Oh, what revenge, what vengeance shall he bring On that false sect, and their accursed king! XCIV "Too late the Moors, too late the Turkish king, Gainst him should arm their troops and legions bold For he beyond great Euphrates should bring, Beyond the frozen tops of Taurus cold, Beyond the land where is perpetual spring, The cross, the eagle white, the lily of gold, And by baptizing of the Ethiops brown Of aged Nile reveal the springs unknown." XCV Thus said the hermit, and his prophecy The prince accepted with content and pleasure, The secret thought of his posterity Of his concealed joys heaped up the measure. Meanwhile the morning bright was mounted high, And changed Heaven's silver wealth to golden treasure, And high above the Christian tents they view How the broad ensigns trembled, waved and blew, XCVI When thus again their leader sage begun, "See how bright Phoebus clears the darksome skies, See how with gentle beams the friendly sun The tents, the towns, the hills and dales descries, Through my well guiding is your voyage done, From danger safe in travel off which lies, Hence without fear of harm or doubt of foe March to the camp, I may no nearer go." XCVII Thus took he leave, and made a quick return, And forward went the champions three on foot, And marching right against the rising morn A ready passage to the camp found out, Meanwhile had speedy fame the tidings borne That to the tents approached these barons stout, And starting from his throne and kingly seat To entertain them, rose Godfredo great. EIGHTEENTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. The charms and spirits false therein which lie Rinaldo chaseth from the forest old; The host of Egypt comes; Vafrin the spy Entereth their camp, stout, crafty, wise and bold; Sharp is the fight about the bulwarks high And ports of Zion, to assault the hold: Godfrey hath aid from Heaven, by force the town Is won, the Pagans slain, walls beaten down. I Arrived where Godfrey to embrace him stood, "My sovereign lord," Rinaldo meekly said, "To venge my wrongs against Gernando proud My honor's care provoked my wrath unstayed; But that I you displeased, my chieftain good, My thoughts yet grieve, my heart is still dismayed, And here I come, prest all exploits to try To make me gracious in your gracious eye." II To him that kneeled, folding his friendly arms About his neck, the duke this answer gave: "Let pass such speeches sad, of passed harms. Remembrance is the life of grief; his grave, Forgetfulness; and for amends, in arms Your wonted valor use and courage brave; For you alone to happy end must bring The strong enchantments of the charmed spring. III "That aged wood whence heretofore we got, To build our scaling engines, timber fit, Is now the fearful seat, but how none wot, Where ugly fiends and damned spirits sit; To cut one twist thereof adventureth not The boldest knight we have, nor without it This wall can battered be: where others doubt There venture thou, and show thy courage stout." IV Thus said he, and the knight in speeches few Proffered his service to attempt the thing, To hard assays his courage willing flew, To him praise was no spur, words were no sting; Of his dear friends then he embraced the crew To welcome him which came; for in a ring About him Guelpho, Tancred and the rest Stood, of the camp the greatest, chief and best. V When with the prince these lords had iterate Their welcomes oft, and oft their dear embrace, Toward the rest of lesser worth and state, He turned, and them received with gentle grace; The merry soldiers bout him shout and prate, With cries as joyful and as cheerful face As if in triumph's chariot bright as sun, He had returned Afric or Asia won. VI Thus marched to his tent the champion good, And there sat down with all his friends around; Now of the war he asked, now of the wood, And answered each demand they list propound; But when they left him to his ease, up stood The hermit, and, fit time to speak once found, "My lord," he said, "your travels wondrous are, Far have you strayed, erred, wandered far. VII "Much are you bound to God above, who brought You safe from false Armida's charmed hold, And thee a straying sheep whom once he bought Hath now again reduced to his fold, And gainst his heathen foes these men of naught Hath chosen thee in place next Godfrey bold; Yet mayest thou not, polluted thus with sin, In his high service war or fight begin. VIII "The world, the flesh, with their infection vile Pollute the thoughts impure, thy spirit stain; Not Po, not Ganges, not seven-mouthed Nile, Not the wide seas, can wash thee clean again, Only to purge all faults which thee defile His blood hath power who for thy sins was slain: His help therefore invoke, to him bewray Thy secret faults, mourn, weep, complain and pray." IX This said, the knight first with the witch unchaste His idle loves and follies vain lamented; Then kneeling low with heavy looks downcast, His other sins confessed and all repented, And meekly pardon craved for first and last. The hermit with his zeal was well contented, And said, "On yonder hill next morn go pray That turns his forehead gainst the morning ray. X "That done, march to the wood, whence each one brings Such news of furies, goblins, fiends, and sprites, The giants, monsters, and all dreadful things Thou shalt subdue, which that dark grove unites: Let no strange voice that mourns or sweetly sings, Nor beauty, whose glad smile frail hearts delights, Within thy breast make ruth or pity rise, But their false looks and prayers false despise." XI Thus he advised him, and the hardy knight Prepared him gladly to this enterprise, Thoughtful he passed the day, and sad the night; And ere the silver morn began to rise, His arms he took, and in a coat him dight Of color strange, cut in the warlike guise; And on his way sole, silent, forth he went Alone, and left his friends, and left his tent. XII It was the time when gainst the breaking day Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined, For in the east appeared the morning gray And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace shined, When to Mount Olivet he took his way, And saw, as round about his eyes he twined, Night's shadows hence, from thence the morning's shine, This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine. XIII Thus to himself he thought, how many bright And splendent lamps shine in heaven's temple high, Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night, Her fixed and wandering stars the azure sky, So framed all by their Creator's might That still they live and shine, and ne'er shall die Till, in a moment, with the last day's brand They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land. XIV Thus as he mused, to the top he went, And there kneeled down with reverence and fear, His eyes upon heaven's eastern face he bent, His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were: "The sins and errors, which I now repent, Of mine unbridled youth, O Father dear, Remember not, but let thy mercy fall, And purge my faults and mine offences all." XV Thus prayed he, with purple wings upflew In golden weed the morning's lusty queen, Begilding with the radiant beams she threw His helm, his harness, and the mountain green; Upon his breast and forehead gently blew The air, that balm and nardus breathed unseen, And o'er his head let down from clearest skies A cloud of pure and precious clew there flies. XVI The heavenly dew was on his garments spread, To which compared, his clothes pale ashes seem, And sprinkled so, that all that paleness fled And thence, of purest white, bright rays outstream; So cheered are the flowers late withered With the sweet comfort of the morning beam, And so, returned to youth, a serpent old Adorns herself in new and native gold. XVII The lovely whiteness of his changed weed, The Prince perceived well, and long admired; Toward the forest marched he on with speed, Resolved, as such adventures great required; Thither he came whence shrinking back for dread Of that strange desert's sight the first retired, But not to him fearful or loathsome made That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade: XVIII Forward he passed, mid in the grove before He heard a sound that strange, sweet, pleasing was; There rolled a crystal brook with gentle roar, There sighed the winds as through the leaves they pass, There did the nightingale her wrongs deplore, There sung the swan, and singing died, alas! There lute, harp, cittern, human voice he heard, And all these sounds one sound right well declared. XIX A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard, The aged trees and plants well-nigh that rent; Yet heard the nymphs and sirens afterward, Birds, winds, and waters, sing with sweet consent: Whereat amazed he stayed, and well prepared For his defence, heedful and slow forth went: Nor in his way his passage aught withstood, Except a quiet, still, transparent flood. XX On the green banks which that fair stream inbound, Flowers and odors sweetly smiled and smelled, Which reaching out his stretched arms around, All the large desert in his bosom held, And through the grove one channel passage found; That in the wood; in that, the forest dwelled: Trees clad the streams; streams green those trees aye made And so exchanged their moisture and their shade. XXI The knight some way sought out the flood to pass, And as he sought, a wondrous bridge appeared, A bridge of gold, a huge and weighty mass, On arches great of that rich metal reared; When through that golden way he entered was, Down fell the bridge, swelled the stream, and weared The work away, nor sign left where it stood, And of a river calm became a flood. XXII He turned, amazed to see it troubled so, Like sudden brooks increased with molten snow, The billows fierce that tossed to and fro, The whirlpools sucked down to their bosoms low; But on he went to search for wonders mo, Through the thick trees there high and broad which grow, And in that forest huge and desert wide, The more he sought, more wonders still he spied. XXIII Whereso he stepped, it seemed the joyful ground Renewed the verdure of her flowery weed, A fountain here, a wellspring there he found; Here bud the roses, there the lilies spread The aged wood o'er and about him round Flourished with blossoms new, new leaves, new seed, And on the boughs and branches of those treen, The bark was softened, and renewed the green. XXIV The manna on each leaf did pearled lie, The honey stilled from the tender rind; Again he heard that wondrous harmony, Of songs and sweet complaints of lovers kind, The human voices sung a triple high, To which respond the birds, the streams, the wind, But yet unseen those nymphs, those singers were, Unseen the lutes, harps, viols which they bear. XXV He looked, he listened, yet his thoughts denied To think that true which he both heard and see, A myrtle in an ample plain he spied, And thither by a beaten path went he: The myrtle spread her mighty branches wide, Higher than pine or palm or cypress tree: And far above all other plants was seen That forest's lady and that desert's queen. XXVI Upon the trees his eyes Rinaldo bent, And there a marvel great and strange began; An aged oak beside him cleft and rent, And from his fertile hollow womb forth ran, Clad in rare weeds and strange habiliment, A nymph, for age able to go to man, An hundred plants beside, even in his sight, Childed an hundred nymphs, so great, so dight. XXVII Such as on stages play, such as we see The Dryads painted whom wild Satyrs love, Whose arms half-naked, locks untrussed be, With buskins laced on their legs above, And silken robes tucked short above their knee; Such seemed the sylvan daughters of this grove, Save that instead of shafts and boughs of tree, She bore a lute, a harp, or cittern she. XXVIII And wantonly they cast them in a ring, And sung and danced to move his weaker sense, Rinaldo round about environing, As centres are with their circumference; The tree they compassed eke, and gan to sing, That woods and streams admired their excellence; "Welcome, dear lord, welcome to this sweet grove, Welcome our lady's hope, welcome her love. XXIX "Thou com'st to cure our princess, faint and sick For love, for love of thee, faint, sick, distressed; Late black, late dreadful was this forest thick, Fit dwelling for sad folk with grief oppressed, See with thy coming how the branches quick Revived are, and in new blosoms dressed:" This was their song, and after, from it went First a sweet sound, and then the myrtle rent. XXX If antique times admired Silenus old That oft appeared set on his lazy ass, How would they wonder if they had behold Such sights as from the myrtle high did pass? Thence came a lady fair with locks of gold, That like in shape, in face and beauty was To sweet Armide; Rinaldo thinks he spies Her gestures, smiles, and glances of her eyes. XXXI On him a sad and smiling look she cast, Which twenty passions strange at once bewrays: "And art thou come," quoth she, "returned at last To her from whom but late thou ran'st thy ways? Com'st thou to comfort me for sorrows past? To ease my widow nights and careful days? Or comest thou to work me grief and harm? Why nilt thou speak?--why not thy face disarm? XXXII "Com'st thou a friend or foe? I did not frame That golden bridge to entertain my foe, Nor opened flowers and fountains as you came, To welcome him with joy that brings me woe: Put off thy helm, rejoice me with the flame Of thy bright eyes, whence first my fires did grow. Kiss me, embrace me, if you further venture, Love keeps the gate, the fort is eath to enter." XXXIII Thus as she woos she rolls her rueful eyes With piteous look, and changeth oft her cheer, An hundred sighs from her false heart upflies, She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear; The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies, What stony heart resists a woman's tear? But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind, Drew forth his sword and from her careless twined. XXXIV Toward the tree he marched, she thither start, Before him stepped, embraced the plant and cried, "Ah, never do me such a spiteful part, To cut my tree, this forest's joy and pride, Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart Of thy forsaken and despised Armide; For through this breast, and through this heart unkind To this fair tree thy sword shall passage find." XXXV He lift his brand, nor cared though oft she prayed, And she her form to other shape did change; Such monsters huge when men in dreams are laid Oft in their idle fancies roam and range: Her body swelled, her face obscure was made, Vanished her garments, her face and vestures strange, A giantess before him high she stands, Like Briareus armed with an hundred hands. XXXVI With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright, She threatened death, she roared, cried and fought, Each other nymph in armor likewise dight, A Cyclops great became: he feared them naught, But on the myrtle smote with all his might, That groaned like living souls to death nigh brought, The sky seemed Pluto's court, the air seemed hell, Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell. XXXVII Lightened the heavens above, the earth below Roared loud, that thundered, and this shook; Blustered the tempests strong, the whirlwinds blow, The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look; But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow, Nor of that fury heed or care he took, Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended; Then fled the spirits all, the charms all ended. XXXVIII The heavens grew clear, the air waxed calm and still, The wood returned to his wonted state, Of withcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill; Of horror full, but horror there innate; He further proved if aught withstood his will To cut those trees as did the charms of late, And finding naught to stop him, smiled, and said, "O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!" XXXIX From thence home to the campward turned the knight, The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat, "Now of the wood the charms have lost their might, The sprites are conquered, ended is the feat, See where he comes!" In glistering white all dight Appeared the man, bold, stately, high and great, His eagle's silver wings to shine begun With wondrous splendor gainst the golden sun. XL The camp received him with a joyful cry, A cry the dales and hills about that flied; Then Godfrey welcomed him with honors high, His glory quenched all spite, all envy killed: "To yonder dreadful grove," quoth he, "went I, And from the fearful wood, as me you willed, Have driven the sprites away, thither let be Your people sent, the way is safe and free." XLI Sent were the workmen thither, thence they brought Timber enough, by good advice select, And though by skilless builders framed and wrought Their engines rude and rams were late elect, Yet now the forts and towers from whence they fought Were framed by a cunning architect, William, of all the Genoese lord and guide, Which late ruled all the seas from side to side; XLII But forced to retire from him at last, The Pagan fleet the seas moist empire won, His men with all their stuff and store in haste Home to the camp with their commander run, In skill, in wit, in cunning him surpassed Yet never engineer beneath the sun, Of carpenters an hundred large he brought, That what their lord devised made and wrought. XLIII This man began with wondrous art to make, Not rams, not mighty brakes, not slings alone, Wherewith the firm and solid walls to shake, To cast a dart, or throw a shaft or stone; But framed of pines and firs, did undertake To build a fortress huge, to which was none Yet ever like, whereof he clothed the sides Against the balls of fire with raw bull's hides. XLIV In mortices and sockets framed just, The beams, the studs and puncheons joined he fast; To beat the city's wall, beneath forth brust A ram with horned front, about her waist A bridge the engine from her side out thrust, Which on the wall when need she cast; And from her top a turret small up stood, Strong, surely armed, and builded of like wood. XLV Set on an hundred wheels the rolling mass, On the smooth lands went nimbly up and down, Though full of arms and armed men it was, Yet with small pains it ran, as it had flown: Wondered the camp so quick to see it pass, They praised the workmen and their skill unknown, And on that day two towers they builded more, Like that which sweet Clorinda burned before. XLVI Yet wholly were not from the Saracines Their works concealed and their labors hid, Upon that wall which next the camp confines They placed spies, who marked all they did: They saw the ashes wild and squared pines, How to the tents, trailed from the grove, they slid: And engines huge they saw, yet could not tell How they were built, their forms they saw not well. XLVII Their engines eke they reared, and with great art Repaired each bulwark, turret, port and tower, And fortified the plain and easy part, To bide the storm of every warlike stoure, Till as they thought no sleight or force of Mart To undermine or scale the same had power; And false Ismeno gan new balls prepare Of wicked fire, wild, wondrous, strange and rare. XLVIII He mingled brimstone with bitumen fell Fetched from that lake where Sodom erst did sink, And from that flood which nine times compassed hell Some of the liquor hot he brought, I think, Wherewith the quenchless fire he tempered well, To make it smoke and flame and deadly stink: And for his wood cut down, the aged sire Would thus revengement take with flame and fire. XLIX While thus the camp, and thus the town were bent, These to assault, these to defend the wall, A speedy dove through the clear welkin went, Straight o'er the tents, seen by the soldiers all; With nimble fans the yielding air she rent, Nor seemed it that she would alight or fall, Till she arrived near that besieged town, Then from the clouds at last she stooped down: L But lo, from whence I nolt, a falcon came, Armed with crooked bill and talons long, And twixt the camp and city crossed her game, That durst nor bide her foe's encounter strong; But right upon the royal tent down came, And there, the lords and princes great among, When the sharp hawk nigh touched her tender head In Godfrey's lap she fell, with fear half dead: LI The duke received her, saved her, and spied, As he beheld the bird, a wondrous thing, About her neck a letter close was tied, By a small thread, and thrust under her wing, He loosed forth the writ and spread it wide, And read the intent thereof, "To Judah's king," Thus said the schedule, "honors high increase, The Egyptian chieftain wisheth health and peace: LII "Fear not, renowned prince, resist, endure Till the third day, or till the fourth at most, I come, and your deliverance will procure, And kill your coward foes and all their host." This secret in that brief was closed up sure, Writ in strange language, to the winged post Given to transport; for in their warlike need The east such message used, oft with good speed. LIII The duke let go the captive dove at large, And she that had his counsel close betrayed, Traitress to her great Lord, touched not the marge Of Salem's town, but fled far thence afraid. The duke before all those which had or charge Or office high, the letter read, and said: "See how the goodness of the Lord foreshows The secret purpose of our crafty foes. LIV "No longer then let us protract the time, But scale the bulwark of this fortress high, Through sweat and labor gainst those rocks sublime Let us ascend, which to the southward lie; Hard will it be that way in arms to climb, But yet the place and passage both know I, And that high wall by site strong on that part, Is least defenced by arms, by work and art. LV "Thou, Raymond, on this side with all thy might Assault the wall, and by those crags ascend, My squadrons with mine engines huge shall fight And gainst the northern gate my puissance bend, That so our foes, beguiled with the sight, Our greatest force and power shall there attend, While my great tower from thence shall nimbly slide, And batter down some worse defended side; LVI "Camillo, thou not far from me shalt rear Another tower, close to the walls ybrought." This spoken, Raymond old, that sate him near, And while he talked great things tossed in his thought, Said, "To Godfredo's counsel, given us here, Naught can be added, from it taken naught: Yet this I further wish, that some were sent To spy their camp, their secret and intent, LVII "That may their number and their squadrons brave Describe, and through their tents disguised mask." Quoth Tancred, "Lo, a subtle squire I have, A person fit to undertake this task, A man quick, ready, bold, sly to deceive, To answer, wise, and well advised to ask; Well languaged, and that with time and place, Can change his look, his voice, his gait, his grace." LVIII Sent for, he came, and when his lord him told What Godfrey's pleasure was and what his own, He smiled and said forthwith he gladly would. "I go," quoth he, "careless what chance be thrown, And where encamped be these Pagans bold, Will walk in every tent a spy unknown, Their camp even at noon-day I enter shall, And number all their horse and footmen all; LIX "How great, how strong, how armed this army is, And what their guide intends, I will declare, To me the secrets of that heart of his And hidden thoughts shall open lie and bare." Thus Vafrine spoke, nor longer stayed on this, But for a mantle changed the coat he ware, Naked was his neck, and bout his forehead bold, Of linen white full twenty yards he rolled. LX His weapons were a Syrian bow and quiver, His gestures barbarous, like the Turkish train, Wondered all they that heard his tongue deliver Of every land the language true and plain: In Tyre a born Phoenician, by the river Of Nile a knight bred in the Egyptian main, Both people would have thought him; forth he rides On a swift steed, o'er hills and dales that glides. LXI But ere the third day came the French forth sent Their pioneers to even the rougher ways, And ready made each warlike instrument, Nor aught their labor interrupts or stays; The nights in busy toll they likewise spent And with long evenings lengthened forth short days, Till naught was left the hosts that hinder might To use their utmost power and strength in fight. LXII That day, which of the assault the day forerun, The godly duke in prayer spent well-nigh, And all the rest, because they had misdone, The sacrament receive and mercy cry; Then oft the duke his engines great begun To show where least he would their strength apply; His foes rejoiced, deluded in that sort, To see them bent against their surest port: LXIII But after, aided by the friendly night, His greatest engine to that side he brought Where plainest seemed the wall, where with their might The flankers least could hurt them as they fought; And to the southern mountain's greatest height To raise his turret old Raymondo sought; And thou Camillo on that part hadst thine, Where from the north the walls did westward twine. LXIV But when amid the eastern heaven appeared The rising morning bright as shining glass, The troubled Pagans saw, and seeing feared, How the great tower stood not where late it was, And here and there tofore unseen was reared Of timber strong a huge and fearful mass, And numberless with beams, with ropes and strings, They view the iron rams, the barks and slings. LXV The Syrian people now were no whit slow, Their best defences to that side to bear, Where Godfrey did his greatest engine show, From thence where late in vain they placed were: But he who at his back right well did know The host of Egypt to be proaching near, To him called Guelpho, and the Roberts twain, And said, "On horseback look you still remain, LXVI "And have regard, while all our people strive To scale this wall, where weak it seems and thin, Lest unawares some sudden host arrive, And at our backs unlooked-for war begin." This said, three fierce assaults at once they give, The hardy soldiers all would die or win, And on three parts resistance makes the king, And rage gainst strength, despair gainst hope doth bring. LXVII Himself upon his limbs with feeble eild That shook, unwieldy with their proper weight, His armor laid and long unused shield, And marched gainst Raymond to the mountain's height; Great Solyman gainst Godfrey took the field; Fornenst Camillo stood Argantes straight Where Tancred strong he found, so fortune will That this good prince his wonted foe shall kill. LXVIII The archers shot their arrows sharp and keen, Dipped in the bitter juice of poison strong, The shady face of heaven was scantly seen, Hid with the clouds of shafts and quarries long; Yet weapons sharp with greater fury been Cast from the towers the Pagan troops among, For thence flew stones and clifts of marble rocks, Trees shod with iron, timber, logs and blocks. LXIX A thunderbolt seemed every stone, it brake His limbs and armors on whom so it light, That life and soul it did not only take But all his shape and face disfigured quite; The lances stayed not in the wounds they make, But through the gored body took their flight, From side to side, through flesh, through skin and rind They flew, and flying, left sad death behind. LXX But yet not all this force and fury drove The Pagan people to forsake the wall, But to revenge these deadly blows they strove, With darts that fly, with stones and trees that fall; For need so cowards oft courageous prove, For liberty they fight, for life and all, And oft with arrows, shafts, and stones that fly, Give bitter answer to a sharp reply. LXXI This while the fierce assailants never cease, But sternly still maintain a threefold charge, And gainst the clouds of shafts draw nigh at ease, Under a pentise made of many a targe, The armed towers close to the bulwarks press, And strive to grapple with the battled marge, And launch their bridges out, meanwhile below With iron fronts the rams the walls down throw. LXXII Yet still Rinaldo unresolved went, And far unworthy him this service thought, If mongst the common sort his pains he spent; Renown so got the prince esteemed naught: His angry looks on every side he bent, And where most harm, most danger was, he fought, And where the wall high, strong and surest was, That part would he assault, and that way pass. LXXIII And turning to the worthies him behind, All hardy knights, whom Dudon late did guide, "Oh shame," quoth he, "this wall no war doth find, When battered is elsewhere each part, each side; All pain is safety to a valiant mind, Each way is eath to him that dares abide, Come let us scale this wall, though strong and high, And with your shields keep off the darts that fly." LXXIV With him united all while thus he spake, Their targets hard above their heads they threw, Which joined in one an iron pentise make That from the dreadful storm preserved the crew. Defended thus their speedy course they take, And to the wall without resistance drew, For that strong penticle protected well The knights, from all that flew and all that fell. LXXV Against the fort Rinaldo gan uprear A ladder huge, an hundred steps of height, And in his arm the same did easily bear And move as winds do reeds or rushes light, Sometimes a tree, a rock, a dart or spear, Fell from above, yet forward clomb the knight, And upward fearless pierced, careless still, Though Mount Olympus fell, or Ossa hill: LXXVI A mount of ruins, and of shafts a wood Upon his shoulders and his shield he bore, One hand the ladder held whereon he stood, The other bare his targe his face before; His hardy troop, by his example good Provoked, with him the place assaulted sore, And ladders long against the wall they clap, Unlike in courage yet, unlike in hap: LXXVII One died, another fell; he forward went, And these he comforts, and he threateneth those, Now with his hand outstretched the battlement Well-nigh he reached, when all his armed foes Ran thither, and their force and fury bent To throw him headlong down, yet up he goes, A wondrous thing, one knight whole armed bands Alone, and hanging in the air, withstands: LXXVIII Withstands, and forceth his great strength so far, That like a palm whereon huge weight doth rest, His forces so resisted stronger are, His virtues higher rise the more oppressed, Till all that would his entrance bold debar, He backward drove, upleaped and possessed The wall, and safe and easy with his blade, To all that after came, the passage made. LXXIX There killing such as durst and did withstand, To noble Eustace that was like to fall He reached forth his friendly conquering hand, And next himself helped him to mount the wall. This while Godfredo and his people land Their lives to greater harms and dangers thrall, For there not man with man, nor knight with knight Contend, but engines there with engines fight. LXXX For in that place the Paynims reared a post, Which late had served some gallant ship for mast, And over it another beam they crossed, Pointed with iron sharp, to it made fast With ropes which as men would the dormant tossed, Now out, now in, now back, now forward cast. In his swift pulleys oft the men withdrew The tree, and oft the riding-balk forth threw: LXXXI The mighty beam redoubted oft his blows, And with such force the engine smote and hit, That her broad side the tower wide open throws, Her joints were broke, her rafters cleft and split; But yet gainst every hap whence mischief grows, Prepared the piece, gainst such extremes made fit, Launch forth two scythes, sharp, cutting, long and broad And cut the ropes whereon the engine rode: LXXXII As an old rock, which age or stormy wind Tears from some craggy hill or mountain steep, Doth break, doth bruise, and into dust doth grind Woods, houses, hamlets, herds, and folds of sheep, So fell the beam, and down with it all kind Of arms, of weapons, and of men did sweep, Wherewith the towers once or twice did shake, Trembled the walls, the hills and mountains quake. LXXXIII Victorious Godfrey boldly forward came, And had great hope even then the place to win; But lo, a fire, with stench, with smoke and flame Withstood his passage, stopped his entrance in: Such burning Aetna yet could never frame, When from her entrails hot her fires begin, Nor yet in summer on the Indian plain, Such vapors warm from scorching air down rain. LXXXIV There balls of wildfire, there fly burning spears, This flame was black, that blue, this red as blood; Stench well-nigh choked them, noise deafs their ears, Smoke blinds their eyes, fire kindleth on the wood; Nor those raw hides which for defence it wears Could save the tower, in such distress it stood; For now they wrinkle, now it sweats and fries, Now burns, unless some help come down from skies. LXXXV The hardy duke before his folk abides, Nor changed he color, countenance or place, But comforts those that from the scaldered hides With water strove the approaching flames to chase: In these extremes the prince and those he guides Half roasted stood before fierce Vulcan's face, When lo, a sudden and unlooked-for blast The flames against the kindlers backward cast: LXXXVI The winds drove back the fire, where heaped lie The Pagans' weapons, where their engines were, Which kindling quickly in that substance dry, Burnt all their store and all their warlike gear: O glorious captain! whom the Lord from high Defends, whom God preserves, and holds so dear; For thee heaven fights, to thee the winds, from far, Called with thy trumpet's blast, obedient are! LXXXVII But wicked Ismen to his harm that saw How the fierce blast drove back the fire and flame, By art would nature change, and thence withdraw Those noisome winds, else calm and still the same; 'Twixt two false wizards without fear or awe Upon the walls in open sight he came, Black, grisly, loathsome, grim and ugly faced, Like Pluto old, betwixt two furies placed; LXXXVIII And now the wretch those dreadful words begun, Which trouble make deep hell and all her flock, Now trembled is the air, the golden sun His fearful beams in clouds did close and lock, When from the tower, which Ismen could not shun, Out fled a mighty stone, late half a rock, Which light so just upon the wizards three, That driven to dust their bones and bodies be. LXXXIX To less than naught their members old were torn, And shivered were their heads to pieces small, As small as are the bruised grains of corn When from the mill dissolved to meal they fall; Their damned souls, to deepest hell down borne Far from the joy and light celestial, The furies plunged in the infernal lake: O mankind, at their ends ensample take! XC This while the engine which the tempest cold Had saved from burning with his friendly blast, Approached had so near the battered hold That on the walls her bridge at ease she cast: But Solyman ran thither fierce and bold, To cut the plank whereon the Christians passed. And had performed his will, save that upreared High in the skies a turret new appeared; XCI Far in the air up clomb the fortress tall, Higher than house, than steeple, church or tower; The Pagans trembled to behold the wall And city subject to her shot and power; Yet kept the Turk his stand, though on him fall Of stones and darts a sharp and deadly shower, And still to cut the bridge he hopes and strives, And those that fear with cheerful speech revives. XCII The angel Michael, to all the rest Unseen, appeared before Godfredo's eyes, In pure and heavenly armor richly dressed, Brighter than Titan's rays in clearest skies; "Godfrey," quoth he, "this is the moment blest To free this town that long in bondage lies, See, see what legions in thine aid I bring, For Heaven assists thee, and Heaven's glorious King: XCIII "Lift up thine eyes, and in the air behold The sacred armies, how they mustered be, That cloud of flesh in which for times of old All mankind wrapped is, I take from thee, And from thy senses their thick mist unfold, That face to face thou mayest these spirits see, And for a little space right well sustain Their glorious light and view those angels plain. XCIV "Behold the souls of every lord and knight That late bore arms and died for Christ's dear sake, How on thy side against this town they fight, And of thy joy and conquest will partake: There where the dust and smoke blind all men's sight, Where stones and ruins such an heap do make, There Hugo fights, in thickest cloud imbarred, And undermines that bulwark's groundwork hard. XCV "See Dudon yonder, who with sword and fire Assails and helps to scale the northern port, That with bold courage doth thy folk inspire And rears their ladders gainst the assaulted fort: He that high on the mount in grave attire Is clad, and crowned stands in kingly sort, Is Bishop Ademare, a blessed spirit, Blest for his faith, crowned for his death and merit. XCVI "But higher lift thy happy eyes, and view Where all the sacred hosts of Heaven appear." He looked, and saw where winged armies flew, Innumerable, pure, divine and clear; A battle round of squadrons three they show And all by threes those squadrons ranged were, Which spreading wide in rings still wider go, Moved with a stone calm water circleth so. XCVII With that he winked, and vanished was and gone; That wondrous vision when he looked again, His worthies fighting viewed he one by one, And on each side saw signs of conquest plain, For with Rinaldo gainst his yielding lone, His knights were entered and the Pagans slain, This seen, the duke no longer stay could brook, But from the bearer bold his ensign took: XCVIII And on the bridge he stepped, but there was stayed By Solyman, who entrance all denied, That narrow tree to virtue great was made, The field as in few blows right soon was tried, "Here will I give my life for Sion's aid, Here will I end my days," the Soldan cried, "Behind me cut or break this bridge, that I May kill a thousand Christians first, then die." XCIX But thither fierce Rinaldo threatening went, And at his sight fled all the Soldan's train, "What shall I do? If here my life be spent, I spend and spill," quoth he, "my blood in vain!" With that his steps from Godfrey back he bent, And to him let the passage free remain, Who threatening followed as the Soldan fled, And on the walls the purple Cross dispread: C About his head he tossed, he turned, he cast, That glorious ensign, with a thousand twines, Thereon the wind breathes with his sweetest blast, Thereon with golden rays glad Phoebus shines, Earth laughs for joy, the streams forbear their haste, Floods clap their hands, on mountains dance the pines, And Sion's towers and sacred temples smile For their deliverance from that bondage vile. CI And now the armies reared the happy cry Of victory, glad, joyful, loud, and shrill. The hills resound, the echo showereth high, And Tancred bold, that fights and combats still With proud Argantes, brought his tower so nigh, That on the wall, against the boaster's will, In his despite, his bridge he also laid, And won the place, and there the cross displayed. CII But on the southern hill, where Raymond fought Against the townsmen and their aged king, His hardy Gascoigns gained small or naught; Their engine to the walls they could not bring, For thither all his strength the prince had brought, For life and safety sternly combating, And for the wall was feeblest on that coast, There were his soldiers best, and engines most. CIII Besides, the tower upon that quarter found Unsure, uneasy, and uneven the way, Nor art could help, but that the rougher ground The rolling mass did often stop and stay; But now of victory the joyful sound The king and Raymond heard amid their fray; And by the shout they and their soldiers know, The town was entered on the plain below. CIV Which heard, Raymondo thus bespake this crew, "The town is won, my friends, and doth it yet Resist? are we kept out still by these few? Shall we no share in this high conquest get?" But from that part the king at last withdrew, He strove in vain their entrance there to let, And to a stronger place his folk he brought, Where to sustain the assault awhile he thought. CV The conquerors at once now entered all, The walls were won, the gates were opened wide, Now bruised, broken down, destroyed fall The ports and towers that battery durst abide; Rageth the sword, death murdereth great and small, And proud 'twixt woe and horror sad doth ride. Here runs the blood, in ponds there stands the gore, And drowns the knights in whom it lived before. NINETEENTH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. Tancred in single combat kills his foe, Argantes strong: the king and Soldan fly To David's tower, and save their persons so; Erminia well instructs Vafrine the spy, With him she rides away, and as they go Finds where her lord for dead on earth doth lie; First she laments, then cures him: Godfrey hears Ormondo's treason, and what marks he bears. I Now death or fear or care to save their lives From their forsaken walls the Pagans chase: Yet neither force nor fear nor wisdom drives The constant knight Argantes from his place; Alone against ten thousand foes he strives, Yet dreadless, doubtless, careless seemed his face, Nor death, nor danger, but disgrace he fears, And still unconquered, though o'erset, appears. II But mongst the rest upon his helmet gay With his broad sword Tancredi came and smote: The Pagan knew the prince by his array, By his strong blows, his armor and his coat; For once they fought, and when night stayed that fray, New time they chose to end their combat hot, But Tancred failed, wherefore the Pagan knight Cried, "Tancred, com'st thou thus, thus late to fight? III "Too late thou com'st, and not alone to war, But yet the fight I neither shun nor fear, Although from knighthood true thou errest far, Since like an engineer thou dost appear, That tower, that troop, thy shield and safety are, Strange kind of arms in single fight to bear; Yet shalt thou not escape, O conqueror strong Of ladies fair, sharp death, to avenge that wrong." IV Lord Tancred smiled, with disdain and scorn, And answerd thus, "To end our strife," quoth he, "Behold at last I come, and my return, Though late, perchance will be too soon for thee; For thou shalt wish, of hope and help forlorn, Some sea or mountain placed twixt thee and me, And well shalt know before we end this fray No fear of cowardice hath caused my stay. V "But come aside, thou by whose prowess dies The monsters, knights and giants in all lands, The killer of weak women thee defies." This said, he turned to his fighting bands, And bids them all retire. "Forbear," he cries, "To strike this knight, on him let none lay hands; For mine he is, more than a common foe, By challenge new and promise old also." VI "Descend," the fierce Circassian gan reply, "Alone, or all this troop for succor take To deserts waste, or place frequented high, For vantage none I will the fight forsake:" Thus given and taken was the bold defy, And through the press, agreed so, they brake, Their hatred made them one, and as they went, Each knight his foe did for despite defend: VII Great was his thirst of praise, great the desire That Tancred had the Pagan's blood to spill, Nor could that quench his wrath or calm his ire If other hand his foe should foil or kill. He saved him with his shield, and cried "Retire!" To all he met, "and do this knight none ill:" And thus defending gainst his friends his foe, Through thousand angry weapons safe they go. VII They left the city, and they left behind Godfredo's camp, and far beyond it passed, And came where into creeks and bosoms blind A winding hill his corners turned and cast, A valley small and shady dale they find Amid the mountains steep so laid and placed As if some theatre or closed place Had been for men to fight or beasts to chase. IX There stayed the champions both with rueful eyes, Argantes gan the fortress won to view; Tancred his foe withouten shield espies, And said, "Whereon doth thy sad heart devise? Think'st thou this hour must end thy life untrue? If this thou fear, and dost foresee thy fate, Thy fear is vain, thy foresight comes too late." X "I think," quoth he, "on this distressed town, The aged Queen of Judah's ancient land, Now lost, now sacked, spoiled and trodden down, Whose fall in vain I strived to withstand, A small revenge for Sion's fort o'erthrown, That head can be, cut off by my strong hand." This said, together with great heed they flew, For each his foe for bold and hardy knew. XI Tancred of body active was and light, Quick, nimble, ready both of hand and foot; But higher by the head, the Pagan knight Of limbs far greater was, of heart as stout: Tancred laid low and traversed in his fight, Now to his ward retired, now struck out, Oft with his sword his foe's fierce blows he broke, And rather chose to ward-than bear his stroke. XII But bold and bolt upright Argantes fought, Unlike in gesture, like in skill and art, His sword outstretched before him far he brought, Nor would his weapon touch, but pierce his heart, To catch his point Prince Tancred strove and sought, But at his breast or helm's unclosed part He threatened death, and would with stretched-out brand His entrance close, and fierce assaults withstand. XIII With a tall ship so doth a galley fight, When the still winds stir not the unstable main; Where this in nimbleness as that in might Excels; that stands, this goes and comes again, And shifts from prow to poop with turnings light; Meanwhile the other doth unmoved remain, And on her nimble foe approaching nigh, Her weighty engines tumbleth down from high. XIV The Christian sought to enter on his foe, Voiding his point, which at his breast was bent; Argantes at his face a thrust did throw, Which while the Prince awards and doth prevent, His ready hand the Pagan turned so, That all defence his quickness far o'erwent, And pierced his side, which done, he said and smiled, "The craftsman is in his own craft beguiled." XV Tancredi bit his lip for scorn and shame, Nor longer stood on points of fence and skill, But to revenge so fierce and fast he came As if his hand could not o'ertake his will, And at his visor aiming just, gan frame To his proud boast an answer sharp, but still Argantes broke the thrust; and at half-sword, Swift, hardy, bold, in stepped the Christian lord. XVI With his left foot fast forward gan he stride, And with his left the Pagan's right arm bent, With his right hand meanwhile the man's right side He cut, he wounded, mangled, tore and rent. "To his victorious teacher," Tancred cried, "His conquered scholar hath this answer sent;" Argantes chafed, struggled, turned and twined, Yet could not so his captive arm unbind: XVII His sword at last he let hang by the chain, And griped his hardy foe in both his hands, In his strong arms Tancred caught him again, And thus each other held and wrapped in bands. With greater might Alcides did not strain The giant Antheus on the Lybian sands, On holdfast knots their brawny arms they cast, And whom he hateth most, each held embraced: XVIII Such was their wrestling, such their shocks and throws That down at once they tumbled both to ground, Argantes,--were it hap or skill, who knows, His better hand loose and in freedom found; But the good Prince, his hand more fit for blows, With his huge weight the Pagan underbound; But he, his disadvantage great that knew, Let go his hold, and on his feet up flew: XIX Far slower rose the unwieldy Saracine, And caught a rap ere he was reared upright. But as against the blustering winds a pine Now bends his top, now lifts his head on height, His courage so, when it 'gan most decline, The man reinforced, and advanced his might, And with fierce change of blows renewed the fray, Where rage for skill, horror for art, bore sway. XX The purple drops from Tancred's sides down railed, But from the Pagan ran whole streams of blood, Wherewith his force grew weak, his courage quailed As fires die which fuel want or food. Tancred that saw his feeble arm now failed To strike his blows, that scant he stirred or stood, Assuaged his anger, and his wrath allayed, And stepping back, thus gently spoke and said: XXI "Yield, hardy knight, and chance of war or me Confess to have subdued thee in this fight, I will no trophy, triumph, spoil of thee, Nor glory wish, nor seek a victor's right More terrible than erst;" herewith grew he And all awaked his fury, rage and might, And said, "Dar'st thou of vantage speak or think, Or move Argantes once to yield or shrink? XXII "Use, use thy vantage, thee and fortune both I scorn, and punish will thy foolish pride:" As a hot brand flames most ere it forth go'th, And dying blazeth bright on every side; So he, when blood was lost, with anger wroth, Revived his courage when his puissance died, And would his latest hour which now drew nigh, Illustrate with his end, and nobly die. XXIII He joined his left hand to her sister strong, And with them both let fall his weighty blade. Tancred to ward his blow his sword up slung, But that it smote aside, nor there it stayed, But from his shoulder to his side along It glanced, and many wounds at once it made: Yet Tancred feared naught, for in his heart Found coward dread no place, fear had no part. XXIV His fearful blow he doubled, but he spent His force in waste, and all his strength in vain; For Tancred from the blow against him bent, Leaped aside, the stroke fell on the plain. With thine own weight o'erthrown to earth thou went, Argantes stout, nor could'st thyself sustain, Thyself thou threwest down, O happy man, Upon whose fall none boast or triumph can! XXV His gaping wounds the fall set open wide, The streams of blood about him made a lake, Helped with his left hand, on one knee he tried To rear himself, and new defence to make: The courteous prince stepped back, and "Yield thee!" cried, No hurt he proffered him, no blow he strake. Meanwhile by stealth the Pagan false him gave A sudden wound, threatening with speeches brave: XXVI Herewith Tancredi furious grew, and said, "Villain, dost thou my mercy so despise?" Therewith he thrust and thrust again his blade, And through his ventil pierced his dazzled eyes, Argantes died, yet no complaint he made, But as he furious lived he careless dies; Bold, proud, disdainful, fierce and void of fear His motions last, last looks, last speeches were. XXVII Tancred put up his sword, and praises glad Gave to his God that saved him in this fight; But yet this bloody conquest feebled had So much the conqueror's force, strength and might, That through the way he feared which homeward led He had not strength enough to walk upright; Yet as he could his steps from thence he bent, And foot by foot a heavy pace forth-went; XXVIII His legs could bear him but a little stound, And more he hastes, more tired, less was his speed, On his right hand, at last, laid on the ground He leaned, his hand weak like a shaking reed, Dazzled his eyes, the world on wheels ran round, Day wrapped her brightness up in sable weed; At length he swooned, and the victor knight Naught differed from his conquered foe in fight. XXIX But while these lords their private fight pursue, Made fierce and cruel through their secret hate, The victor's ire destroyed the faithless crew From street to street, and chased from gate to gate. But of the sacked town the image true Who can describe, or paint the woful state, Or with fit words this spectacle express Who can? or tell the city's great distress? XXX Blood, murder, death, each street, house, church defiled, There heaps of slain appear, there mountains high; There underneath the unburied hills up-piled Of bodies dead, the living buried lie; There the sad mother with her tender child Doth tear her tresses loose, complain and fly, And there the spoiler by her amber hair Draws to his lust the virgin chaste and fair. XXXI But through the way that to the west-hill yood Whereon the old and stately temple stands, All soiled with gore and wet with lukewarm blood Rinaldo ran, and chased the Pagan bands; Above their heads he heaved his curtlax good, Life in his grace, and death lay in his hands, Nor helm nor target strong his blows off bears, Best armed there seemed he no arms that wears; XXXII For gainst his armed foes he only bends His force, and scorns the naked folk to wound; Them whom no courage arms, no arms defends, He chased with his looks and dreadful sound: Oh, who can tell how far his force extends? How these he scorns, threats those, lays them on ground? How with unequal harm, with equal fear Fled all, all that well armed or naked were: XXXIII Fast fled the people weak, and with the same A squadron strong is to the temple gone Which, burned and builded oft, still keeps the name Of the first founder, wise King Solomon; That prince this stately house did whilom frame Of cedar trees, of gold and marble stone; Now not so rich, yet strong and sure it was, With turrets high, thick walls, and doors of brass. XXXIV The knight arrived where in warklike sort The men that ample church had fortified. And closed found each wicket, gate and port, And on the top defences ready spied, He left his frowning looks, and twice that fort From his high top down to the groundwork eyed, And entrance sought, and twice with his swift foot The mighty place he measured about. XXXV Like as a wolf about the closed fold Rangeth by night his hoped prey to get, Enraged with hunger and with malice old Which kind 'twixt him and harmless sheep hath set: So searched he high and low about that hold, Where he might enter without stop or let, In the great court he stayed, his foes above Attend the assault, and would their fortune prove. XXXVI There lay by chance a posted tree thereby, Kept for some needful use, whate'er it were, The armed galleys not so thick nor high Their tall and lofty masts at Genes uprear; This beam the knight against the gates made fly From his strong hands all weights which lift and bear, Like a light lance that tree he shook and tossed, And bruised the gate, the threshold and the post. XXXVII No marble stone, no metal strong outbore The wondrous might of that redoubled blow, The brazen hinges from the wall it tore, It broke the locks, and laid the doors down low, No iron ram, no engine could do more, Nor cannons great that thunderbolts forth throw, His people like a flowing stream inthrong, And after them entered the victor strong; XXXVIII The woful slaughter black and loathsome made That house, sometime the sacred house of God, O heavenly justice, if thou be delayed, On wretched sinners sharper falls thy rod! In them this place profaned which invade Thou kindled ire, and mercy all forbode, Until with their hearts' blood the Pagans vile This temple washed which they did late defile. XXXIX But Solyman this while himself fast sped Up to the fort which David's tower is named, And with him all the soldiers left he led, And gainst each entrance new defences framed: The tyrant Aladine eke thither fled, To whom the Soldan thus, far off, exclaimed, Thyself, within this fortress safe uplock: XL "For well this fortress shall thee and thy crown Defend, awhile here may we safe remain." "Alas!" quoth he, "alas, for this fair town, Which cruel war beats down even with the plain, My life is done, mine empire trodden down, I reigned, I lived, but now nor live nor reign; For now, alas! behold the fatal hour That ends our life, and ends our kingly power." XLI "Where is your virtue, where your wisdom grave, And courage stout?" the angry Soldan said, "Let chance our kingdoms take which erst she gave, Yet in our hearts our kingly worth is laid; But come, and in this fort your person save, Refresh your weary limbs and strength decayed:" Thus counselled he, and did to safety bring Within that fort the weak and aged king. XLII His iron mace in both his hands he hent, And on his thigh his trusty sword he tied, And to the entrance fierce and fearless went, And kept the strait, and all the French defied: The blows were mortal which he gave or lent, For whom he hit he slew, else by his side Laid low on earth, that all fled from the place Where they beheld that great and dreadful mace. XLIII But old Raymondo with his hardy crew By chance came thither, to his great mishap; To that defended path the old man flew, And scorned his blows and him that kept the gap, He struck his foe, his blow no blood forth drew, But on the front with that he caught a rap, Which in a swoon, low in the dust him laid, Wide open, trembling, with his arms displayed. XLIV The Pagans gathered heart at last, though fear Their courage weak had put to flight but late, So that the conquerors repulsed were, And beaten back, else slain before the Gate: The Soldan, mongst the dead beside him near That saw Lord Raymond lie in such estate, Cried to his men, "Within these bars," quoth he, "Come draw this knight, and let him captive be." XLV Forward they rushed to execute his word, But hard and dangerous that emprise they found, For none of Raymond's men forsook their lord, But to their guide's defence they flocked round, Thence fury fights, hence pity draws the sword, Nor strive they for vile cause or on light ground, The life and freedom of that champion brave, Those spoil, these would preserve, those kill, these save. XLVI But yet at last if they had longer fought The hardy Soldan would have won the field; For gainst his thundering mace availed naught Or helm of temper fine or sevenfold shield: But from each side great succor now was brought To his weak foes, now fit to faint and yield, And both at once to aid and help the same The sovereign Duke and young Rinaldo came. XLVII As when a shepherd, raging round about That sees a storm with wind, hail, thunder, rain, When gloomy clouds have day's bright eye put out, His tender flocks drives from the open plain To some thick grove or mountain's shady foot, Where Heaven's fierce wrath they may unhurt sustain, And with his hook, his whistle and his cries Drives forth his fleecy charge, and with them flies: XLVIII So fled the Soldan, when he gan descry This tempest come from angry war forthcast, The armor clashed and lightened gainst the sky, And from each side swords, weapons, fire outbrast: He sent his folk up to the fortress high, To shun the furious storm, himself stayed last, Yet to the danger he gave place at length, For wit, his courage; wisdom ruled his strength. XLIX But scant the knight was safe the gate within, Scant closed were the doors, when having broke The bars, Rinaldo doth assault begin Against the port, and on the wicket stroke His matchless might, his great desire to win, His oath and promise, doth his wrath provoke, For he had sworn, nor should his word be vain, To kill the man that had Prince Sweno slain. L And now his armed hand that castle great Would have assaulted, and had shortly won, Nor safe pardie the Soldan there a seat Had found his fatal foes' sharp wrath to shun, Had not Godfredo sounded the retreat; For now dark shades to shroud the earth begun, Within the town the duke would lodge that night, And with the morn renew the assault and fight. LI With cheerful look thus to his folk he said, "High God hath holpen well his children dear, This work is done, the rest this night delayed Doth little labor bring, less doubt, no fear, This tower, our foe's weak hope and latest aid, We conquer will, when sun shall next appear: Meanwhile with love and tender ruth go see And comfort those which hurt and wounded be; LII "Go cure their wounds which boldly ventured Their lives, and spilt their bloods to get this hold, That fitteth more this host for Christ forth led, Than thirst of vengeance, or desire of gold; Too much, ah, too much blood this day is shed! In some we too much haste to spoil behold, But I command no more you spoil and kill, And let a trumpet publish forth my will." LIII This said, he went where Raymond panting lay, Waked from the swoon wherein he late had been. Nor Solyman with countenance less gay Bespake his troops, and kept his grief unseen; "My friends, you are unconquered this day, In spite of fortune still our hope is green, For underneath great shows of harm and fear, Our dangers small, our losses little were: LIV "Burnt are your houses, and your people slain, Yet safe your town is, though your walls be gone, For in yourselves and in your sovereign Consists your city, not in lime and stone; Your king is safe, and safe is all his train In this strong fort defended from their fone, And on this empty conquest let them boast, Till with this town again, their lives be lost; LV "And on their heads the loss at last will light, For with good fortune proud and insolent, In spoil and murder spend they day and night, In riot, drinking, lust and ravishment, And may amid their preys with little fight At ease be overthrown, killed, slain and spent, If in this carelessness the Egyptian host Upon them fall, which now draws near this coast. LVI "Meanwhile the highest buildings of this town We may shake down with stones about their ears, And with our darts and spears from engines thrown, Command that hill Christ's sepulchre that bears:" Thus comforts he their hopes and hearts cast down, Awakes their valors, and exiles their fears. But while the things hapt thus, Vafrino goes Unknown, amid ten thousand armed foes. LVII The sun nigh set had brought to end the day, When Vafrine went the Pagan host to spy, He passed unknown a close and secret way; A traveller, false, cunning, crafty, sly, Past Ascalon he saw the morning gray Step o'er the threshold of the eastern sky, And ere bright Titan half his course had run, That camp, that mighty host to show begun. LVIII Tents infinite, and standards broad he spies, This red, that white, that blue, this purple was, And hears strange tongues, and stranger harmonies Of trumpets, clarions, and well-sounding brass: The elephant there brays, the camel cries. The horses neigh as to and fro they pass: Which seen and heard, he said within his thought, Hither all Asia is, all Afric, brought. LIX He viewed the camp awhile, her site and seat, What ditch, what trench it had, what rampire strong, Nor close, nor secret ways to work his feat He longer sought, nor hid him from the throng; But entered through the gates, broad, royal, great, And oft he asked, and answered oft among, In questions wise, in answers short and sly; Bold was his look, eyes quick, front lifted high: LX On every side he pried here and there, And marked each way, each passage and each tent: The knights he notes, their steeds, and arms they bear, Their names, their armor, and their government; And greater secrets hopes to learn, and hear, Their hidden purpose, and their close intent: So long he walked and wandered, till he spied The way to approach the great pavilions' side: LXI There as he looked he saw the canvas rent, Through which the voice found eath and open way From the close lodgings of the regal tent And inmost closet where the captain lay; So that if Emireno spake, forth went The sound to them that listen what they say, There Vafrine watched, and those that saw him thought To mend the breach that there he stood and wrought. LXII The captain great within bare-headed stood, His body armed and clad in purple weed, Two pages bore his shield and helmet good, He leaning on a bending lance gave heed To a big man whose looks were fierce and proud, With whom he parleyed of some haughty deed, Godfredo's name as Vafrine watched he heard, Which made him give more heed, take more regard: LXIII Thus spake the chieftain to that surly sir, "Art thou so sure that Godfrey shall be slain?" "I am," quoth he, "and swear ne'er to retire, Except he first be killed, to court again. I will prevent those that with me conspire: Nor other guerdon ask I for my pain But that I may hang up his harness brave At Gair, and under them these words engrave: LXIV "'These arms Ormondo took in noble fight From Godfrey proud, that spoiled all Asia's lands, And with them took his life, and here on high, In memory thereof, this trophy stands.'" The duke replied, "Ne'er shall that deed, bold knight, Pass unrewarded at our sovereign's hands, What thou demandest shall he gladly grant, Nor gold nor guerdon shalt thou wish or want. LXV "Those counterfeited armors then prepare, Because the day of fight approacheth fast." "They ready are," quoth he; then both forbare From further talk, these speeches were the last. Vafrine, these great things heard, with grief and care Remained astound, and in his thoughts oft cast What treason false this was, how feigned were Those arms, but yet that doubt he could not clear. LXVI From thence he parted, and broad waking lay All that long night, nor slumbered once nor slept: But when the camp by peep of springing day Their banner spread, and knights on horseback leapt, With them he marched forth in meet array, And where they pitched lodged, and with them kept, And then from tent to tent he stalked about, To hear and see, and learn this secret out; LXVII Searching about, on a rich throne he fand Armida set with dames and knights around, Sullen she sat, and sighed, it seemed she scanned Some weighty matters in her thoughts profounds, Her rosy cheek leaned on her lily hand, Her eyes, love's twinkling stars, she bent to ground, Weep she, or no, he knows not, yet appears Her humid eyes even great with child with tears. LXVIII He saw before her set Adrastus grim, That seemed scant to live, move, or respire, So was he fixed on his mistress trim, So gazed he, and fed his fond desire; But Tisiphern beheld now her now him, And quaked sometime for love, sometime for ire, And in his cheeks the color went and came, For there wrath's fire now burnt, now shone love's flame. LXIX Then from the garland fair of virgins bright, Mongst whom he lay enclosed, rose Altamore, His hot desire he hid and kept from sight, His looks were ruled by Cupid's crafty lore, His left eye viewed her hand, her face, his right Both watched her beauties hid and secret store, And entrance found where her thin veil bewrayed The milken-way between her breasts that laid. LXX Her eyes Armida lift from earth at last, And cleared again her front and visage sad, Midst clouds of woe her looks which overcast She lightened forth a smile, sweet, pleasant, glad; "My lord," quoth she, "your oath and promise passed, Hath freed my heart of all the griefs it had, That now in hope of sweet revenge it lives, Such joy, such ease, desired vengeance gives." LXXI "Cheer up thy looks," answered the Indian king, "And for sweet beauty's sake, appease thy woe, Cast at your feet ere you expect the thing, I will present the head of thy strong foe; Else shall this hand his person captive bring And cast in prison deep;" he boasted so. His rival heard him well, yet answered naught, But bit his lips, and grieved in secret thought. LXXII To Tisipherne the damsel turning right, "And what say you, my noble lord?" quoth she. He taunting said, "I that am slow to fight Will follow far behind, the worth to see Of this your terrible and puissant knight," In scornful words this bitter scoff gave he. "Good reason," quoth the king, "thou come behind, Nor e'er compare thee with the Prince of Ind." LXXIII Lord Tisiphernes shook his head, and said, "Oh, had my power free like my courage been, Or had I liberty to use this blade, Who slow, who weakest is, soon should be seen, Nor thou, nor thy great vaunts make me afraid, But cruel love I fear, and this fair queen." This said, to challenge him the king forth leapt, But up their mistress start, and twixt them stepped: LXXIV "Will you thus rob me of that gift," quoth she, "Which each hath vowed to give by word and oath? You are my champions, let that title be The bond of love and peace between you both; He that displeased is, is displeased with me, For which of you is grieved, and I not wroth?" Thus warned she them, their hearts, for ire nigh broke, In forced peace and rest thus bore love's yoke. LXXV All this heard Vafrine as he stood beside, And having learned the truth, he left the tent, That treason was against the Christian's guide Contrived, he wist, yet wist not how it went, By words and questions far off, he tried To find the truth; more difficult, more bent Was he to know it, and resolved to die, Or of that secret close the intent to spy. LXXVI Of sly intelligence he proved all ways, All crafts, all wiles, that in his thoughts abide, Yet all in vain the man by wit assays, To know that false compact and practice hid: But chance, what wisdom could not tell, bewrays, Fortune of all his doubt the knots undid, So that prepared for Godfrey's last mishap At ease he found the net, and spied the trap. LXXVII Thither he turned again where seated was, The angry lover, 'twixt her friends and lords, For in that troop much talk he thought would pass, Each great assembly store of news affords, He sided there a lusty lovely lass, And with some courtly terms the wench he boards, He feigns acquaintance, and as bold appears As he had known that virgin twenty years. LXXVIII He said, "Would some sweet lady grace me so, To chose me for her champion, friend and knight, Proud Godfrey's or Rinaldo's head, I trow, Should feel the sharpness of my curtlax bright; Ask me the head, fair mistress, of some foe, For to your beauty wooed is my might;" So he began, and meant in speeches wise Further to wade, but thus he broke the ice. LXXIX Therewith he smiled, and smiling gan to frame His looks so to their old and native grace, That towards him another virgin came, Heard him, beheld him, and with bashful face Said, "For thy mistress choose no other dame But me, on me thy love and service place, I take thee for my champion, and apart Would reason with thee, if my knight thou art." LXXX Withdrawn, she thus began, "Vafrine, pardie, I know thee well, and me thou knowest of old," To his last trump this drove the subtle spy, But smiling towards her he turned him bold, "Ne'er that I wot I saw thee erst with eye, Yet for thy worth all eyes should thee behold, Thus much I know right well, for from the same Which erst you gave me different is my name. LXXXI "My mother bore me near Bisertus wall, Her name was Lesbine, mine is Almansore!" "I knew long since," quoth she, "what men thee call, And thine estate, dissemble it no more, From me thy friend hide not thyself at all, If I betray thee let me die therefore, I am Erminia, daughter to a prince, But Tancred's slave, thy fellow-servant since; LXXXII "Two happy months within that prison kind, Under thy guard rejoiced I to dwell, And thee a keeper meek and good did find, The same, the same I am; behold me well." The squire her lovely beauty called to mind, And marked her visage fair: "From thee expel All fear," she says, "for me live safe and sure, I will thy safety, not thy harm procure. LXXXIII "But yet I pray thee, when thou dost return, To my dear prison lead me home again; For in this hateful freedom even and morn I sigh for sorrow, mourn and weep for pain: But if to spy perchance thou here sojourn, Great hap thou hast to know these secrets plain, For I their treasons false, false trains can say, Which few beside can tell, none will betray." LXXXIV On her he gazed, and silent stood this while, Armida's sleights he knew, and trains unjust, Women have tongues of craft, and hearts of guile, They will, they will not, fools that on them trust, For in their speech is death, hell in their smile; At last he said, "If hence depart you lust, I will you guide; on this conclude we here, And further speech till fitter time forbear." LXXXV Forthwith, ere thence the camp remove, to ride They were resolved, their flight that season fits, Vafrine departs, she to the dames beside Returns, and there on thorns awhile she sits, Of her new knight she talks, till time and tide To scape unmarked she find, then forth she gets, Thither where Vafrine her unseen abode, There took she horse, and from the camp they rode. LXXXVI And now in deserts waste and wild arrived, Far from the camp, far from resort and sight, Vafrine began, "Gainst Godfrey's life contrived The false compacts and trains unfold aright:" Then she those treasons, from their spring derived, Repeats, and brings their hid deceits to light, "Eight knights," she says, "all courtiers brave, there are, But Ormond strong the rest surpasseth far: LXXXVII "These, whether hate or hope of gain them move, Conspired have, and framed their treason so, That day when Emiren by fight shall prove To win lost Asia from his Christian foe, These, with the cross scored on their arms above, And armed like Frenchmen will disguised go, Like Godfrey's guard that gold and white do wear, Such shall their habit be, and such their gear: LXXXVIII "Yet each will bear a token in his crest, That so their friends for Pagans may them know: But in close fight when all the soldiers best Shall mingled be, to give the fatal blow They will keep near, and pierce Godfredo's breast, While of his faithful guard they bear false show, And all their swords are dipped in poison strong, Because each wound shall bring sad death ere long. LXXXIX "And for their chieftain wist I knew your guise, What garments, ensigns, and what arms you carry, Those feigned arms he forced me to devise, So that from yours but small or naught they vary; But these unjust commands my thoughts despise, Within their camp therefore I list not tarry, My heart abhors I should this hand defile With spot of treason, or with act of guile. XC "This is the cause, but not the cause alone:" And there she ceased, and blushed, and on the main Cast down her eyes, these last words scant outgone, She would have stopped, nor durst pronounce them plain. The squire what she concealed would know, as one That from her breast her secret thoughts could strain, "Of little faith," quoth he, "why would'st thou hide Those causes true, from me thy squire and guide?" XCI With that she fetched a sigh, sad, sore and deep, And from her lips her words slow trembling came, "Fruitless," she said, "untimely, hard to keep, Vain modesty farewell, and farewell shame, Why hope you restless love to bring on sleep? Why strive you fires to quench, sweet Cupid's flame? No, no, such cares, and such respects beseem Great ladies, wandering maids them naught esteem. XCII "That night fatal to me and Antioch town, Then made a prey to her commanding foe, My loss was greater than was seen or known, There ended not, but thence began my woe: Light was the loss of friends, of realm or crown; But with my state I lost myself also, Ne'er to be found again, for then I lost My wit, my sense, my heart, my soul almost. XCIII "Through fire and sword, through blood and death, Vafrine, Which all my friends did burn, did kill, did chase, Thou know'st I ran to thy dear lord and mine, When first he entered had my father's place, And kneeling with salt ears in my swollen eyne; 'Great prince,' quoth I, 'grant mercy, pity, grace, Save not my kingdom, not my life I said, But save mine honor, let me die a maid.' XCIV "He lift me by the trembling hand from ground, Nor stayed he till my humble speech was done; But said, 'A friend and keeper hast thou found, Fair virgin, nor to me in vain you run:' A sweetness strange from that sweet voice's sound Pierced my heart, my breast's weak fortress won, Which creeping through my bosom soft became A wound, a sickness, and a quenchless flame. XCV "He visits me, with speeches kind and grave He sought to ease my grief, and sorrows' smart. He said, 'I give thee liberty, receive All that is thine, and at thy will depart:' Alas, he robbed me when he thought he gave, Free was Erminia, but captived her heart, Mine was the body, his the soul and mind, He gave the cage but kept the bird behind. XCVI "But who can hide desire, or love suppress? Oft of his worth with thee in talk I strove, Thou, by my trembling fit that well could'st guess What fever held me, saidst, 'Thou art in love;' But I denied, for what can maids do less? And yet my sighs thy sayings true did prove, Instead of speech, my looks, my tears, mine eyes, Told in what flame, what fire thy mistress fries. XCVII "Unhappy silence, well I might have told My woes, and for my harms have sought relief, Since now my pains and plaints I utter bold, Where none that hears can help or ease my grief. From him I parted, and did close upfold My wounds within my bosom, death was chief Of all my hopes and helps, till love's sweet flame Plucked off the bridle of respect and shame, XCVIII "And caused me ride to seek my lord and knight, For he that made me sick could make me sound: But on an ambush I mischanced to light Of cruel men, in armour clothed round, Hardly I scaped their hand by mature flight. And fled to wilderness and desert ground, And there I lived in groves and forests wild, With gentle grooms and shepherds' daughters mild. XCIX "But when hot love which fear had late suppressed, Revived again, there nould I longer sit, But rode the way I came, nor e'er took rest, Till on like danger, like mishap I hit, A troop to forage and to spoil addressed, Encountered me, nor could I fly from it: Thus was I ta'en, and those that had me caught, Egyptians were, and me to Gaza brought, C "And for a present to their captain gave, Whom I entreated and besought so well, That he mine honor had great care to save, And since with fair Armida let me dwell. Thus taken oft, escaped oft I have, Ah, see what haps I passed, what dangers fell, So often captive, free so oft again, Still my first bands I keep, still my first chain. CI "And he that did this chain so surely bind About my heart, which none can loose but he, Let him not say, 'Go, wandering damsel, find Some other home, thou shalt not bide with me,' But let him welcome me with speeches kind, And in my wonted prison set me free:" Thus spake the princess, thus she and her guide Talked day and night, and on their journey ride. CII Through the highways Vafrino would not pass, A path more secret, safe and short, he knew, And now close by the city's wall he was, When sun was set, night in the east upflew, With drops of blood besmeared he found the grass, And saw where lay a warrior murdered new, That all be-bled the ground, his face to skies He turns, and seems to threat, though dead he lies: CIII His harness and his habit both betrayed He was a Pagan; forward went the squire, And saw whereas another champion laid Dead on the land, all soiled with blood and mire, "This was some Christian knight," Vafrino said: And marking well his arms and rich attire, He loosed his helm, and saw his visage plain, And cried, "Alas, here lies Tancredi slain!" CIV The woful virgin tarried, and gave heed To the fierce looks of that proud Saracine, Till that high cry, full of sad fear and dread, Pierced through her heart with sorrow, grief and pine, At Tancred's name thither she ran with speed, Like one half mad, or drunk with too much wine, And when she saw his face, pale, bloodless, dead, She lighted, nay, she stumbled from her steed: CV Her springs of tears she looseth forth, and cries, "Hither why bring'st thou me, ah, Fortune blind? Where dead, for whom I lived, my comfort lies, Where war for peace, travail for rest I find; Tancred, I have thee, see thee, yet thine eyes Looked not upon thy love and handmaid kind, Undo their doors, their lids fast closed sever, Alas, I find thee for to lose thee ever. CVI "I never thought that to mine eyes, my dear, Thou couldst have grievous or unpleasant been; But now would blind or rather dead I were, That thy sad plight might be unknown, unseen! Alas! where is thy mirth and smiling cheer? Where are thine eyes' clear beams and sparkles sheen? Of thy fair cheek where is the purple red, And forehead's whiteness? are all gone, all dead? CVII "Though gone, though dead, I love thee still, behold; Death wounds, but kills not love; yet if thou live, Sweet soul, still in his breast, my follies bold Ah, pardon love's desires, and stealths forgive; Grant me from his pale mouth some kisses cold, Since death doth love of just reward deprive; And of thy spoils sad death afford me this, Let me his mouth, pale, cold and bloodless, kiss; CVIII "O gentle mouth! with speeches kind and sweet Thou didst relieve my grief, my woe and pain, Ere my weak soul from this frail body fleet, Ah, comfort me with one dear kiss or twain! Perchance if we alive had happed to meet, They had been given which now are stolen, O vain, O feeble life, betwixt his lips out fly, Oh, let me kiss thee first, then let me die! CIX "Receive my yielding spirit, and with thine Guide it to heaven, where all true love hath place:" This said, she sighed, and tore her tresses fine, And from her eyes two streams poured on his face, The man revived, with those showers divine Awaked, and opened his lips a space; His lips were open; but fast shut his eyes, And with her sighs, one sigh from him upflies. CX The dame perceived that Tancred breathed and sighed, Which calmed her grief somedeal and eased her fears: "Unclose thine eyes," she says, "my lord and knight, See my last services, my plaints and tears, See her that dies to see thy woful plight, That of thy pain her part and portion bears; Once look on me, small is the gift I crave, The last which thou canst give, or I can have." CXI Tancred looked up, and closed his eyes again, Heavy and dim, and she renewed her woe. Quoth Vafrine, "Cure him first, and then complain, Medicine is life's chief friend; plaint her most foe:" They plucked his armor off, and she each vein, Each joint, and sinew felt, and handled so, And searched so well each thrust, each cut and wound, That hope of life her love and skill soon found. CXII From weariness and loss of blood she spied His greatest pains and anguish most proceed, Naught but her veil amid those deserts wide She had to bind his wounds, in so great need, But love could other bands, though strange, provide, And pity wept for joy to see that deed, For with her amber locks cut off, each wound She tied: O happy man, so cured so bound! CXIII For why her veil was short and thin, those deep And cruel hurts to fasten, roll and blind, Nor salve nor simple had she, yet to keep Her knight on live, strong charms of wondrous kind She said, and from him drove that deadly sleep, That now his eyes he lifted, turned and twined, And saw his squire, and saw that courteous dame In habit strange, and wondered whence she came. CXIV He said, "O Vafrine, tell me, whence com'st thou? And who this gentle surgeon is, disclose;" She smiled, she sighed, she looked she wist not how, She wept, rejoiced, she blushed as red as rose. "You shall know all," she says, "your surgeon now Commands you silence, rest and soft repose, You shall be sound, prepare my guerdon meet," His head then laid she in her bosom sweet. CXV Vafrine devised this while how he might bear His master home, ere night obscured the land, When lo, a troop of soldiers did appear, Whom he descried to be Tancredi's band, With him when he and Argant met they were; But when they went to combat hand for hand, He bade them stay behind, and they obeyed, But came to seek him now, so long he stayed. CXVI Besides them, many followed that enquest, But these alone found out the rightest way, Upon their friendly arms the men addressed A seat whereon he sat, he leaned, he lay: Quoth Tancred, "Shall the strong Circassian rest In this broad field, for wolves and crows a prey? Ah no, defraud not you that champion brave Of his just praise, of his due tomb and grave: CXVII "With his dead bones no longer war have I, Boldly he died and nobly was he slain, Then let us not that honor him deny Which after death alonely doth remain:" The Pagan dead they lifted up on high, And after Tancred bore him through the plain. Close by the virgin chaste did Vafrine ride, As he that was her squire, her guard, her guide. CXVIII "Not home," quoth Tancred, "to my wonted tent, But bear me to this royal town, I pray, That if cut short by human accident I die, there I may see my latest day, The place where Christ upon his cross was rent To heaven perchance may easier make the way, And ere I yield to Death's and Fortune's rage, Performed shall be my vow and pilgrimage." CXIX Thus to the city was Tancredi borne, And fell on sleep, laid on a bed of down. Vafrino where the damsel might sojourn A chamber got, close, secret, near his own; That done he came the mighty duke beforn, And entrance found, for till his news were known, Naught was concluded mongst those knights and lords, Their counsel hung on his report and words. CXX Where weak and weary wounded Raymond laid, Godfrey was set upon his couch's side, And round about the man a ring was made Of lords and knights that filled the chamber wide; There while the squire his late discovery said, To break his talk, none answered, none replied, "My lord," he said, "at your command I went And viewed their camp, each cabin, booth and tent; CXXI "But of that mighty host the number true Expect not that I can or should descry, All covered with their armies might you view The fields, the plains, the dales and mountains high, I saw what way soe'er they went and drew, They spoiled the land, drunk floods and fountains dry, For not whole Jordan could have given them drink, Nor all the grain in Syria, bread, I think. CXXII "But yet amongst them many bands are found Both horse and foot, of little force and might, That keep no order, know no trumpet's sound, That draw no sword, but far off shoot and fight, But yet the Persian army doth abound With many a footman strong and hardy knight, So doth the King's own troop which all is framed Of soldiers old, the Immortal Squadron named. CXXIII "Immortal called is that band of right, For of that number never wanteth one, But in his empty place some other knight Steps in, when any man is dead or gone: This army's leader Emireno hight, Like whom in wit and strength are few or none, Who hath in charge in plain and pitched field, To fight with you, to make you fly or yield. CXXIV "And well I know their army and their host Within a day or two will here arrive: But thee Rinaldo it behoveth most To keep thy noble head, for which they strive, For all the chief in arms or courage boast They will the same to Queen Armida give, And for the same she gives herself in price, Such hire will many hands to work entice. CXXV "The chief of these that have thy murder sworn, Is Altamore, the king of Samarcand! Adrastus then, whose realm lies near the morn, A hardy giant, bold, and strong of hand, This king upon an elephant is borne, For under him no horse can stir or stand; The third is Tisipherne, as brave a lord As ever put on helm or girt on sword." CXXVI This said, from young Rinaldo's angry eyes, Flew sparks of wrath, flames in his visage shined, He longed to be amid those enemies, Nor rest nor reason in his heart could find. But to the Duke Vafrine his talk applies, "The greatest news, my lord, are yet behind, For all their thoughts, their crafts and counsels tend By treason false to bring thy life to end." CXXVII Then all from point to point he gan expose The false compact, how it was made and wrought, The arms and ensigns feigned, poison close, Ormondo's vaunt, what praise, what thank he sought, And what reward, and satisfied all those That would demand, inquire, or ask of aught. Silence was made awhile, when Godfrey thus,-- "Raymondo, say, what counsel givest thou us?" CXXVIII "Not as we purposed late, next morn," quoth he, "Let us not scale, but round besiege this tower, That those within may have no issue free To sally out, and hurt us with their power, Our camp well rested and refreshed see, Provided well gainst this last storm and shower, And then in pitched field, fight, if you will; If not, delay and keep this fortress still. CXXIX "But lest you be endangered, hurt, or slain, Of all your cares take care yourself to save, By you this camp doth live, doth win, doth reign, Who else can rule or guide these squadrons brave? And for the traitors shall be noted plain, Command your guard to change the arms they have, So shall their guile be known, in their own net So shall they fall, caught in the snare they set." CXXX "As it hath ever," thus the Duke begun, "Thy counsel shows thy wisdom and thy love, And what you left in doubt shall thus be done, We will their force in pitched battle prove; Closed in this wall and trench, the fight to shun, Doth ill this camp beseem, and worse behove, But we their strength and manhood will assay, And try, in open field and open day. CXXXI "The fame of our great conquests to sustain, Or bide our looks and threats, they are not able, And when this army is subdued and slain Then is our empire settled, firm and stable, The tower shall yield, or but resist in vain, For fear her anchor is, despair her cable." Thus he concludes, and rolling down the west Fast set the stars, and called them all to rest. TWENTIETH BOOK THE ARGUMENT. The Pagan host arrives, and cruel fight Makes with the Christians and their faithful power; The Soldan longs in field to prove his might, With the old king quits the besieged tower; Yet both are slain, and in eternal night A famous hand gives each his fatal hour; Rinald appeased Armida; first the field The Christians win, then praise to God they yield. I The sun called up the world from idle sleep, And of the day ten hours were gone and past When the bold troop that had the tower to keep Espied a sudden mist, that overcast The earth with mirksome clouds and darkness deep, And saw it was the Egyptian camp at last Which raised the dust, for hills and valleys broad That host did overspread and overload. II Therewith a merry shout and joyful cry The Pagans reared from their besieged hold; The cranes from Thrace with such a rumor fly, His hoary frost and snow when Hyems old Pours down, and fast to warmer regions hie, From the sharp winds, fierce storms and tempests cold; And quick, and ready this new hope and aid, Their hands to shoot, their tongues to threaten made. III From whence their ire, their wrath and hardy threat Proceeds, the French well knew, and plain espied, For from the walls and ports the army great They saw; her strength, her number, pomp, and pride, Swelled their breasts with valor's noble heat; Battle and fight they wished, "Arm, arm!" they cried; The youth to give the sign of fight all prayed Their Duke, and were displeased because delayed IV Till morning next, for he refused to fight; Their haste and heat he bridled, but not brake, Nor yet with sudden fray or skirmish light Of these new foes would he vain trial make. "After so many wars," he says, "good right It is, that one day's rest at least you take," For thus in his vain foes he cherish would The hope which in their strength they have and hold. V To see Aurora's gentle beam appear, The soldiers armed, prest and ready lay, The skies were never half so fair and clear As in the breaking of that blessed day, The merry morning smiled, and seemed to wear Upon her silver crown sun's golden ray, And without cloud heaven his redoubled light Bent down to see this field, this fray, this fight. VI When first he saw the daybreak show and shine, Godfrey his host in good array brought out, And to besiege the tyrant Aladine Raymond he left, and all the faithful rout That from the towns was come of Palestine To serve and succor their deliverer stout, And with them left a hardy troop beside Of Gascoigns strong, in arms well proved, oft tried. VII Such was Godfredo's countenance, such his cheer, That from his eye sure conquest flames and streams, Heaven's gracious favors in his looks appear, And great and goodly more than erst he seems; His face and forehead full of noblesse were, And on his cheek smiled youth's purple beams, And in his gait, his grace, his acts, his eyes, Somewhat, far more than mortal, lives and lies. VIII He had not marched far ere he espied Of his proud foes the mighty host draw nigh; A hill at first he took and fortified At his left hand which stood his army by, Broad in the front behind more strait uptied His army ready stood the fight to try, And to the middle ward well armed he brings His footmen strong, his horsemen served for wings. IX To the left wing, spread underneath the bent Of the steep hill that saved their flank and side, The Roberts twain, two leaders good, he sent; His brother had the middle ward to guide; To the right wing himself in person went Down, where the plain was dangerous, broad and wide, And where his foes with their great numbers would Perchance environ round his squadrons bold. X There all his Lorrainers and men of might, All his best armed he placed, and chosen bands, And with those horse some footmen armed light, That archers were, used to that service, stands; The adventurers then, in battle and in fight Well tried, a squadron famous through all lands, On the right hand he set, somedeal aside, Rinaldo was their leader, lord and guide. XI To whom the Duke, "In thee our hope is laid Of victory, thou must the conquest gain, Behind this mighty wing, so far displayed, Thou with thy noble squadron close remain; And when the Pagans would our backs invade, Assail them then, and make their onset vain; For if I guess aright, they have in mind To compass us, and charge our troops behind." XII Then through his host, that took so large a scope, He rode, and viewed them all, both horse and foot; His face was bare, his helm unclosed and ope, Lightened his eyes, his looks bright fire shot out; He cheers the fearful, comforts them that hope, And to the bold recounts his boasting stout, And to the valiant his adventures hard, These bids he look for praise, those for reward. XIII At last he stayed where of his squadrons bold And noblest troops assembled was best part; There from a rising bank his will he told, And all that heard his speech thereat took heart: And as the mountain snow from mountains cold Runs down in streams with eloquence and art, So from his lips his words and speeches fell, Shrill, speedy, pleasant, sweet, and placed well. XIV "My hardy host, you conquerors of the East, You scourge wherewith Christ whips his heathen fone, Of victory behold the latest feast, See the last day for which you wished alone; Not without cause the Saracens most and least Our gracious Lord hath gathered here in one, For all your foes and his assembled are, That one day's fight may end seven years of war. XV "This fight shall bring us many victories, The danger none, the labor will be small, Let not the number of your enemies Dismay your hearts, grant fear no place at all; For strife and discord through their army flies, Their bands ill ranked themselves entangle shall, And few of them to strike or fight shall come, For some want strength, some heart, some elbow-room. XVI "This host, with whom you must encounter now, Are men half naked, without strength or skill, From idleness, or following the plough, Late pressed forth to war against their will, Their swords are blunt, shields thin, soon pierced through, Their banners shake, their bearers shrink, for ill Their leaders heard, obeyed, or followed be, Their loss, their flight, their death I will foresee. XVII "Their captain clad in purple, armed in gold, That seems so fierce, so hardy, stout and strong, The Moors or weak Arabians vanquish could, Yet can he not resist your valors long. What can he do, though wise, though sage, though bold, In that confusion, trouble, thrust and throng? Ill known he is, and worse he knows his host, Strange lords ill feared are, ill obeyed of most. XVIII "But I am captain of this chosen crew, With whom I oft have conquered, triumphed oft, Your lands and lineages long since I knew, Each knight obeys my rule, mild, easy, soft, I know each sword, each dart, each shaft I view, Although the quarrel fly in skies aloft, Whether the same of Ireland be, or France, And from what bow it comes, what hand perchance. XIX "I ask an easy and a usual thing, As you have oft, this day, so win the field, Let zeal and honor be your virtue's sting, Your lives, my fame, Christ's faith defend and shield, To earth these Pagans slain and wounded bring, Tread on their necks, make them all die or yield,-- What need I more exhort you? from your eyes I see how victory, how conquest flies." XX Upon the captain, when his speech was done, It seemed a lamp and golden light down came, As from night's azure mantle oft doth run Or fall, a sliding star, or shining flame; But from the bosom of the burning sun Proceeded this, and garland-wise the same Godfredo's noble head encompassed round, And, as some thought, foreshowed he should be crowned. XXI Perchance, if man's proud thought or saucy tongue Have leave to judge or guess at heavenly things, This was the angel which had kept him long, That now came down, and hid him with his wings. While thus the Duke bespeaks his armies strong, And every troop and band in order brings. Lord Emiren his host disposed well, And with bold words whet on their courage fell; XXII The man brought forth his army great with speed, In order good, his foes at hand he spied, Like the new moon his host two horns did spreed, In midst the foot, the horse were on each side, The right wing kept he for himself to lead, Great Altamore received the left to guide, The middle ward led Muleasses proud, And in that battle fair Armida stood. XXIII On the right quarter stood the Indian grim, With Tisipherne and all the king's own band; But when the left wing spread her squadrons trim O'er the large plain, did Altamoro stand, With African and Persian kings with him, And two that came from Meroe's hot sand, And all his crossbows and his slings he placed, Where room best served to shoot, to throw, to cast. XXIV Thus Emiren his host put in array, And rode from band to band, from rank to rank, His truchmen now, and now himself, doth say, What spoil his folk shall gain, what praise, what thank. To him that feared, "Look up, ours is the day," He says, "Vile fear to bold hearts never sank, How dareth one against an hundred fight? Our cry, our shade, will put them all to flight." XXV But to the bold, "Go, hardy knight," he says, "His prey out of this lion's paws go tear:" To some before his thoughts the shape he lays, And makes therein the image true appear, How his sad country him entreats and prays, His house, his loving wife, and children dear: "Suppose," quoth he, "thy country doth beseech And pray thee thus, suppose this is her speech. XXVI "Defend my laws, uphold my temples brave, My blood from washing of my streets withhold, From ravishing my virgins keep, and save Thine ancestors' dead bones and ashes cold! To thee thy fathers dear and parents grave Show their uncovered heads, white, hoary, old, To thee thy wife--her breasts with tears o'erspread-- Thy sons, their cradles, shows, thy marriage bed." XXVII To all the rest, "You for her honor's sake Whom Asia makes her champions, by your might Upon these thieves, weak, feeble, few, must take A sharp revenge, yet just, deserved and right." Thus many words in several tongues he spake, And all his sundry nations to sharp fight Encouraged, but now the dukes had done Their speeches all, the hosts together run. XXVIII It was a great, a strange and wondrous sight, When front to front those noble armies met, How every troop, how in each troop each knight Stood prest to move, to fight, and praise to get, Loose in the wind waved their ensigns light, Trembled the plumes that on their crests were set; Their arms, impresses, colors, gold and stone, Against the sunbeams smiled, flamed, sparkled, shone. XXIX Of dry topped oaks they seemed two forests thick, So did each host with spears and pikes abound, Bent were their bows, in rests their lances stick, Their hands shook swords, their slings held cobbles round: Each steed to run was ready, prest and quick, At his commander's spur, his hand, his sound, He chafes, he stamps, careers, and turns about, He foams, snorts, neighs, and fire and smoke breathes out. XXX Horror itself in that fair fight seemed fair, And pleasure flew amid sad dread and fear; The trumpets shrill, that thundered in the air, Were music mild and sweet to every ear: The faithful camp, though less, yet seemed more rare In that strange noise, more warlike, shrill and clear, In notes more sweet, the Pagan trumpets jar, These sung, their armors shined, these glistered far. XXXI The Christian trumpets give the deadly call, The Pagans answer, and the fight accept; The godly Frenchmen on their knees down fall To pray, and kissed the earth, and then up leapt To fight, the land between was vanished all, In combat close each host to other stepped; For now the wings had skirmish hot begun, And with their battles forth the footmen run. XXXII But who was first of all the Christian train, That gave the onset first, first won renown? Gildippes thou wert she, for by thee slain The King of Orms, Hircano, tumbled down, The man's breastbone thou clov'st and rent in twain, So Heaven with honor would thee bless and crown, Pierced through he fell, and falling hard withal His foe praised for her strength and for his fall. XXXIII Her lance thus broke, the hardy dame forth drew With her strong hand a fine and trenchant blade, And gainst the Persians fierce and bold she flew, And in their troop wide streets and lanes she made, Even in the girdling-stead divided new In pieces twain, Zopire on earth she laid; And then Alarco's head she swept off clean, Which like a football tumbled on the green. XXXIV A blow felled Artaxerxes, with a thrust Was Argeus slain, the first lay in a trance, Ismael's left hand cut off fell in the dust, For on his wrist her sword fell down by chance: The hand let go the bridle where it lust, The blow upon the courser's ears did glance, Who felt the reins at large, and with the stroke Half mad, the ranks disordered, troubled, broke. XXXV All these, and many mo, by time forgot, She slew and wounded, when against her came The angry Persians all, cast on a knot, For on her person would they purchase fame: But her dear spouse and husband wanted not In so great need, to aid the noble dame; Thus joined, the haps of war unhurt they prove, Their strength was double, double was their love. XXXVI The noble lovers use well might you see, A wondrous guise, till then unseen, unheard, To save themselves forgot both he and she, Each other's life did keep, defend, and guard; The strokes that gainst her lord discharged be, The dame had care to bear, to break, to ward, His shield kept off the blows bent on his dear, Which, if need be, his naked head should bear. XXXVII So each saved other, each for other's wrong Would vengeance take, but not revenge their own: The valiant Soldan Artabano strong Of Boecan Isle, by her was overthrown, And by his hand, the bodies dead among, Alvante, that durst his mistress wound, fell down, And she between the eyes hit Arimont, Who hurt her lord, and cleft in twain his front. XXXVIII But Altamore who had that wing to lead Far greater slaughter on the Christians made; For where he turned his sword, or twined his steed, He slew, or man and beast on earth down laid, Happy was he that was at first struck dead, That fell not down on live, for whom his blade Had speared, the same cast in the dusty street His horse tore with his teeth, bruised with his feet. XXXIX By this brave Persian's valor, killed and slain Were strong Brunello and Ardonia great; The first his head and helm had cleft in twain, The last in stranger-wise he did intreat, For through his heart he pierced, and his seat, Where laughter hath his fountain and his seat, So that, a dreadful thing, believed uneath, He laughed for pain, and laughed himself to death. XL Nor these alone with that accursed knife, Of this sweet light and breath deprived lie; But with that cruel weapon lost their life Gentonio, Guascar, Rosimond, and Guy; Who knows how many in that fatal strife He slew? what knights his courser fierce made die? The names and countries of the people slain Who tells? their wounds and deaths who can explain? XLI With this fierce king encounter durst not one. Not one durst combat him in equal field, Gildippes undertook that task alone; No doubt could make her shrink, no danger yield, By Thermodont was never Amazone, Who managed steeled axe, or carried shield, That seemed so bold as she, so strong, so light, When forth she run to meet that dreadful knight. XLII She hit him, where with gold and rich anmail, His diadem did on his helmet flame, She broke and cleft the crown, and caused him veil His proud and lofty top, his crest down came, Strong seemed her arm that could so well assail: The Pagan shook for spite and blushed for shame, Forward he rushed, and would at once requite Shame with disgrace, and with revenge despite. XLIII Right on the front he gave that lady kind A blow so huge, so strong, so great, so sore, That out of sense and feeling, down she twined: But her dear knight his love from ground upbore, Were it their fortune, or his noble mind, He stayed his hand and strook the dame no more: A lion so stalks by, and with proud eyes Beholds, but scorns to hurt a man that lies. XLIV This while Ormondo false, whose cruel hand Was armed and prest to give the trait'rous blow, With all his fellows mongst Godfredo's band Entered unseen, disguised that few them know: The thievish wolves, when night o'ershades the land, That seem like faithful dogs in shape and show, So to the closed folds in secret creep, And entrance seek; to kill some harmless sheep. XLV He proached nigh, and to Godfredo's side The bloody Pagan now was placed near: But when his colors gold and white he spied, And saw the other signs that forged were, "See, see, this traitor false!" the captain cried, "That like a Frenchman would in show appear, Behold how near his mates and he are crept!" This said, upon the villain forth he leapt; LXVI Deadly he wounded him, and that false knight Nor strikes nor wards nor striveth to be gone; But, as Medusa's head were in his sight, Stood like a man new turned to marble stone, All lances broke, unsheathed all weapons bright, All quivers emptied were on them alone, In parts so many were the traitors cleft, That those dead men had no dead bodies left. LXVII When Godfrey was with Pagan blood bespread, He entered then the fight and that was past Where the bold Persian fought and combated, Where the close ranks he opened, cleft and brast; Before the knight the troops and squadrons fled, As Afric dust before the southern blast; The Duke recalled them, in array them placed, Stayed those that fled, and him assailed that chased. LXVIII The champions strong there fought a battle stout, Troy never saw the like by Xanthus old: A conflict sharp there was meanwhile on foot Twixt Baldwin good and Muleasses bold: The horsemen also near the mountains rout, And in both wings, a furious skirmish hold, And where the barbarous duke in person stood, Twixt Tisiphernes and Adrastus proud; XLIX With Emiren Robert the Norman strove, Long time they fought, yet neither lost nor won; The other Robert's helm the Indian clove, And broke his arms, their fight would soon be done: From place to place did Tisiphernes rove, And found no match, against him none dust run, But where the press was thickest thither flew The knight, and at each stroke felled, hurt, or slew. L Thus fought they long, yet neither shrink nor yield, In equal balance hung their hope and fear: All full of broken lances lay the field, All full of arms that cloven and shattered were; Of swords, some to the body nail the shield, Some cut men's throats, and some their bellies tear; Of bodies, some upright, some grovelling lay, And for themselves eat graves out of the clay. LI Beside his lord slain lay the noble steed, There friend with friend lay killed like lovers true, There foe with foe, the live under the dead, The victor under him whom late he slew: A hoarse unperfect sound did eachwhere spread, Whence neither silence, nor plain outcries flew: There fury roars, ire threats, and woe complains, One weeps, another cries, he sighs for pains. LII The arms that late so fair and glorious seem, Now soiled and slubbered, sad and sullen grow, The steel his brightness lost, the gold his beam; The colors had no pride nor beauty's show; The plumes and feathers on their crests that stream, Are strowed wide upon the earth below: The hosts both clad in blood, in dust and mire, Had changed their cheer, their pride, their rich attire. LIII But now the Moors, Arabians, Ethiops black, Of the left wing that held the utmost marge, Spread forth their troops, and purposed at the back And side their heedless foes to assail and charge: Slingers and archers were not slow nor slack To shoot and cast, when with his battle large Rinaldo came, whose fury, haste and ire, Seemed earthquake, thunder, tempest, storm and fire. LIV The first he met was Asimire, his throne That set in Meroe's hot sunburnt land, He cut his neck in twain, flesh, skin and bone, The sable head down tumbled on the sand; But when by death of this black prince alone The taste of blood and conquest once he fand, Whole squadrons then, whole troops to earth he brought, Things wondrous, strange, incredible he wrought. LV He gave more deaths than strokes, and yet his blows Upon his feeble foes fell oft and thick, To move three tongues as a fierce serpent shows, Which rolls the one she hath swift, speedy, quick, So thinks each Pagan; each Arabian trows He wields three swords, all in one hilt that stick; His readiness their eyes so blinded hath, Their dread that wonder bred, fear gave it faith. LVI The Afric tyrants and the negro kings Fell down on heaps, drowned each in other's blood, Upon their people ran the knights he brings, Pricked forward by their guide's example good, Killed were the Pagans, broke their bows and slings: Some died, some fell; some yielded, none withstood: A massacre was this, no fight; these put Their foes to death, those hold their throats to cut. LVII Small while they stood, with heart and hardy face, On their bold breasts deep wounds and hurts to bear, But fled away, and troubled in the chase Their ranks disordered be with too much fear: Rinaldo followed them from place to place, Till quite discomfit and dispersed they were. That done, he stays, and all his knights recalls, And scorns to strike his foe that flies or falls. LVIII Like as the wind stopped by some wood or hill, Grows strong and fierce, tears boughs and trees in twain, But with mild blasts, more temperate, gentle, still, Blows through the ample field or spacious plain; Against the rocks as sea-waves murmur shrill, But silent pass amid the open main: Rinaldo so, when none his force withstood, Assuaged his fury, calmed his angry mood; LIX He scorned upon their fearful backs that fled To wreak his ire and spend his force in vain, But gainst the footmen strong his troops he led, Whose side the Moors had open left and plain, The Africans that should have succored That battle, all were run away or slain, Upon their flank with force and courage stout His men at arms assailed the bands on foot: LX He brake their pikes, and brake their close array, Entered their battle, felled them down around, So wind or tempest with impetuous sway The ears of ripened corn strikes flat to ground: With blood, arms, bodies dead, the hardened clay Plastered the earth, no grass nor green was found; The horsemen running through and through their bands, Kill, murder, slay, few scape, not one withstands. LXI Rinaldo came where his forlorn Armide Sate on her golden chariot mounted high, A noble guard she had on every side Of lords, of lovers, and much chivalry: She knew the man when first his arms she spied, Love, hate, wrath, sweet desire strove in her eye, He changed somedeal his look and countenance bold, She changed from frost to fire, from heat to cold. LXII The prince passed by the chariot of his dear Like one that did his thoughts elsewhere bestow, Yet suffered not her knights and lovers near Their rival so to scape withouten blow, One drew his sword, another couched his spear, Herself an arrow sharp set in her bow, Disdain her ire new sharped and kindled hath, But love appeased her, love assuaged her wrath. LXIII Love bridled fury, and revived of new His fire, not dead, though buried in displeasure, Three times her angry hand the bow updrew, And thrice again let slack the string at leisure; But wrath prevailed at last, the reed outflew, For love finds mean, but hatred knows no measure, Outflew the shaft, but with the shaft, this charm, This wish she sent: Heaven grant it do no harm: LXIV She bids the reed return the way it went, And pierce her heart which so unkind could prove, Such force had love, though lost and vainly spent, What strength hath happy, kind and mutual love? But she that gentle thought did straight repent, Wrath, fury, kindness, in her bosom strove, She would, she would not, that it missed or hit, Her eyes, her heart, her wishes followed it. LXV But yet in vain the quarrel lighted not, For on his hauberk hard the knight it hit, Too hard for woman's shaft or woman's shot, Instead of piercing, there it broke and split; He turned away, she burnt with fury hot, And thought he scorned her power, and in that fit Shot oft and oft, her shafts no entrance found, And while she shot, love gave her wound on wound. LXVI "And is he then unpierceable," quoth she, "That neither force nor foe he needs regard? His limbs, perchance, armed with that hardness be, Which makes his heart so cruel and so hard, No shot that flies from eye or hand I see Hurts him, such rigor doth his person guard, Armed, or disarmed; his foe or mistress kind Despised alike, like hate, like scorn I find. LXVII "But what new form is left, device or art, By which, to which exchanged, I might find grace? For in my knights, and all that take my part, I see no help; no hope, no trust I place; To his great prowess, might, and valiant heart, All strength is weak, all courage vile and base." This said she, for she saw how through the field Her champions fly, faint, tremble, fall and yield. LXVIII Nor left alone can she her person save, But to be slain or taken stands in fear, Though with a bow a javelin long she have, Yet weak was Phebe's bow, blunt Pallas' spear. But, as the swan, that sees the eagle brave Threatening her flesh and silver plumes to tear, Falls down, to hide her mongst the shady brooks: Such were her fearful motions, such her looks. LXIX But Altamore, this while that strove and sought From shameful flight his Persian host to stay, That was discomfit and destroyed to nought, Whilst he alone maintained the fight and fray, Seeing distressed the goddess of his thought, To aid her ran, nay flew, and laid away All care both of his honor and his host: If she were safe, let all the world be lost. LXX To the ill-guarded chariot swift he flew, His weapon made him way with bloody war: Meanwhile Lord Godfrey and Rinaldo slew His feeble bands, his people murdered are, He saw their loss, but aided not his crew, A better lover than a leader far, He set Armida safe, then turned again With tardy succor, for his folk were slain. LXXI And on that side the woful prince beheld The battle lost, no help nor hope remained; But on the other wing the Christians yield, And fly, such vantage there the Egyptians gained, One of the Roberts was nigh slain in field; The other by the Indian strong constrained To yield himself his captive and his slave; Thus equal loss and equal foil they have. LXXII Godfredo took the time and season fit To bring again his squadrons in array, And either camp well ordered, ranged and knit, Renewed the furious battle, fight and fray, New streams of blood were shed, new swords them hit; New combats fought, new spoils were borne away, And unresolved and doubtful, on each side, Did praise and conquest, Mars and Fortune ride. LXXIII Between the armies twain while thus the fight Waxed sharp, hot, cruel, though renewed but late, The Soldan clomb up to the tower's height, And saw far off their strife and fell debate, As from some stage or theatre the knight Saw played the tragedy of human state, Saw death, blood, murder, woe and horror strange, And the great acts of fortune, chance, and change. LXXIV At first astonished and amazed he stood Then burnt with wrath, and self-consuming ire, Swelled his bosom like a raging flood, To be amid that battle; such desire, Such haste he had; he donned his helmet good, His other arms he had before entire, "Up, up!" he cried, "no more, no more, within This fortress stay, come follow, die or win." LXXV Whether the same were Providence divine That made him leave the fortress he possessed, For that the empire proud of Palestine This day should fall, to rise again more blessed; Or that he breaking felt the fatal line Of life, and would meet death with constant breast, Furious and fierce he did the gates unbar, And sudden rage brought forth, and sudden war. LXXVI Nor stayed he till the folk on whom he cried Assemble might, but out alone he flies, A thousand foes the man alone defied, And ran among a thousand enemies: But with his fury called from every side, The rest run out, and Aladine forth hies, The cowards had no fear, the wise no care, This was not hope, nor courage, but despair. LXXVII The dreadful Turk with sudden blows down cast The first he met, nor gave them time to plain Or pray, in murdering them he made such haste That dead they fell ere one could see them slain; From mouth to mouth, from eye to eye forth passed The fear and terror, that the faithful train Of Syrian folk, not used to dangerous fight, Were broken, scattered, and nigh put to flight. LXXVIII But with less terror, and disorder less, The Gascoigns kept array, and kept their ground, Though most the loss and peril them oppress, Unwares assailed they were, unready found. No ravening tooth or talon hard I guess Of beast or eager hawk, doth slay and wound So many sheep or fowls, weak, feeble, small, As his sharp sword killed knights and soldiers tall. LXXIX It seemed his thirst and hunger 'suage he would With their slain bodies, and their blood poured out, With him his troops and Aladino old Slew their besiegers, killed the Gascoign rout: But Raymond ran to meet the Soldan bold, Nor to encounter him had fear or doubt, Though his right hand by proof too well he know, Which laid him late for dead at one huge blow. LXXX They met, and Raymond fell amid the field, This blow again upon his forehead light, It was the fault and weakness of his eild, Age is not fit to bear strokes of such might, Each one lift up his sword, advanced his shield, Those would destroy, and these defend the knight. On went the Soldan, for the man he thought Was slain, or easily might be captive brought. LXXXI Among the rest he ran, he raged, he smote, And in small space, small time, great wonders wrought And as his rage him led and fury hot, To kill and murder, matter new he sought: As from his supper poor with hungry throat A peasant hastes, to a rich feast ybrought; So from this skirmish to the battle great He ran, and quenched with blood his fury's heat. LXXXII Where battered was the wall he sallied out, And to the field in haste and heat he goes, With him went rage and fury, fear and doubt Remained behind, among his scattered foes: To win the conquest strove his squadron stout, Which he unperfect left; yet loth to lose The day, the Christians fight, resist and die, And ready were to yield, retire and fly. LXXXIII The Gascoign bands retired, but kept array, The Syrian people ran away outright, The fight was near the place where Tancred lay, His house was full of noise and great affright, He rose and looked forth to see the fray, Though every limb were weak, faint, void of might; He saw the country lie, his men o'erthrown, Some beaten back, some killed, some felled down. LXXXIV Courage in noble hearts that ne'er is spent, Yet fainted not, though faint were every limb, But reinforced each member cleft and rent, And want of blood and strength supplied in him; In his left hand his heavy shield he hent, Nor seemed the weight too great, his curtlax trim His right hand drew, nor for more arms he stood Or stayed, he needs no more whose heart is good: LXXXV But coming forth, cried, "Whither will you run, And leave your leader to his foes in prey? What! shall these heathen of his armor won, In their vile temples hang up trophies gay? Go home to Gascoign then, and tell his son That where his father died, you ran away:" This said, against a thousand armed foes, He did his breast weak, naked, sick, oppose. LXXXVI And with his heavy, strong and mighty targe, That with seven hard bulls' hides was surely lined, And strengthened with a cover thick and large Of stiff and well-attempered steel behind, He shielded Raymond from the furious charge, From swords, from darts, from weapons of each kind, And all his foes drove back with his sharp blade, That sure and safe he lay, as in a shade. LXXXVII Thus saved, thus shielded, Raymond 'gan respire, He rose and reared himself in little space, And in his bosom burned the double fire Of vengeance; wrath his heart; shame filled his face; He looked around to spy, such was his ire, The man whose stroke had laid him in that place, Whom when he sees not, for disdain he quakes, And on his people sharp revengement takes. LXXXVIII The Gascoigns turn again, their lord in haste To venge their loss his hand recorded brings, The troop that durst so much now stood aghast, For where sad fear grew late, now boldness springs, Now followed they that fled, fled they that chased; So in one hour altereth the state of things, Raymond requites his loss, shame, hurt and all, And with an hundred deaths revenged one fall. LXXXIX Whilst Raymond wreaked thus his just disdain On the proud-heads of captains, lords and peers, He spies great Sion's king amid the train, And to him leaps, and high his sword he rears, And on his forehead strikes, and strikes again, Till helm and head he breaks, he cleaves, he tears; Down fell the king, the guiltless land he bit, That now keeps him, because he kept not it. XC Their guides, one murdered thus, the other gone, The troops divided were, in diverse thought, Despair made some run headlong gainst their fone, To seek sharp death that comes uncalled, unsought; And some, that laid their hope on flight alone, Fled to their fort again; yet chance so wrought, That with the flyers in the victors pass, And so the fortress won and conquered was. XCI The hold was won, slain were the men that fled, In courts, halls, chambers high; above, below, Old Raymond fast up to the leads him sped, And there, of victory true sign and show, His glorious standard to the wind he spread, That so both armies his success might know. But Solyman saw not the town was lost, For far from thence he was, and near the host; XCII Into the field he came, the lukewarm blood Did smoke and flow through all the purple field, There of sad death the court and palace stood, There did he triumphs lead, and trophies build; An armed steed fast by the Soldan yood, That had no guide, nor lord the reins to wield, The tyrant took the bridle, and bestrode The courser's empty back, and forth he rode. XCIII Great, yet but short and sudden was the aid That to the Pagans, faint and weak, he brought, A thunderbolt he was, you would have said, Great, yet that comes and goes as swift as thought And of his coming swift and flight unstayed Eternal signs in hardest rocks hath wrought, For by his hand a hundred knights were slain, But time forgot hath all their names but twain; XCIV Gildippes fair, and Edward thy dear lord, Your noble death, sad end, and woful fate, If so much power our vulgar tongue afford, To all strange wits, strange ears let me dilate, That ages all your love and sweet accord, Your virtue, prowess, worth may imitate, And some kind servant of true love that hears, May grace your death, my verses, with some tears. XCV The noble lady thither boldly flew, Where first the Soldan fought, and him defied, Two mighty blows she gave the Turk untrue, One cleft his shield, the other pierced his side; The prince the damsel by her habit knew, "See, see this mankind strumpet, see," he cried, "This shameless whore, for thee fit weapons were Thy neeld and spindle, not a sword and spear." XCVI This said, full of disdain, rage and despite, A strong, a fierce, a deadly stroke he gave, And pierced her armor, pierced her bosom white, Worthy no blows, but blows of love to have: Her dying hand let go the bridle quite, She faints, she falls, 'twixt life and death she strave, Her lord to help her came, but came too late, Yet was not that his fault, it was his fate. XCVII What should he do? to diverse parts him call Just ire and pity kind, one bids him go And succor his dear lady, like to fall, The other calls for vengeance on his foe; Love biddeth both, love says he must do all, And with his ire joins grief, with pity woe. What did he then? with his left hand the knight Would hold her up, revenge her with his right. XCVIII But to resist against a knight so bold Too weak his will and power divided were; So that he could not his fair love uphold, Nor kill the cruel man that slew his dear. His arm that did his mistress kind enfold, The Turk cut off, pale grew his looks and cheer, He let her fall, himself fell by her side, And, for he could not save her, with her died. XCIX As the high elm, whom his dear vine hath twined Fast in her hundred arms and holds embraced, Bears down to earth his spouse and darling kind If storm or cruel steel the tree down cast, And her full grapes to naught doth bruise and grind, Spoils his own leaves, faints, withers, dies at last, And seems to mourn and die, not for his own, But for her death, with him that lies o'erthrown: C So fell he mourning, mourning for the dame Whom life and death had made forever his; They would have spoke, but not one word could frame, Deep sobs their speech, sweet sighs their language is, Each gazed on other's eyes, and while the same Is lawful, join their hands, embrace and kiss: And thus sharp death their knot of life untied, Together fainted they, together died. CI But now swift fame her nimble wings dispread, And told eachwhere their chance, their fate, their fall, Rinaldo heard the case, by one that fled From the fierce Turk and brought him news of all. Disdain, good-will, woe, wrath the champion led To take revenge; shame, grief, for vengeance call; But as he went, Adrastus with his blade Forestalled the way, and show of combat made. CII The giant cried, "By sundry signs I note That whom I wish, I search, thou, thou art he, I marked each worthy's shield, his helm, his coat, And all this day have called and cried for thee, To my sweet saint I have thy head devote, Thou must my sacrifice, my offering be, Come let us here our strength and courage try, Thou art Armida's foe, her champion I." CIII Thus he defied him, on his front before, And on his throat he struck him, yet the blow His helmet neither bruised, cleft nor tore, But in his saddle made him bend and bow; Rinaldo hit him on the flank so sore, That neither art nor herb could help him now; Down fell the giant strong, one blow such power, Such puissance had; so falls a thundered tower. CIV With horror, fear, amazedness and dread, Cold were the hearts of all that saw the fray, And Solyman, that viewed that noble deed, Trembled, his paleness did his fear bewray; For in that stroke he did his end areed, He wist not what to think, to do, to say, A thing in him unused, rare and strange, But so doth heaven men's hearts turn, alter, change. CV As when the sick or frantic men oft dream In their unquiet sleep and slumber short, And think they run some speedy course, and seem To move their legs and feet in hasty sort, Yet feel their limbs far slower than the stream Of their vain thoughts that bears them in this sport, And oft would speak, would cry, would call or shout, Yet neither sound, nor voice, nor word send out: CVI So run to fight the angry Soldan would, And did enforce his strength, his might, his ire, Yet felt not in himself his courage old, His wonted force, his rage and hot desire, His eyes, that sparkled wrath and fury bold, Grew dim and feeble, fear had quenched that fire, And in his heart an hundred passions fought, Yet none on fear or base retire he thought. CVII While unresolved he stood, the victor knight Arrived, and seemed in quickness, haste and speed, In boldness, greatness, goodliness and might, Above all princes born of human seed: The Turk small while resists, not death nor fight Made him forget his state or race, through dreed, He fled no strokes, he fetched no groan nor sigh, Bold were his motions last, proud, stately, high. CVIII Now when the Soldan, in these battles past That Antheus-like oft fell oft rose again, Evermore fierce, more fell, fell down at last To lie forever, when this prince was slain, Fortune, that seld is stable, firm or fast, No longer durst resist the Christian train, But ranged herself in row with Godfrey's knights, With them she serves, she runs, she rides, she fights. CIX The Pagan troops, the king's own squadron fled, Of all the east, the strength, the pride, the flower, Late called Immortal, now discomfited, It lost that title proud, and lost all power; To him that with the royal standard fled, Thus Emireno said, with speeches sour, "Art not thou he to whom to bear I gave My king's great banner, and his standard brave? CX "This ensign, Rimedon, I gave not thee To be the witness of thy fear and flight, Coward, dost thou thy lord and captain see In battle strong, and runn'st thyself from fight? What seek'st thou? safety? come, return with me, The way to death is path to virtue right, Here let him fight that would escape; for this The way to honor, way to safety is." CXI The man returned and swelled with scorn and shame, The duke with speeches grave exhorts the rest; He threats, he strikes sometime, till back they came, And rage gainst force, despair gainst death addressed. Thus of his broken armies gan he frame A battle now, some hope dwelt in his breast, But Tisiphernes bold revived him most, Who fought and seemed to win, when all was lost; CXII Wonders that day wrought noble Tisipherne, The hardy Normans all he overthrew; The Flemings fled before the champion stern, Gernier, Rogero, Gerard bold he slew; His glorious deeds to praise and fame etern His life's short date prolonged, enlarged and drew, And then, as he that set sweet life at nought, The greatest peril, danger, most he sought. CXIII He spied Rinaldo, and although his field Of azure purple now and sanguine shows, And though the silver bird amid his shield Were armed gules; yet he the champion knows. And says, "Here greatest peril is, heavens yield Strength to my courage, fortune to my blows, That fair Armida her revenge may see, Help, Macon, for his arms I vow to thee." CXIV Thus prayed he, but all his vows were vain, Mahound was deaf, or slept in heavens above, And as a lion strikes him with his train, His native wrath to quicken and to move, So he awaked his fury and disdain, And sharped his courage on the whetstone love; Himself he saved behind his mighty targe, And forward spurred his steed and gave the charge. CXV The Christian saw the hardy warrior come, And leaped forth to undertake the fight, The people round about gave place and room, And wondered on that fierce and cruel sight, Some praised their strength, their skill and courage some, Such and so desperate blows struck either knight, That all that saw forgot both ire and strife, Their wounds, their hurts, forgot both death and life. CXVI One struck, the other did both strike and wound, His arms were surer, and his strength was more; From Tisipheme the blood streamed down around; His shield was deft, his helm was rent and tore. The dame, that saw his blood besmear the ground, His armor broke, limbs weak, wounds deep and sore, And all her guard dead, fled, and overthrown, Thought, now her field lay waste, her hedge lay down: CXVII Environed with so brave a troop but late, Now stood she in her chariot all alone, She feared bondage, and her life did hate, All hope of conquest and revenge was gone, Half mad and half amazed from where she sate, She leaped down, and fled from friends' and fone, On a swift horse she mounts, and forth she rides Alone, save for disdain and love, her guides. CXVIII In days of old, Queen Cleopatra so Alone fled from the fight and cruel fray, Against Augustus great his happy foe, Leaving her lord to loss and sure decay. And as that lord for love let honor go, Followed her flying sails and lost the day: So Tisipherne the fair and fearful dame Would follow, but his foe forbids the same. CXIX But when the Pagan's joy and comfort fled, It seemed the sun was set, the day was night, Gainst the brave prince with whom he combated He turned, and on the forehead struck the knight: When thunders forged are in Typhoius' bed, Not Brontes' hammer falls so swift, so right; The furious stroke fell on Rinaldo's crest, And made him bend his head down to his breast. CXX The champion in his stirrups high upstart, And cleft his hauberk hard and tender side, And sheathed his weapon in the Pagan's heart, The castle where man's life and soul do bide; The cruel sword his breast and hinder part With double wound unclosed, and opened wide; And two large doors made for his life and breath, Which passed, and cured hot love with frozen death. CXXI This done, Rinaldo stayed and looked around, Where he should harm his foes, or help his friends; Nor of the Pagans saw he squadron sound: Each standard falls, ensign to earth descends; His fury quiet then and calm he found, There all his wrath, his rage, and rancor ends, He called to mind how, far from help or aid, Armida fled, alone, amazed, afraid: CXXII Well saw he when she fled, and with that sight The prince had pity, courtesy and care; He promised her to be her friend and knight When erst he left her in the island bare: The way she fled he ran and rode aright, Her palfrey's feet signs in the grass outware: But she this while found out an ugly shade, Fit place for death, where naught could life persuade. CXXIII Well pleased was she with those shadows brown, And yet displeased with luck, with life, with love; There from her steed she lighted, there laid down Her bow and shafts, her arms that helpless prove. "There lie with shame," she says, "disgraced, o'erthrown, Blunt are the weapons, blunt the arms I move, Weak to revenge my harms, or harm my foe, My shafts are blunt, ah, love, would thine were so! CXXIV Alas, among so many, could not one, Not one draw blood, one wound or rend his skin? All other breasts to you are marble stone, Dare you then pierce a woman's bosom thin? See, see, my naked heart, on this alone Employ your force this fort is eath to win, And love will shoot you from his mighty bow, Weak is the shot that dripile falls in snow. CXXV "I pardon will your fear and weakness past, Be strong, mine arrows, cruel, sharp, gainst me, Ah, wretch, how is thy chance and fortune cast, If placed in these thy good and comfort be? But since all hope is vain all help is waste, Since hurts ease hurts, wounds must cure wounds in thee; Then with thine arrow's stroke cure stroke of love, Death for thy heart must salve and surgeon prove. CXXVI "And happy me if, being dead and slain, I bear not with me this strange plague to hell: Love, stay behind, come thou with me disdain, And with my wronged soul forever dwell; Or else with it turn to the world again And vex that knight with dreams and visions fell, And tell him, when twixt life and death I strove My last wish, was revenge--last word, was love." CXXVII And with that word half mad, half dead, she seems, An arrow, poignant, strong and sharp she took, When her dear knight found her in these extremes, Now fit to die, and pass the Stygian brook, Now prest to quench her own and beauty's beams; Now death sat on her eyes, death in her look, When to her back he stepped, and stayed her arm Stretched forth to do that service last, last harm. CXXVIII She turns and, ere she knows, her lord she spies, Whose coming was unwished, unthought, unknown, She shrieks, and twines away her sdainful eyes From his sweet face, she falls dead in a swoon, Falls as a flower half cut, that bending lies: He held her up, and lest she tumble down, Under her tender side his arm he placed, His hand her girdle loosed, her gown unlaced; CXXIX And her fair face, fair bosom he bedews With tears, tears of remorse, of ruth, of sorrow. As the pale rose her color lost renews With the fresh drops fallen from the silver morrow, So she revives, and cheeks empurpled shows Moist with their own tears and with tears they borrow; Thrice looked she up, her eyes thrice closed she; As who say, "Let me die, ere look on thee." CXXX And his strong arm, with weak and feeble hand She would have thrust away, loosed and untwined: Oft strove she, but in vain, to break that band, For he the hold he got not yet resigned, Herself fast bound in those dear knots she fand, Dear, though she feigned scorn, strove and repined: At last she speaks, she weeps, complains and cries; Yet durst not, did not, would not see his eyes. CXXXI "Cruel at thy departure, at return As cruel, say, what chance thee hither guideth, Would'st thou prevent her death whose heart forlorn For thee, for thee death's strokes each hour divideth? Com'st thou to save my life? alas, what scorn, What torment for Armida poor abideth? No, no, thy crafts and sleights I well descry, But she can little do that cannot die. CXXXII "Thy triumph is not great nor well arrayed Unless in chains thou lead a captive dame: A dame now ta'en by force, before betrayed, This is thy greatest glory, greatest fame: Time was that thee of love and life I prayed, Let death now end my love, my life, my shame. Yet let not thy false hand bereave this breath, For if it were thy gift, hateful were death. CXXXIII "Cruel, myself an hundred ways can find, To rid me from thy malice, from thy hate, If weapons sharp, if poisons of all kind, If fire, if strangling fail, in that estate, Yet ways enough I know to stop this wind: A thousand entries hath the house of fate. Ah, leave these flatteries, leave weak hope to move, Cease, cease, my hope is dead, dead is my love." CXXXIV Thus mourned she, and from her watery eyes Disdain and love dropped down, rolled up in tears; From his pure fountains ran two streams likewise, Wherein chaste pity and mild ruth appears: Thus with sweet words the queen he pacifies, "Madam, appease your grief, your wrath, your fears, For to be crowned, not scorned, your life I save; Your foe nay, but your friend, your knight, your slave. CXXXV "But if you trust no speech, no oath, no word; Yet in mine eyes, my zeal, my truth behold: For to that throne, whereof thy sire was lord, I will restore thee, crown thee with that gold, And if high Heaven would so much grace afford As from thy heart this cloud this veil unfold Of Paganism, in all the east no dame Should equalize thy fortune, state and fame." CXXXVI Thus plaineth he, thus prays, and his desire Endears with sighs that fly and tears that fall; That as against the warmth of Titan's fire, Snowdrifts consume on tops of mountains tall, So melts her wrath; but love remains entire. "Behold," she says, "your handmaid and your thrall: My life, my crown, my wealth use at your pleasure;" Thus death her life became, loss proved her tensure. CXXXVII This while the captain of the Egyptian host,-- That saw his royal standard laid on ground, Saw Rimedon, that ensign's prop and post, By Godfrey's noble hand killed with one wound, And all his folk discomfit, slain and lost, No coward was in this last battle found, But rode about and sought, nor sought in vain, Some famous hand of which he might be slain; CXXXVIII Against Lord Godfrey boldly out he flew, For nobler foe he wished not, could not spy, Of desperate courage showed he tokens true, Where'er he joined, or stayed, or passed by, And cried to the Duke as near he drew, "Behold of thy strong hand I come to die, Yet trust to overthrow thee with my fall, My castle's ruins shall break down thy wall." CXXXIX This said, forth spurred they both, both high advance Their swords aloft, both struck at once, both hit, His left arm wounded had the knight of France, His shield was pierced, his vantbrace cleft and split, The Pagan backward fell, half in a trance, On his left ear his foe so hugely smit, And as he sought to rise, Godfredo's sword Pierced him through, so died that army's lord. CXL Of his great host, when Emiren was dead, Fled the small remnant that alive remained; Godfrey espied as he turned his steed, Great Altamore on foot, with blood all stained, With half a sword, half helm upon his head, Gainst whom a hundred fought, yet not one gained. "Cease, cease this strife," he cried: "and thou, brave knight, Yield, I am Godfrey, yield thee to my might!" CXLI He that till then his proud and haughty heart To act of humbleness did never bend, When that great name he heard, from the north part Of our wide world renowned to Aethiop's end, Answered, "I yield to thee, thou worthy art, I am thy prisoner, fortune is thy friend: On Altamoro great thy conquest bold Of glory shall be rich, and rich of gold: CXLII "My loving queen, my wife and lady kind Shall ransom me with jewels, gold and treasure." "God shield," quoth Godfrey, "that my noble mind Should praise and virtue so by profit measure, All that thou hast from Persia and from Inde Enjoy it still, therein I take no pleasure; I set no rent on life, no price on blood, I fight, and sell not war for gold or good." CXLIII This said, he gave him to his knights to keep And after those that fled his course he bent; They to their rampiers fled and trenches deep, Yet could not so death's cruel stroke prevent: The camp was won, and all in blood doth steep The blood in rivers streamed from tent to tent, It soiled, defiled, defaced all the prey, Shields, helmets, armors, plumes and feathers gay. CXLIV Thus conquered Godfrey, and as yet the sun Dived not in silver waves his golden wain, But daylight served him to the fortress won With his victorious host to turn again, His bloody coat he put not off, but run To the high temple with his noble train, And there hung up his arms, and there he bows His knees, there prayed, and there performed his vows. 
40967	----	Transcriber's notes Variable spelling has been retained. Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently corrected. A list of other corrections can be found at the end of the book. Footnotes were sequentially numbered and placed at the end of the text. Mark up: _italics_ THE TRIAL OF JESUS [Illustration: CHRIST BEFORE PILATE (MUNKACSY)] THE TRIAL OF JESUS FROM A LAWYER'S STANDPOINT BY WALTER M. CHANDLER OF THE NEW YORK BAR VOLUME II THE ROMAN TRIAL THE EMPIRE PUBLISHING CO. 60 WALL STREET, NEW YORK CITY 1908 Copyright, 1908, by WALTER M. CHANDLER _All rights reserved_ LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE CHRIST BEFORE PILATE (Munkacsy) _Frontispiece_ TIBERIUS CÆSAR (Antique Sculpture) 68 PONTIUS PILATE (Munkacsy) 81 CHRIST LEAVING THE PRÆTORIUM (Doré) 141 THE CRUCIFIXION (Munkacsy) 175 JUPITER (Antique Sculpture) 195 AVE CÆSAR! IO SATURNALIA (Alma-Tadema) 240 THE DYING GLADIATOR (Antique Sculpture) 260 READING FROM HOMER (Alma-Tadema) 270 CONTENTS OF VOLUME TWO PAGE PREFACE TO VOLUME TWO ix PART 1 _THE ROMAN TRIAL_ CHAPTER PAGE I. A TWOFOLD JURISDICTION 3 II. NUMBER OF REGULAR TRIALS 9 III. POWERS AND DUTIES OF PILATE 24 IV. MODE OF TRIAL IN ROMAN CAPITAL CASES 34 V. ROMAN FORMS OF PUNISHMENT 53 VI. ROMAN LAW APPLICABLE TO THE TRIAL OF JESUS 68 VII. PONTIUS PILATE 81 VIII. JESUS BEFORE PILATE 96 IX. JESUS BEFORE HEROD 119 X. JESUS AGAIN BEFORE PILATE 129 XI. LEGAL ANALYSIS AND SUMMARY OF THE ROMAN TRIAL OF JESUS 141 PART II _GRÆCO-ROMAN PAGANISM_ I. THE GRÆCO-ROMAN RELIGION 198 II. GRÆCO-ROMAN SOCIAL LIFE 236 _APPENDICES_ I. CHARACTERS OF THE SANHEDRISTS WHO TRIED JESUS 291 II. ACTS OF PILATE 327 BIBLIOGRAPHY 383 INDEX 389 PREFACE TO VOLUME TWO Sufficient was said concerning the entire work in the preface to volume one to warrant a very brief preface to volume two. The reader will notice that the plan of treatment of the Roman trial of Jesus is radically different from that employed in the Hebrew trial. There is no Record of Fact in the second volume, for the reason that the Record of Fact dealt with in the first volume is common to the two trials. Again, there is no Brief of the Roman trial and no systematic and exhaustive treatment of Roman criminal law in the second volume, corresponding with such a treatment of the Hebrew trial, under Hebrew criminal law, in the first volume. This is explained by the fact that the Sanhedrin found Jesus guilty, while both Pilate and Herod found Him not guilty. A proper consideration then of the Hebrew trial became a matter of review on appeal, requiring a Brief, containing a complete statement of facts, an ample exposition of law, and sufficient argument to show the existence of error in the judgment. The nature of the verdicts pronounced by Pilate and by Herod rendered these things unnecessary in dealing with the Roman trial. In Part II of this volume, Græco-Roman Paganism at the time of Christ has been treated. It is evident that this part of the treatise has no legal connection with the trial of Jesus. It was added simply to give coloring and atmosphere to the painting of the great tragedy. It will serve the further purpose, it is believed, of furnishing a key to the motives of the leading actors in the drama, by describing their social, religious, and political environments. The strictly legal features of a great criminal trial are rarely ever altogether sufficient for a proper understanding of even the judicial aspects of the case. The religious faith of Pilate, the judge, is quite as important a factor in determining the merits of the Roman trial, as is the religious belief of Jesus, the prisoner. This contention will be fully appreciated after a careful perusal of Chapter VI of this volume. Short biographical sketches of about forty members of the Great Sanhedrin who tried Jesus have been given under Appendix I at the end of this work. They were originally written by MM. Lémann, two of the greatest Hebrew scholars of France, and are doubtless authoritative and correct. These sketches will familiarize the reader with the names and characters of a majority of the Hebrew judges of Jesus. And it may be added that they are a very valuable addition to the general work, since the character of the tribunal is an important consideration in the trial of any case, civil or criminal. The apocryphal Acts of Pilate have been given under Appendix II. But the author does not thereby vouch for their authenticity. They have been added because of their very intimate connection with the trial of Jesus; and for the further reason that, whether authentic or not, quotations from them are to be found everywhere in literature, sacred and secular, dealing with this subject. The mystery of their origin, the question of their genuineness, and the final disposition that will be made of them, render the Acts of Pilate a subject of surpassing interest to the student of ancient documents. WALTER M. CHANDLER. NEW YORK CITY, July 1, 1908. PART I _THE ROMAN TRIAL_ Christus, Tiberio imperitante, per procuratorem Pontium Pilatum supplicio affectus est.--TACITUS. CHAPTER I A TWOFOLD JURISDICTION The Hebrew trial of Jesus having ended, the Roman trial began. The twofold character of the proceedings against the Christ invested them with a solemn majesty, an awful grandeur. The two mightiest jurisdictions of the earth assumed cognizance of charges against the Man of Galilee, the central figure of all history. "His tomb," says Lamartine, "was the grave of the Old World and the cradle of the New," and now upon His life before He descended into the tomb, Rome, the mother of laws, and Jerusalem, the destroyer of prophets, sat in judgment. The Sanhedrin, or Grand Council, which conducted the Hebrew trial of Jesus was the high court of justice and the supreme tribunal of the Jews. It numbered seventy-one members. Its powers were legislative, executive, and judicial. It exercised all the functions of education, of government, and of religion. It was the national parliament of the Hebrew Theocracy, the human administrator of the divine will. It was the most august tribunal that ever interpreted or administered religion to man. Its judges applied the laws of the most peculiar and venerable system of jurisprudence known to civilized mankind, and condemned upon the charge of blasphemy against Jehovah, the most precious and illustrious of the human race. Standing alone, the Hebrew trial of Christ would have been the most thrilling and impressive judicial proceeding in all history. The Mosaic Code, whose provisions form the basis of this trial, is the foundation of the Bible, the most potent juridical as well as spiritual agency in the universe. In all the courts of Christendom it binds the consciences, if it does not mold the convictions, of judge and jury in passing judgment upon the rights of life, liberty, and property. The Bible is everywhere to be found. It is read in the jungles of Africa, while crossing burning deserts, and amidst Arctic snows. No ship ever puts to sea without this sacred treasure. It is found in the cave of the hermit, in the hut of the peasant, in the palace of the king, and in the Vatican of the pope. It adorns the altar where bride and bridegroom meet to pledge eternal love. It sheds its hallowing influence upon the baptismal font where infancy is christened into religious life. Its divine precepts furnish elements of morals and manliness in formative life to jubilant youth; cast a radiant charm about the strength of lusty manhood; and when life's pilgrimage is ended, offer to the dying patriarch, who clasps it to his bosom, a sublime solace as he crosses the great divide and passes into the twilight's purple gloom. This noble book has furnished not only the most enduring laws and the sublimest religious truths, but inspiration as well to the grandest intellectual triumphs. It is literally woven into the literature of the world, and few books of modern times are worth reading that do not reflect the sentiments of its sacred pages. And it was the Mosaic Code, the basis of this book, that furnished the legal guide to the Sanhedrin in the trial of the Christ. Truly it may be said that no other trial mentioned in history would have been comparable to this, if the proceedings had ended here. But to the Hebrew was added Roman cognizance, and the result was a judicial transaction at once unique and sublime. If the sacred spirit of the Hebrew law has illuminated the conscience of the world in every age, it must not be forgotten that "the written reason of the Roman law has been silently and studiously transfused" into all our modern legal and political life. The Roman judicial system is incomparable in the history of jurisprudence. Judea gave religion, Greece gave letters, and Rome gave laws to mankind. Thus runs the judgment of the world. A fine sense of justice was native to the Roman mind. A spirit of domination was the mental accompaniment of this trait. The mighty abstraction called Rome may be easily resolved into two cardinal concrete elements: the Legion and the Law. The legion was the unit of the military system through which Rome conquered the world. The law was the cementing bond between the conquered states and the sovereign city on the hills. The legion was the guardian and protector of the physical boundaries of the Empire, and Roman citizens felt contented and secure, as long as the legionaries were loyal to the standards and the eagles. The presence of barbarians at the gate created not so much consternation and despair among the citizens of Rome, as did the news of the mutiny of the soldiers of Germanicus on the Rhine. What the legion was to the body, the law was to the soul of Rome--the highest expression of its sanctity and majesty. And when her physical body that once extended from Scotland to Judea, and from Dacia to Abyssinia was dead, in the year 476 A.D., her soul rose triumphant in her laws and established a second Roman Empire over the minds and consciences of men. The Corpus Juris Civilis of Justinian is a text-book in the greatest universities of the world, and Roman law is to-day the basis of the jurisprudence of nearly every state of continental Europe. The Germans never submitted to Cæsar and his legions. They were the first to resist successfully, then to attack vigorously, and to overthrow finally the Roman Empire. And yet, until a few years ago, Germans obeyed implicitly the edicts and decrees of Roman prætors and tribunes. Is it any wonder, then, that the lawyers of all modern centuries have looked back with filial love and veneration to the mighty jurisconsults of the imperial republic? Is it any wonder that the tragedy of the Prætorium and Golgotha, aside from its sacred aspects, is the most notable event in history? Jesus was arraigned in one day, in one city, before the sovereign courts of the universe; before the Sanhedrin, the supreme tribunal of a divinely commissioned race; before the court of the Roman Empire that determined the legal and political rights of men throughout the known world. The Nazarene stood charged with blasphemy and with treason against the enthroned monarchs represented by these courts; blasphemy against Jehovah who, from the lightning-lit summit of Sinai, proclaimed His laws to mankind; treason against Cæsar, enthroned and uttering his will to the world amidst the pomp and splendor of Rome. History records no other instance of a trial conducted before the courts of both Heaven and earth; the court of God and the court of man; under the law of Israel and the law of Rome; before Caiaphas and Pilate, as the representatives of these courts and administrators of these laws. Approaching more closely the consideration of the nature and character of the Roman trial, we are confronted at once by several pertinent and interesting questions. In the first place, were there two distinct trials of Jesus? If so, why were there two trials instead of one? Were the two trials separate and independent? If not, was the second trial a mere review of the first, or was the first a mere preliminary to the second? Again, what charges were brought against Jesus at the hearing before Pilate? Were these charges the same as those preferred against Him at the trial before the Sanhedrin? Upon what charge was He finally condemned and crucified? Again, what Roman law was applicable to the charges made against Jesus to Pilate? Did Pilate apply these laws either in letter or in spirit? Was there an attempt by Pilate to attain substantial justice, either with or without the due observance of forms of law? Did Pilate apply Hebrew or Roman law to the charges presented to him against the Christ? What forms of criminal procedure, if any, were employed by Pilate in conducting the Roman trial of Jesus? If not legally, was Pilate politically justified in delivering Jesus to be crucified? A satisfactory answer to several of these questions, in the introductory chapters of this volume, is deemed absolutely essential to a thorough understanding of the discussion of the trial proper which will follow. The plan proposed is to describe first the powers and duties of Pilate as presiding judge at the trial of Christ. And for this purpose, general principles of Roman provincial administration will be outlined and discussed; the legal and political status of the subject Jew in his relationship to the conquering Roman will be considered; and the exact requirements of criminal procedure in Roman capital trials, at the time of Christ, will, if possible, be determined. It is believed that in the present case it will be more logical and effective to state first what should have been done by Pilate in the trial of Jesus, and then follow with an account of what was actually done, than to reverse this order of procedure. CHAPTER II NUMBER OF REGULAR TRIALS _Were there two regular trials of Jesus?_ In the first volume of this work this question was reviewed at length in the introduction to the Brief. The authorities were there cited and discussed. It was there seen that one class of writers deny the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ. These same writers declare that there could have been no Hebrew trial of Jesus, since there was no competent Hebrew court in existence to try Him. This class of critics assert that the so-called Sanhedrin that met in the palace of Caiaphas was an ecclesiastical body, acting without judicial authority; and that their proceedings were merely preparatory to charges to be presented to Pilate, who was alone competent to try capital cases. Those who make this contention seek to uphold it by saying that the errors were so numerous and the proceedings so flagrant, according to the Gospel account, that there could have been no trial at all before the Sanhedrin; that the party of priests who arrested and examined Jesus did not constitute a court, but rather a vigilance committee. On the other hand, other writers contend that the only regular trial was that before the Sanhedrin; and that the appearance before Pilate was merely for the purpose of securing his confirmation of a regular judicial sentence which had already been pronounced. Renan, the ablest exponent of this class, says: "The course which the priests had resolved to pursue in regard to Jesus was quite in conformity with the established law. The plan of the enemies of Jesus was to convict Him, by the testimony of witnesses and by His own avowals, of blasphemy and of outrage against the Mosaic religion, to condemn Him to death according to law, and then to get the condemnation sanctioned by Pilate." Still another class of writers contend that there were two distinct trials. Innes thus tersely and forcibly states the proposition: "Whether it was legitimate or not for the Jews to condemn for a capital crime, on this occasion they did so. Whether it was legitimate or not for Pilate to try over again an accused whom they had condemned, on this occasion he did so. There were certainly two trials. And the dialogue already narrated expresses with a most admirable terseness the struggle which we should have expected between the effort of the Jews to get a mere countersign of their sentence, and the determination of Pilate to assume the full judicial responsibility, whether of first instance or of révision." This contention, it is believed, is right, and has been acted upon in dividing the general treatise into two volumes, and in devoting each to a separate trial of the case. Why were there two trials of Jesus? When the Sanhedrists had condemned Christ to death upon the charge of blasphemy, why did they not lead Him away to execution, and stone Him to death, as their law required? Why did they seek the aid of Pilate and invoke the sanction of Roman authority? The answer to these questions is to be found in the historic relationship that existed, at the time of the crucifixion, between the sovereign Roman Empire and the dependent province of Judea. The student of history will remember that the legions of Pompey overran Palestine in the year 63 B.C., and that the land of the Jews then became a subject state. After the deposition of Archelaus, A.D. 6, Judea became a Roman province, and was governed by procurators who were sent out from Rome. The historian Rawlinson has described the political situation of Judea, at the time of Christ, as "complicated and anomalous, undergoing frequent changes, but retaining through them all certain peculiarities which made that country unique among the dependencies of Rome. Having passed under Roman rule with the consent and by the assistance of a large party of its inhabitants, it was allowed to maintain for a while a sort of semi-independence. A mixture of Roman with native power resulted from this cause and a complication in a political status difficult to be thoroughly understood by one not native and contemporary." The difficulty in determining the exact political status of the Jews at the time of Christ has given birth to the radically different views concerning the number and nature of the trials of Jesus. The most learned critics are in direct antagonism on the point. More than forty years ago Salvador and Dupin debated the question in France. The former contended that the Sanhedrin retained complete authority after the Roman conquest to try even capital crimes, and that sentence of death pronounced by the supreme tribunal of the Jews required only the countersign or approval of the Roman procurator. On the other hand, it was argued by Dupin that the Sanhedrin had no right whatever to try cases of a capital nature; that their whole procedure was a usurpation; and that the only competent and legitimate trial of Christ was the one conducted by Pilate. How difficult the problem is of solution will be apparent when we reflect that both these disputants were able, learned, conscientious men who, with the facts of history in front of them, arrived at entirely different conclusions. Amidst the general confusion and uncertainty, the reader must rely upon himself, and appeal to the facts and philosophy of history for light and guidance. In seeking to ascertain the political relationship between Rome and Judea at the time of Christ, two important considerations should be kept in mind: (1) That there was no treaty or concordat, defining mutual rights and obligations, existing between the two powers; Romans were the conquerors and Jews were the conquered; the subject Jews enjoyed just so much religious and political freedom as the conquering Romans saw fit to grant them; (2) that it was the policy of the Roman government to grant to subject states the greatest amount of freedom in local self-government that was consistent with the interests and sovereignty of the Roman people. These two considerations are fundamental and indispensable in forming a correct notion of the general relations between the two powers. The peculiar character of Judea as a fragment of the mighty Roman Empire should also be kept clearly in mind. Roman conquest, from first to last, resulted in three distinct types of political communities more or less strongly bound by ties of interest to Rome. These classes were: (1) Free states; (2) allied states; and (3) subject states. The communities of Italy were in the main, free and allied, and were members of a great military confederacy. The provinces beyond Italy were, in the main, subject states and dependent upon the good will and mercy of Rome. The free states received from Rome a charter of privileges (_lex data_) which, however, the Roman senate might at any time revoke. The allied cities were bound by a sworn treaty (_fædus_), a breach of which was a cause of war. In either case, whether of charter or treaty, the grant of privileges raised the state or people on whom it was conferred to the level of the Italian communes and secured to its inhabitants absolute control of their own finances, free and full possession of their land, which exempted them from the payment of tribute, and, above all, allowed them entire freedom in the administration of their local laws. The subject states were ruled by Roman governors who administered the so-called law of the province (_lex provinciæ_). This law was peculiar to each province and was framed to meet all the exigencies of provincial life. It was sometimes the work of a conquering general, assisted by a commission of ten men appointed by the senate. At other times, its character was determined by the decrees of the emperor and the senate, as well as by the edicts of the prætor and procurator. In any case, the law of the province (_lex provinciæ_) was the sum total of the local provincial law which Rome saw fit to allow the people of the conquered state to retain, with Roman decrees and regulations superadded. These added decrees and regulations were always determined by local provincial conditions. The Romans were no sticklers for consistency and uniformity in provincial administration. Adaptability and expediency were the main traits of the lawgiving and government-imposing genius of Rome. The payment of taxes and the furnishing of auxiliary troops were the chief exactions imposed upon conquered states. An enlightened public policy prompted the Romans to grant to subject communities the greatest amount of freedom consistent with Roman sovereignty. Two main reasons formed the basis of this policy. One was the economy of time and labor, for the Roman official staff was not large enough to successfully perform those official duties which were usually incumbent upon the local courts. Racial and religious differences alone would have impeded and prevented a successful administration of local government by Roman diplomats and officers. Another reason for Roman noninterference in local provincial affairs was that loyalty was created and peace promoted among the provincials by the enjoyment of their own laws and religions. To such an extent was this policy carried by the Romans that it is asserted by the best historians that there was little real difference in practice between the rights exercised by free and those enjoyed by subject states. On this point, Mommsen says: "In regard to the extent of application, the jurisdiction of the native courts and judicatories among subject communities can scarcely have been much more restricted than among the federated communities; while in administration and in civil jurisdiction we find the same principles operative as in legal procedure and criminal laws."[1] The difference between the rights enjoyed by subject and those exercised by free states was that the former were subject to the whims and caprices of Rome, while the latter were protected by a written charter. A second difference was that Roman citizens residing within the boundaries of subject states had their own law and their own judicatories. The general result was that the citizens of subject states were left free to govern themselves subject to the two great obligations of taxation and military service. The Roman authorities, however, could and did interfere in legislation and in administration whenever Roman interests required. Now, in the light of the facts and principles just stated, what was the exact political status of the Jews at the time of Christ? Judea was a subject state. Did the general laws of Roman provincial administration apply to this province? Or were peculiar rights and privileges granted to the strange people who inhabited it? A great German writer answers in the affirmative. Geib says: "Only one province ... namely Judea, at least in the earlier days of the empire, formed an exception to all the arrangements hitherto described. Whereas in the other provinces the whole criminal jurisdiction was in the hands of the governor, and only in the most important cases had the supreme imperial courts to decide--just as in the least important matters the municipal courts did--the principle that applied in Judea was that at least in regard to questions of religious offenses the high priest with the Sanhedrin could pronounce even death sentences, for the carrying out of which, however, the confirmation of the procurator was required." That Roman conquest did not blot out Jewish local self-government; and that the Great Sanhedrin still retained judicial and administrative power, subject to Roman authority in all matters pertaining to the local affairs of the Jews, is thus clearly and pointedly stated by Schürer: "As regards the area over which the jurisdiction of the supreme Sanhedrin extended, it has been already remarked above that its _civil_ authority was restricted, in the time of Christ, to the eleven toparchies of Judea proper. And accordingly, for this reason, it had no judicial authority over Jesus Christ so long as He remained in Galilee. It was only as soon as He entered Judea that He came directly under its jurisdiction. In a certain sense, no doubt, the Sanhedrin exercised such jurisdiction over _every_ Jewish community in the world, and in that sense over Galilee as well. Its orders were regarded as binding throughout the entire domain of orthodox Judaism. It had power, for example, to issue warrants to the congregations (synagogues) in Damascus for the apprehension of the Christians in that quarter (Acts ix. 2; xxii. 5; xxvi. 12). At the same time, however, the extent to which the Jewish communities were willing to yield obedience to the orders of the Sanhedrin always depended on how far they were favorably disposed toward it. It was only within the limits of Judea proper that it exercised any direct authority. There could not possibly be a more erroneous way of defining the extent of its jurisdiction as regards the kind of causes with which it was competent to deal than to say that it was the _spiritual or theological_ tribunal in contradistinction to the civil judicatories of the Romans. On the contrary, it would be more correct to say that it formed, in contrast to the foreign authority of Rome, that _supreme native_ court which here, as almost everywhere else, the Romans had allowed to continue as before, only imposing certain restrictions with regard to competency. To this tribunal then belonged all those judicial matters and all those measures of an administrative character which either could not be competently dealt with by the inferior or local courts or which the Roman procurator had not specially reserved for himself."[2] The closing words of the last quotation suggest an important fact which furnishes the answer to the question asked at the beginning of this chapter, Why were there two trials of Jesus? Schürer declares that the Sanhedrin retained judicial and administrative power in all local matters which the "procurator had not specially reserved for himself." Now, it should be borne in mind that there is not now in existence and that there probably never existed any law, treaty or decree declaring what judicial acts the Sanhedrin was competent to perform and what acts were reserved to the authority of the Roman governor. It is probable that in all ordinary crimes the Jews were allowed a free hand and final decision by the Romans. No interference took place unless Roman interests were involved or Roman sovereignty threatened. But one fact is well established by the great weight of authority: that the question of sovereignty was raised whenever the question of life and death arose; and that Rome reserved to herself, in such a case, the prerogative of final judicial determination. Even this contention, however, has been opposed by both ancient and modern writers of repute; and, for this reason, it has been thought necessary to cite authorities and offer arguments in favor of the proposition that the right of life or death, _jus vitæ aut necis_, had passed from Jewish into Roman hands at the time of Christ. Both sacred and profane history support the affirmative of this proposition. Regarding this matter, Schürer says: "There is a special interest attaching to the question as to how far the jurisdiction of the Sanhedrin was limited by the authority of the Roman procurator. We accordingly proceed to observe that, inasmuch as the Roman system of provincial government was not strictly carried out in the case of Judea, as the simple fact of its being administered by means of a procurator plainly shows, the Sanhedrin was still left in the enjoyment of a comparatively high degree of independence. Not only did it exercise civil jurisdiction, and that according to Jewish law (which was only a matter of course, as otherwise a Jewish court of justice would have been simply inconceivable), but it also enjoyed a considerable amount of criminal jurisdiction as well. It had an independent authority in regard to political affairs, and consequently possessed the right of ordering arrests to be made by its own officers (Matt. xxvi. 47; Mark xiv. 43; Acts iv. 3; v. 17, 18). It had also the power of finally disposing, on its own authority, of such cases as did not involve sentence of death (Acts iv. 5-23; v. 21-40). It was only in cases in which such sentence of death was pronounced that the judgment required to be ratified by the authority of the procurator."[3] The Jews contend, and, indeed, the Talmud states that "forty years before the destruction of the temple the judgment of capital cases was taken away from Israel." Again, we learn from Josephus that the Jews had lost the power to inflict capital punishment from the day of the deposition of Archelaus, A.D. 6, when Judea became a Roman province and was placed under the control of Roman procurators. The great Jewish historian says: "And now Archelaus's part of Judea was reduced into a province, and Coponius, one of the equestrian order among the Romans, was sent as procurator, having the power of life and death put into his hands by Cæsar."[4] Again, we are informed that Annas was deposed from the high priesthood by the procurator Valerius Gratus, A.D. 14, for imposing and executing capital sentences. One of his sons, we learn from Josephus, was also deposed by King Agrippa for condemning James, the brother of Jesus, and several others, to death by stoning. At the same time, Agrippa reminded the high priest that the Sanhedrin could not lawfully assemble without the consent of the procurator.[5] That the Jews had lost and that the Roman procurators possessed the power over life and death is also clearly indicated by the New Testament account of the trial of Jesus. One passage explicitly states that Pilate claimed the right to impose and carry out capital sentences. Addressing Jesus, Pilate said: "Knowest thou not that I have power to crucify thee and have power to release thee?"[6] In another passage, the Jews admitted that the power of life and death had passed away from them. Answering a question of Pilate, at the time of the trial, they answered: "It is not lawful for us to put any man to death."[7] If we keep in mind the fact stated by Geib that "the principle that applied in Judea was that at least in regard to questions of religious offense the high priest with the Sanhedrin could pronounce even death sentences, for the carrying out of which, however, the confirmation of the procurator was required," we are then in a position to answer finally and definitely the question, Why were there two trials of Jesus? In the light of all the authorities cited and discussed in this chapter, we feel justified in asserting that the Sanhedrin was competent to take the initiative in the arrest and trial of Jesus on the charge of blasphemy, this being a religious offense of the most awful gravity; that this court was competent not only to try but to pass sentence of death upon the Christ; but that its proceedings had to be retried or at least reviewed before the sentence could be executed. Thus two trials were necessary. The Hebrew trial was necessary, because a religious offense was involved with which Rome refused to meddle, and of which she refused to take cognizance in the first instance. The Roman trial was necessary, because, instead of an acquittal which would have rendered Roman interference unnecessary, a conviction involving the death sentence had to be reviewed in the name of Roman sovereignty. Having decided that there were two trials, we are now ready to consider the questions: Were the two trials separate and independent? If not, was the second trial a mere review of the first, or was the first a mere preliminary to the second? No more difficult questions are suggested by the trial of Jesus. It is, in fact, impossible to answer them with certainty and satisfaction. A possible solution is to be found in the nature of the charge preferred against Jesus. It is reasonable to suppose that in the conflict of jurisdiction between Jewish and Roman authority the character of the crime would be a determining factor. In the case of ordinary offenses it is probable that neither Jews nor Romans were particular about the question of jurisdiction. It is more than probable that the Roman governor would assert his right to try the case _de novo_, where the offense charged either directly or remotely involved the safety and sovereignty of the Roman state. It is entirely reasonable to suppose that the Jews would insist on a final determination by themselves of the merits of all offenses of a religious nature; and that they would insist that the Roman governor should limit his action to a mere countersign of their decree. It is believed that ordinarily these principles would apply. But the trial of Jesus presents a peculiar feature which makes the case entirely exceptional. And this peculiarity, it is felt, contains a correct answer to the questions asked above. Jesus was tried before the Sanhedrin on the charge of blasphemy. This was a religious offense of the most serious nature. But when the Christ was led before Pilate, this charge was abandoned and that of high treason against Rome was substituted. Now, it is certain that a Roman governor would not have allowed a Jewish tribunal to try an offense involving high treason against Cæsar. This was a matter exclusively under his control. It is thus certain that Pilate did not merely review a sentence which had been passed by the Sanhedrin after a regular trial, but that he tried _ab initio_ a charge that had not been presented before the Jewish tribunal at the night session in the palace of Caiaphas. It will thus be seen that there were two trials of Jesus; that these trials were separate and independent as far as the charges, judges, and jurisdictions were concerned; and that the only common elements were the persons of the accusers and the accused. CHAPTER III POWERS AND DUTIES OF PILATE What were the powers and duties of Pilate as procurator of Judea? What forms of criminal procedure, if any, were employed by him in conducting the Roman trial of Jesus? This chapter will be devoted to answering these questions. The New Testament Gospels denominate Pilate the "governor" of Judea. A more exact designation is contained in the Latin phrase, _procurator Cæsaris_; the procurator of Cæsar. By this is meant that Pilate was the deputy, attorney, or personal representative of Tiberius Cæsar in the province of Judea. The powers and duties of his office were by no means limited to the financial functions of a Roman quæstor, a _procurator fiscalis_. "He was a procurator _cum potestate_; a governor with civil, criminal, and military jurisdiction; subordinated no doubt in rank to the adjacent governor of Syria, but directly responsible to his great master at Rome." A clear conception of the official character of Pilate is impossible unless we first thoroughly understand the official character of the man whose political substitute he was. A thorough understanding of the official character of Tiberius Cæsar is impossible unless we first fully comprehend the political changes wrought by the civil wars of Rome in which Julius Cæsar defeated Cneius Pompey at the battle of Pharsalia and made himself dictator and undisputed master of the Roman world. With the ascendency of Cæsar the ancient republic became extinct. But liberty was still cherished in the hearts of Romans, and the title of king was detestable. The hardy virtues and democratic simplicity of the early republic were still remembered; and patriots like Cicero had dreamed of the restoration of the ancient order of things. But Roman conquest was complete, Roman manners were corrupt, and Roman patriotism was paralyzed. The hand of a dictator guided by a single intelligence was the natural result of the progressive degradation of the Roman state. The logical and inevitable outcome of the death of Cæsar and the dissolution of the Triumvirate was the régime of Augustus, a monarchy veiled under republican forms. Recognizing Roman horror of absolutism, Roman love of liberty, and Roman detestation of kingly power, Augustus, while in fact an emperor, claimed to be only a plain Roman citizen intrusted with general powers of government. He affected to despise public honors, disclaimed every idea of personal superiority, and exhibited extreme simplicity of manners in public and private life. This was the strategy of a successful politician who sought to conceal offensive reality under the cloak of a pleasant deception. Great Cæsar fallen at the foot of Pompey's statue was a solemn reminder to Augustus that the dagger of the assassin was still ready to defend the memory of freedom, after liberty was, in reality, dead. And the refusal by the greatest of the Romans, at the feast of the Lupercal, to accept a kingly crown when it was thrice offered him by Antony, was a model of discreet behavior and political caution for the first and most illustrious of the emperors. In short, Augustus dared not destroy the laws or assault the constitution of the state. But he accomplished his object, nevertheless. "He gathered into his own hands the whole honors and privileges, which the state had for centuries distributed among its great magistrates and representatives. He became perpetual Princeps Senatus, or leader of the legislative house. He became perpetual Pontifex Maximus, or chief of the national religion. He became perpetual Tribune, or guardian of the people, with his person thereby made sacred and inviolable. He became perpetual Consul, or supreme magistrate over the whole Roman world, with the control of its revenues, the disposal of its armies, and the execution of its laws. And lastly he became perpetual Imperator, or military chief, to whom every legionary throughout the world took the _sacramentum_, and whose sword swept the globe from Gibraltar to the Indus and the Baltic. And yet in all he was a simple citizen--a mere magistrate of the Republic. Only in this one man was now visibly accumulated and concentrated all that for centuries had broadened and expanded under the magnificent abstraction of Rome." The boundless authority of Rome was thus centered in the hands of a single person. Consuls, tribunes, prætors, proconsuls, and procurators were merely the agents and representatives of this person. Tiberius Cæsar, the political master of Pontius Pilate, was the successor of Augustus and the first inheritor of his constitution. Under this constitution, Augustus had divided the provinces into two classes. The centrally located and peacefully disposed were governed by proconsuls appointed by the senate. The more distant and turbulent were subjected by Augustus to his personal control, and were governed by procurators who acted as his deputies or personal representatives. Judea came in his second class, and the real governor of his province was the emperor himself. Tiberius Cæsar was thus the real procurator of Judea at the time of the crucifixion and Pilate was his political substitute who did his bidding and obeyed his will. Whatever Tiberius might have done, Pilate might have done. We are thus enabled to judge the extent of Pilate's powers; powers clothed with _imperium_ and revocable only by the great procurator at Rome. In the government of the purely subject states of a province, the procurator exercised the unlimited jurisdiction of the military _imperium_. No law abridged the single and sovereign exercise of his will. Custom, however, having in fact the force of law, prescribed that he should summon to his aid a council of advisers. This advisory body was composed of two elements: (1) Roman citizens resident in this particular locality where the governor was holding court; and (2) members of his personal staff known as the Prætorian Cohort. The governor, in his conduct of judicial proceedings, might solicit the opinions of the members of his council. He might require them to vote upon the question at issue; and might, if he pleased, abide by the decision of the majority. But no rule of law required him to do it; it was merely a concession and a courtesy; it was not a legal duty. Again, when it is said that the procurator exercised the "unlimited jurisdiction of the military _imperium_," we must interpret this, paradoxical though it may seem, in a restricted sense; that is, we must recognize the existence of exceptions to the rule. It is unreasonable to suppose that Rome, the mother of laws, ever contemplated the rule of despotism and caprice in the administration of justice in any part of the empire. It is true that the effect of the _imperium_, "as applied to provincial governorship, was to make each _imperator_ a king in his own domain"; but kings themselves have nearly always been subject to restrictions; and the authorities are agreed that the _imperium_ of the Roman procurator of the time of Christ was hemmed in by many limitations. A few of these may be named. In the first place, the rights guaranteed to subject states within the provincial area by the law of the province (_lex provinciæ_) were the first limitations upon his power. Again, it is a well-known fact that Roman citizens could appeal from the decision of the governor, in certain cases, to the emperor at Rome. Paul exercised this right, because he was a Roman citizen.[8] Jesus could not appeal from the judgment of Pilate, because He was not a Roman citizen. Again, fear of an aroused and indignant public sentiment which might result in his removal by the emperor, exercised a salutary restraint upon the conduct, if it did not abridge the powers of the governor. These various considerations bring us now to the second question asked in the beginning of this chapter: What forms of criminal procedure, if any, were employed by Pilate in conducting the Roman trial of Jesus? It is historically true that Pilate exercised, as procurator of Judea, the unlimited jurisdiction of the military _imperium_; and that this _imperium_ made him virtually an "_imperator_, a king in his own domain." It is also historically true that the inhabitants of the purely subject states of a province, who were not themselves Roman citizens, when accused of crime, stood before a Roman governor with no protection except the plea of justice against the summary exercise of absolute power. In other words, in the employment of the unlimited jurisdiction of the military _imperium_, a Roman governor, in the exercise of his discretion, might, in the case of non-Roman citizens of a subject state, throw all rules and forms of law to the wind, and decide the matter arbitrarily and despotically. It may be that Pilate did this in this case. But the best writers are agreed that this was not the policy of the Roman governors in the administration of justice in the provinces at the time of Christ. The lawgiving genius of Rome had then reached maturity and approximate perfection in the organization of its criminal tribunals. It is not probable, as before suggested, that despotism and caprice would be systematically tolerated anywhere in the Roman world. If the emperors at Rome were forced, out of regard for public sentiment, to respect the constitution and the laws, it is reasonable to infer that their personal representatives in the provinces were under the same restraint. We feel justified then in asserting that Pilate, in the trial of Jesus, should have applied certain laws and been governed by certain definite rules of criminal procedure. What were these rules? A few preliminary considerations will greatly aid the reader in arriving at an answer to this question. It should be understood: (1) That Pilate was empowered to apply either Roman law or the local law in the trial of any case where the crime was an offense against both the province and the empire, as in the crime of murder; but that in the case of treason with which Jesus was charged he would apply the law of Rome under forms of Roman procedure. It has been denied that Pilate had a right to apply Jewish law in the government of his province; but this denial is contrary to authority. Innes says: "The Roman governor sanctioned, or even himself administered, the old law of the region."[9] Schürer says: "It may be assumed that the administration of the civil law was wholly in the hands of the Sanhedrin and native or local magistrates: Jewish courts decided according to Jewish law. But even in the criminal law this was almost invariably the case, only with this exception, that death sentences required to be confirmed by the Roman procurator. In such cases, the procurator decided, if he pleased, according to Jewish law."[10] Greenidge says: "Even the first clause of the Sicilian _lex_, if it contained no reference to jurisdiction by the local magistrate, left the interpretation of the _native law_ wholly to Roman _proprætors_."[11] It is thus clearly evident that Roman procurators might apply either Roman or local laws in ordinary cases. (2) That Roman governors were empowered to apply the adjective law of Rome to the substantive law of the province. In support of this contention, Greenidge says: "The edict of the _proprætor_ or pro-consul, ... clearly could not express the native law of each particular state under its jurisdiction; but its generality and its expansiveness admitted, as we shall see, of an application of Roman forms to the substantive law of any particular city."[12] (3) That the criminal procedure employed by Pilate in the trial of Jesus should have been the criminal procedure of a capital case tried at Rome, during the reign of Tiberius Cæsar. This fact is very evident from the authorities. The trial of capital cases at Rome furnished models for similar trials in the provinces. In the exercise of the unlimited jurisdiction of the military _imperium_, Roman governors might disregard these models. But, ordinarily, custom compelled them to follow the criminal precedents of the Capital of the empire. The following authorities support this contention. Rosadi says: "It is also certain that in the provinces the same order was observed in criminal cases as was observed in cases tried at Rome."[13] This eminent Italian writer cites, in proof of this statement, Pothier, Pandect. XLVIII. 2, n. 28. Greenidge says: "Yet, in spite of this absence of legal checks, the criminal procedure of the provinces was, in the protection of the citizen as in other respects, closely modelled on that of Rome."[14] To the same effect, but more clearly and pointedly expressed, is Geib, who says: "It is nevertheless true that the knowledge which we have, imperfect though it may be, leaves no doubt that the courts of the Italian municipalities and provinces had, in all essential elements, the permanent tribunals (_quæstiones perpetuæ_) as models; so that, in fact, a description of the proceedings in the permanent tribunals is, at the same time, to be regarded as a description of the proceedings in the provincial courts."[15] These permanent tribunals (_quæstiones perpetuæ_) were courts of criminal jurisdiction established at Rome, and were in existence at the time of the crucifixion. Proceedings in these courts in capital cases, were models of criminal procedure in the provinces at the time of Christ. It logically follows then that if we can ascertain the successive steps in the trial of a capital case at Rome before one of the permanent tribunals, we have accurate information of the exact form of criminal procedure, not that Pilate did employ, but which he should have employed in the trial of Jesus. Fortunately for the purposes of this treatise, every step which Roman law required in the trial of capital cases at Rome is as well known as the provisions of any modern criminal code. From the celebrated Roman trials in which Cicero appeared as an advocate, may be gleaned with unerring accuracy the fullest information touching all the details of capital trials at Rome at the time of Cicero. It should be observed, at this point, that the period of Roman jurisprudence just referred to was in the closing years of the republic; and that certain changes in the organization of the tribunals as well as in the forms of procedure were effected by the legislation of Augustus. But we have it upon the authority of Rosadi that these changes were not radical in the case of the criminal courts and that the rules and regulations that governed procedure in them during the republic remained substantially unchanged under the empire. The same writer tells us that the permanent tribunals for the trial of capital cases did not go out of existence until the third century of the Christian era.[16] The following chapter will be devoted, in the main, to a description of the mode of trial of capital cases at Rome before the permanent tribunals at the time of Christ. CHAPTER IV MODE OF TRIAL IN ROMAN CAPITAL CASES The reader should keep clearly and constantly in mind the purpose of this chapter: to describe the mode of trial in capital cases at Rome during the reign of Tiberius Cæsar; and thus to furnish a model of criminal procedure which Pilate should have imitated in the trial of Jesus at Jerusalem. In the last chapter, we saw that the proceedings of the permanent tribunals (_quæstiones perpetuæ_) at Rome furnished models for the trial of criminal cases in the provinces. It is now only necessary to determine what the procedure of the permanent tribunals at the time of Christ was, in order to understand what Pilate should have done in the trial of Jesus. But the character of the _quæstiones perpetuæ_, as well as the rules and regulations that governed their proceedings, cannot well be understood without reference to the criminal tribunals and modes of trial in criminal cases that preceded them. Roman history discloses two distinct periods of criminal procedure before the organization of the permanent tribunals about the beginning of the last century of the Republic: (1) The period of the kings and (2) the period of the early republic. Each of these will be here briefly considered. _The Regal Period._--The earliest glimpses of Roman political life reveal the existence of a sacred and military monarchy in which the king is generalissimo of the army, chief pontiff of the national religion, and supreme judge in civil and criminal matters over the lives and property of the citizens. These various powers and attributes are wrapped up in the _imperium_. By virtue of the _imperium_, the king issued commands to the army and also exercised the highest judicial functions over the lives and fortunes of his fellow-citizens. The kings were thus military commanders and judges in one person, as the consuls were after them. The monarch might sit alone and judge cases and impose sentences; but the trial was usually a personal investigation undertaken by him with the advice and aid of a chosen body of judges from the senate or the pontifical college. According to Dionysius, Romulus ordered that all crimes of a serious nature should be tried by the king, but that all lighter offenses should be judged by the senate.[17] Little confidence can be reposed in this statement, since the age and deeds of Romulus are exceedingly legendary and mythical. But it is historically true that in the regal period of Rome the kings were the supreme judges in all civil and criminal matters. _The Early Republican Period._--The abolition of the monarchy and the establishment of the republic witnessed the distribution of the powers of government formerly exercised by the king among a number of magistrates and public officers. Consuls, tribunes, prætors, ædiles, both curule and plebeian, exercised, under the republic, judicial functions in criminal matters. The consuls were supreme criminal judges at the beginning of the republic, and were clothed with unlimited power in matters of life and death. This is shown by the condemnation and execution of the sons of Brutus and their fellow-conspirators.[18] Associated with the consuls were, at first, two annually appointed quæstors whom they nominated. The functions of the quæstors were as unlimited as those of their superiors, the consuls; but their jurisdiction was confined chiefly to criminal matters and finance. The tribunes, sacred and inviolable in their persons as representatives of the _plebs_ and as their protectors against patrician oppression, exercised at first merely a negative control over the regular magistracies of the community. But, finally, they became the chief public prosecutors of political criminals. The prætors, whose chief jurisdiction was in civil matters, were potentially as fully criminal judges as the consuls, and there may have been a time when a portion of criminal jurisdiction was actually in their hands. In the later republic, they presided over the _quæstiones perpetuæ_, permanent criminal tribunals. The ædiles are found in Roman history exercising functions of criminal jurisdiction, although their general powers were confined to the special duties of caring for the games, the market, and the archives. But the criminal jurisdiction of the magistrates who replaced the king at the downfall of the monarchy was abridged and almost destroyed by the famous _lex Valeria_ (_de provocatione_). This law was proposed 509 B.C. by Publius Valerius, one of the first consuls of Rome, and provided that no magistrate should have power to execute a sentence of death against a Roman citizen who had appealed to the judgment of the people in their public assembly. This _lex_ was the _magna charta_ of the Romans and was justly regarded by them as the great palladium of their civil liberty. And it was this law that inaugurated the popular jurisdiction of the _comitia_. The result was that for more than three hundred years the final determination of the question of life or death was in the hands of the people themselves. From the passage of the Valerian law the function of the magistrates was limited to the duty of convincing the people of the guilt of an alleged criminal against whom they themselves had already pronounced a preliminary sentence. The magistrates were, therefore, not so much judges as prosecutors; the people were the final judges in the case. _Mode of Trial in the Comitia, or Public Assembly._--On a certain day, the prosecuting magistrate, who had himself pronounced the preliminary sentence against an accused person who had appealed to the people in their public assembly, mounted the _rostra_, and called the people together by the voice of a herald. He then made a proclamation that on a certain day he would bring an accusation against a certain person upon a given charge. At the same time, he called upon this person to come forward and hear the charges against him. The defendant then presented himself, listened to the accusation, and immediately furnished bond for his appearance, or in default of bail, was thrown into prison. Upon the day announced at the opening of the trial, the prosecuting magistrate again mounted the _rostra_, and summoned the accused by a herald, if he was at large, or had him brought forth if he was in prison. The prosecutor then produced evidence, oral and documentary, against the prisoner. The indictment had to be in writing, and was published on three market days in the Forum. The prosecution came to an end on the third day, and the accused then began his defense by mounting the _rostra_ with his patron and presenting evidence in his own behalf. The prosecutor then announced that on a certain day he would ask the people to render judgment by their votes. In the early years of the republic, the people voted by shouting their approval or disapproval of the charges made; but later a tablet bearing one of the two letters V. (_uti rogas_) or A. (_absolvo_) was used as a ballot. The effect of popular jurisdiction in criminal processes at Rome was in the nature of a two-edged sword that cut both ways. It was beneficial in the limitations it imposed upon the conduct of single magistrates who were too often capricious and despotic. But this benefit was purchased at the price of a kind of popular despotism not less dangerous in its way. It has always been characteristic of popular assemblies that their decisions have been more the outcome of passion and prejudice than the result of calm wisdom and absolute justice. The trouble at Rome was that the people were both legislators and judges in their public assemblies; and it nearly always happened that the lawmakers rose above and trampled upon the very laws which they themselves had made. The natural offspring of this state of things is either anarchy or despotism; and it was only the marvelous vitality of the Roman Commonwealth that enabled it to survive. The reports of the great criminal trials before the _comitia_ reveal the inherent weakness of a system of popular jurisdiction in criminal matters. Personal and political considerations foreign to the merits of the case were allowed to take the place of competent evidence; and issues of right and expediency were too frequently mixed up. The accused, at times, trusted not so much in the righteousness of his cause as in the feelings of compassion and prejudice that moved the people as popular judges. And to excite these feelings the most ludicrous and undignified steps were sometimes taken. The defendant nearly always appeared at the trial in mourning garb, frequently let his hair and beard grow long, and often exhibited the scars and wounds received in battle whilst fighting for his country. He sometimes offered prayers to the immortal gods and wept bitterly; at other times he caused his children and other relatives to appear at the trial, wailing, and tearing their clothes. Not content with presenting all the pathetic features of his own life, he left nothing undone to expose his opponents to hatred and contempt. It thus happened that many of the great criminal causes of Rome were mere farcical proceedings. A few instances may be cited. Horatius, though tried in the time of the third Roman king, was pardoned by the people for the murder of his sister because of his heroic deed in single combat with the three Curiatii, and because his father had lost three children in the service of the state. In the year 98, Manlius Aquillius, the pacificator of Sicily, was tried for embezzlement. Marcus Antonius, his advocate, ended his argument for the defense by tearing the tunic of Aquillius to show the breast of the veteran warrior covered with scars. The people were moved to tears and Aquillius was acquitted, although the evidence was very clear against him. In the trial of M. Manlius, 384 B.C., new tactics were employed. The accused refused to appear in mourning. There was no weeping in his behalf. On the other hand, Manlius relied upon his services to the state for acquittal. He brought forward four hundred citizens who by his generosity he had saved from bondage for debt; he exhibited the spoils taken from thirty slain enemies, also military decorations received for bravery in battle--among them two mural and eight civic crowns; he then produced many citizens rescued by him from the hands of the enemy; he then bared his breast and exhibited the scars received by him in war; and, lastly, turning toward the Capitol, he implored Jupiter to protect him, and to infuse, at this moment, into the Roman people, his judges, the same spirit of courage and patriotism that had given him strength to save the city of Rome and his whole country from the hands of the Gauls. He begged the people to keep their eyes fixed on the Capitol while they were pronouncing sentence against him to whom they owed life and liberty. It is said that his prosecutors despaired of convicting him amidst such surroundings, and adjourned the trial to another place, where the Capitol could not be seen; and that thereupon the conviction of Manlius was secured and his condemnation pronounced. In the year 185 B.C., the tribune M. Nævius, at the instigation of Cato, accused Scipio Africanus before the tribes of having been bribed to secure a dishonorable peace. It was clearly evident that a charge of this kind could not well be sustained by evidence; but it was believed that a conviction could be secured by an appeal to the passion and prejudice of the multitude. But this advantage operated as greatly in favor of Scipio as it did in favor of his accusers. And he did not fail to use the advantage to the fullest extent. In seeming imitation of M. Manlius, two hundred years before, he appealed for acquittal to the people on account of his public services. He refused to appear in mourning, offered no evidence in his own behalf, nor did he exhibit the usual humility of an accused Roman before his countrymen. With proud disdain, he spurned the unworthy imputation of bribery, and pointed the people to the magnificent achievements of his brilliant public career. He reminded them that the day of the trial was itself the anniversary of his victory over the greatest enemy that Rome ever had, at Zama. It was degrading, he exclaimed, both to him and to the Roman nation, to bring such a charge on this day against the man to whom it was due that the Commonwealth of Rome still existed. He refused to lower himself, he said, by listening to the insolent charges of a vulgar brawler who had never done anything for the state. He declared that instead he would repair at once to the temple of Jupiter and render thanks for his victory over Hannibal to the protecting gods of his country. With these words, he left the Forum and went to the Capitol and from there to his house, accompanied by the great majority of the people, while the accusing tribune and his official staff were left alone in the market place. The inevitable result of these cases of miscarriage of justice, in which patriotic bravado and rhetorical claptrap took the place of legal rules, was a desire and demand for the reform of criminal procedure. Besides, it had ever been found troublesome and inconvenient to summon the whole body of the Roman people to try ordinary offenses. It was only in cases of great gravity that the ponderous machinery of the _comitia centuriata_ could be set in motion. This difficulty was increased with the growth of the republic, in which crimes also grew in number and magnitude. The necessity for the reform of the criminal law resulted in the institution of permanent tribunals (_quæstiones perpetuæ_). A series of legal enactments accomplished this result. The earliest law that created a permanent _quæstio_ was the _lex Calpurnia_ of 149 B.C. And it was the proceedings in these courts, which we shall now describe, that should have guided Pilate in the trial of Jesus. _Mode of Trial in the Permanent Tribunals._--We shall attempt to trace in the remaining pages of this chapter the successive steps in the trial of criminal cases before the permanent tribunals at Rome. _First Stage_ (_postulatio_).--A Roman criminal trial before a _quæstio perpetua_ commenced with an application to the presiding magistrate, the prætor or the _iudex quæstionis_, for permission to bring a criminal charge against a certain person. The technical Latin expression for this request to prosecute is _postulatio_. It should be here noted that State's attorneys or public prosecutors, in a modern sense, were not known to the Romans at this time. Private citizens took upon themselves public prosecutions in behalf of the state. They were encouraged to do this from motives of personal profit as well as patriotic interest in the welfare of the community. As young men in modern times, just admitted to the bar, often accept criminal cases by assignment from the court in order to make a beginning in their professional careers, so young Roman nobles in ancient times sought to make reputations for themselves by accusing and prosecuting public delinquents. And not only professional reputation, but financial compensation as well could be gained in this way. The Roman laws of the time of Cicero provided that a successful prosecutor should receive one-fourth part of the property confiscated or the fine imposed. A Macedonian inscription offered a reward of 200 denarii to the prosecutor who should bring to justice the desecrators of a tomb.[19] _Second Stage_ (_divinatio_).--It often happened that more than one accuser desired to prosecute a single offense; but more than one prosecutor was not permitted by Roman law unless there was more than one crime charged. Then, in case of a concurrence of would-be accusers, a preliminary trial was had to determine which one of these was best fitted to bring the accusation. This initial hearing was known in Roman law as the _divinatio_. It was indeed more than a mere hearing; it was a regular trial in which the question of the fitness of the different candidates for the position of _delator_ was argued before the president and the jury. This jury was in many cases distinct from the one that finally tried the case on the merits. The purpose of the whole proceeding known as the _divinatio_ was to secure a prosecutor who was at once both able and sincere; and both these qualities were generally very strenuously urged by all those who desired to assume the rôle of accuser. Indeed all personal qualifications involving the mental and moral attributes of the would-be prosecutors were pointedly urged. At the hearing, the different candidates frequently became animated and even bitter opponents of each other. Crimination and recrimination then followed as a natural consequence. An applicant might show that he was thoroughly familiar with the affairs of a province, as a special fitness in the prosecution of a public official for extortion in that province. An opponent, on the other hand, might show that said applicant had been associated with said official in the government of the province and had been, and was now, on the friendliest terms with him. After the meritorious qualifications of all the claimants had been presented, the president and jury rendered their decision. The details of the evidence affecting the merits of the charge were not considered at this preliminary trial. Only such facts were considered as affected the personal qualifications of the different candidates for the place of accuser. When these qualifications were about equally balanced in point of merit between two applicants, the abler speaker was generally chosen. _Third Stage_ (_nominis delatio_).--It frequently happened that the _postulatio_, the request to prosecute, was not followed by the _divinatio_, the preliminary hearing on the merits of different applicants, because there was only one would-be accuser; and his qualifications were beyond dispute. In such a case, when a request to bring a criminal charge against a certain person had been presented by a citizen to the prætor, there followed, after a certain interval of time, a private hearing before the president of the court for the purpose of gaining fuller and more definite information concerning the charge. This private proceeding was styled the _nominis_ or _criminis delatio_, and took place before the president alone. Its main object was to secure a specification of the personality of the accused as well as of the charges brought against him. At this stage of the trial the presence of the accused person was necessary, unless he was absent under valid excuse. The _lex Memmia_, passed in the year 114 B.C., permitted a delinquent to plead that he was absent from Rome on public business, as an excuse for not appearing at the _nominis delatio_. In the year 58 B.C., the tribune L. Antistius impeached Julius Cæsar. But the colleagues of Antistius excused Cæsar from personal attendance because he was absent in the service of the state in Gaul. But, if the accused appeared at the _nominis delatio_, the prosecutor interrogated him at length concerning the facts of the crime. The purpose of this interrogation (_interrogatio_) was to satisfy the president that there was a prima facie case to carry before the regular tribunal in open trial. The proceedings of the _nominis delatio_ were thus in the nature of a modern Grand Jury investigation, instituted to determine if a serious prosecution should be had. _Fourth Stage_ (_inscriptio_).--If the interrogation convinced the president that the prosecutor had a prima facie case to take before the permanent tribunal, he framed a form of indictment called the _inscriptio_. This indictment was signed by the chief prosecutor and also by a number of witnesses against the accused called _subscriptores_. The charge was now definitely fixed; and, from this moment, it was the only offense that could be prosecuted at the trial. The drawing up of this charge by the president was similar to the framing of an indictment by a modern Grand Jury. _Fifth Stage_ (_nominis receptio_).--After the indictment or inscription had been framed, it was formally received by the president. This act was styled the _nominis receptio_ and corresponds, in a general way, with the presentment of an indictment by a modern Grand Jury. When the _nominis receptio_ was complete, the case was said to be _in judicio_, and the accused was said to be _in reatu_. The president then fixed a day certain for the appearance of the accused and the beginning of the trial. The time fixed was usually ten days from the _nominis receptio_. However, a longer time was allowed if evidence had to be secured from beyond the sea. Thirty days were allowed the accusers in the prosecution of Scaurus. Cicero was given one hundred and ten days to secure evidence against Verres; but he actually employed only sixty. The time granted the prosecutor was also required by the law to be utilized by the defendant in preparing his case. The preliminary steps in the prosecution were now complete, and the accused awaited the day of trial. In the meantime, he was allowed to go at large, even when charged with a grave offense like murder. Imprisonment to prevent escape had almost ceased at the time of which we write. If the evidence against the accused was weak, it was felt that he would certainly appear at the trial. If the evidence against him was very strong, it was thought that he would seek to escape a sentence of death in voluntary exile, a step which Romans always encouraged, as they were averse, at all times, to putting a Roman citizen to death. _Sixth Stage_ (_citatio_).--At the expiration of the time designated by the president for the beginning of the trial, the proceedings before the judges began. All the necessary parties, including the judges or jurors, were summoned by a herald to appear. This procedure was termed the _citatio_. Strange to say, if the accused failed to appear the case could proceed without him. The reason for the requirement of his presence at the _nominis delatio_, but not at the trial is not clear; especially when viewed in the light of a modern trial in which the defendant must be present at every important step in the proceedings. Under Roman procedure, the presence of the defendant was not necessary, whether he was in voluntary exile, or was obstinately absent. In 52 B.C., Milo was condemned in his absence; and we read in Plutarch that the assassins of Cæsar were tried in their absence, 43 B.C. Excusable absence necessitated an adjournment of the case. The chief grounds for an adjournment were: (1) Absence from the city in the public service; (2) that the accused was compelled to appear in another court on the same day; (3) illness. The absence of the accused did not prevent the prosecution of the case, but the nonappearance of the prosecutor on the day fixed for the beginning of the trial usually terminated the proceedings at once. The fact that the case had to be dismissed if the accuser failed to appear only serves to illustrate how dependent the state was on the sincerity of the citizen who undertook the prosecution. The obligations of the prosecutor honestly and vigorously to follow up a suit which he had set in motion were felt to be so serious a matter by the Romans that special laws were passed to hold him in the line of duty. The _lex Remmia_ provided that if any citizen knowingly accused another citizen falsely of a crime, the accuser should be prosecuted for calumny (_calumnia_). It further provided that, in case of conviction, the letter K should be branded on the forehead of the condemned. Such laws were found necessary to protect the good name of Roman citizens against bad men who desired to use the legal machinery of the state to gratify private malevolence against their enemies. It may thus be seen that the system which permitted public prosecutions on the motion of private citizens was attended by both good and bad results. Cicero regarded such a system as a positive benefit to the state.[20] Its undoubted effect was to place a check upon corruption in public office by subjecting the acts of public officials to the scrutiny and, if need be, to the censure of every man in the nation. On the other hand, accusers in public prosecutions came finally to be identified, in the public mind, with coarse and vulgar informers whose only motive in making public accusations was to create private gain. So thoroughly were they despised that one of the parasites of Plautus scornfully exclaims that he would not exchange his vocation, though low and groveling, with that of the man who makes a legal proceeding "his net wherein to catch another man's goods."[21] _Seventh Stage_ (_impaneling the judges_).--But if the prosecutor appeared in due time, the trial formally began by the impaneling of the judges. This was usually done by the prætor or _iudex quæstionis_ who, at the beginning of the trial, placed the names of the complete panel of jurors, inscribed on white tablets, into an urn, and then drew out a certain number. Both prosecutor and accused had the right to challenge a limited number, as the names were being drawn. The number of challenges allowed varied from time to time. _Eighth Stage_ (_beginning of the trial_).--When the judges had been impaneled, the regular proceedings began. The place of trial was the Forum. The curule chair of the prætor and the benches of the judges, constituting the tribunal, were here placed. On the ground in front of the raised platform upon which the prætor and judges sat, were arranged the benches of the parties, their advocates and witnesses. Like the ancient Hebrew law, Roman law required that criminal cases should be tried only by daylight, that is, between daybreak and one hour before sunset. At the opening of the trial, the prosecutor, backed by the _subscriptores_, and the accused, supported by his patrons and advocates, appeared before the tribunal. In a modern criminal trial the case is opened by the introduction of testimony which is followed by regular speeches of counsel for the people and the defendant. In those jurisdictions where opening addresses are required before the examination of the witnesses, the purpose is to inform the jury of the facts which it is proposed to prove. Argument and characterization are not permitted in these opening speeches. The real speeches in which argument and illustration are permitted come after the evidence has been introduced. The purpose of these closing speeches is to assist the jury in determining matters of fact from conflicting testimony. Under the Roman system of trial in criminal cases, the order was reversed. The regular speeches containing argument, characterization, and illustration, as well as a statement of the facts proposed to be proved, were made in the very beginning. Evidence was then introduced to show that the orators had told the truth in their speeches. It is not practicable in this place to discuss the kinds and relevancy of evidence under Roman criminal procedure. Suffice it to say that slaves were always examined under torture. The close of the evidence was followed by the judgment of the tribunal. _Ninth Stage_ (_voting of the judges_).--The judges voted by ballot, and a majority of votes decided the verdict. The balloting was done with tablets containing the letters A. (_absolvo_), C. (_condemno_) and N. L. (_non liquet_). When the votes had been cast, the tablets were then counted by the president of the tribunal. If the result indicated a condemnation, he pronounced the word _fecisse_; if an acquittal, the phrase, _non fecisse videtur_; if a doubtful verdict (_non liquet_), the words _amplius esse cognoscendum_. The result of a doubtful (_non liquet_) verdict was a retrial of the case at some future time. Such were the main features of the trial of a capital case at Rome at the date of the crucifixion. Such was the model which, according to the best authorities, Pilate was bound to follow in the trial of Jesus. Did he imitate this model? Did he observe these rules and regulations? We shall see. CHAPTER V ROMAN FORMS OF PUNISHMENT According to Gibbon, the laws of the Twelve Tables, like the statutes of Draco, were written in blood. These famous decrees sanctioned the frightful principle of the _lex talionis_; and prescribed for numerous crimes many horrible forms of punishment. The hurling from the Tarpeian Rock was mild in comparison with other modes of execution. The traitor to his country had his hands tied behind his back, his head shrouded in a veil, was then scourged by a lictor, and was afterwards crucified, in the midst of the Forum by being nailed to the _arbor infelix_. A malicious incendiary, on a principle of retaliation, was delivered to the flames. He was burned to death by being wrapped in a garment covered with pitch which was then set on fire.[22] A parricide was cast into the Tiber or the sea, inclosed in a sack, to which a cock, a viper, a dog, and a monkey had been successively added as fit companions in death.[23] But the development of Roman jurisprudence and the growth of Roman civilization witnessed a gradual diminution in the severity of penal sanctions, in the case of free citizens, until voluntary exile was the worst punishment to which a wearer of the toga was compelled to submit. The Porcian and Valerian laws prohibited the magistrates from putting any Roman citizen to death. The principle underlying these laws was the offspring of a proud and patriotic sentiment which exempted the masters of the world from the extreme penalties reserved for barbarians and slaves. Greenidge, interpreting Cicero, very elegantly expresses this sentiment: "It is a _facinus_ to put a Roman citizen in bonds, a _scelus_ to scourge him, _prope parricidium_ to put him to death." The subject of this volume limits the discussion in this chapter to a single Roman punishment: Crucifixion. Around this word gather the most frightful memories and, at the same time, the sweetest and sublimest hopes of the human race. A thorough appreciation of the trial of Jesus, it is felt, renders necessary a comparatively exhaustive treatment of the punishment in which all the horrors and illegalities of the proceedings against Him culminated. _History._--Tradition attributes the origin of crucifixion, the most frightful and inhuman form of punishment ever known, to a woman, Semiramis, Queen of Assyria. We are reminded by this that quartering, drawing at a horse's tail, breaking on the wheel, burning and torture with pincers, were provisions in a codex bearing the name of a woman: Maria Theresa.[24] Crucifixion was practiced by the ancient Egyptians, Carthaginians, Persians, Germans, Assyrians, Greeks, and Romans. The Romans employed this form of punishment on a colossal scale. The Roman general Varus crucified 2,000 Jews in one day at the gates of Jerusalem. The close of the war with Spartacus, the gladiator, witnessed the crucifixion of 10,000 slaves between Capua and Rome. Crucifixion, as a form of punishment, was unknown to the ancient Hebrews. The penalty of death was enforced among them by burning, strangling, decapitation, and stoning. The "hanging" of criminals "on a tree," mentioned in Deut. xxi. 22, was a posthumous indignity offered the body of the criminal after death by stoning, and struck horror to the soul of every pious Israelite who beheld it. Among the Romans also degradation was a part of the infliction, since crucifixion was peculiarly a _supplicium servile_. Only the vilest criminals, among free men, such as were guilty of robbery, piracy, assassination, perjury, sedition, treason, and desertion from the army, met death in this way. The _jus civitatis_ protected Roman citizens against this punishment. _Mode of Crucifixion._--A sentence of death having been pronounced by a Roman magistrate or tribunal, scourging became a preliminary to execution. This was done with the terrible _flagellum_ into which the soldiers frequently stuck nails, pieces of bone, and other hard substances to heighten the pain which was often so intense as to produce death. The victim was generally bound to a column to be scourged. It was claimed by Jerome, Prudentius, Gregory of Tours, and others that they had seen the one to which Jesus was bound before His scourging began. After the flagellation, the prisoner was conducted to the place of execution. This was outside the city, often in some public road, or other conspicuous place like the Campus Martius at Rome. The criminal was compelled to carry his own cross; and when he had arrived at the place of crucifixion, he was compelled to watch the preparations for his torture. Before his eyes and in his presence, the cross was driven into the ground; and, after having been stripped naked, he was lifted upon and nailed to it. It sometimes happened that he was stretched upon it first and then lifted with it from the ground. The former method was the more common, however, as it was desired to strike terror into the victim by the sight of the erection of the cross. The body was fastened to the cross by nails driven into the hands and sometimes into the feet; more frequently, however, the feet were merely bound by cords. The pictures of crosses in works of art are misrepresentations, in that they are too large and too high. The real cross of antiquity was very little longer than the victim, whose head was near the top, and whose feet often hung only twelve or fifteen inches from the ground. Pictorial art is also false because it fails to show the projecting beam from near the center of the cross upon which the criminal sat. That there was such a beam is attested by the almost unanimous voice of antiquity. Crucifixion was conducted, under Roman auspices, by a _carnifex_, or hangman, assisted by a band of soldiers. At Rome, execution was done under the supervision of the _Triumviri Capitales_. The duty of the soldiers was not only to erect the cross and nail the victim to it, but also to watch him until he was dead. This was a necessary precaution to prevent friends and relatives from taking the criminal down and from carrying him away, since he sometimes continued to live upon the cross during several days. If taken down in time, the suffering man might easily be resuscitated and restored to health. Josephus tells us that three victims were ordered to be taken down by Titus at his request, and that one of them recovered. "In the later persecutions of the Christians, the guards remained four or six days by the dead, in order to secure them to the wild beasts and to cut off all possibility of burial and resurrection; and in Lyons the Christians were not once able by offers of much gold to obtain the privilege of showing compassion upon the victims of the pagan popular fury. Sometimes, however, particularly on festival days, e.g., the birthdays of the emperors, the corpse was given up to the friends of the deceased, either for money or without money, although even Augustus could be cruel enough to turn a deaf ear to the entreaties of the condemned for sepulture."[25] Roman records tell us that the soldiers frequently hastened death by breaking the legs of the criminal; at other times, fires were built about the cross beneath him; and, again, wild beasts were turned loose upon him. It was the general custom to allow the body to remain and rot upon the cross, or to be devoured by wild beasts and birds of prey. "Distracted relatives and friends saw the birds of prey attack the very faces of those whom they loved; and piety often took pains to scare away the birds by day and the beasts by night, or to outwit the guards that watched the dead."[26] Sepulture was generally forbidden by law, though there were exceptions to the rule. At the request of Joseph of Arimathea, Pilate consented that Jesus should be taken down and buried.[27] A national exception seems also to have been made in the case of the Jews on account of the requirements of Deut. xxi. 22, 23. _Pathology._--The following pathological phases of death by crucifixion are from a treatise by the celebrated physician, Richter (in John's "Bibl. Arch."), which have been reproduced in Strong and McClintock's "Cyclopedia": "(1) The unnatural position and violent tension of the body, which cause a painful sensation from the least motion. "(2) The nails, being driven through parts of the hands and feet which are full of nerves and tendons (and yet at a distance from the heart) create the most exquisite anguish. "(3) The exposure of so many wounds and lacerations brings on inflammation, which tends to become gangrene, and every movement increases the poignancy of suffering. "(4) In the distended parts of the body, more blood flows through the arteries than can be carried back into the veins: hence too much blood finds its way from the aorta into the head and stomach, and the blood vessels of the head become pressed and swollen. The general obstruction of circulation which ensues causes an intense excitement, exertion, and anxiety more intolerable than death itself. "(5) The inexpressible misery of _gradually increasing_ and lingering anguish. "(6) Burning and raging thirst. "Death by crucifixion (physically considered) is, therefore, to be attributed to the sympathetic fever which is excited by the wounds, and aggravated by exposure to the weather, privation of water, and the painfully constrained position of the body. Traumatic fever corresponds, in intensity and in character, to the local inflammation of the wound, is characterized by heat, swelling, and great pain, the fever is highly inflammatory, and the sufferer complains of heat, throbbing headache, intense thirst, restlessness, and anxiety. As soon as suppuration sets in, the fever somewhat abates, and partially ceases as suppuration diminishes and the stage of cicatrization approaches. But if the wound be prevented from healing and suppuration continues, the fever assumes a hectic character, and will sooner or later exhaust the powers of life. When, however, the inflammation of the wound is so intense as to produce mortification, nervous depression is the immediate consequence; and, if the cause of this excessive inflammation of the wound still continues, as is the case in crucifixion, the sufferer rapidly sinks. He is no longer sensible of pain, but his anxiety and sense of prostration are excessive; hiccough supervenes, his skin is moistened with a cold clammy sweat, and death ensues. It is in this manner that death on the cross must have taken place in an ordinarily healthy constitution." The intense sufferings and prolonged agony of crucifixion can be best illustrated by an account of several cases of this form of punishment taken from history. From the "Chrestomathia Arabica" of Kosegarten, published in 1828, is taken the following story of the execution of a Mameluke. The author of this work gleaned the story from an Arabic manuscript entitled "The Meadow of Flowers and the Fragrant Odour": "It is said that he had killed his master for some cause or other, and he was crucified on the banks of the river Barada under the castle of Damascus, with his face turned toward the East. His hands, arms, and feet were nailed, and he remained so from midday on Friday to the same hour on Sunday, when he died. He was remarkable for his strength and prowess; he had been engaged with his master in sacred war at Askelon, where he slew great numbers of the Franks; and when very young he had killed a lion. Several extraordinary things occurred at his being nailed, as that he gave himself up without resistance to the cross, and without complaint stretched out his hands, which were nailed and after them his feet: he in the meantime looked on, and did not utter a groan, or change his countenance or move his limbs. I have heard this from one who witnessed it, and he thus remained till he died, patient and silent, without wailing, but looking around him to the right and the left upon the people. But he begged for water, and none was given him, and he gazed upon it and longed for one drop of it, and he complained of thirst all the first day, after which he was silent, for God gave him strength." Describing the punishments used in Madagascar, Rev. Mr. Ellis says: "In a few cases of great enormity, a sort of crucifixion has been resorted to; and, in addition to this, burning or roasting at a slow fire, kept at some distance from the sufferer, has completed the horrors of this miserable death.... In the year 1825, a man was condemned to crucifixion, who had murdered a female for the sake of stealing her child. He carried the child for sale to the public market, where the infant was recognized, and the murderer detected. He bore his punishment in the most hardened manner, avenging himself by all the violence he was capable of exercising upon those who dragged him to the place of execution. Not a single groan escaped him during the period he was nailed to the wood, nor while the cross was fixed upright in the earth."[28] More horrible still than punishment by crucifixion was that of impalement and suspension on a hook. The following description of the execution, in 1830, at Salonica, of Chaban, a captain of banditti, is given by Slade: "He was described by those who saw him as a very fine-looking man, about thirty-five. As a preparatory exercise, he was suspended by his arms for twelve hours. The following day a hook was thrust into his side, by which he was suspended to a tree, and there hung enduring the agony of thirst till the third evening, when death closed the scene; but before that about an hour the birds, already considering him their own, had alighted upon his brow to pick his eyes. During this frightful period he uttered no unmanly complaints, only repeated several times, 'Had I known that I was to suffer this infernal death, I would never have done what I have. From the moment I led the klephte's life I had death before my eyes, and was prepared to meet it, but I expected to die as my predecessors, by decapitation.'"[29] _The Cross._--The instrument of crucifixion, called the Cross, was variously formed. Lipsius and Gretser have employed a twofold classification: the _crux simplex_, and the _crux composita_ or _compacta_. A single upright stake was distinguished as a _crux simplex_. The _crux composita_, the compound or actual cross, was subject to the following modifications of form: _Crux immissa_, formed as in the Figure [symbol: Cross]; _crux commissa_ thus formed [symbol: T-cross]; and the _crux decussata_, the cruciform figure, set diagonally after the manner of the Roman letter X. It is generally thought that Jesus was crucified upon the _crux immissa_, the "Latin cross." According to the well-known legend of the "Invention of the Cross," the actual cross on which Jesus was crucified was discovered in the year 326 A.D. by the Empress Helena, the mother of Constantine the Great. As the story goes, while visiting Jerusalem and the scenes of the passion, she was guided to the summit of Calvary by an aged Jew. Here an excavation was made, and, at a considerable depth, three crosses were found; and, with them, but lying aside by itself, was the inscription, in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek, placed above the head of Christ at the time of the crucifixion. To determine which of the three crosses was the one upon which Jesus suffered, it was decided, at the suggestion of Macarius, bishop of Jerusalem, to employ a miracle. The sick were brought and required to touch the three. According to the legend, the one upon which the Savior died immediately imparted miraculous healing. A church was at once built above the excavation and in it was deposited the greater part of the supposed real cross, and the remainder was sent to Byzantium, and from there to Rome, where it was placed in the church of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, built especially to receive the precious relic. The genuineness of this relic was afterwards attested by a Bull of Pope Alexander III. In connection with the legend of the discovery of the actual cross upon which Christ was crucified, goes a secondary story that the nails used at the crucifixion were also found at the same time and place. Later tradition declared that one of these was thrown by Helena into the Adriatic when swept by a terrific storm, and that this was followed by an instantaneous calm. The popular impression among Christians that the cross is exclusively a Christian religious symbol, seems to be without historical foundation. It is quite certain, indeed, that it was a religious emblem among several ancient races before the beginning of the Christian era. The ancient Egyptians adored the cross with the most holy veneration; and this sacred emblem was carved upon many of their monuments. Several of these monuments may be seen to-day in the British Museum.[30] A cross upon a Calvary may also be seen upon the breast of one of the Egyptian mummies in the Museum of the London University.[31] The ancient Egyptians were accustomed to putting a cross on their sacred cakes, just as the Christians of to-day do, on Good Friday.[32] The cross was also adored by the ancient Greeks and Romans, long before the crucifixion of Christ. Greek crosses of equal arms adorn the tomb of Midas, the ancient Phrygian king.[33] One of the early Christian Fathers, Minucius Felix, in a heated controversy with the pagan Romans, charged them with adoration of the cross. "As for adoration of the cross," said he to the Romans, "which you object against us, I must tell you that we neither adore crosses nor desire them. You it is, ye Pagans, who worship wooden gods, who are the most likely people to adore wooden crosses, as being part of the same substance with your deities. For what else are your ensigns, flags, and standards, but crosses, gilt and beautiful? Your victorious trophies _not only represent a cross, but a cross with a man upon it_."[34] It also seems that, at a time antedating the early Romans, Etruscans and Sabines, a primitive race inhabited the plains of Northern Italy, "to whom the cross was a religious symbol, the sign beneath which they laid their dead to rest; a people of whom history tells nothing, knowing not their name; but of whom antiquarian research has learned this, that they lived in ignorance of the arts of civilization, that they dwelt in villages built on platforms over lakes, and that they trusted to the cross to guard, and maybe to revive, their loved ones whom they committed to the dust." The cross was also a sacred symbol among the ancient Scandinavians. "It occurs," says Mr. R. P. Knight, "on many Runic monuments found in Sweden and Denmark, which are of an age long anterior to the approach of Christianity to those countries, and, probably, to its appearance in the world."[35] When the Spanish missionaries first set foot on the soil of Mexico, they were amazed to find that the Aztecs worshiped the cross as an object of supreme veneration. They found it suspended as a sacred symbol and an august emblem from the walls of all the Aztec temples.[36] When they penetrated farther south and entered Peru, they found that the Incas adored a cross made out of a single piece of jasper.[37] "It appears," says "Chambers's Encyclopedia," "that the sign of the cross was in use as an emblem having certain religious and mystic meanings attached to it, long before the Christian era; and the Spanish conquerors were astonished to find it an object of religious veneration among the nations of Central and South America."[38] That the ancient Mexicans should have worshiped the cross and also a crucified Savior, called Quetzalcoatle,[39] is one of the strangest phenomena of sacred history. It is a puzzle which the most eminent theologians have found it impossible to solve. They have generally contented themselves with declaring the whole thing a myth built upon primitive superstition and ignorance. This worship of the cross and Quetzalcoatle was going on before Columbus discovered America, and it seems impossible to establish any historical or geographical connection between it and the Christian worship of the cross and the crucified Jesus. Several writers of eminence have contended that the widespread adoration of the cross, as a sacred symbol, among so many races of mankind, ancient and modern, proves a universal spiritual impulse, culminating in the crucifixion of Jesus as the common Savior of the world. "It is more than a coincidence," says the Rev. S. Baring-Gould, "that Osiris by the cross should give life eternal to the spirits of the just; that with the cross Thor should smite the head of the great Serpent, and bring to life those who were slain; that beneath the cross the Muysca mothers should lay their babes, trusting to that sign to secure them from the power of evil spirits; that with that symbol to protect them, the ancient people of Northern Italy should lay them down in the dust."[40] But it is not with the mythical crucifixions of mythical gods that we have to deal. The real, historical death of Jesus upon the cross with its accompanying incidents of outrageous illegality is the purpose of this treatise; and to the accomplishment of that design we now return. CHAPTER VI ROMAN LAW APPLICABLE TO THE TRIAL OF JESUS _What was the law of Rome in relation to the trial of Jesus?_ The answer to this question is referable to the main charge brought against the Master before Pilate. A single verse in St. Luke contains the indictment: "And they began to accuse him, saying, We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying that he himself is Christ a King." Three distinct elements are wrapped up in this general accusation; but they are all interwoven with and culminate in the great charge that Jesus claimed to be "Christ a King." Of this accusation alone, Pilate took cognizance. And there is no mistake as to its nature and meaning. It was High Treason against Cæsar--the most awful crime known to Roman law. This was the charge brought by the priests of the Sanhedrin against the Nazarene. What then was the law of Rome in relation to the crime of high treason? The older Roman law, _crimen perduellionis_, applied chiefly to offenses committed in the military service. Deserters from the army were regarded as traitors and punished as public enemies either by death or interdiction of fire and water. Later Roman law broadened the definition of treason until it comprehended any offense against the Roman Commonwealth that affected the dignity and security of the Roman people. Ulpian, defining treason, says: "_Majestatis crimen illud est quod adversus populum Romanum vel adversus securitatem ejus committitur._"[41] Cicero very admirably describes the same crime as: "_Majestatem minuere est de dignitate aut amplitudine aut potestate populi aut eorum quibus populus potestatem dedit aliquid derogare._"[42] The substance of both these definitions is this: Treason is an insult to the dignity or an attack upon the sovereignty and security of the Roman State. From time to time, various laws were passed to define this crime and to provide penalties for its commission. Chief among these were the _lex Julia Majestatis_, 48 B.C. Other laws of an earlier date were the _lex Cornelia_, 81 B.C.; _lex Varia_, 92 B.C.; and the _lex Appuleia_, 100 B.C. The _lex Julia_ was in existence at the time of Christ, and was the basis of the Roman law of treason until the closing years of the empire. One of its provisions was that every accusation of treason against a Roman citizen should be made by a written libel. But it is not probable that provincials were entitled to the benefit of this provision; and it was not therefore an infraction of the law that the priests and Pilate failed to present a written charge against Jesus. [Illustration: TIBERIUS CÆSAR (ANTIQUE SCULPTURE)] In studying the trial of Jesus and the charge brought against Him, the reader should constantly remind himself that the crucifixion took place during the reign of Tiberius Cæsar, a morbid and capricious tyrant, whose fretful and suspicious temper would kindle into fire at the slightest suggestion of treason in any quarter. Tacitus records fifty-two cases of prosecution for treason during his reign. The enormous development of the law of _majestas_ at this time gave rise to a class of professional informers, _delatores_, whose infamous activity against private citizens helped to blacken the name of Tiberius. The most harmless acts were at times construed into an affront to the majesty or into an assault upon the safety of this miserable despot. Cotta Messalinus was prosecuted for treason because it was alleged "that he had given Caligula the nickname of Caia, as contaminated by incest"; and again on another charge that he had styled a banquet among the priests on the birthday of Augusta, a "funeral supper"; and again on another charge that, while complaining of the influence of Manius Lepidus and Lucius Arruntius, with whom he had had trouble in court, he had said that "they indeed will be supported by the senate, but I by my little Tiberius."[43] Manercus Scaurus was prosecuted for treason because he wrote a tragedy in which were certain lines that might be made to apply in an uncomplimentary manner to Tiberius. We are told by Dio that this tragedy was founded on the story of Atreus; and that Tiberius, believing himself referred to, said, "Since he makes me another Atreus, I will make him an Ajax," meaning that he would compel him to destroy himself.[44] "Nor," says Tacitus, "were even women exempt from danger. With designs to usurp the government they could not be charged; their tears are therefore made treason; and Vitia, mother to Fusius Geminus, once consul, was executed in her old age for bewailing the death of her son."[45] An anecdote taken from Seneca but related in Tacitus, illustrates the pernicious activity of the political informers of this age. At a banquet in Rome, one of the guests wore the image of Tiberius on his ring. His slave, seeing his master intoxicated, took the ring off his finger. An informer noticed the act, and, later in the evening, insisted that the owner, to show his contempt of Tiberius, was sitting upon the figure of the emperor. Whereupon he began to draw up an accusation for high treason and was getting ready to have it attested by subscribing witnesses, when the slave took the ring from his own pocket, and thus demonstrated to the whole company that he had had it in his possession all the time. These instances fully serve to illustrate the political tone and temper of the age that witnessed the trial and crucifixion of Jesus. They also suggest the exceedingly delicate and painful position of Pilate when sitting in judgment upon the life of a subject of Tiberius who claimed to be a king. It is deemed entirely appropriate, in this place, to discuss a peculiar phase of the law of treason in its relationship to the trial of Jesus. It is easily demonstrable that the teachings of Christ were treasonable under Roman public law. An essential and dominating principle of that law was that the imperial State had the right to regulate and control the private consciences of men in religious matters. It was held to be an attribute of the sovereignty of Rome that she had the right to create or destroy religions. And the theory of the Roman constitution was that the exercise of this right was not a religious but a governmental function. The modern doctrine of the separation of Church and State had no place in Roman politics at the time of Christ. Tiberius Cæsar, at the beginning of his reign, definitely adopted the principle of a state religion, and as Pontifex Maximus, was bound to protect the ancient Roman worship as a matter of official duty. Roman treatment of foreign religions, from first to last, is a most interesting and fascinating study. Polytheistic above all other nations, the general policy of the Roman empire was one of toleration. Indeed she not only tolerated but adopted and absorbed foreign worships into her own. The Roman religion was a composite of nearly all the religions of the earth. It was thus natural that the imperial State should be indulgent in religious matters, since warfare upon foreign faiths would have been an assault upon integral parts of her own sacred system. It is historically true that attempts were made from time to time by patriotic Romans to preserve the old Latin faith in its original purity from foreign invasion. The introduction of Greek gods was at first vigorously opposed, but the exquisite beauty of Greek sculpture, the irresistible influence of Greek literature, and the overwhelming fascination of Greek myths, finally destroyed this opposition, and placed Apollo and Æsculapius in the Roman pantheon beside Jupiter and Minerva. At another time the senate declared war on the Egyptian worship which was gradually making its way into Rome. It had the images of Isis and Serapis thrown down; but the people set them up again. It decreed that the temples to these deities should be destroyed, but not a single workman would lay hands upon them. Æmilius Paulus, the consul, was himself forced to seize an ax and break in the doors of the temple. In spite of this, the worship of Isis and Serapis was soon again practiced unrestrained at Rome.[46] It is further true that Rome showed not only intolerance but mortal antagonism to Druidism, which was completely annihilated during the reign of the Emperor Claudius. A decree of the Roman senate, during the reign of Tiberius, ordered four thousand freemen charged with Egyptian and Jewish superstitions out to Sardinia to fight against and be destroyed by the banditti there, unless they saw fit to renounce these superstitions within a given time.[47] But it must be remembered that these are exceptional cases of intolerance revealed by Roman history. The general policy of the empire, on the other hand, was of extreme tolerance and liberality. The keynote of this policy was that all religions would be tolerated that consented to live side by side and in peace with all other religions. There was but one restriction upon and limitation of this principle, that foreign religions would be tolerated only in their local seats, or, at most, among the races in which such religions were native. The fact that the worship of Serapis was left undisturbed on the banks of the Nile, did not mean that the same worship would be tolerated on the banks of the Tiber. An express authorization by Rome was necessary for this purpose. Said authorization made said worship a _religio licita_. And the peregrini, or foreigners in Rome, were thus permitted to erect their own altars, and to assemble for the purpose of worshiping their own gods which they had brought with them. The reverse side of this general principle of religious tolerance shows that Roman citizens were not only permitted but required to carry the Roman faith with them throughout the world. Upon them, the Roman state religion was absolutely binding; and for all the balance of the world it was the dominant cult. "The provinces," says Renan, "were entirely free to adhere to their own rights, on the sole condition of not interfering with those of others." "Such toleration or indifference, however," says Döllinger, "found its own limits at once whenever the doctrine taught had a practical bearing on society, interfered with the worship of the state gods, or confronted their worship with one of its own; as well as when a strange god and _cultus_ assumed a hostile attitude toward Roman gods, could be brought into no affinity or corporate relation with them, and would not bend to the supremacy of Jupiter Capitolinus." Now, the principles declared by Renan and Döllinger are fundamental and pointed in the matter of the relationship between the teachings of Jesus and the theory of treason under Roman law. These principles were essential elements of Roman public law, and an attempt to destroy them was an act of treason under the definitions of both Ulpian and Cicero. The Roman constitution required that a foreign religion, as a condition of its very existence, should live in peace with its neighbors; that it should not make war upon or seek to destroy other religions; and that it should acknowledge the dominance and superior character of the imperial religion. All these things Jesus refused to do, as did his followers after Him. The Jews, it is true, had done the same thing, but their nationality and lack of aggressiveness saved them until the destruction of Jerusalem. But Christianity was essentially aggressive and proselytizing. It sought to supplant and destroy all other religions. No compromises were proposed, no treaties concluded. The followers of the Nazarene raised a black flag against paganism and every heathen god. Their strange faith not only defied all other religions, but mocked all earthly government not built upon it. Their propaganda was nothing less than a challenge to the Roman empire in the affairs of both law and religion. Here was a faith which claimed to be the only true religion; that proclaimed a monotheistic message which was death to polytheism; and that refused to be confined within local limits. Here was a religion that scorned an authorization from Rome to worship its god and prophet; a religion that demanded acceptance and obedience from all the world--from Roman and Greek, as well as Jew and Egyptian. This scorn and this demand were an affront to the dignity and a challenge to the laws of the Roman Commonwealth. Such conduct was treason against the constitution of the empire. "The substance of what the Romans did," says Sir James Fitz-James Stephen, "was to treat Christianity by fits and starts as a crime."[48] But why a crime? Because the Roman religion, built upon polytheism, was an integral and inseparable part of the Roman State, and whatever menaced the life of the one, threatened the existence of the other. The Romans regarded their religion as "an engine of state which could not be shaken without the utmost danger to their civil government." Cicero further says: "The institutions of the fathers must be defended; it is the part of wisdom to hold fast the sacred rites and ceremonies."[49] Roman statesmen were fully aware of the truthfulness of the statement of a modern writer that, "wherever the religion of any state falls into disregard and contempt it is impossible for that state to subsist long." Now, Christianity was monotheistic, and threatened destruction to polytheism everywhere. And the Romans treated it as a crime because it was regarded as a form of seditious atheism whose teachings and principles were destructive of the established order of things. The Roman conception of the nature of the crime committed by an attack upon the national religion is well illustrated by the following sentence from Döllinger: "If an opinion unfavorable to the apotheosis of any member of the imperial dynasty happened to be dropped, it was dangerous in itself as falling within the purview of the law of high treason; and so it fell out in the case of Thrasea Pætus, who refused to believe in the deification of Poppæa." If it was high treason to refuse to believe in the deification of an emperor or an empress, what other crime could be imputed to him whose design was to destroy an entire religious system, and to pile all the gods and goddesses--Juno and Poppæa, Jupiter and Augustus--in common ruin? From the foregoing, it may be readily seen that it is impossible to appreciate the legal aspects of the trial of Jesus before Pilate, unless it is constantly kept in mind that the Roman constitution, which was binding upon the whole empire, reserved to the state the right to permit or forbid the existence of new religious faiths and the exercise of rights of conscience in religious matters. Rome was perfectly willing to tolerate all religions as long as they were peaceful and passive in their relations with other religions. But when a new and aggressive faith appeared upon the scene, proclaiming the strange dogma that there was but one name under heaven whereby men might be saved, and demanding that every knee bow at the mention of that name, and threatening damnation upon all who refused, the majesty of Roman law felt itself insulted and outraged; and persecution, torture, and death were the inevitable result. The best and wisest of the Roman emperors, Trajan and the Antonines, devoted to the ax or condemned to crucifixion the early Christians, not because Christianity was spiritually false, but because it was aggressive and intolerant, and they believed its destruction necessary to the maintenance of the supremacy and sovereignty of the Roman State. An interesting correspondence between Pliny and Trajan, while the former was governor of Bithynia, reveals the Roman conception of and attitude toward Christianity. Pliny wrote to Trajan: "In the meanwhile, the method I have observed toward those who have been brought before me as Christians is this: I asked them whether they were Christians; if they admitted it, I repeated the question twice, and threatened them with punishment; if they persisted, I ordered them to be at once punished, for I was persuaded, whatever the nature of their opinions might be, a contumacious and inflexible obstinacy certainly deserved correction. There were others also brought before me possessed with the same infatuation, but being Roman citizens, I directed them to be sent to Rome." To this, Trajan replied: "You have adopted the right course, my dearest Secundus, in investigating the charges against the Christians who were brought before you. It is not possible to lay down any general rule for all such cases. Do not go out of your way to look for them. If, indeed, they should be brought before you, and the crime is proved, they must be punished; with the restriction, however, that where the party denies he is a Christian, and shall make it evident he is not, by invoking our gods, let him (notwithstanding any former suspicion) be pardoned upon his repentance."[50] Here the magnanimous Trajan called Christianity a crime, and this was the popular Roman conception of it during the first two centuries of its existence. Now, it is true that Christianity was not on trial before Pilate; but the Author of Christianity was. And the same legal principles were extant and applicable that afterwards brought the Roman State and the followers of the Nazarene into mortal conflict. For the prisoner who now stood before the procurator to answer the charge of high treason asserted substantially the same claims and proclaimed the same doctrines that afterwards caused Rome to devote His adherents to flames and to wild beasts in the amphitheater. The record does not disclose that Pilate became fully acquainted at the trial of Jesus with His claims and doctrines. On the other hand, it is clear that he became convinced that the claim of Jesus to be "Christ a King" was not a pretension to earthly sovereignty. But, nevertheless, whatever might have been the information or the notions of the deputy of Tiberius, the teachings of Jesus were inconsistent and incompatible with the public law of the Roman State. Pilate was not necessarily called upon to enforce this law, since it was frequently the duty of Roman governors, as intimated by Trajan in his letter to Pliny, to exercise leniency in dealing with religious delinquents. To summarize, then: it may be said that the Roman law applicable to the trial of Jesus was the _lex Julia Majestatis_, interpreted either in the light of claims to actual kingship made by Jesus, or to kingship of a religious realm whose character and existence were a menace to the religion and laws of Rome. In the light of the evidence adduced at the hearing before Pilate, these legal principles become mere abstract propositions, since there seems to have been neither necessity nor attempt to enforce them; but they were in existence, nevertheless, and were directly applicable to the trial of Jesus. [Illustration: PONTIUS PILATE (MUNKACSY)] CHAPTER VII PONTIUS PILATE _His Name._--The prænomen or first name of Pilate is not known. Rosadi calls him Lucius, but upon what authority is not stated. His nomen or family name indicates that he was connected either by descent or by adoption with the gens of the Pontii, a tribe first made famous in Roman history in the person and achievements of C. Pontius Telesinus, the great Samnite general. A German legend, however, offers another explanation. According to this story, Pilate was the natural son of Tyrus, King of Mayence. His father sent him to Rome as a hostage, and there he was guilty of murder. Afterwards he was sent to Pontus, where he distinguished himself by subduing certain barbarian tribes. In recognition of his services, it is said, he received the name Pontius. But this account is a pure fabrication. It is possible that it was invented by the 22d legion, which was assigned to Palestine at the time of the destruction of Jerusalem, and was afterwards stationed at Mayence. The soldiers of this legion might have been "either the bearers of this tradition or the inventors of the fable." It is historically almost certain that Pilate was a native of Seville, one of the cities of Bætic Spain that enjoyed rights of Roman citizenship. In the war of annihilation waged by Agrippa against the Cantabrians, the father of Pilate, Marcus Pontius, acquired fame as a general on the side of Rome. He seems to have been a renegade to the cause of the Spaniards, his countrymen. And when Spain had been conquered by Rome, as a reward for service, and as a mark of distinction, he received the pilum (javelin), and from this fact his family took the name of Pilati. This is the common explanation of the origin of the cognomen Pilatus. Others have sought to derive the word Pilate from _pileatus_, which, among the Romans, was the cap worn as a badge of servitude by manumitted slaves. This derivation would make Pontius Pilate a _libertus_, or the descendant of one. Of his youth, very little is known. But it is believed that, after leaving Spain, he entered the suite of Germanicus on the Rhine and served through the German campaigns; and that, when peace was concluded, he went to Rome in search of fortune and in pursuit of pleasure. _His Marriage._--Soon after his arrival in Rome, Pilate was married to Claudia, the youngest daughter of Julia, the daughter of Augustus. Julia was a woman of the most dissolute and reckless habits. According to Suetonius, nothing so embittered the life of the Roman emperor as the shameful conduct of the mother of the wife of the procurator of Judea. He had reared her with the utmost care, had accustomed her to domestic employments such as knitting and spinning, and had sought to inculcate principles of purity and nobility of soul by requiring her to speak and act openly before the family, that everything which was said and done might be put down in a diary. His guardianship of the attentions paid her by young men was so strict that he once wrote a letter to Lucius Vinicius, a handsome young man of good family, in which he said: "You have not behaved very modestly, in making a visit to my daughter at Baiæ." Notwithstanding this good training, Julia became one of the lewdest and coarsest women in Rome. Augustus married her first to Marcellus; then, after the death of Marcellus, to Marcus Agrippa; and, finally, to Tiberius. But in spite of the noble matches that had been made for her, her lewdness and debaucheries became so notorious that Augustus was compelled to banish her from Rome. It is said that he was so much ashamed of her infamous conduct that for a long time he avoided all company, and even had thoughts of putting her to death. His sorrow and humiliation are shown from the circumstance that when one Phoebe, a freedwoman and confidante of hers, hanged herself about the time the decree of banishment was passed by the senate, he said: "I had rather be the father of Phoebe than of Julia." And whenever the name of Julia was mentioned to him, during her exile, Augustus was wont to exclaim: "Would I were wifeless, or had childless died."[51] Such was the character of Julia, mother-in-law of Pilate. In exile, she bore Claudia to a Roman knight. In her fifteenth year, the young girl met the Spaniard in Rome and was courted by him. Nothing better illustrates the character of Pilate than his union with this woman with whose origin and bringing up he was well acquainted. It was a servile and lustful rather than a noble and affectionate eye which he cast upon her. Having won the favor of Tiberius and the consent of Claudia, the marriage was consummated. After the nuptial rites, tradition has it that Pilate desired to follow the bride in the imperial litter; but Tiberius, who had acted as one of the twelve witnesses required by the law, forced him back, and drawing a paper from his bosom, handed it to him and passed on. This paper contained his commission as procurator of Judea; and the real object of the suit paid to Claudia was attained. Pilate proceeded at once to Cæsarea, the headquarters of the government of his province. His wife, who had been left behind, joined him afterwards. Cæsar's permission to do this was a most gracious concession, as it was not generally allowed that governors of provinces should take their wives with them. At first it was positively forbidden. But afterwards a _senatus consult_, which is embodied in the Justinian text, declared it better that the wives of proconsuls and procurators should not go with them, but ordaining that said officials might take their wives with them provided they made themselves personally responsible for any transgressions on their part. Notwithstanding the numerous restrictions of Roman law and custom, it is very evident that the wives of Roman officers frequently accompanied them to the provinces. From Tacitus we learn that at the time of the death of Augustus, Germanicus had his wife Agrippina with him in Germany; and afterwards, in the beginning of the reign of Tiberius, she was also with him in the East. Piso, the præfect of Syria, took his wife with him at the same time. These facts are historical corroborations of the Gospel accounts of the presence of Claudia in Jerusalem at the time of the crucifixion and of her warning dream to Pilate concerning the fate of the Master. _His Procuratorship._--Pontius Pilate was the sixth procurator of Judea. Sabinus, Coponius, Ambivus, Rufus, and Gratus had preceded him in the government of the province. Pilate's connection with the trial and crucifixion of Jesus will be dealt with in succeeding chapters of this volume. Only the chief acts of his public administration, in a purely political capacity, will be noticed here. One of the first of these acts serves well to illustrate the reckless and tactless character of the man. His predecessors in office had exercised great care in the matter of the religious prejudices of the Jews. They had studiously avoided exhibiting flags and other emblems bearing images of the emperor that might offend the sacred sentiments of the native population. Even Vitellius, the legate of Syria, when he was marching against the Arabian king Aretas, ordered his troops not to carry their standards into Jewish territory, but to march around it. Pilate, on the other hand, in defiance of precedent and policy, caused the garrison soldiers of Jerusalem to enter the city by night carrying aloft their standards, blazoned with the images of Tiberius. The news of this outrage threw the Jews into wild excitement. The people in great numbers flocked down to Cæsarea, where Pilate was still stopping, and begged him to remove the standards. Pilate refused; and for five days the discussion went on. At last he became enraged, summoned the people into the race course, had them surrounded by a detachment of soldiers, and served notice upon them that he would have them put to death if they did not become quiet and disperse. But, not in the least dismayed, they threw themselves upon the ground, laid bare their necks, and, in their turn, served notice upon Pilate that they, the children of Abraham, would rather die, and that they would die, before they would willingly see the Holy City defiled. The result was that Pilate finally yielded, and had the standards and images withdrawn from Jerusalem. Such was the Roman procurator and such the people with whom he had to deal. Thus the very first act of his procuratorship was a blunder which embarrassed his whole subsequent career. A new storm burst forth when, on another occasion, Pilate appropriated funds from the Corban or sacred treasury to complete an aqueduct for bringing water to Jerusalem from the "Pools of Solomon." This was certainly a most useful enterprise; and, ordinarily, would speak well for the statesmanship and administrative ability of the procurator. But, in this instance, it was only another exhibition of tactless behavior in dealing with a stubborn and peculiar people. The Jews had a very great reverence for whatever was set apart for the Corban, and they considered it a form of awful impiety to devote its funds to secular purposes. Pilate, we must assume, was well acquainted with their religious scruples in this regard, and his open defiance of their prejudices was an illustration not of courage, but of weakness in administrative matters. Moreover, his final conduct in the matter of the aqueduct revealed a malignant quality in the temper of the man. On one occasion when he was getting ready to go to Jerusalem to supervise the building of this work, he learned that the people would again importune him, as in the case of the standards and the images. He then deliberately caused some of his soldiers to be disguised as Jewish citizens, had them armed with clubs and daggers, which they carried concealed beneath their upper garments; and when the multitude approached him to make complaints and to present their petitions, he gave a preconcerted signal, at which the assassins beat down and cut to pieces great numbers of the helpless crowds. Pilate was victorious in this matter; for the opposition to the building of the aqueduct was thus crushed in a most bloody manner. But hatred against Pilate was stirred up afresh and intensified in the hearts of the Jews. A third act of defiance of the religious prejudices of the inhabitants of Jerusalem illustrates not only the obstinacy but the stupidity as well of the deputy of Cæsar in Judea. In the face of his previous experiences, he insisted on hanging up in Herod's palace certain gilt shields dedicated to Tiberius. The Jews remonstrated with him in vain for this new outrage upon their national feelings. They were all the more indignant because they believed that he had done it, "less for the honor of Tiberius than for the annoyance of the Jewish people." Upon the refusal of Pilate to remove the shields, a petition signed by the leading men of the nation, among whom were the four sons of Herod, was addressed to the emperor, asking for the removal of the offensive decorations. Tiberius granted the request and the shields were taken from Jerusalem and deposited in the temple of Augustus at Cæsarea--"And thus were preserved both the honor of the emperor and the ancient customs of the city."[52] The instances above cited are recounted in the works of Josephus[53] and Philo. But the New Testament also contains intimations that Pilate was a cruel and reckless governor in his dealings with the Jews. According to St. Luke xiii. 1: "There were present at that season some that told him of the Galileans, whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices." Nothing definite is known of this incident mentioned by the Evangelist. But it probably refers to the fact that Pilate had put to the sword a number of Galileans while they were offering their sacrifices at Jerusalem. _His Character._--The estimates of the character of Pilate are as varied as the races and creeds of men. Both Josephus and Philo have handed down to posterity a very ugly picture of the sixth Roman procurator of Judea. Philo charges him with "corruptibility, violence, robberies, ill-treatment of the people, grievances, continuous executions without even the form of a trial, endless and intolerable cruelties." If we were to stop with this, we should have a very poor impression of the deputy of Tiberius; and, indeed at best, we can never either admire or love him. But there is a tender and even pathetic side to the character of Pilate, which is revealed to us by the Evangelists of the New Testament. The pure-hearted, gentle-minded authors of the Gospels, in whose writings there is not even a tinge of bitterness or resentment, have restored "for us the man within the governor, with a delicacy, and even tenderness, which make the accusing portrait of Philo and Josephus look like a hard, revengeful daub." Instead of painting him as a monster, they have linked conscience to his character and placed mercy in his heart, by their accounts of his repeated attempts to release Jesus. The extreme of pity and of pathos, derived from these exquisitely merciful side touches of the gentle biographers of the Christ, is manifested in the opinion of Tertullian that Pilate was virtually a Christian at heart.[54] A further manifestation is the fact that the Abyssinian Church of Christians has canonized him and placed his name in the calendar on June 25th. A still further revelation of this spirit of regarding Pilate merely as a sacred instrument in the hands of God is shown by the Apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus which speaks of him as "uncircumcised in flesh but circumcised in heart." Renan has called him a good administrator, and has sought to condone his brutal treatment of the Jews by pointing to the necessity of vigorous action in dealing with a turbulent and fanatical race. But the combined efforts of both sacred and secular apologists are still not sufficient to save the name of Pilate from the scorn and reprobation of mankind. That he was not a bad man in the worst sense of the term is manifest from the teachings of the Gospel narratives. To believe that he was wholly without conscience is to repudiate the revelations of these sacred writings. Of wanton cruelty and gratuitous wickedness, he was perhaps incapable. But the circumstances of his birth and breeding; his descent from a renegade father; his adventurous life in the army of Germanicus; his contact with and absorption of the skepticism and debauchery of Rome; his marriage to a woman of questionable virtue whose mother was notoriously coarse and lewd--all these things had given coloring to the character of Pilate and had stricken with inward paralysis the moral fiber of his manhood. And now, in the supreme moment of his life and of history, from his nerveless grasp fell the reins of fate and fortune that destiny had placed within his hands. Called upon to play a leading rôle in the mighty drama of the universe, his craven cowardice made him a pitiable and contemptible figure. A splendid example this, the conduct of Pilate, for the youth of the world, not to imitate but to shun! Let the young men of America and of all the earth remember that a crisis is allotted to every life. It may be a great one or a small one, but it will come either invited or unbidden. The sublime courage of the soul does not avoid, but seeks this crisis. The bravest and most holy aspirations leap at times like angels from the temple of the brain to the highest heaven. Never a physician who does not long for the skill that discovers a remedy for disease and that will make him a Pasteur or a Koch; never a poet that does not beseech the muse to inspire him to write a Hamlet or a Faust; never a general of armies who would not fight an Austerlitz battle. Every ambitious soul fervently prays for strength, when the great crisis comes, to swing the hammer of the Cyclop with the arm of the Titan. Let the young aspirant for the glories of the earth and the rewards of heaven remember that youth is the time for the formation of that courage and the gathering of that strength of which victory is born. Let him remember that if he degrades his physical and spiritual manhood in early life, the coming of the great day of his existence will make him another Pilate--cringing, crouching, and contemptible. The true character of the Roman judge of Jesus is thus very tersely given by Dr. Ellicott: "A thorough and complete type of the later Roman man of the world: stern, but not relentless; shrewd and worldworn, prompt and practical, haughtily just, and yet, as the early writers correctly perceived, self-seeking and cowardly; able to perceive what was right, but without moral strength to follow it out."[55] _His End._--Pilate's utter recklessness was the final cause of his undoing. It was an old belief among the Samaritans that Moses buried the sacred vessels of the temple on Mt. Gerizim. An impostor, a sort of pseudo-prophet, promised the people that if they would assemble on the top of the mountain, he would unearth the holy utensils in their presence. The simple-minded Samaritans assembled in great numbers at the foot of the Mount, and there preparing to ascend, when Pilate on the pretense that they were revolutionists, intercepted them with a strong force of horse and foot. Those who did not immediately submit were either slain or put to flight. The most notable among the captives were put to death. The Samaritans at once complained to Vitellius, the legate in Syria at that time. Vitellius at once turned over the administration of Judea to Marcellus and ordered Pilate to leave for Rome in order to give an account to the emperor of the charges brought against him by the Jews.[56] Before he arrived in Italy, Tiberius had died; but Pilate never returned to the province over which he had ruled during ten bloody and eventful years. "_Paradosis Pilati._"--The death of Pilate is clouded in mystery and legend. Where and when he died is not known. Two apocryphal accounts are interesting, though false and ridiculous. According to one legend, the "Paradosis Pilati," the emperor Tiberius, startled and terrified at the universal darkness that had fallen on the Roman world at the hour of the crucifixion, summoned Pilate to Rome to answer for having caused it. He was found guilty and condemned to death; but before he was executed, he prayed to Jesus that he might not be destroyed in eternity with the wicked Jews, and pleaded ignorance as an excuse for having delivered the Christ to be crucified. A voice from heaven answered his prayer, and assured him that all generations would call him blessed, and that he should be a witness for Christ at his second coming to judge the Twelve Tribes of Israel. He was then executed; an angel, according to the legend, received his head; and his wife died from joy and was buried with him. "_Mors Pilati._"--According to another legend, the "Mors Pilati," Tiberius had heard of the miracles of healing wrought by Jesus in Judea. He ordered Pilate to conduct to Rome the man possessed of such divine power. But Pilate was forced to confess that he had crucified the miracle worker. The messenger sent by Tiberius met Veronica who gave him the cloth that had received the impress of the divine features. This was taken to Rome and given to the emperor, who was restored to health by it. Pilate was summoned immediately to stand trial for the execution of the Christ. He presented himself wearing the holy tunic. This acted as a charm upon the emperor, who temporarily relented. After a time, however, Pilate was thrown into prison, where he committed suicide. His body was thrown into the Tiber. Storms and tempests immediately followed, and the Romans were compelled to take out the corpse and send it to Vienne, where it was cast into the Rhone. But as the storms and tempests came again, the body was again removed and sent to Lucerne, where it was sunk in a deep pool, surrounded by mountains on all sides. Even then, it is said, the water of the pool began to boil and bubble strangely. This tradition must have had its origin in an early attempt to connect the name of Pilate with Mt. Pilatus that overlooks Lake Lucerne. Another legend connected with this mountain is that Pilate sought to find an asylum from his sorrows in its shadows and recesses; that, after spending years in remorse and despair, wandering up and down its sides, he plunged into the dismal lake which occupies its summit. In times past, popular superstition was wont to relate how "a form is often seen to emerge from the gloomy waters, and go through the action of washing his hands; and when he does so, dark clouds of mist gather first round the bosom of the Infernal Lake (such as it has been styled of old) and then wrapping the whole upper part of the mountain in darkness, presage a tempest or hurricane which is sure to follow in a short space."[57] The superstitious Swiss believed for many centuries that if a stone were thrown into the lake a violent storm would follow. For many years no one was permitted to visit it without special authority from the officers of Lucerne. The neighboring shepherds bound themselves by a solemn oath, which they renewed annually, never to guide a stranger to it.[58] The strange spell was broken, however, and the legend exploded in 1584, when Johannes Müller, curé of Lucerne, was bold enough to throw stones into the lake, and to stand by complacently to await the consequences.[59] CHAPTER VIII JESUS BEFORE PILATE At the close of their trial, according to Matthew[60] and Mark,[61] the high priest and the entire Sanhedrin led Jesus away to the tribunal of the Roman governor. It was early morning, probably between six and seven o'clock, when the accusing multitude moved from the judgment seat of Caiaphas to the Prætorium of Pilate. Oriental labor anticipates the day because of the excessive heat of noon; and, at daybreak, Eastern life is all astir. To accommodate the people and to enjoy the repose of midday, Roman governors, Suetonius tells us, mounted the _bema_ at sunrise. The location of the judgment hall of Pilate in Jerusalem is not certainly known. It may have been in the Castle of Antonia, a frowning fortress that overlooked the Temple and its courts. Much more probably, however, it was the magnificent palace of Herod, situated in the northwest quarter of the city. This probability is heightened by the fact that it was a custom born of both pride and pleasure, for Roman procurators and proconsuls to occupy the splendid edifices of the local kings. The Roman proprætor of Sicily dwelt in the Castle of King Hiero; and it is reasonable to suppose that Pilate would have passed his time while at Jerusalem in the palace of Herod. This building was frequently called the "King's Castle," sometimes was styled the "Prætorium," and was often given the mixed name of "Herod's Prætorium." But, by whatever name known, it was of gorgeous architecture and magnificent proportions. Keim describes it as "a tyrant's stronghold and in part a fairy pleasure-house." A wall thirty cubits high completely encircled the buildings of the palace. Beautiful white towers crowned this wall at regular intervals. Three of these were named in honor of Mariamne, the wife; Hippicus, the friend; and Phasælus, the brother of the king. Within the inclosure of the wall, a small army could have been garrisoned. The floors and ceilings of the palace were decorated and adorned with the finest woods and precious stones. Projecting from the main building were two colossal marble wings, named for two Roman imperial friends, the Cæsareum and the Ægrippeum. To a person standing in one of the towers, a magnificent prospect opened to the view. Surrounding the castle walls were beautiful green parks, intercepted with broad walks and deep canals. Here and there splashing fountains gushed from brazen mouths. A hundred dovecots, scattered about the basins and filled with cooing and fluttering inmates, lent charm and animation to the scene. And to crown the whole, was the splendid panorama of Jerusalem stretching away among the hills and valleys. Such was the residence of the Roman knight who at this time ruled Judea. And yet, with all its regal splendor and magnificence, he inhabited it only a few weeks in each year. The Jewish metropolis had no fascination whatever for the tastes and accomplishments of Pilate. "The saddest region in the world," says Renan, who had been imbued, from long residence there, with its melancholy character, "is perhaps that which surrounds Jerusalem." "To the Spaniard," says Rosadi, "who had come to Jerusalem, by way of Rome, and who was also of courtly origin, there could have been nothing pleasing in the parched, arid and colorless nature of Palestine, much less in the humble, mystic, out-at-elbows existence of its people. Their superstition, which would have nothing of Roman idolatry, which was their sole belief, their all, appeared to him a reasonable explanation, and a legitimate one, of their disdain and opposition. He therefore detested the Jews, and his detestation was fully reciprocated." It is not surprising, then, that he preferred to reside at Cæsarea by the sea where were present Roman modes of thought and forms of life. He visited Jerusalem as a matter of official duty, "during the festivals, and particularly at Easter with its dreaded inspirations of the Jewish longing for freedom, which the festival, the air of spring and the great rendezvous of the nation, charmed into activity." In keeping with this custom, Pilate was now in the Jewish Capital on the occasion of the feast of the Passover. Having condemned Him to death themselves, the Sanhedrin judges were compelled to lead Jesus away to the Prætorium of the Roman governor to see what he had to say about the case; whether he would reverse or affirm the condemnation which they had pronounced. Between dawn and sunrise, they were at the palace gates. Here they were compelled to halt. The Passover had commenced, and to enter the procurator's palace at such a time was to incur Levitic contamination. A dozen judicial blunders had marked the proceedings of their own trial in the palace of Caiaphas. And yet they hesitated to violate a purely ritual regulation in the matter of ceremonial defilement. This regulation was a prohibition to eat fermented food during the Passover Feast, and was sacred to the memory of the great deliverance from Egyptian bondage when the children of Israel, in their flight, had no time to ferment their dough and were compelled to consume it before it had been leavened. Their purposes and scruples were announced to Pilate; and, in a spirit of gracious and politic condescension, he removed the difficulty by coming out to meet them. But this action was really neither an inconvenience nor a condescension; for it was usual to conduct Roman trials in the open air. Publicity was characteristic of all Roman criminal proceedings. And, in obedience to this principle, we find that the proconsul of Achaia at Corinth, the city magistrates in Macedonia, and the procurators at Cæsarea and Jerusalem, erected their tribunals in the most conspicuous public places, such as the market, the race course, and even upon the open highway.[62] An example directly in point is, moreover, that of the procurator Florus who caused his judgment seat to be raised in front of the palace of Herod, A.D. 66, and, enthroned thereon, received the great men of Jerusalem who came to see him and gathered around his tribunal. To the same place, according to Josephus, the Jewish queen Bernice came barefoot and suppliant to ask favors of Florus.[63] The act of Pilate in emerging from the palace to meet the Jews was, therefore, in exact compliance with Roman custom. His judgment seat was doubtless raised immediately in front of the entrance and between the great marble wings of the palace. Pilate's tribune or _bema_ was located in this space on the elevated spot called Gabaatha, an Aramaic word signifying an eminence, a "hump." The same place in Greek was called Lithostroton, and signified "The Pavement," because it was laid with Roman marble mosaic. The location on an eminence was in accordance with a maxim of Roman law that all criminal trials should be directed from a raised tribunal where everybody could see and understand what was being said and done. The ivory curule chair of the procurator, or perhaps the ancient golden royal chair of Archelaus was placed upon the tessellated pavement and was designed for the use of the governor. As a general thing, there was sitting room on the tribunal for the assessors, the accusers and the accused. But such courtesies and conveniences were not extended to the despised subjects of Judea; and Jesus, as well as the members of the Sanhedrin, was compelled to stand. The Latin language was the official tongue of the Roman empire, and was generally used in the administration of justice. But at the trial of Jesus it is believed that the Greek language was the medium of communication. Jesus had doubtless become acquainted with Greek in Galilee and probably replied to Pilate in that tongue. This is the opinion, at least, of both Keim[64] and Geikie.[65] The former asserts that there was no interpreter called at the trial of Christ. It is also reasonably certain that no special orator like Tertullus, who informed the governor against Paul, was present to accuse Jesus.[66] Doubtless Caiaphas the high priest played this important rôle. When Pilate had mounted the _bema_, and order had been restored, he asked: "What accusation bring ye against this man?" This question is keenly suggestive of the presence of a judge and of the beginning of a solemn judicial proceeding. Every word rings with Roman authority and administrative capacity. The suggestion is also prominent that accusation was a more important element in Roman criminal trials than inquisition. This suggestion is reënforced by actual _dictum_ from the lips of Pilate's successor in the same place: "It is not the manner of the Romans to deliver any man to die, before that he which is accused have the accusers face to face, and have license to answer for himself concerning the crime laid against him."[67] The chief priests and scribes sought to evade this question by answering: "If he were not a malefactor, we would not have delivered him up unto thee."[68] They meant by this that they desired the procurator to waive his right to retry the case; accept their trial as conclusive; and content himself with the mere execution of the sentence. In this reply of the priests to the initial question of the Roman judge, is also revealed the further question of that conflict of jurisdiction between Jews and Romans that we have already so fully discussed. "If he were not a malefactor, we would not have delivered him up unto thee." These words from the mouths of the priests were intended to convey to the mind of Pilate the Jewish notion that a judgment by the Sanhedrin was all-sufficient; and that they merely needed his countersign to justify execution. But Pilate did not take the hint or view the question in that light. In a tone of contemptuous scorn he simply replied: "Take ye him, and judge him according to your law." This answer indicates that Pilate did not, at first, understand the exact nature of the proceedings against Jesus. He evidently did not know that the prisoner had been charged with a capital offense; else he would not have suggested that the Jews take jurisdiction of the matter. This is clearly shown from the further reply of the priestly accusers: "It is not lawful for us to put any man to death."[69] The advice of Pilate and the retort of the Jews have been construed in two ways. A certain class of critics have contended that the procurator granted to the Jews in this instance the right to carry out capital punishment, as others have maintained was the case in the execution of Stephen. This construction argues that Pilate knew at once the nature of the accusation. Another class of writers contend that the governor, by this language, merely proposed to them one of the minor penalties which they were already empowered to execute. The objection to the first interpretation is that the Jews would have been delighted to have such power conferred upon them, and would have exercised it; unless it is true, as has been held, that they were desirous of throwing the odium of Christ's death upon the Romans. The second construction is entirely admissible, because it is consonant with the theory that jurisdiction in capital cases had been withdrawn from the Sanhedrin, but that the trial and punishment of petty offenses still remained with it. A third and more reasonable interpretation still is that when Pilate said, "Take ye him and judge him according to your law," he intended to give expression to the hatred and bitterness of his cynical and sarcastic soul. He despised the Jews most heartily, and he knew that they hated him. He had repeatedly outraged their religious feelings by introducing images and shields into the Holy City. He had devoted the Corban funds to unhallowed purposes, and had mingled the blood of the Galileans with their sacrifices. In short, he had left nothing undone to humiliate and degrade them. Now here was another opportunity. By telling them to judge Jesus according to their own laws, he knew that they must make a reply which would be wounding and galling to their race and national pride. He knew that they would have to confess that sovereignty and nationality were gone from them. Such a confession from them would be music to his ear. The substance of his advice to the Jews was to exercise their rights to a certain point, to the moment of condemnation; but to stop at the place where their sweetest desires would be gratified with the exercise of the rights of sovereignty and nationality. Modern poetry supports this interpretation of ancient history. "The Merchant of Venice" reveals the same method of heaping ridicule upon a Jew by making him impotent to execute the law. Shylock, the Jew, in contracting a usurious loan, inserted a stipulation that if the debt should not be paid when due, the debtor must allow a pound of flesh to be cut from his body. The debt was not discharged at the maturity of the bond, and Shylock made application to the Doge to have the pound of human flesh delivered to him in accordance with the compact. But Portia, a friend of the debtor, though a woman, assumed the garb and affected the speech of a lawyer in his defense; and, in pleading the case, called tauntingly and exultingly to the Jew: This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; The words expressly are, a pound of flesh: Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are by the laws of Venice confiscate Unto the State of Venice.[70] But whatever special interpretation may be placed upon the opening words passed between the priestly accusers and the Roman judge, it is clearly evident that the latter did not intend to surrender to the former the right to impose and execute a sentence of death. The substance of Pilate's address to the Jews, when they sought to evade his question concerning the accusation which they had to bring against Jesus, was this: I have asked for a specific charge against the man whom you have brought bound to me. You have given not a direct, but an equivocal answer. I infer that the crime with which you charge him is one against your own laws. With such offenses I do not wish to meddle. Therefore, I say unto you: "Take ye him and judge him according to your law." If I am not to know the specific charge against him, I will not assume cognizance of the case. If the accusation and the facts relied upon to support it are not placed before me, I will not sentence the man to death; and, under the law, you cannot. The Jews were thus thwarted in their designs. They had hoped to secure a countersign of their own judgment without a retrial by the governor. They now found him in no yielding and accommodating mood. They were thus forced against their will and expectation to formulate specific charges against the prisoner in their midst. The indictment as they presented it, is given in a single verse of St. Luke: "And they began to accuse him, saying, We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying that he himself is Christ, a King."[71] It is noteworthy that in this general accusation is a radical departure from the charges of the night before. In the passage from the Sanhedrin to the Prætorium, the indictment had completely changed. Jesus had not been condemned on any of the charges recorded in this sentence of St. Luke. He had been convicted on the charge of blasphemy. But before Pilate he is now charged with high treason. To meet the emergency of a change of jurisdiction, the priestly accusers converted the accusation from a religious into a political offense. It may be asked why the Sanhedrists did not maintain the same charges before Pilate that they themselves had considered before their own tribunal. Why did they not lead Jesus into the presence of the Roman magistrate and say: O Governor, we have here a Galilean blasphemer of Jehovah. We want him tried on the charge of blasphemy, convicted and sentenced to death. Why did they not do this? They were evidently too shrewd. Why? Because, in legal parlance, they would have had no standing in court. Why? Because blasphemy was not an offense against Roman law, and Roman judges would generally assume cognizance of no such charges. The Jews understood perfectly well at the trial before Pilate the principle of Roman procedure so admirably expressed a few years later by Gallio, proconsul of Achaia, and brother of Seneca: "If it were a matter of wrong or wicked lewdness, O ye Jews, reason would that I should bear with you: but if it be a question of words and names, and of your law, look ye to it; for I will be no judge of such matters."[72] This attitude of Roman governors toward offenses of a religious nature perfectly explains the Jewish change of front in the matter of the accusation against Jesus. They merely wanted to get themselves into a Roman court on charges that a Roman judge would consent to try. In the threefold accusation recorded by the third Evangelist, they fully accomplished this result. The first count in the indictment, that He was perverting the nation, was vague and indefinite, but was undoubtedly against Roman law, because it was in the nature of sedition, which was one of the forms of treason under Roman jurisprudence. This charge of perverting the nation was in the nature of the revival of the accusation of sedition which they had first brought forward by means of the false witnesses before their own tribunal, and that had been abandoned because of the contradictory testimony of these witnesses. The second count in the indictment, that He had forbidden to give tribute to Cæsar, was of a more serious nature than the first. A refusal, in modern times, to pay taxes or an attempt to obstruct their collection, is a mild offense compared with a similar act under ancient Roman law. To forbid to pay tribute to Cæsar in Judea was a form of treason, not only because it was an open defiance of the laws of the Roman state, but also because it was a direct denial of Roman sovereignty in Palestine. Such conduct was treason under the definitions of both Ulpian and Cicero. The Jews knew the gravity of the offense when they sought to entrap Jesus in the matter of paying tribute to Cæsar. They believed that any answer to the question that they had asked, would be fatal to Him. If He advised to pay the imperial tribute, He could be charged with being an enemy to His countrymen, the Jews. If He advised not to pay the tribute, He would be charged with being a rebellious subject of Cæsar. His reply disconcerted and bewildered them when He said: "Render therefore unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar's; and unto God the things that are God's."[73] In this sublime declaration, the Nazarene announced the immortal principle of the separation of church and state, and of religious freedom in all the ages. And when, in the face of His answer, they still charged Him with forbidding to pay tribute to Cæsar, they seem to have been guilty of deliberate falsehood. Keim calls the charge "a very flagrant lie." Both at Capernaum,[74] where Roman taxes were gathered, and at Jerusalem,[75] where religious dues were offered, Jesus seems to have been both a good citizen and a pious Jew. "Jésus bon citoyen" (Jesus a good citizen) is the title of a chapter in the famous work of Bossuet entitled "Politique tirée de l'Ecriture sainte." In it the great French ecclesiastic describes very beautifully the law-abiding qualities of the citizen-prophet of Galilee. In pressing the false charge that he had advised not to pay taxes to Rome, the enemies of Jesus revealed a peculiar and wanton malignity. The third count in the indictment, that the prisoner had claimed to be "Christ a King," was the last and greatest of the charges. By this He was deliberately accused of high treason against Cæsar, the gravest offense known to Roman law. Such an accusation could not be ignored by Pilate as a loyal deputy of Tiberius. The Roman monarch saw high treason in every word and act that was uncomplimentary to his person or dangerous to his power. Fifty-two prosecutions for treason, says Tacitus, took place during his reign. The charges of high treason and sedition against Jesus were all the more serious because the Romans believed Palestine to be the hotbed of insurrection and sedition, and the birthplace of pretenders to kingly powers. They had recently had trouble with claimants to thrones, some of them from the lowest and most ignoble ranks. Judas, the son of Hezekiah, whom Herod had caused to be put to death, proclaimed royal intentions, gathered quite a multitude of adherents about him in the neighborhood of Sepphoris in Galilee, raised an insurrection, assaulted and captured the palace of the king at Sepphoris, seized all the weapons that were stored away in it, and armed his followers with them. Josephus does not tell us what became of this royal pretender; but he does say that "he became terrible to all men, by tearing and rending those that came near him."[76] In the province of Perea, a certain Simon, who was formerly a slave of Herod, collected a band of followers, and had himself proclaimed king by them. He burned down the royal palace at Jericho, after having plundered it. A detachment under the command of the Roman general Gratus made short work of the pretensions of Simon by capturing his adherents and putting him to death.[77] Again, a certain peasant named Athronges, formerly a shepherd, claimed to be a king, and for a long time, in concert with his four brothers, annoyed the authorities of the country, until the insurrection was finally broken up by Gratus and Ptolemy.[78] In short, during the life of Jesus, Judea was passing through a period of great religious and political excitement. The Messiah was expected and a king was hoped for; and numerous pretenders appeared from time to time. The Roman governors were constantly on the outlook for acts of sedition and treason. And when the Jews led Jesus into the presence of Pilate and charged Him with claiming to be a king, the recent cases of Judas, Simon, and Athronges must have arisen in his mind, quickened his interest in the pretensions of the prisoner of the Jews, and must have awakened his sense of loyalty as Cæsar's representative. The lowliness of Jesus, being a carpenter, did not greatly allay his fears; for he must have remembered that Simon was once a slave and that Athronges was nothing more than a simple shepherd. When Pilate had heard the accusations of the Jews, he deliberately arose from his judgment seat, gathered his toga about him, motioned the mob to stand back, and beckoned Jesus to follow him into the palace. St. John alone tells us of this occurrence.[79] At another time, in the Galilean simplicity and freedom of His nature, the Prophet of Nazareth had spoken with a tinge of censure and sarcasm of the rulers of the Gentiles that lorded it over their subjects,[80] and had declared that "they that wear soft clothing are in kings' houses."[81] Now the lowly Jewish peasant was entering for the first time a palace of one of the rulers of the Gentiles in which were soft raiment and royal purple. The imagination is helpless to picture the historical reflections born of the memories of that hour. A meek and lowly carpenter enters a king's palace on his way to an ignominious death upon the cross; and yet the greatest kings of all the centuries that followed were humble worshipers in their palaces before the cross that had been the instrument of his torture and degradation. Such is the irony of history; such is the mystery of God's providence; such is the mystic ebb and flow of the tides and currents of destiny and fate. Of the examination of Jesus inside the palace, little is known. Pilate, it seems, brushed the first two charges aside as unworthy of serious consideration; and proceeded at once to examine the prisoner on the charge that he pretended to be a king. "If," Pilate must have said, "the fellow pretends to be a king, as Simon and Athronges did before him; if he says that Judea has a right to have a king other than Cæsar, he is guilty of treason, and it is my solemn duty as deputy of Tiberius to ascertain the fact and have him put to death." The beginning of the interrogation of Jesus within the palace is reported by all the Evangelists in the same words. Addressing the prisoner, Pilate asked: "Art thou the King of the Jews?" "Jesus answered him, Sayest thou this thing of thyself, or did others tell it thee of me?"[82] This was a most natural and fitting response of the Nazarene to the Roman. It was necessary first to understand the exact nature of the question before an appropriate answer could be made. Jesus simply wished to know whether the question was asked from a Roman or a Jewish, from a temporal or a spiritual standpoint. If the interrogation was directed from a Roman, a temporal point of view, His answer would be an emphatic negative. If the inquiry had been prompted by the Jews, it was then pregnant with religious meaning, and called for a different reply; one that would at once repudiate pretensions to earthly royalty, and, at the same time, assert His claims to the Messiahship and heavenly sovereignty. "Pilate answered, Am I a Jew? Thine own nation and the chief priests have delivered thee unto me: What hast thou done?" To this Jesus replied: "My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence."[83] This reply of the Master is couched in that involved, aphoristic, strangely beautiful style that characterized His speech at critical moments in His career. Its import is clear, though expressed in a double sense: first from the Roman political, and then from the Jewish religious side. First He answered negatively: "My kingdom is not of this world." By this He meant that there was no possible rivalry between Him and Cæsar. But, in making this denial, He had used two words of grave import: My Kingdom. He had used one word that struck the ear of Pilate with electric force: the word Kingdom. In the use of that word, according to Pilate's reasoning, Jesus stood self-convicted. For how, thought Pilate, can He pretend to have a Kingdom, unless He pretends to be a king? And then, as if to cow and intimidate the prisoner, as if to avoid an unpleasant issue of the affair, he probably advanced threateningly upon the Christ, and asked the question which the Bible puts in his mouth: "Art thou a king then?" Rising from the simple dignity of a man to the beauty and glory and grandeur of a God, Jesus used the most wonderful, beautiful, meaningful words in the literature of the earth: "Thou sayest that I am a king. To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth. Everyone that is of the truth heareth my voice."[84] This language contains a perfectly clear description of the kingdom of Christ and of His title to spiritual sovereignty. His was not an empire of matter, but a realm of truth. His kingdom differed widely from that of Cæsar. Cæsar's empire was over the bodies of men; Christ's over their souls. The strength of Cæsar's kingdom was in citadels, armies, navies, the towering Alps, the all-engirdling seas. The strength of the kingdom of the Christ was and is and will ever be in sentiments, principles, ideas, and the saving power of a divine word. But, as clever and brilliant as he must have been, Pilate could not grasp the true meaning of the words of the Prophet. The spiritual and intellectual grandeur of the Galilean peasant was beyond the reach of the Roman lord and governor. In a cynical and sarcastic mood, Pilate turned to Jesus and asked: "What is truth?"[85] This pointed question was the legitimate offspring of the soul of Pilate and a natural product of the Roman civilization of his age. It was not asked with any real desire to know the truth; for he turned to leave the palace before an answer could be given. It was simply a blank response born of mental wretchedness and doubt. If prompted by any silent yearning for a knowledge of the truth, his conduct indicated clearly that he did not hope to have that longing satisfied by the words of the humble prisoner in his charge. "What is truth?" An instinctive utterance this, prompted by previous sad reflections upon the wrecks of philosophy in search of truth. We have reason to believe that Pilate was a man of brilliant parts and studious habits. His marriage into the Roman royal family argued not only splendid physical endowments, but rare intellectual gifts as well. Only on this hypothesis can we explain his rise from obscurity in Spain to a place in the royal family as husband of the granddaughter of Augustus and foster daughter of Tiberius. Then he was familiar, if he was thus endowed and accomplished, with the despairing efforts of his age and country to solve the mysteries of life and to ascertain the end of man. He had doubtless, as a student, "mused and mourned over Greece, and its search of truth intellectual--its keen and fruitless search, never-ending, ever beginning, across wastes of doubt and seas of speculation lighted by uncertain stars." He knew full well that Roman philosophy had been wrecked and stranded amidst the floating débris of Grecian thought and speculation. He had thought that the _ultima ratio_ of Academicians and Peripatetics, of Stoics and Epicureans had been reached. But here was a new proposition--a kingdom of truth whose sovereign had as subjects mere vagaries, simple mental conceptions called truths--a kingdom whose boundaries were not mountains, seas, and rivers, but clouds, hopes, and dreams. What did Pilate think of Jesus? He evidently regarded Him as an amiable enthusiast, a harmless religious fanatic from whom Cæsar had nothing to fear. While alone with Jesus in the palace, he must have reasoned thus with himself, silently and contemptuously: The mob outside tells me that this man is Rome's enemy. Foolish thought! We know who Cæsar's enemies are. We have seen and heard and felt the enemies of Rome--barbarians from beyond the Danube and the Rhine--great strong men, who can drive a javelin not only through a man, but a horse, as well. These are Cæsar's enemies. This strange and melancholy man, whose subjects are mere abstract truths, and whose kingdom is beyond the skies, can be no enemy of Cæsar. Believing this, he went out to the rabble and pronounced a verdict of acquittal: "I find in him no fault at all." Pilate had tried and acquitted Jesus. Why did he not release Him, and, if need be, protect Him with his cohort from the assaults of the Jews? Mankind has asked for nearly two thousand years why a Roman, with the blood of a Roman in him, with the glorious prestige and stern authority of the Roman empire at his back, with a Roman legion at his command, did not have the courage to do the high Roman act. Pilate was a moral and intellectual coward of arrant type. This is his proper characterization and a fitting answer to the world's eternal question. The Jews heard his sentence of acquittal in sullen silence. Desperately resolved to prevent His release, they began at once to frame new accusations. "And they were the more fierce, saying, He stirreth up the people, teaching throughout all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this place."[86] This charge was intended by the Jews to serve a double purpose: to strengthen the general accusation of high treason recorded by St. Luke; and to embitter and poison the mind of the judge against the prisoner by telling Pilate that Jesus was from Galilee. In ancient times Galilee was noted as the hotbed of riot and sedition. The Galileans were brave and hardy mountaineers who feared neither Rome nor Judea. As champions of Jewish nationality, they were the fiercest opponents of Roman rule; and in the final catastrophe of Jewish history they were the last to be driven from the battlements of Jerusalem. As advocates and preservers of the purity of the primitive Jewish faith, they were relentless foes of Pharisaic and Sadducean hypocrisy as it was manifested by the Judean keepers of the Temple. The Galileans were hated, therefore, by both Romans and Judeans; and the Sanhedrists believed that Pilate would make short work of Jesus if he learned that the prisoner was from Galilee. But a different train of thought was excited in the mind of the Roman governor. He was thinking about one thing, and they about another. Pilate showed himself throughout the trial a craven coward and contemptible timeserver. From beginning to end, his conduct was a record of cowardice and subterfuge. He was constantly looking for loopholes of escape. His heart's desire was to satisfy at once both his conscience and the mob. The mention of Galilee was a ray of light that fell across the troubled path of the cowardly and vacillating judge. He believed that he saw an avenue of escape. He asked the Jews if Jesus was a Galilean. An affirmative reply was given. Pilate then determined to rid himself of responsibility by sending Jesus to be tried by the governor of the province to which He belonged. He felt that fortune favored his design; for Herod, Tetrarch of Galilee, was at that very moment in Jerusalem in attendance upon the Passover feast. He acted at once upon the happy idea; and, under the escort of a detachment of the Prætorian Cohort, Jesus was led away to the palace of the Maccabees where Herod was accustomed to stop when he came to the Holy City. CHAPTER IX JESUS BEFORE HEROD It was still early morning when Jesus, guarded by Roman soldiers and surrounded by a jeering, scoffing, raging multitude of Jews, was conducted to the palace of the Maccabees on the slope of Zion, the official residence of Herod when he came to Jerusalem to attend the sacred festivals. This place was to the northeast of the palace of Herod and only a few streets distant from it. The journey must have lasted therefore only a few minutes. But who was this Herod before whom Jesus now appeared in chains? History mentions many Herods, the greatest and meanest of whom was Herod I, surnamed the Great, who ordered the massacre of the Innocents at Bethlehem. At his death, he bequeathed his kingdom to his sons. But being a client-prince, a _rex socius_, he could not finally dispose of his realm without the consent of Rome. Herod had made several wills, and, at his death, contests arose between his sons for the vacant throne of the father. Several embassies were sent to Rome to argue the rights of the different claimants. Augustus granted the petitioners many audiences; and, after long delay, finally confirmed practically the last will of Herod. This decision gave Judea, Samaria, and Idumea, with a tribute of six hundred talents, to Archelaus. Philip received the regions of Gaulanitis, Auranitis, Trachonitis, Batanea, and Iturea, with an income of one hundred talents. Herod Antipas was given the provinces of Galilee and Perea, with an annual tribute of two hundred talents and the title of Tetrarch. The title of Ethnarch was conferred upon Archelaus. Herod Antipas, Tetrarch of Galilee, was the man before whom Jesus, his subject, was now led to be judged. The pages of sacred history mention the name of no more shallow and contemptible character than this petty princeling, this dissolute Idumæan Sadducee. Compared with him, Judas is eminently respectable. Judas had a conscience which, when smitten with remorse, drove him to suicide. It is doubtful whether Herod had a spark of that celestial fire which we call conscience. He was a typical Oriental prince whose chief aim in life was the gratification of his passions. The worthlessness of his character was so pronounced that it excited a nauseating disgust in the mind of Jesus, and disturbed for a moment that serene and lofty magnanimity which characterized His whole life and conduct. To Herod is addressed the only purely contemptuous epithet that the Master is ever recorded to have used. "And he said unto them, Go ye, and tell _that fox_, Behold, I cast out devils, and I do cures to-day and to-morrow, and the third day I shall be perfected."[87] The son of a father who was ten times married and had murdered many of his wives; the murderer himself of John the Baptist; the slave of a lewd and wicked woman--what better could be expected than a cruel, crafty, worthless character, whose attributes were those of the fox? But why was Jesus sent to Herod? Doubtless because Pilate wished to shift the responsibility from his own shoulders, as a Roman judge, to those of the Galilean Tetrarch. A subsidiary purpose may have been to conciliate Herod, with whom, history says, he had had a quarrel. The cause of the trouble between them is not known. Many believe that the murder of the Galileans while sacrificing in the Temple was the origin of the unpleasantness. Others contend that this occurrence was the result and not the cause of the quarrel between Pilate and Herod. Still others believe that the question of the occupancy of the magnificent palace of Herod engendered ill feeling between the rival potentates. Herod had all the love of gorgeous architecture and luxurious living that characterized the whole Herodian family. And, besides, he doubtless felt that he should be permitted to occupy the palace of his ancestors on the occasion of his visits to Jerusalem. But Pilate would naturally object to this, as he was the representative of almighty Rome in a conquered province and could not afford to give way, in a matter of palatial residence, to a petty local prince. But, whatever the cause, the unfriendliness between them undoubtedly had much to do with the transfer of Jesus from the Prætorium to the palace of the Maccabees. "And when Herod saw Jesus, he was exceeding glad: for he was desirous to see him for a long season, because he had heard many things of him; and he hoped to have seen some miracle done by him."[88] This passage of Scripture throws much light upon Herod's opinion and estimate of Jesus. Fearing that he was the successor and imitator of Judas the Gaulonite, Herod at first sought to drive Him from his province by sending spies to warn Him to flee. The courageous and contemptuous reply of Jesus, in which he styled Herod "that fox," put an end to further attempts at intimidation. The notions of the Galilean Tetrarch concerning the Galilean Prophet seem to have changed from time to time. Herod had once regarded Jesus with feelings of superstitious dread and awe, as the risen Baptist. But these apprehensions had now partially passed away, and he had come to look upon the Christ as a clever impostor whose claims to kingship and Messiahship were mere vulgar dreams. For three years, Galilee had been ringing with the fame of the Miracle-worker; but Herod had never seen his famous subject. Now was his chance. And he anticipated a rare occasion of magic and merriment. He doubtless regarded Jesus as a clever magician whose performance would make a rich and racy programme for an hour's amusement of his court. This was no doubt his dominant feeling regarding the Nazarene. But it is nevertheless very probable that his Idumæan cowardice and superstition still conjured images of a drunken debauch, the dance of death, and the bloody head; and connected them with the strange man now before him. No doubt he felt highly pleased and gratified to have Jesus sent to him. The petty and obsequious vassal king was caught in Pilate's snare of flattery. The sending of a noted prisoner to his judgment seat by a Roman procurator was no ordinary compliment. But Herod was at once too serious and too frivolous to assume jurisdiction of any charges against this prisoner, who had offended both the religious and secular powers of Palestine. To condemn Jesus would be to incur the ill will and resentment of his many followers in his own province of Galilee. Besides, he had already suffered keenly from dread and apprehension, caused by the association of the names of John and Jesus, and he had learned that from the blood of one murdered prophet would spring the message and mission of another still more powerful and majestic. He was, therefore, unwilling to embroil himself and his dominions with the heavenly powers by condemning their earthly representatives. Again, though weak, crafty and vacillating, he still had enough of the cunning of the fox not to wish to excite the enmity of Cæsar by a false judgment upon a noted character whose devoted followers might, at any moment, send an embassy to Rome to make serious and successful charges to the Emperor. He afterwards lost his place as Tetrarch through the suspicions of Caligula, who received news from Galilee that Herod was conspiring against him.[89] The premonitions of that unhappy day probably now filled the mind of the Idumæan. On the other hand, Herod was too frivolous to conduct from beginning to end a solemn judicial proceeding. He evidently intended to ignore the pretensions of Jesus, and to convert the occasion of His coming into a festive hour in which languor and drowsiness would be banished from his court. He had heard much of the miracles of the prisoner in his presence. Rumor had wafted to his ears strange accounts of marvelous feats. One messenger had brought news that the Prophet of Nazareth had raised from the dead a man named Lazarus from Bethany, and also the son of the widow of Nain. Another had declared that the laws of nature suspended themselves on occasion at His behest; that when He walked out on the sea, He did not sink; and that He stilled the tempests with a mere motion of His hand. Still another reported that the mighty magician could take mud from the pool and restore sight; that a woman, ill for many months, need only touch the hem of His garment to be made whole again; and that if He but touched the flesh of a leper, it would become as tender and beautiful as that of a new-born babe. These reports had doubtless been received by Herod with sneers and mocking. But he gathered from them that Jesus was a clever juggler whose powers of entertainment were very fine; and this was sufficient for him and his court. "Then he questioned with him in many words; but he answered him nothing."[90] Herod thus opened the examination of Jesus by interrogating Him at length. The Master treated his insolent questions with contemptuous scorn and withering silence. No doubt this conduct of the lowly Nazarene greatly surprised and nettled the supercilious Idumæan. He had imagined that Jesus would be delighted to give an exhibition of His skill amidst royal surroundings. He could not conceive that a peasant would observe the contempt of silence in the presence of a prince. He found it difficult, therefore, to explain this silence. He probably mistook it for stupidity, and construed it to mean that the pretensions of Jesus were fraudulent. He doubtless believed that his captive would not work a miracle because He could not; and that in His failure to do so were exploded His claims to kingship and Messiahship. At all events, he was evidently deeply perplexed; and this perplexity of the Tetrarch, in its turn, only served to anger the accusing priests who stood by. "And the chief priests and scribes stood and vehemently accused him."[91] This verse from St. Luke clearly reveals the difference in the temper and purposes of the Sanhedrists on the one hand, and of Herod on the other. The latter merely intended to make of the case of Jesus a farcical proceeding in which the jugglery of the prisoner would break the monotony of a day and banish all care during an idle hour. The priests, on the other hand, were desperately bent upon a serious outcome of the affair, as the words "vehemently accused" suggest. In the face of their repeated accusations, Jesus continued to maintain a noble and majestic silence. Modern criticism has sought to analyze and to explain the behavior of Christ at the court of Herod. "How comes it," asks Strauss, "that Jesus, not only the Jesus without sin of the orthodox school, but also the Jesus who bowed to the constituted authorities, who says 'Give unto Cæsar that which is Cæsar's'--how comes it that he refuses the answer due to Herod?" The trouble with this question is that it falsely assumes that there was an "answer due to Herod." In the first place, it must be considered that Herod was not Cæsar. In the next place, we must remember that St. Luke, the sole Evangelist who records the event, does not explain the character of the questions asked by Herod. Strauss himself says that they "displayed simple curiosity." Admitting that Jesus acknowledged the jurisdiction of Herod, was He compelled to answer irrelevant and impertinent questions? We do not know what these questions were. But we have reason to believe that, coming from Herod, they were not such as Jesus was called upon to answer. It is very probable that the prisoner knew His legal rights; and that He did not believe that Herod, sitting at Jerusalem, a place without his province, was judicially empowered to examine Him. If He was not legally compelled to answer, we are not surprised that Jesus refused to do so as a matter of graciousness and accommodation; for we must not forget that the Man-God felt that He was being questioned by a vulgar animal of the most cunning type. But what is certain from the Scriptural context is that Herod felt chagrined and mortified at his failure to evoke from Jesus any response. He was enraged that his plans had been foiled by one of his own subjects, a simple Galilean peasant. To show his resentment, he then resorted to mockery and abuse. "And Herod with his men of war set him at nought, and mocked him, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate."[92] We are not informed by St. Luke what special charge the priests brought against Jesus at the judgment seat of Herod. He simply says that they "stood and vehemently accused him." But we are justified in inferring that they repeated substantially the same accusations which had been made before Pilate, that He had claimed to be Christ a King. This conclusion best explains the mockery which they sought to heap upon Him; for in ancient times, when men became candidates for office, they put on white gowns to notify the people of their candidacy. Again, Tacitus assures us that white garments were the peculiar dress of illustrious persons; and that the tribunes and consuls wore them when marching before the eagles of the legions into battle.[93] The meaning of the mockery of Herod was simply this: Behold O Pilate, the illustrious candidate for the kingship of the Jews! Behold the imperial gown of the royal peasant pretender! The appearance before Herod resulted only in the humiliation of Jesus and the reconciliation of Pilate and Herod. "And the same day Pilate and Herod were made friends together: for before they were at enmity between themselves."[94] CHAPTER X JESUS AGAIN BEFORE PILATE The sending of Jesus to Herod had not ended the case; and Pilate was undoubtedly very bitterly disappointed. He had hoped that the Galilean Tetrarch would assume complete jurisdiction and dispose finally of the matter. On the contrary, Herod simply mocked and brutalized the prisoner and had him sent back to Pilate. The Roman construed the action of the Idumæan to mean an acquittal, and he so stated to the Jews. "And Pilate, when he had called together the chief priests and the rulers and the people, Said unto them, Ye have brought this man unto me, as one that perverteth the people: and, behold, I, having examined him before you, have found no fault in this man touching those things whereof ye accuse him: No, nor yet Herod: for I sent you to him; and, lo, nothing worthy of death is done unto him. I will therefore chastise him, and release him."[95] The proposal to scourge the prisoner was the second of those criminal and cowardly subterfuges through which Pilate sought at once to satisfy his conscience and the demands of the mob. The chastisement was to be a sop to the rage of the rabble, a sort of salve to the wounded pride of the priests who were disappointed that no sentence of death had been imposed. The release was intended as a tribute to justice, as a soothing balm and an atoning sacrifice to his own outraged sense of justice. The injustice of this monstrous proposal was not merely contemptible, it was execrable. If Jesus was guilty, He should have been punished; if innocent, he should have been set free and protected from the assaults of the Jews. The offer of scourging first and then the release of the prisoner was indignantly rejected by the rabble. In his desperation, Pilate thought of another loophole of escape. The Evangelists tell us that it was a custom upon Passover day to release to the people any single prisoner that they desired. St. Luke asserts that the governor was under an obligation to do so.[96] Whether this custom was of Roman or Hebrew origin is not certainly known. Many New Testament interpreters have seen in the custom a symbol of the liberty and deliverance realized by Israel in its passage from Egypt at the time of the first great Passover. Others have traced this custom to the Roman practice of releasing a slave at the Lectisternia, or banquets to the gods.[97] Aside from its origin, it is interesting as an illustration of a universal principle in enlightened jurisprudence of lodging somewhere, usually with the chief executive of a race or nation, a power of pardon which serves as an extinction of the penal sanction. This merciful principle is a pathetic acknowledgment of the weakness and imperfection of all human schemes of justice. Pilate resolved to escape from his confusion and embarrassment by delivering Jesus to the people, who happened to appear in great numbers at the very moment when Christ returned from Herod. The multitude had come to demand the usual Passover deliverance of a prisoner. The arrival of the crowd of disinterested strangers was inopportune for the priests and elders who were clamoring for the life of the prisoner in their midst. They marked with keen discernment the resolution of the governor to release Jesus. They were equal to the emergency, and began to whisper among the crowd that Barabbas should be asked. "And they had then a notable prisoner, called Barabbas. Therefore when they were gathered together, Pilate said unto them, Whom will ye that I release unto you? Barabbas, or Jesus which is called Christ? For he knew that for envy they had delivered him."[98] Pilate believed that the newly arrived multitude would be free from the envy of the priests, and that they would be satisfied with Jesus whom they had, a few days before, welcomed into Jerusalem with shouts of joy. When they demanded Barabbas, he still believed that if he offered them the alternative choice of a robber and a prophet, they would choose the latter. "But the chief priests and elders persuaded the multitude that they should ask Barabbas, and destroy Jesus. The governor answered and said unto them, Whether of the twain will ye that I release unto you? They said, Barabbas. Pilate saith unto them, What shall I do then with Jesus which is called the Christ? They all say unto him, Let him be crucified."[99] "Barabbas, or Jesus which is called the Christ?" Such was the alternative offered by a Roman governor to a Jewish mob. Barabbas was a murderer and a robber. Jesus was the sinless Son of God. An erring race wandering in the darkness of sin and perpetually tasting the bitterness of life beneath the sun, preferred a criminal to a prophet. And to the ghastliness of the choice was added a touch of the irony of fate. The names of both the prisoners were in signification the same. Barabbas was also called Jesus. And Jesus Barabbas meant Jesus the Son of the Father. This frightful coincidence was so repugnant to the Gospel writers that they are generally silent upon it. In this connection, Strauss remarks: "According to one reading, the man's complete name was [Greek: hiêsous barabbas], which fact is noted only because Olshausen considers it noteworthy. Barabbas signifies 'son of the father,' and consequently Olshausen exclaims: 'All that was essential to the Redeemer appears ridiculous in the assassin!' and he deems applicable the verse: '_Ludit in humanis divina potentia rebus._' We can see nothing in Olshausen's remark but a _ludus humanæ impotentiæ_."[100] Amidst the tumult provoked by the angry passions of the mob, a messenger arrived from his wife bearing news that filled the soul of Pilate with superstitious dread. Claudia had had a dream of strange and ill-boding character. "When he was set down on the judgment seat, his wife sent unto him, saying, Have thou nothing to do with that just man: For I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him."[101] This dream of Pilate's wife is nothing strange. Profane history mentions many similar ones. Calpurnia, Cæsar's wife, forewarned him in a dream not to go to the senate house; and the greatest of the Romans fell beneath the daggers of Casca and Brutus, because he failed to heed the admonition of his wife. In the apocryphal report of Pilate to the emperor Tiberius of the facts of the crucifixion, the words of warning sent by Claudia are given: "Beware said she to me, beware and touch not that man, for he is holy. Last night I saw him in a vision. He was walking on the waters. He was flying on the wings of the winds. He spoke to the tempest and to the fishes of the lake; all were obedient to him. Behold! the torrent in Mount Kedron flows with blood, the statues of Cæsar are filled with the filth of Gemoniæ, the columns of the Interium have given away and the sun is veiled in mourning like a vestal in the tomb. O, Pilate, evil awaits thee if thou wilt not listen to the prayer of thy wife. Dread the curse of the Roman Senate, dread the powers of Cæsar." This noble and lofty language, this tender and pathetic speech, may appear strange to those who remember the hereditary stigma of the woman. If this dream was sent from heaven, the recollection is forced upon us that the medium of its communication was the illegitimate child of a lewd woman. But then her character was probably not worse than that of Mary Magdalene, who was very dear to the Master and has been canonized not only by the church, but by the reverence of the world. It is certain, however, that the dream of Claudia had no determining effect upon the conduct of Pilate. Resolution and irresolution alternately controlled him. Fear and superstition were uppermost in both mind and heart. The Jews beheld with anxious and discerning glance the manifestation of the deep anguish of his soul. They feared that the governor was about to pronounce a final judgment of acquittal. Exhibiting fierce faces and frenzied feelings, they moved closer to him and exclaimed: "We have a law, and by our law he ought to die, because he made himself the Son of God."[102] Despairing of convicting Jesus on a political charge, they deliberately revived a religious one, and presented to Pilate substantially the same accusation upon which they had tried the prisoner before their own tribunal. "He made himself the Son of God!" These words filled Pilate's mind with a strange and awful meaning. In the mythology and ancient annals of his race, there were many legends of the sons of the gods who walked the earth in human form and guise. They were thus indistinguishable from mortal men. It was dangerous to meet them; for to offend them was to provoke the wrath of the gods, their sires. These reflections, born of superstition, now swept through Pilate's mind with terrific force; and the cries of the mob, "He made himself the Son of God," called from out the deep recesses of his memory the half-forgotten, half-remembered stories of his childhood. Could not Jesus, reasoned Pilate, be the son of the Hebrew Jehovah as Hercules was the son of Jupiter? Filled with superstitious dread and trembling with emotion, Pilate called Jesus inside the Temple a second time; and, looking with renewed awe and wonder, asked: "Whence art thou?"[103] But Jesus answered him nothing. Pilate came forth from the judgment hall a second time determined to release the prisoner; but the Jews, marking his decision, began to cry out: "Away with him, away with him, crucify him!"[104] Maddened by the relentless importunity of the mob, Pilate replied scornfully and mockingly: "Shall I crucify your king?" The cringing, hypocritical priests shouted back their answer: "We have no king but Cæsar."[105] And on the kingly idea of loyalty to Roman sovereignty they framed their last menace and accusation. From the quiver of their wrath they drew the last arrow of spite and hate, and fired it straight at the heart of Jesus through the hands of Pilate: "If thou let this man go, thou art not Cæsar's friend: whosoever maketh himself a king speaketh against Cæsar."[106] This last maneuver of the mob sealed the doom of the Christ. It teaches also most clearly that Pilate was no match for the Jews when their religious prejudices were aroused and they were bent on accomplishing their desires. They knew Pilate and he knew them. They had been together full six years. He had been compelled to yield to them in the matter of the standards and the eagles. The sacred Corban funds had been appropriated only after blood had been shed in the streets of Jerusalem. The gilt shields of Tiberius that he had placed in Herod's palace were taken down at the demands of the Jews and carried to the temple of Augustus at Cæsarea. And now the same fanatical rabble was before him demanding the blood of the Nazarene, and threatening to accuse him to Cæsar if he released the prisoner. The position of Pilate was painfully critical. He afterwards lost his procuratorship at the instance of accusing Jews. The shadow of that distant day now fell like a curse across his pathway. Nothing was so terrifying to a Roman governor as to have the people send a complaining embassy to Rome. It was especially dangerous at this time. The imperial throne was filled by a morbid and suspicious tyrant who needed but a pretext to depose the governor of any province who silently acquiesced in traitorous pretensions to kingship. Pilate trembled at these reflections. His feelings of self-preservation suggested immediate surrender to the Jews. But his innate sense of justice, which was woven in the very fiber of his Roman nature, recoiled at the thought of Roman sanction of judicial murder. He resolved, therefore, to propitiate and temporize. The frenzied rabble continued to cry: "Crucify him! Crucify him!" Three times, in reply, Conscience sent to Pilate's trembling lips the searching question: "Why, what evil hath he done?" "Crucify him! Crucify him!" came back from the infuriated mob. Pilate finally resolved to do their bidding and obey their will. But he seems to have secretly cherished the hope that scourging, which was the usual preliminary to crucifixion, might be made to satisfy the mob. But this hope was soon dispelled; and he found himself compelled to yield completely to their wishes by delivering the prisoner to be crucified. Before this final step, however, which was an insult to the true courage of the soul and an outrage upon all the charities of the heart, he resolved to apply a soothing salve to wounded conscience. He resolved to perform a ceremonial cleansing act. Calling for a basin of water, he washed his hands before the multitude, saying: "I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it."[107] This was a simple, impressive, theatrical act; but little, mean, contemptible, cowardly. He washed his hands when he should have used them. He should have used them as Brutus or Gracchus or Pompeius Magnus would have done, in pointing his legion to the field of duty and of glory. He should have used them as Bonaparte did when he put down the mob in the streets of Paris. But he was too craven and cowardly; and herein is to be found the true meaning of the character and conduct of Pilate. He believed that Jesus was innocent; and that the accusations against Him were inspired by the envy of His countrymen. He had declared to the Jews in an emphatic verdict of acquittal that he found in Him no fault at all. And yet this very sentence, "I find in him no fault at all," was the beginning of that course of cowardly and criminal vacillation which finally sent Jesus to the cross. "Yet was this utterance," says Innes, "as it turned out, only the first step in that downward course of weakness the world knows so well: a course which, beginning with indecision and complaisance, passed through all the phases of alternate bluster and subserviency; persuasion, evasion, protest, and compromise; superstitious dread, conscientious reluctance, cautious duplicity, and sheer moral cowardice at last; until this Roman remains photographed forever as the perfect feature of the unjust judge, deciding 'against his better knowledge, not deceived.'" "Then released he Barabbas unto them: and when he had scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified. Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the common hall, and gathered unto him the whole band of soldiers. And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe. And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: And they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head. And after that they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him."[108] Thus ended the most memorable act of injustice recorded in history. At every stage of the trial, whether before Caiaphas or Pilate, the prisoner conducted Himself with that commanding dignity and majesty so well worthy of His origin, mission, and destiny. His sublime deportment at times caused His judges to marvel greatly. And through it all, He stood alone. His friends and followers had deserted Him in His hour of greatest need. Single-handed and unaided, the Galilean peasant had bared His breast and brow to the combined authority, to the insults and outrages, of both Jerusalem and Rome. "Not a single discordant voice was raised amidst the tumultuous clamour: not a word of protest disturbed the mighty concord of anger and reviling; not the faintest echo of the late hosannas, which had wrung with wonder, fervour, and devotion, and which had surrounded and exalted to the highest pitch of triumph the bearer of good tidings on his entry into the Holy City. Where were the throngs of the hopeful and believing, who had followed His beckoning as a finger pointing toward the breaking dawn of truth and regeneration? Where were they, what thinking and why silent? The bands at the humble and poor, of the afflicted and outcast who had entrusted to His controlling grace the salvation of soul and body--where were they, what thinking and why silent? The troops of women and youths, who had drawn fresh strength from the spell of a glance or a word from the Father of all that liveth--where were they, what thinking and why silent? And the multitudes of disciples and enthusiasts who had scattered sweet-scented boughs and joyous utterances along the road to Sion, blessing Him that came in the name of the Lord--where were they, what thinking and why silent? Not a remembrance, not a sign, not a word of the great glory so lately His. Jesus was alone." [Illustration: CHRIST LEAVING THE PRÆTORIUM (DORÉ)] CHAPTER XI LEGAL ANALYSIS AND SUMMARY OF THE ROMAN TRIAL OF JESUS In the preceding pages of this volume we have considered the elements of both Law and Fact as related to the Roman trial of Jesus. Involved in this consideration were the powers and duties of Pilate as procurator of Judea and as presiding judge at the trial; general principles of Roman provincial administration at the time of Christ; the legal and political status of the subject Jew in his relationship to the conquering Roman; the exact requirements of criminal procedure in Roman capital trials at Rome and in the provinces at the date of the crucifixion; the Roman law applicable to the trial of Jesus; and the facts of said trial before Pilate and Herod. We are now in a position to analyze the case from the view point of the juristic agreement or nonagreement of Law and Fact; and to determine by a process of judicial dissection and re-formation, the presence or absence of essential legal elements in the proceedings. We have learned what should have been done by Pilate acting as a Roman judge in a criminal matter involving the life of a prisoner. We have also ascertained what he actually did. We are thus enabled to compare the requirements with the actualities of the case; and to ascertain the resemblances in the proceedings against Jesus to a legally conducted trial under Roman law. But, in making this summary and analysis, a most important consideration must be constantly held in mind: that, in matters of review on appeal, errors will not be presumed; that is, errors will not be considered that do not appear affirmatively upon the record. The law will rather presume and the court will assume that what should have been done, was done. In conformity with this principle, the presumption must be indulged that Pilate acted in strict obedience to the requirements of Roman law in trying Jesus, unless the Gospels of the New Testament, which constitute the record in the case, either affirmatively or by reasonable inference, disclose the absence of such obedience. A failure to note this presumption and to keep this principle in mind, has caused many writers upon this subject to make erroneous statements concerning the merits and legal aspects of the trial of Christ. Laymen frequently assert the essential principle of this presumption without seeming to be aware of it. Both Keim and Geikie declare that assessors or assistants were associated with Pilate in the trial of Jesus. The Gospel records nowhere even intimate such a thing; and no other original records are in existence to furnish such information. And yet one of the most celebrated of the biblical critics, Dr. Theodor Keim, writing on the trial of Christ by Pilate, says: "Beside him, upon benches, were the council or the assessors of the court, sub-officials, friends, Roman citizens, whose presence could not be dispensed with, and who were not wanting to the procurators of Judea, although our reports do not mention them."[109] To the same effect, Dr. Cunningham Geikie thus writes: "The assessors of the court--Roman citizens--who acted as nominal members of the judicial bench, sit beside Pilate--for Roman law required their presence."[110] These statements of the renowned writers just quoted are justified not only on the ground of logical historical inference, but also on the principle of actual legal presumption. The closest scrutiny of the New Testament narratives nowhere discovers even an intimation that a bench of judges helped Pilate to conduct the trial of Jesus. And yet, as Geikie says, "Roman law required their presence," and the legal presumption is that they were in and about the Prætorium ready to lend assistance, and that they actually took part in the proceedings. This inference is strengthened by the fact that Pilate, after he had learned the nature of the accusation against Jesus, called Him into the palace to examine Him. Why did Pilate do this? Why did he not examine the prisoner in the presence of His accusers in the open air? Geikie tells us that there was a judgment hall in the palace in which trials were usually conducted.[111] Is it not possible, nay probable, that the assessors and Pilate were assembled at an early hour in this hall to hear the usual criminal charges of the day, or, perhaps, to try the accusation against Jesus, of whose appearance before them they had been previously notified; and that, when the governor heard that the religious scruples of the Jews would not permit them to enter the judgment hall during the Passover feast, he went out alone to hear the accusation against the prisoner; and that he then returned with the accused into the hall where the bench of judges were awaiting him, to lay before them the charges and to further examine the case? It is admitted that this theory and the statement of Geikie that there was a hall in the palace where trials were generally held, are seemingly refuted by the fact that Roman trials were almost always conducted in the open air. But this was not invariably true; and the case of Pilate and his court might have been an exception. It has been sought to lay particular stress upon the doctrine of legal presumption that what should have been done, was done, unless the record affirmatively negatives the fact, because it is impossible to appreciate fully the legal aspects of the trial of Jesus, unless this doctrine is understood and kept constantly in view. A casual perusal of the New Testament narratives leaves the impression upon the mind of the reader that the proceedings against Jesus before Pilate were exceedingly irregular and lacking in all the essential elements of a regular trial. As a matter of fact, this impression may be grounded in absolute truth. It may be that the action of Pilate was arbitrary and devoid of all legal forms. This possibility is strengthened by the consideration that Jesus was not a Roman citizen and could not, therefore, demand the strict observance of forms of law in His trial. A Jewish provincial, when accused of crime, stood before a Roman governor with no other rights than the plea of justice as a defense against the summary exercise of absolute power. In other words, in the case of Jesus, Pilate was not bound to observe strictly rules of criminal procedure prescribed by Roman law. He could, if he saw fit, dispense with forms of law and dispose of the case either equitably or as his whims suggested. Nor was there a right of appeal in such a case, from the judgment of the procurator to the emperor at Rome. The decision of the governor against a provincial was final. The case of Paul before Felix and before Festus was entirely different. Paul was a Roman citizen and, as such, was entitled to all the rights involved in Roman citizenship, which included the privilege of an appeal to Cæsar against the judgment of a provincial officer; and he actually exercised this right.[112] It was incumbent, therefore, upon Roman officials to observe due forms of law in proceeding against him. And St. Luke, in Acts xxiv., indicates the almost exact precision and formality of a Roman trial, in the case of Paul. But the fact that Jesus was not a Roman citizen does not prove that due forms of law were not observed in His trial. It is hardly probable, as before observed, that despotism and caprice were tolerated at any time, in any part of the Roman world. And, besides, Roman history and jurisprudence are replete with illustrations of complete legal protection extended by Roman officials to the non-Roman citizens of subject states. It is, moreover, a legitimate and almost inevitable inference, drawn from the very nature of the Roman constitution and from the peculiar character of Roman judicial administration, that no human life belonging to a citizen or subject of Rome would be permitted to be taken without due process of law, either imperial or local. In forming an opinion as to the existence or non-existence of a regular trial of Jesus before Pilate, the meager details of the New Testament histories must not alone be relied upon. Nor must it be forgotten that the Gospel writers were not lawyers or court officers reporting a case to be reviewed on appeal. They were laymen writing a general account of a judicial transaction. And the omissions in their narratives are not to be considered as either discrepancies or falsehoods. They simply did not intend to tell everything about the trial of Jesus; and the fact that they do not record the successive steps of a regular trial does not mean that these steps were not observed. It is respectfully submitted that if a modern layman should write a newspaper or book account of one of the great criminal trials of this century, with no intention of making it a strictly judicial report, this account would not reveal the presence of more essential legal elements than are disclosed by the reports of the Evangelists of the proceedings against Jesus. The majority of writers on the subject express the opinion that the appearance of the Christ before the Roman governor was nothing more than a short hearing in which a few questions were asked and answers made; that the proceedings were exceedingly brief and informal; and that the emergencies of the case rather than forms of law guided the judgment and controlled the conduct of Pilate. As a layman, the author of these volumes would take the same view. But as a lawyer, treating the subject in a judicial manner, and bound by legal rules, regulations, and presumptions, in reviewing the merits of the case, he feels constrained to dissent from the prevalent opinion and to declare that the New Testament records, though meager in details, exhibit all the essential elements of an ordinary criminal trial, whether conducted in ancient or modern times. He further asserts that if the affirmative statements of the Evangelists that certain things were done be supplemented by the legal presumption that still other things were done because they should have been done, and because the record does not affirmatively declare that they were not done, an almost perfect judicial proceeding can be developed from the Gospel reports of the trial of Jesus before Pilate. These reports disclose the following essential elements of all ancient and modern criminal trials: 1. The Indictment, or _Nominis Delatio_. "What accusation bring ye against this man?" "And they began to accuse him, saying, We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying that he himself is Christ a King." 2. The Examination, or _Interrogatio_. "Art thou the King of the Jews?" "Art thou a King then?" 3. The Defense, or _Excusatio_. "My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence.... To this end was I born and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth. Everyone that is of the truth heareth my voice." 4. The Acquittal, or _Absolutio_. "I find in him no fault at all." Here we have clearly presented the essential features of a criminal trial: the Indictment, the Examination of the charge, the Defense, and the Judgment of the tribunal, which, in this case, was an Acquittal. To demonstrate that Pilate intended to conduct the proceedings against Jesus seriously and judicially, at the beginning of the trial, let us briefly review the circumstances attendant upon the successive steps just enumerated. And to this end, let us proceed in order: 1. The Indictment, or _Nominis Delatio_. When Pilate had seated himself in the ivory curule chair of the procurator of Judea, at an early hour on Friday morning, the day of the crucifixion of Jesus, a Jerusalem mob, led by the Sanhedrin, confronted him with the prisoner. His first recorded words are: "What accusation bring ye against this man?" As before suggested, this question is very keenly indicative of the presence of the judge and of the beginning of a solemn judicial proceeding. Every word rings with Roman authority and strongly suggests administrative action. The accusing priests sought to evade this question by answering: "If he were not a malefactor, we would not have delivered him up unto thee." If Pilate had adopted the Jewish view of the merits of the matter, that his countersign was the only thing necessary to justify the final condemnation and punishment of the prisoner; or, if he had been indifferent to the legal aspects of the case, he would simply have granted their request at once, and would have ordered the prisoner to execution. But this was not the case; for we are assured that he insisted on knowing the nature of the accusation before he would assume jurisdiction of the affair. The mere information that He was a "malefactor" did not suffice. The conduct of the Roman judge clearly indicated that accusation was a more important element of Roman criminal procedure than was inquisition. To meet the emergency, the Jews were compelled, then, to make the formal charge, that: "We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying that he himself is Christ a King." Here we have presented the indictment, the first step in a criminal proceeding; and it was presented not voluntarily, but because a Roman judge, acting judicially, demanded and forced its presentment. 2. The Examination, or _Interrogatio_. Not content with knowing the nature of the charges against the prisoner, Pilate insisted on finding out whether they were true or not. He accordingly took Jesus inside the palace and interrogated Him. With true judicial tact, he brushed aside the first two accusations as unimportant, and came with pointed directness to the material question: "Art thou the King of the Jews?" This interrogation bears the impress of a judicial inquiry, touching a matter involving the question of high treason, the charge against the prisoner. It clearly indicates a legal proceeding in progress. And when Jesus made reply that seemed to indicate guilt, the practiced ear of the Roman judge caught the suggestion of a criminal confession, and he asked impatiently: "Art thou a King then?" This question indicates seriousness and a resolution to get at the bottom of the matter with a view to a serious judicial determination of the affair. 3. The Defense, or _Excusatio_. In reply to the question of the judge, the prisoner answered: "My kingdom is not of this world." This language indicates that Jesus was conscious of the solemnity of the proceedings; and that He recognized the right of Pilate to interrogate Him judicially. His answer seemed to say: "I recognize your authority in matters of this life and this world. If my claims to kingship were temporal, I fully appreciate that they would be treasonable; and that, as the representative of Cæsar, you would be justified in delivering me to death. But my pretensions to royalty are spiritual, and this places the matter beyond your reach." The defense of Jesus was in the nature of what we call in modern pleading a Confession and Avoidance: "A plea which admits, in words or in effect, the truth of the matter contained in the Declaration; and alleges some new matter to avoid the effect of it, and shows that the plaintiff is, notwithstanding, not entitled to his action." It may be analyzed thus: Confession: Inside the palace, Pilate asked Jesus the question: "Art thou the King of the Jews?" According to St. Matthew, Jesus answered: "Thou sayest";[113] according to St. Mark: "Thou sayest it";[114] according to St. Luke: "Thou sayest it";[115] according to St. John: "Thou sayest that I am a king."[116] All these replies are identical in signification, and mean: Thou sayest it, because I am really a king. In other words, He simply confessed that He was a king. Then came His real defense. Avoidance: "My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence.... To this end was I born and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness of the truth. Everyone that is of the truth heareth my voice." After having confessed claims to kingship, and having thereby made Himself momentarily liable on the charge of high treason, He at once avoids the effect of the declaration by alleging new matter which exempted Him from the operation of the _crimen Læsæ Majestatis_. He boldly declares His kingship, but places His kingdom beyond the skies in the realm of truth and spirit. He asserts a bold antithesis between the Empire of Cæsar and the Kingdom of God. He cheerfully acknowledges the procuratorship of Pilate in the first, but fearlessly proclaims His own Messiahship in the second. 4. The Acquittal, or _Absolutio_. It is more than probable that Pilate's heathen soul mocked the heavenly claims of the lowly prisoner in his presence, but his keenly discerning Roman intellect marked at once the distinction between an earthly and a heavenly kingdom. He saw clearly that their boundaries nowhere conflicted, and that treasonable contact was impossible. He judged that Jesus was simply a gentle enthusiast whose pretensions were harmless. Accordingly, he went out to the mob and pronounced a verdict of "not guilty." Solemnly raising his hand, he proclaimed the sentence of acquittal: "I find in him no fault at all." This language is not the classical legal phraseology of a Roman verdict of acquittal. The Latin word for a single ballot was _absolvo_; the words of a collective judgment of a bench of judges was _non fecisse videtur_. The language of St. John, though that of a layman, is equally as effectual, if not so formal and judicial. More than any other feature of the case, the verdict of acquittal, "I find in him no fault at all," indicates the regularity and solemnity of a judicial proceeding. Standing alone, it would indicate the close of a regular trial in which a court having jurisdiction had sat in judgment upon the life or liberty of an alleged criminal. If to these essential elements of a trial which the Gospel records affirmatively disclose be added other necessary elements of a regular Roman trial which legal presumption supplies, because these records do not deny their existence, we have then in the proceedings against Jesus all the important features of Roman criminal procedure involving the question of life or death. That several essential elements are absent is evident from a reasonable construction of the statements of the Evangelists. That which most forcibly negatives the existence of a regular trial was the precipitancy with which the proceedings were conducted before Pilate. We have seen that ten days were allowed at Rome after the _nominis receptio_ to secure testimony and prepare the case before the beginning of the trial. This rule was certainly not observed at the trial of Jesus. But several irregularities which are apparent from a perusal of the Gospel histories may be explained from the fact that Jesus was not a Roman citizen and was not, therefore, entitled to a strict observance of Roman law in the proceedings against him. The foregoing analysis and summary apply only to the proceedings of the first appearance of Jesus before Pilate. It was at this time that the real Roman trial took place. All subsequent proceedings were irregular, tumultuous and absolutely illegal. The examination of Jesus by Herod cannot, strictly speaking, be called a trial. The usual explanation of the sending of the prisoner to Herod is that Pilate learned that He was a native and citizen of Galilee; and that, desiring to rid himself of an embarrassing subject, he determined to transfer the accused from the _forum apprehensionis_ to the _forum originis vel domicilii_. It has frequently been asserted that it was usual in Roman procedure to transfer a prisoner from the place of arrest to the place of his origin or residence. There seems to be no authority for this contention. It may or may not have been true as a general proposition. But it was certainly not true in the case of the transfer of Jesus to Herod. In the first place, when Pilate declared, "I find no fault in him at all," a verdict of acquittal was pronounced, and the case was ended. The proceedings had taken form of _res adjudicata_, and former jeopardy could have been pleaded in bar of further prosecution. It might be differently contended if Pilate had discovered that Jesus was from Galilee before the proceedings before him were closed. But it is clear from St. Luke, who alone records the occurrence of the sending of the prisoner to Herod, that the case was closed and the verdict of acquittal had been rendered before Pilate discovered the identity of the accused.[117] It was then too late to subject a prisoner to a second trial for the same offense. Rosadi denies emphatically that Herod had jurisdiction of the offense charged against Jesus. In this connection, he says: "His prosecutors insisted tenaciously upon His answering to a charge of _continuous_ sedition, as lawyers call it. This offence had been begun in Galilee and ended in Jerusalem--that is to say, in Judæa. Now it was a rule of Roman law, which the procurator of Rome could neither fail to recognize nor afford to neglect, that the competence of a court territorially constituted was determined either by the place in which the arrest was made, or by the place in which the offence was committed. Jesus had been arrested at the gates of Jerusalem; His alleged offence had been committed for the most part, and as far as all the final acts were concerned, in the city itself and in other localities of Judæa. In continuous offences competence was determined by the place in which the last acts going to constitute the offence had been committed. Thus no justification whatever existed for determining the court with regard to the prisoner's origin. But this investigation upon a point of Roman law is to all intents superfluous, because either Pilate, when he thought of Herod, intended to strip himself of his inalienable judicial power, and in this case he ought to have respected the jurisdiction and competence of the Grand Sanhedrin and not to have busied himself with a conflict as to cognizance which should only have been discussed and resolved by the Jewish judicial authorities; or else he had no intention of abdicating his power, and in this case he ought never to have raised the question of competence between himself, Governor of Judæa, and Herod, Regent of Galilee, but between himself and the Roman Vice-Governor of Galilee, his colleague, if there had been such an one. It is only between judges of the same judicial hierarchy that a dispute as to territorial competence can arise. Between magistrates of different States there can only exist a contrast of power and jurisdiction. The act of Pilate cannot then be interpreted as a scruple of a constitutional character. It is but a miserable escape for his irresolution, a mere endeavour to temporize." The second and final appearance of Jesus before Pilate bears little resemblance to a regular trial. The characteristic elements of an ordinary Roman criminal proceeding are almost wholly wanting. The pusillanimous cowardice of the procurator and the blind fury of the mob are the chief component parts. A sort of wild phantasmagoria sweeps through the multitude and circles round the tribunal of the governor. Pilate struggles with his conscience, and seeks safety in subterfuge. He begins by declaring to the assembled priests and elders that neither he nor Herod has found any fault in the man; and then, as a means of compromise and conciliation, makes the monstrous proposal that he will first scourge and then release the prisoner. This infamous proposal is rejected by the mob. The cowardly procurator then adopts another mean expedient as a way of escape. He offers to deliver Jesus to them as a Passover gift. Him they refuse and Barabbas, the robber, is demanded. Pilate's terror is intensified by superstitious dread, when the mob begins to cry: "He made himself the Son of God!" From out the anguish of his soul, the voice of Justice sends to his quivering lips the thrice-repeated question: "Why, what evil hath he done?" The mob continues to cry: "Crucify him! Crucify him!" And as a final assault upon his conscience and his courage, the hypocritical priests warn him that he must not release a pretender to kingship, for such a man is an enemy to Cæsar. The doom of the Nazarene is sealed by this last maneuver of the rabble. Then, as a propitiation to the great God of truth and justice, and as balm to his hurt and wounded conscience, he washes his hands in front of them and exclaims: "I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it." The crucifixion followed Pilate's final determination; and thus ended the most famous trial in the history of the world. It began with the arrest of Jesus in Gethsemane at midnight, and ended with His crucifixion on Golgotha on the afternoon of the same day. As we have seen, it was a double trial, conducted within the jurisdictions of the two most famous systems of jurisprudence known to mankind. In both trials, substantially the right issue was raised. Before the Sanhedrin, the prisoner was charged with blasphemy and convicted. Regarding Jesus as a mere man, a plain Jewish citizen, this judgment was "substantially right in point of law", but was unjust and outrageous because forms of criminal procedure which every Jewish prisoner was entitled to have observed, were completely ignored. The proceedings before Pilate, we have reason to believe, were conducted, in a general way, with due regard to forms of law. But the result was judicial murder, because the judge, after having acquitted Jesus, delivered Him to be crucified. "I find in him no fault at all" was the verdict of Pilate. But this just and righteous sentence was destroyed and obliterated by the following: "And they were instant with loud voices, requiring that he might be crucified. And the voices of them and of the chief priests prevailed. And Pilate gave sentence that it should be as they required."[118] A horrible travesty on justice, this! "_Absolvo_" and "_Ibis ad crucem_," in the same breath, were the final utterances of a Roman judge administering Roman law in the most memorable judicial transaction known to men. The treatment of this great theme would be incomplete and unsatisfactory unless reference were made to the peculiar views of some who believe that political rather than legal considerations should govern in determining the justice or the injustice of the proceedings against Jesus before Pilate. A certain class of critics insist on regarding the Roman governor in the light of an administrator rather than a judge, and contend that the justice of his conduct and the righteousness of his motives should be tested by principles of public policy rather than by strict legal rules. It is insisted by such persons that various considerations support this contention. It is pointed out that Pilate exercised the unlimited jurisdiction of the military _imperium_, and was not, therefore, strictly bound by legal rules; that Jesus was not a Roman citizen, and, for this reason, was not entitled to the strict observance of forms of law; and that the stubborn, rebellious and turbulent temper of the Jewish people required the strong hand of a military governor, enforcing political obedience by drastic measures, rather than the action of a judge punctiliously applying rules of law. These peculiar views subject the conduct of Pilate to the pressure of public necessity rather than to the test of private right, and insist that sympathy rather than censure should hold the scales in which his deeds are weighed. This view of the case was presented in the last generation by Sir James Fitz-James Stephen in a book of extraordinary strength and brilliancy entitled "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity." It was written in answer to John Stuart Mill, and is, without doubt, the most powerful assault in the English language on what men have been pleased to call in modern times "liberty of conscience." In his letters and essays, Mr. Mill, according to the interpretation of Mr. Stephen, "condemns absolutely all interference with the expression of opinion." When tried by this standard, the Athenian dicasts, who condemned Socrates; Marcus Aurelius, who persecuted the Christians; Pontius Pilate, who crucified Jesus; and Philip II, who sanctioned the tortures of the Spanish Inquisition, were simply violators of rights of personal opinion and of freedom of conscience. If you deny the right of liberty of conscience, Mr. Mill contends, you must not censure Marcus Aurelius and other persecutors of Christianity. On the contrary, you must approve such persecution; and you must go further, and find "a principle which would justify Pontius Pilate." This challenge was boldly accepted by Mr. Stephen, who says: "Was Pilate right in crucifying Christ? I reply, Pilate's paramount duty was to preserve the peace in Palestine, to form the best judgment he could as to the means required for that purpose, and to act upon it when it was formed. Therefore, if and in so far as he believed in good faith and on reasonable grounds that what he did was necessary for the preservation of the peace of Palestine, he was right. It was his duty to run the risk of being mistaken, notwithstanding Mr. Mill's principle as to liberty. He was in the position of a judge whose duty it is to try persons duly brought before him for trial at the risk of error."[119] This contention is founded upon the inexorable doctrine that what is, is right; that revolution, though righteous, must be nipped in the bud and destroyed; and that rights of private conscience must not be tolerated if they tend to disturb the peace of the community at large. The inevitable logic of the theory of Mr. Stephen is that the established order of things in Palestine under Roman rule was right, and that it was the duty of the Roman governor to regard all attempts at innovation or revolution in religion or government as a breach of the peace which was to be promptly suppressed by vigorous measures. There is undoubtedly a certain amount of truth in this contention, in so far as it implies that under a just and orderly plan of government, the rights of the commonwealth to peace and security are greater than the claims of the individual to liberty of conscience which conflict with and tend to destroy those rights. It is a truth, at once sovereign and fundamental, in both law and government, that the rights of the collective body are greater than those of any individual member; and that when the rights of the whole and those of a part of the body politic conflict, the rights of the part must yield and, if necessity requires it, be destroyed. Upon no other basis can the doctrine of majorities in politics and the right of Eminent Domain in law, rest. But the application of the principles involved in this theory must always be made with proper limitations, and with a due regard to the rights of minorities and individuals; else government becomes an engine of despotism instead of an expression of political freedom. A claim of privilege which every member of the community has a right to make, must be respected by the collective body; otherwise, a common right has been violated and destroyed. The complete recognition of this principle is imperative and fundamental, and is the corner stone of political freedom in free institutions among men. But the trouble with the contention of Mr. Stephen is that it proceeds upon a wrong hypothesis. He intimates that Pilate might have "believed in good faith that what he did was necessary for the preservation of the peace of Palestine." This is a purely gratuitous and unhistorical suggestion. The Gospel records nowhere justify such an assumption. The very opposite is taught by these sacred writings. It is true that Caiaphas contended that it was expedient that one man should die rather than that the whole nation should perish. But this was a Jewish, not a Roman opinion. The Evangelical narratives are unanimous in declaring that Pilate believed Jesus to be innocent and that "for envy" He had been accused by His countrymen. It is cheerfully conceded that occasions may present themselves, in the tumult and frenzy of revolution, when the responsible authorities of government may put to death a person whose intentions are innocent, but whose acts are incentives to riot and bloodshed. This may be done upon the principle of self-preservation, which is the first law of government as well as of nature. But no such necessity arose in the case of Jesus; and no such motives are ascribed by the Evangelists to Pilate. They very clearly inform us that the action of the Roman governor in delivering the prisoner to be crucified was prompted by private and not public considerations. He had no fears that Jesus would precipitate a revolution dangerous to the Roman state. He simply wished to quiet the mob and retain his position as procurator of Judea. The facts of history, then, do not support the contention of Mr. Stephen. Continuing, in another place, the same eminent writer says: "The point to which I wish to direct attention is that Pilate's duty was to maintain peace and order in Judea and to maintain the Roman power. It is surely impossible to contend seriously that it was his duty, or that it could be the duty of any one in his position, to recognize in the person brought to his judgment seat, I do not say God Incarnate, but the teacher and preacher of a higher form of morals and a more enduring form of social order than that of which he himself was the representative. To a man in Pilate's position the morals and the social order which he represents are for all practical purposes final and absolute standards. If, in order to evade the obvious inference from this, it is said that Pilate ought to have respected the principle of religious liberty as propounded by Mr. Mill, the answer is that if he had done so he would have run the risk of setting the whole province in a blaze. It is only in very modern times, and under the influence of modern sophisms, that belief and action have come to be so much separated in these parts of the world that the distinction between the temporal and spiritual department of affairs even appears to be tenable; but this is a point for future discussion. "If this should appear harsh, I would appeal again to Indian experience. Suppose that some great religious reformer--say, for instance, some one claiming to be the Guru of the Sikhs, or the Imam in whose advent many Mahommedans devoutly believe--were to make his appearance in the Punjab or the North-West Provinces. Suppose that there was good reason to believe--and nothing is more probable--that whatever might be the preacher's own personal intentions, his preaching was calculated to disturb the public peace and produce mutiny and rebellion: and suppose further (though the supposition is one which it is hardly possible to make even in imagination), that a British officer, instead of doing whatever might be necessary, or executing whatever orders he might receive, for the maintenance of British authority, were to consider whether he ought not to become a disciple of the Guru or Imam. What course would be taken towards him? He would be instantly dismissed with ignominy from the service which he would disgrace, and if he acted up to his convictions, and preferred his religion to his Queen and country, he would be hanged as a rebel and a traitor."[120] These theories and illustrations are not only plausible but entirely reasonable when viewed in the light of the facts which they assume to be true. But here again, we must insist that they do not harmonize with the actual facts of the case to which they are intended to apply. In the extract above quoted, three suppositions are suggested. The first one is immaterial. Let us analyze the other two in the light of the Gospel histories. The second supposition is this: "Suppose that there was good reason to believe--and nothing is more probable--that whatever might be the preacher's own personal intentions, his preaching was calculated to disturb the public peace and produce mutiny and rebellion." What passage of Scripture, it may be asked, justifies this parallel with the case of Jesus before Pilate? There is, in fact, absolutely none. The nearest approach to one is Matthew xxvii. 24: "When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it." The "tumult" here referred to means nothing more than the manifestation of agitated feelings on the part of the mob, who were enraged at the prospect of an acquittal by the governor. It does not remotely refer to the danger of a popular rebellion which might endanger the security and safety of Rome. To admit this supposition would be to elevate the motives of Pilate in consenting to the crucifixion of Jesus to the level of solicitude for the welfare of his country. This would not be justified by the record, which clearly reveals that Pilate was moved by personal selfishness rather than by a sense of official duty. The third and last supposition above mentioned is this: "And suppose, further (though the supposition is one which it is hardly possible to make even in imagination), that a British officer, instead of doing whatever might be necessary, or executing whatever orders he might receive, for the maintenance of British authority, were to consider whether he ought not to become a disciple of the Guru or Imam." Here again, we may ask, what passage of Scripture supports this parallel of a Mohammedan Guru before a British officer with Jesus Christ before Pontius Pilate? Where is it anywhere stated, or by reasonable inference implied, that Pilate considered whether he ought not to become a disciple of Jesus? The celebrated English author has simply argued his case from a radically defective record of fact. On the other hand, let us draw what we conceive to be a true parallel. Let us take an illustration nearer home. Suppose that the Governor General of the Philippine Islands was clothed with authority of life and death as a judge in criminal matters pertaining to the affairs of those islands. Suppose that a Mohammedan preacher should appear somewhere in the archipelago where Mohammedans are numerous, and begin to proclaim a new religious faith which was opposed not only to the ordinary tenets of Islamism, but also to the Christian religion which is the dominant faith of the rulers of the Philippines. Suppose that the coreligionists of this Mohammedan prophet should seize him, bring him before the Governor General, and lodge against him a threefold charge: That he was stirring up sedition in the islands; that he had advised the Filipinos not to pay taxes due to the United States government; and that he had said and done things that were treasonable against the United States. Suppose that the Governor General, after personal examination, became satisfied that the Mohamammedan preacher was an innocent enthusiast, that the charges against him were false, and were due to the envy and hatred of his fellow-Mohammedans; that to quiet the passions, and satisfy the demands of the mob, he proposed to scourge him first and then release him; that, in the face of the vehement accusations of the rabble, he hesitated and vacillated for several hours; and that finally, when the Mohammedans threatened to send a complaint to President Roosevelt which might endanger his position, he ordered his innocent prisoner to death. Suppose this should happen beneath the American flag, what would be the judgment of the American people as to the merits of the proceedings? Would the Governor General retain his office by such a course of conduct? But let us view it in another light. Let us assume that the Governor General believed that the Mohammedan preacher was innocent and that his "personal intentions" were not remotely hostile or treasonable, but felt that his preaching might stir up rebellion dangerous to the power of the American government in the Philippines; and that it was his duty as the guardian of American honor and security, to put the native preacher to death; and this not to punish past criminal conduct, but to prevent future trouble by a timely execution. Suppose that the Governor General should do this while sitting as a judge, would it not be judicial murder? Suppose that he should do it while acting as an administrator, would it be less an assassination? Would it not stamp with indelible shame the administration that should sanction or tolerate it? Would the press of America not denounce the act as murder, declare that despotism reigned in our Eastern possessions, and demand the removal and punishment of the man who had disgraced his office and brought odium upon the administrative justice of his country? In closing the Roman trial of Jesus, let us repeat what we have already said: that the conduct of Pilate, when the prisoner was first brought before him, seems to have been marked by judicial regularity and solemnity; that the Roman procurator seems to have deported himself in a manner worthy of his office; that, in the beginning, he appears to have resolved to observe due forms of law in the proceedings, to the end that justice might be attained; and that, after a comparatively regular trial, he pronounced an absolute verdict of acquittal. Thus far the course of Pilate is manly and courageous. But with the return of the prisoner from Herod, unmanliness and cowardice begin. This last act of the great drama presents a pitiable spectacle of Roman degeneracy. A Roman governor of courtly origin, clothed with _imperium_, with a Prætorian Cohort at his command, and the military authority and resources of an empire at his back, cringes and crouches before a Jerusalem mob. The early Christian writers characterized Pilate with a single term ([Greek: anandria]), "unmanliness." They were right. This word is a summary, accurate and complete, of the character of the man. There is inherent in the highest and noblest of the human species a quality of courage which knows no fear; that prefers death and annihilation to dishonor and disgrace; that believes, with Cæsar, that it is better to die at once than to live always in fear of death; and, with Mahomet, that Paradise will be found in the shadow of the crossing of swords. This quality of courage is peculiar to no race of men and to no form of civilization. It has existed everywhere and at all times. It causes the spirit of man to tread the earth like a lion and to mount the air like an eagle. The ancient barbarians of Gaul believed that lightning was a menace from the skies; and amidst the very fury of the storm, from their great bows they sent arrows heavenward as a defiance to the gods. This quality of courage, which is natural to man, Pilate lacked. And when we think of his cowardly, cringing, crouching, vacillating conduct before a few fanatical priests in Jerusalem, another scene at another time comes up before us. The Tenth Legion rises in mutiny and defies Julius Cæsar. The mighty Roman summons his rebellious soldiers to the Field of Mars, reads to them the Roman riot act, and threatens to dismiss them not only from his favor but from Roman military service. The veterans of a hundred Gallic battlefields are subdued and conquered by the tone and glance of a single man; and with tearful eyes, beg forgiveness, and ask to be permitted to follow once again him and his eagles to the feast of victory and of death. Imagine, if you can, Cæsar in the place of Pilate. it is not difficult to conceive the fare of a vulgar rabble who persisted in annoying such a Roman by demanding the blood of an innocent man. But the cowardice and pusillanimity of the Roman governor are not properly illustrated by comparison with the courage and magnanimity of a Roman general. At the trial of Jesus, Pilate was acting in a judicial capacity, and was essentially a judge. His character, then, may be best understood by contrasting it with another judge in another age and country. His craven qualities will then be manifest. The greatest of the English jurists and judges was Sir Edward Coke. His legal genius was superb and his judicial labors prodigious. During the greater part of his professional career he slept only six hours, "and from three in the morning till nine at night he read or took notes of the cases tried in Westminster Hall with as little interruption as possible." He was great not only as a judge, but as an advocate as well. The consummate skill with which he argued the intricate cases of Lord Cromwell and Edward Shelley, brought him a practice never before equaled in England, and made him renowned as the greatest lawyer of the times. His erudition was profound, his powers of advocacy brilliant, his personal and judicial courage was magnificent. He not only repeatedly defied and ridiculed his colleagues on the bench, but more than once excited the wrath and braved the anger of the king. He fearlessly planted himself upon the ancient and inalienable rights of Englishmen; and, time and time again, interposed his robe at office between the privileges of the Commons and the aggressions of the Crown. He boldly declared that a royal proclamation could not make that an offense which was not an offense before. His unswerving independence was well illustrated in a case brought before him in 1616. The question at issue was the validity of a grant made by the king to the Bishop of Lichfield of a benefice to be held _in commendam_. King James, through his attorney-general, Bacon, commanded the chief justice to delay judgment till he himself had discussed the question with the judges. Bacon, at Coke's request, sent a letter containing the same command to each of the judges. Coke then obtained their signatures to a paper declaring that the instructions of the attorney-general were illegal, and that they were bound to proceed with the case. The king became very angry, summoned the judges before him in the council chamber, declared to them his kingly prerogative, and forbade them to discuss his royal privileges in ordinary arguments before their tribunal. Coke's colleagues fell upon their knees, cowed and terrified, before the royal bigot and despot, and begged his pardon for having expressed an opinion that had excited his displeasure. But Coke refused to yield, and, when asked if, in the future, he would delay a case at the king's order, he bravely replied that on all occasions and under any emergency, he would do nothing unworthy of himself or his office as an English citizen and judge. And rather than prostitute the high prerogatives of his court, he indignantly and contemptuously hurled his judicial mantle into the face of the Stuart king. How much grander and nobler was the conduct of Coke, the Englishman, than that of Pilate, the cowardly, pusillanimous Roman! Both were judges, both stood in the shadow of the majesty and menace of a throne, both were threatened with royal wrath, both held high judicial places under the governments of the most vast and glorious empires that this world has known. Coke preferred the dictates of his conscience to the decrees of his king; and his name remains forever enshrined in the minds and memories of men as the noblest type of a brave and righteous judge. For a miserable mess of Roman political pottage, Pilate forfeited his birthright to the most splendid and illustrious example of judicial integrity and courage in the history of the earth; and his name remains forever a hissing and reproach, as the worst specimen of the corrupt and cowardly judge that mankind has known. If it be objected that the position of Pilate was more painful and precarious than that of Coke, because the Roman was confronted by a wild and furious mob, reply must then be made that both the spirit and letter of Roman laws forbade surrender by Roman governors and administrators of the principles of justice to the blind passions of the multitude. This spirit was, in a later age, set forth in the laws of Justinian, when reproduction was made of the proclamations of the emperors Diocletian and Maximian, on the occasion of a public riot, that "the vain clamors of the people are not to be heeded, seeing that it is in no wise necessary to pay any attention to the cries of those desiring the acquittal of the guilty, or the condemnation of the innocent."[121] Pilate yielded to the demands of the mob when his country's laws forbade it. His intellect willed the execution of an innocent man when his conscience condemned it. "Such was the man whose cowardice, made manifest in the most supreme and memorable act of injustice the world has ever known, was destined to earn him eternal infamy. To him and to no others pointed the poet as 'colui Che fece per viltate il gran rifiuto;' to him, the prototype of that long train of those who were never quite alive, who vainly sought glory in this world, vainly dreaded infamy; who, ever wavering betwixt good and evil, washed their hands; who, like the neutral angels of the threshold, were neither faithful nor rebellious; who are equally despised by pity and justice; who render themselves 'A Dio spiacenti ed ai nemici sui.' And what man other than Pilate was ever placed so typically, in such accordance with the eyes of the poet, between the Son of God and His enemies, between justice and mercy, between right and wrong, between the Emperor and the Jews, and has refused either issue of the dilemma? "Was it Celestine, Diocletian, or Esau? But they of two things chose the one; and who knows but that they chose the better? A hermitage and a mess of pottage may under many aspects be better worth than the papacy renounced by Celestine, than the empire abdicated by Diocletian, or than the birthright bartered by Esau. But Pilate refused to choose, and his refusal was great--great enough to justify the antonomasia of Dante--and it was cowardly. He refused not only the great gift of free will in a case when a free choice was his absolute duty. When admitted, like the fallen angels, to the great choice between good and evil, he did not cleave for ever to the good, as did St. Michael, or to the evil, as did Lucifer, but he refused a power which for him was the fount of duty and which cost the life of a man and the right of an innocent." But was Pilate alone guilty of the crime of the crucifixion? Were the Jews wholly blameless? This raises the question: Who were the real crucifiers of the Christ, the Jews or the Romans? That the Jews were the instigators and the Romans the consummators of the crucifixion is evident from the Gospel narratives. The Jews made the complaint, and the Romans ordered and effected the arrest of the prisoner in Gethsemane. Having tried Him before their own tribunal, the Jews then led Jesus away to the Roman governor, and in the Prætorium accused Him and furnished evidence against Him. But the final act of crucifying was a Roman act. It is true that Jewish elements were present in the crucifixion of Jesus. The death draught offered Him on the cross suggests a humane provision of Hebrew law. This drink was usury administered among the Hebrews "so that the delinquent might lose clear consciousness through the ensuing intoxication." Again, the body of Jesus was removed from the cross and buried before it was night. This was in deference to an ancient custom of the Jews to bury criminals before sunset who had first been executed by stoning for the crime of blasphemy and had then been subjected to the indignity of being hung upon a tree, in conformity with a Mosaic ordinance contained in Deut. xxi. 22. But these two incidents exhaust the Jewish features of the crucifixion; and, besides, these elements were merely physical. The spiritual or moral features, involving turpitude and crime, are entirely different considerations from those that are simply historical. The question still arises: Who were the morally guilty parties? Who were the directly responsible agents of the crucifixion, the Jews or the Romans? Upon whom should the greater blame rest, if both were guilty? A passage from St. John seems to indicate that the Jews were the bearers of the greater sin. Replying to a question of Pilate concerning the procurator's power to crucify Him, "Jesus answered, Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above; therefore he that delivered me unto thee hath the greater sin."[122] According to many commentators, Jesus referred to Caiaphas; according to others, He spoke of Judas as the person who had the greater sin. But in any case it is certain that He did not intend to involve the whole Jewish nation in the crime of His arrest and execution. The language of the scriptural context indicates a single person. Pilate, on the one hand, is made the silent instrument in the hands of God for the accomplishment of the designs of Heaven. Caiaphas, on the other hand, is probably referred to as the one having the greater sin, because, being the high priest of the Sanhedrin, he better understood the questions involved in the religious charge of blasphemy, and was, therefore, the greater sinner against the laws of God, in the matter of the injustice then being perpetrated. [Illustration: THE CRUCIFIXION (MUNKACSY)] Aside from the religious questions involved, and speaking in the light of history and law, our own judgment is that the real crucifiers of the Christ were the Romans, and that Pilate and his countrymen should bear the greater blame. It is true that the Jews were the instigators, the accusers. But Pilate was the judge whose authority was absolute. The Jews were powerless to inflict the death penalty. Pilate had the final disposition of all matters of life and death. In short, he could have prevented the crucifixion of Jesus. He did not do so; and upon him and his countrymen should rest the censure of Heaven and the execration of mankind. But, admitting that the priests of the Sanhedrin were equally guilty with Pilate and the Romans, does it follow that all Jews of the days of Jesus who were not participants in the crime against him, should suffer for the folly and criminal conduct of a mere fragment of a Sadducean sect? Is it not true that the Jewish people, as a race, were not parties to the condemnation and execution of the Christ? Is it not reasonable to suppose that the masses in Palestine were friendly to the democratic Reformer who was the friend of the poor, the lame, and the blind? Did not the reception of his miracles and his triumphal entry into Jerusalem indicate His popularity with the plain people? Is it not historically true that the great body of the Jewish population in Judea, in Galilee, in Samaria, and in Perea, was unfriendly to the members of the Sanhedrin, and regarded them as political renegades and religious delinquents? Is it not reasonably certain that a large majority of the countrymen of Jesus were his ardent well-wishers and sincerely regretted his untimely end? Is it possible to conceive that these friends and well-wishers were the inheritors of the curse of Heaven because of the crime of Golgotha? If not, is it rational to suppose that their innocent descendants have been the victims of this curse? The cruel and senseless notion of the implacable wrath of Deity has prevailed in all the ages as an explanation of the destruction of Jerusalem and the dispersion and persecution of the Jews. It is worse than nonsense to see in this event anything but the operation of vulgar physical forces of the most ordinary kind. The fall of Jerusalem was a most natural and consequential thing. It was not even an extraordinary historical occurrence, even in Jewish history. Titus did not so completely destroy Jerusalem as did Nebuchadnezzar before him. Razing cities to the ground was a customary Roman act, a form of pastime, a characteristic Roman proceeding in the case of stubborn and rebellious towns. Scipio razed Carthage and drove Carthaginians into the most remote corners of the earth. Was any Roman or Punic god interested in this event? Cæsar destroyed many Gallic cities and scattered Gauls throughout the world. Was any deity concerned about these things? Roman admiration was at times enkindled, but Roman clemency was never gained by deeds of valor directed against the arms of Rome. Neither Hannibal nor Mithradates, Vercingetorix nor Jugurtha, the grandest of her enemies, received any mercy at her hands. To oppose her will, was to invite destruction; and the sequel was a mere question of "the survival of the fittest." The most turbulent, rebellious and determined of all the imperial dependencies was the province of Judea. The Jews regarded the Romans as idolaters; and, instead of obeying them as masters, despised and defied them as barbarians. When this spirit became manifest and promised to be perpetual, the dignity of the Roman name as well as the safety of the Roman State, demanded the destruction of Jerusalem and the dispersion of the Jews. And destruction and dispersion followed as naturally as any profane effect follows any vulgar cause. The Irish, another splendid race, are being dispersed throughout the earth by the English domination of Ireland. Is anybody so keenly discerning as to see in Irish dispersion a divine or superhuman agency? Is it not, after all, the simple operation of the same brutal, physical forces that destroyed Carthage and Jerusalem, and, in a latter century, dismembered Poland? But the advocates of the divine wrath theory quote Scriptures and point to prophecy in support of their contention. Then Scriptures must be pitted against Scriptures. The last prayer of the Master on the cross must be made to repeal every earlier Scriptural prophecy or decree. "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," is the sublimest utterance in the literature of the world. It is the epitome of every Christian virtue and of all religious truth. This proclamation from the cross repealed the Mosaic law of hereditary sin; placed upon a personal basis responsibility for offenses against God and man; and served notice upon future generations that those who "know not what they do" are entitled to be spared and forgiven. To believe that God ignored the prayer of Christ on the cross; and that the centuries of persecution of the Jews which followed, were but the fulfillment of prophecy and fate, is to assail the Messiahship of Jesus and to question the goodness and mercy of Jehovah. Jesus knew the full meaning of His prayer and was serious unto death. To believe that the Father rejected the petition of the Son is to destroy the equality of the persons of the Trinity by investing one with the authority and power to review, revise, and reject the judgments and petitions of the others. If the Christian doctrine be true that Christ was God "manifest in the flesh"; if the doctrine of the Trinity be true that God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, are one and the same, eternal and inseparable, then the prayer of Jesus on the cross was not a petition, but a declaration that the malefactors of the crucifixion, who, in the blindness of ignorance, had helped to kill the Son of Man, would receive at the Last Day the benefits of the amnesty of the Father of mercy and forgiveness. If the perpetrators of the great injustice of the Sanhedrin and of the Prætorium are to be forgiven because they knew not what they did, is there any justice, human or divine, in persecuting their innocent descendants of all lands and ages? "When Sir Moses Montefiore was taunted by a political opponent with the memory of Calvary and described by him as one who sprang from the murderers who crucified the world's Redeemer, the next morning the Jewish philanthropist, whom Christendom has learned to honor, called upon his assailant and showed him the record of his ancestors which had been kept for two thousand years, and which showed that their home had been in Spain for two hundred years before Jesus of Nazareth was born." This half-humorous anecdote illustrates the utter absurdity and supreme injustice of connecting the modern Jew with ancient tragic history. The elemental forces of reason, logic, courage and sympathy, wrapped up and interwoven in every impulse and fiber of the human mind and heart, will be forever in rebellion against the monstrous doctrine of centuries of shame, exile and persecution visited upon an entire race, because of the sins and crimes of a handful of their progenitors who lived more than a thousand years before. But, if the visitation of the sins of the fathers upon the sons is to be maintained, and perpetuated as a form of divine, if not of human justice, then, why not, at least, be consistent in the application of the principle? Many philosophers and critics have detected a striking kinship between the teachings of Socrates and those of Jesus. A celebrated historian closes a chapter of the history of Greece with this sentence: "Thus perished the greatest and most original of the Grecian philosophers (Socrates), whose uninspired wisdom made the nearest approach to the divine morality of the Gospel."[123] The indictments against the philosopher of Athens and the Prophet of Nazareth were strikingly similar. Socrates was charged with corrupting Athenian youth; Jesus, with perverting the nation. Socrates was charged with treason against Athens; Jesus, with treason against Rome. Both were charged with blasphemy; the Athenian, with blasphemy of the Olympic gods; the Nazarene, with blaspheming Jehovah. Both sealed with their blood the faith that was in them. If the descendants of the crucifiers of the Christ are to be persecuted, brutalized, and exiled for the sins of the fathers, why not apply the same pitiless law of hereditary punishment to the descendants of the Athenian dicasts who administered hemlock to the greatest sage of antiquity? Why not persecute all the Greeks of the earth, wherever found, because of the injustice of the Areopagus? Coming back from antiquity and the Greeks to modern times in America, let us express the hope that all forms of race prejudice and persecution will soon cease forever. It is a truth well known of all intelligent men that racial prejudice against the Jew has not completely vanished from the minds and hearts of Gentiles; that political freedom in an enlightened age has not brought with it full religious tolerance and social recognition; that the Jew enjoys the freedom of the letter, but is still under the ban of the spirit. It is not necessary to go to Russia to prove this contention. In 1896, Adolf von Sonnenthal, the greatest of modern actors, who has covered the Austrian stage with glory, celebrated the fortieth anniversary of his entrance into theatrical life. The City Council of Vienna refused to extend him the freedom of the city, because he was a Jew. In 1906, Madame Bernhardt, the most marvelous living woman, while acting in Canada, was insulted by having spoiled eggs thrown upon the stage amidst shouts of "Down with the Jewess!" This outrage called forth a letter of apology, which appeared in public print, from Sir Wilfred Laurier, Prime Minister of the Dominion. In the summer of 1907, the sister of Senator Isidor Rayner, of Maryland, was refused admission to an Atlantic City hotel because she was a Jewess. Be it remembered that these several acts of prejudice and persecution did not happen in the Middle Ages, or under the government of the Romanoffs. Two of them occurred at the beginning of the twentieth century, beneath the flags of two of the freest and most civilized nations of the globe. What have Americans to say of the exclusion of a virtuous, refined, intelligent sister of a great American senator from an American hotel for no other reason than that she was a Jewess; that is, that she was of the same race with the Savior of mankind? There is certainly no place for religious intolerance and race prejudice beneath our flag. Fake and hypocritical our religion, if while professing faith in Jesus we continue to persecute those for whom He prayed! In vain did Washington, marching in Liberty's vanguard, "lead Freedom's eaglets to their feast"; in vain the proclamation of the Declaration of Independence and the adoption of the Constitution at Philadelphia, a hundred years ago; in vain the bonfires and orations of the nation's natal day, if our boasted liberties are to exist in theory, but not in practice, in fancy, but not in fact! Let no persecutor of the Jew lay the unction to his soul that he is justified by the tragedy of Golgotha; for he who persecutes in the name of religion is a spiritual barbarian, an intellectual savage. Let this same persecutor not make the mistake of supposing that the Jews are wholly responsible for the persecution that has been heaped upon them. Before he falls into the foolish blunder of such a supposition, let him ponder the testimony of several Gentile experts upon the subject. Let him read "The Scattered Nation," a brilliant lecture on the Jew by the late Zebulon Vance, of North Carolina, in which occurs this sentence: "If the Jew is a bad job, in all honesty we should contemplate him as the handiwork of our own civilization." Let him find Shakespearean confirmation of this statement in "The Merchant of Venice," Act III, Scene i. If the Jew-baiter objects that this is the imagination of a poet, let us then point him to the testimony of a great historian and statesman to prove to him that the Gentile is in great measure responsible for the causes that have produced Jewish persecution. In the British House of Commons, on April 17, 1873, a bill for the removal of the disabilities of the Jews was the subject of parliamentary discussion. Lord Macaulay took part in the debate and spoke as follows: The honorable member for Oldham tells us that the Jews are naturally a mean race, a money-getting race; that they are averse to all honorable callings; that they neither sow nor reap; that they have neither flocks nor herds; that usury is the only pursuit for which they are fit; that they are destitute of all elevated and amiable sentiments. Such, sir, has in every age been the reasoning of bigots. They never fail to plead in justification of persecution the vices which persecution has engendered. England has been legally a home to the Jews less than half a century, and we revile them because they do not feel for England more than a half patriotism. We treat them as slaves, and wonder that they do not regard us as brethren. We drive them to mean occupations, and then reproach them for not embracing honorable professions. We long forbade them to possess land, and we complain that they chiefly occupy themselves in trade. We shut them out from all the paths of ambition, and then we despise them for taking refuge in avarice. During many ages we have, in our dealings with them, abused our immense superiority of force, and then we are disgusted because they have recourse to that cunning which to the natural and universal defence of the weak against the violence of the strong. But were they always a mere money-changing, money-getting, money-hoarding race? Nobody knows better than my honorable friend, the member for the University of Oxford, that there is nothing in their national character which unfits them for the highest duties of citizens. He knows that, in the infancy of civilization, when our island was as savage as New Guinea, when letters and art were still unknown to Athens, when scarcely a thatched hut stood on what was afterwards the site of Rome, this contemned people had their fenced cities and cedar palaces, their splendid Temple, their fleets of merchant ships, their schools of sacred learning, their great statesmen and soldiers, their natural philosophers, their historians and their poets. What nation ever contended more manfully against overwhelming odds for its independence and religion? What nation ever, in its last agonies, gave such signal proofs of what may be accomplished by a brave despair? And if, in the course of many centuries, the depressed descendants of warriors and sages have degenerated from the qualities of their fathers; if, while excluded from the blessings of law and bowed down under the yoke of slavery, they have contracted some of the vices of outlaws and slaves, shall we consider this is a matter of reproach to them? Shall we not rather consider it as a matter of shame and remorse to ourselves? Let us do justice to them. Let us open to them the door of the House of Commons. Let us open to them every career in which ability and energy can be displayed. Till we have done this, let us not presume to say that there is no genius among the countrymen of Isaiah, no heroism among the descendants of the Maccabees. If the persecutor of the Jew is not moved by the eloquence of Macaulay or by the satire and sarcasm of Shakespeare, then let him call the roll of Hebrew great names and watch the mighty procession as it moves. Abraham among patriarchs; Moses among lawgivers; Isaiah and Jeremiah among prophets; Philo, Maimonides, Spinoza, and Mendelsohn among philosophers; Herschel, Sylvester, Jacobi, and Kronecker among mathematicians and astronomers; Josephus, Neander, Graetz, Palgrave, and Geiger among historians; Mendelssohn, Meyerbeer, Offenbach, Goldmark, Joachim, Rubinstein, and Strauss among musicians; Sonnenthal, Possart, Rachel, and Bernhardt among actors and actresses; Disraeli, Gambetta, Castelar, Lasker, Crémieux, and Benjamin among statesmen; Halevi and Heine among poets; Karl Marx and Samuel Gompers among labor leaders and political economists; the Rothschilds, Bleichrörders, Schiffs, and Seligmans among financiers; Auerbach and Nordau among novelists; Sir Moses Montefiore and Baron Hirsch among philanthropists! But there are no Cæsars, no Napoleons, no Shakespeares, no Aristotles among them, you say? Maybe so; but what of that? Admitting that this is true, is anything proved by the fact? These characters represented mountain peaks of intellect, and were the isolated products of different races and different centuries. It may be justly observed that, of their kind, no others were comparable to them. But if the "mountain-peak" theory is to govern as to the intellectuality of races, will it be seriously contended that any one of the last-mentioned characters was equal in either spiritual or intellectual grandeur to the Galilean peasant, Jesus of Nazareth? If colossal forms of intellect and soul be invoked, does not the Jew still lead the universe? Jesus was the most perfect product of Jewish spiritual creation, the most precious gem of human life. The most brilliant and civilized nations of the earth worship Him as God, "manifest in the flesh, justified by the Spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory."[124] Both skeptics and believers of all ages have alike pronounced His name with reverence and respect. Even the flippant, sarcastic soul of Voltaire was awed, softened and subdued by the sweetness of His life and the majesty of His character.[125] "If the life and death of Socrates are those of a sage," said Rousseau, "the life and death of Jesus are those of a God."[126] "Jesus of Nazareth," says Carlyle, "our divinest symbol! Higher has the human thought not yet reached. A symbol of quite perennial, infinite character, whose significance will ever demand to be anew inquired into, and anew made manifest."[127] "Jesus Christ," says Herder, "is in the noblest and most perfect sense, the realized ideal of humanity."[128] "He is," says Strauss, "the highest object we can possibly imagine with respect to religion, the Being without whose presence in the mind perfect piety is impossible."[129] "The Christ of the Gospels," says Renan, "is the most beautiful incarnation of God in the most beautiful of forms. His beauty is eternal; His reign will never end."[130] Max Nordau betrays secret Jewish pride in Jesus when he says: "Jesus is soul of our soul, even as he is flesh of our flesh. Who, then, could think of excluding him from the people of Israel? St. Peter will remain the only Jew who has said of the Son of David, 'I know not the man.' Putting aside the Messianic mission, this man is ours. He honors our race, and we claim him as we claim the Gospels--flowers of Jewish literature and only Jewish." "Is it a truth," asks Keim, "or is it nothing but words, when this virtuous God-allied human life is called the noblest blossom of a noble tree, the crown of the cedar of Israel? A full vigorous life in a barren time, a new building among ruins, an erect strong nature among broken ones, a Son of God among the godless and the God-forsaken, one who was joyous, hopeful, generous among those who were mourning and in despair, a freeman among slaves, a saint among sinners--by this contradiction to the facts of the time, by this gigantic exaltation above the depressed uniformity of the century, by this compensation for stagnation, retrogression, and the sickness of death in progress, health, force and color of eternal youth--finally, by the lofty uniqueness of what he achieved, of his purity, of his God-nearness--he produces, even with regard to endless new centuries that have _through him_ been saved from stagnation and retrogression, the impression of mysterious solitariness, superhuman miracle, divine creation."[131] "Between Him and whoever else in the world," said Napoleon at St. Helena, "there is no possible term of comparison."[132] Throughout Napoleonic literature two names constantly recur as exhibiting the Corsican's ideals of spiritual and intellectual perfection. These names are those of Jesus Christ and Julius Cæsar. Napoleon's stupendous genius and incomprehensible destiny formed the basis of a secret conviction within his soul that with Jesus and Cæsar displaced, he himself would be the grandest ornament of history. But in the mind of the emperor there was no element of equality or comparison between Jesus and Cæsar. The latter he regarded as the crown and consummation of Roman manhood, the most superb character of the ancient world. The former he believed to be divine. It was the custom of Napoleon while in exile at St. Helena to converse almost daily about the illustrious men of antiquity and to compare them with himself. On one occasion while talking upon his favorite theme with an officer, one of the companions of his exile, he suddenly stopped and asked: "But can you tell me who Jesus Christ was?" In reply, the officer candidly confessed that he had never thought much about the Nazarene. "Well, then," said Napoleon, "I will tell you." The illustrious captive then compared Jesus with the heroes of antiquity and finally with himself. The comparison demonstrated how paltry and contemptible was everything human when viewed in the light of the divine character and sublime achievements of the Man of Nazareth. "I think I understand somewhat of human nature," said Napoleon, "and I tell you all these were men, and I am a man, but not one is like Him; Jesus Christ was more than man. Alexander, Cæsar, Charlemagne, and myself founded great empires; but upon what did the creations of our genius depend? Upon force. Jesus alone founded His empire upon love, and to this very day millions would die for Him."[133] We have every reason to believe that the homage paid the character of Jesus by Napoleon was not merely the product of his brain, but was also the humble tribute of his heart. When the disasters of the Russian campaign broke upon his fortunes, when "the infantry of the snow and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered his legions like winter's withered leaves," the iron-hearted, granite-featured man who had "conquered the Alps and had mingled the eagles of France with the eagles of the crags," only laughed and joked. But, while contemplating the life and death of Jesus, he became serious, meditative and humble. And when he came to write his last will and testament, he made this sentence the opening paragraph: "I die in the Roman Catholic Apostolical religion, in the bosom of which I was born more than fifty years ago."[134] The Christianity of Napoleon has been questioned. It is respectfully submitted that only an ungenerous criticism will attribute hypocrisy to this final testimony of his religious faith. The imperial courage, the grandeur of character, and the loftiness of life of the greatest of the emperors negative completely the thought of insincerity in a declaration made at a time when every earthly inducement to misrepresentation had passed forever. But Jesus was not the Christ, the Savior of warrior-kings alone, in the hour of death. On the battlefield of Inkerman an humble soldier fell mortally wounded. He managed to crawl to his tent before he died. When found he was lying face downward with the open Bible beside him. His right hand was glued with his lifeblood to Chapter XI., Verse 25 of St. John. When the hand was lifted, these words, containing the ever-living promise of the Master, could be clearly traced: "I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." PART II _GRÆCO-ROMAN PAGANISM_ [Illustration: JUPITER (ANTIQUE SCULPTURE)] CHAPTER I GRÆCO-ROMAN PAGANISM _Extent of the Roman Empire at the Time of Christ._--The policy of ancient Rome was to extend and hold her possessions by force of arms. She made demands; and if they were not complied with, she spurned the medium of diplomacy and appealed for arbitrament to the god of battles. Her achievements were the achievements of war. Her glories were the glories of combat. Her trophies were the treasures of conquered provinces and chained captives bowed in grief and shame. Her theory was that "might makes right"; and in vindication and support of this theory she imbued her youth with a martial spirit, trained them in the use of arms from childhood to manhood, and stationed her legions wherever she extended her empire. Thus, military discipline and the fortune of successful warfare formed the basis of the prosperity of Rome. At the period of which we write, her invincible legions had accomplished the conquest of the civilized earth. Britain, Gaul, Spain, Italy, Illyria, Greece, Asia Minor, Africa, Egypt, and the islands of the Mediterranean--six hundred thousand square leagues of the most fertile territory in the world--had been subdued to the Roman will and had become obedient to Roman decrees. "The empire of the Romans," says Gibbon, "filled the world, and when that empire fell into the hands of a single person, the world became a safe and dreary prison for his enemies. The slave of imperial despotism, whether he was compelled to drag his gilded chain in Rome and the Senate, or to wear out a life of exile on the barren rock of Seriphus, or on the frozen banks of the Danube, expected his fate in silent despair. To resist was fatal, and it was impossible to fly. On every side he was encompassed by a vast extent of sea and land, which he could never hope to traverse without being discovered, seized, and restored to his irritated master. Beyond the frontiers, his anxious view could discover nothing, except the ocean, inhospitable deserts, hostile tribes of barbarians, of fierce manners and unknown language, or dependent kings who would gladly purchase the emperor's protection by the sacrifice of an obnoxious fugitive. 'Wherever you are,' said Cicero to the exiled Marcellus, 'remember that you are equally within the power of the conqueror.'" In obedience to a universal law of development and growth, when the Roman empire had reached the limits of physical expansion, when Roman conquest was complete, when Roman laws and letters had reached approximate perfection, and when Roman civilization had attained its crown and consummation, Roman decline began. The birth of the empire marked the beginning of the end. It was then that the shades of night commenced to gather slowly upon the Roman world; and that the Roman ship of state began to move slowly but inevitably, upon a current of indescribable depravity and degeneracy, toward the abyss. The Roman giant bore upon his shoulders the treasures of a conquered world; and Bacchus-like, reeled, crowned and drunken, to his doom. No period of human history is so marked by lust and licentiousness as the history of Rome at the beginning of the Christian era. The Roman religion had fallen into contempt. The family instinct was dead, and the marital relation was a mockery and a shame. The humane spirit had vanished from Roman hearts, and slavery was the curse of every province of the empire. The destruction of infants and the gladiatorial games were mere epitomes of Roman brutality and degeneracy. Barbarity, corruption and dissoluteness pervaded every form of Roman life. A perfect picture of the depravity of the times about which we write may be had from a perusal of the Roman satirists, Tacitus and Juvenal. The ordinary Roman debauchee was not the sole victim of their wrath. They chiseled the hideous features of the Cæsars with a finer stroke than that employed by Phidias and Praxiteles in carving statues of the Olympic gods. The purpose of Part II of this volume is to give coloring and atmosphere to the picture of the trial and crucifixion of Jesus by describing: (1) The Græco-Roman religion; and (2) the Græco-Roman social life, during the century preceding and the century following the birth of the Savior. 1.--THE GRÆCO-ROMAN RELIGION _Origin and Multiplicity of the Roman Gods._--The Romans acquired their gods by inheritance, by importation, and by manufacture. The Roman race sprang from a union of Etruscans, Latins, and Sabines; and the gods of these different tribes, naturalized and adopted, were the first deities of Rome. Chief among them were Janus, Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva. Other early Roman deities were Sol, the Sun, and Luna the Moon, both of Sabine origin; Mater Matuta, Mother of Day; Divus Pater Tiberinus, or Father Tiber; Fontus, the god of fountains; Vesta, the goddess of the hearth; and the Lares and Penates, household gods. These primitive Italian divinities were at first mere abstractions, simple nature-powers; but later they were Hellenized and received plastic form. The Greeks and Romans had a common ancestry and the amalgamation of their religions was an easy matter. The successive steps in the process of blending the two forms of worship are historical. From Cumæ, one of the oldest Greek settlements in Italy, the famous Sibylline books found their way to Rome; and through these books the Greek gods and their worship established themselves in Italy. The date of the arrival of several of the Hellenic deities is well ascertained. The first temple to Apollo was vowed in the year 351 A.U.C. To check a lingering epidemic of pestilence and disease, the worship of Æsculapius was introduced from Epidaurus into Rome in the year 463. In 549, Cybele, the Idæan mother, was imported from Phrygia, in the shape of a black stone, and was worshiped at Rome by order of the Sibylline books. In various ways, the Hellenization of the Roman religion was accomplished. The Decemviri, to whom the consulting of the Sibylline books was intrusted, frequently interpreted them to mean that certain foreign gods should be invited at once to take up their residence in Rome. The introduction of Greek literature also resulted in the importation of Greek gods. The tragedies of Livius Andronicus and the comedies of Nævius, founded upon Greek legends of gods and heroes, were presented in Rome in the later years of the third century B.C. Fragments of Greek literature also began to make their way into the Capital about this time. Philosophers, rhetoricians, and grammarians flocked from Greece to Italy and brought with them the works of Homer, Hesiod and the Greek philosophers, whose writings were permeated with Greek mythology. Grecian sculpture was as potent as Grecian literature in transforming and Hellenizing the religion of Rome. The subjugation of the Greek colonies in the south of Italy and the conquests of Greek cities like Syracuse and Corinth in the East, brought together in Rome the masterpieces of the Greek sculptors. A determined effort was made from time to time by the patriotic Romans to destroy Hellenic influence and to preserve in their original purity early Roman forms of worship. But all attempts were futile. The average Roman citizen, though practical and unimaginative, was still enamored of the beautiful myths and exquisite statues of the Greek gods. And it was only by Hellenizing their own deities that they could bring themselves into touch and communion with the Hellenic spirit. The æsthetical and fascinating influence of the Greek language, literature and sculpture, was overwhelming. "At bottom, the Roman religion was based only on two ideas--the might of the gods who were friendly to Rome, and the power of the ceremonies over the gods. How could a religion, so poverty-stricken of thought, with its troops of phantom gods, beingless shadows and deified abstractions, remain unscathed and unaltered when it came in contact with the profusion of the Greek religion, with its circle of gods, so full of life, so thoroughly anthropomorphised, so deeply interwoven into everything human?"[135] Not only from Greece but from every conquered country, strange gods were brought into Italy and placed in the Roman pantheon. When a foreign city was besieged and captured, the Romans, after a preliminary ceremony, invited the native gods to leave their temples and go to Rome where, they were assured, they would have much grander altars and would receive a more enthusiastic worship. It was a religious belief of the ancient masters of the world that gods could be enticed from their allegiance and induced to emigrate. In their foreign wars, the Romans frequently kept the names of their own gods secret to prevent the enemy from bribing them. The gods at Rome increased in number just in proportion that the empire expanded. The admission of foreign territory brought with it the introduction of strange gods into the Roman worship. When the Romans needed a new god and could not find a foreign one that pleased them, they deliberately manufactured a special deity for the occasion. In the breaking up and multiplication of the god-idea, they excelled all the nations of antiquity. It was the duty of the pontiffs to manufacture a divinity whenever an emergency arose and one was needed. The god-casting business was a regular employment of the Decemviri and the Quindecemviri; and a perusal of the pages of Roman history reveals these god-makers actively engaged in their workshops making some new deity to meet some new development in Roman life. The extent of the polytheistic notions of the ancient Romans is almost inconceivable to the modern mind. Not only were the great forces of nature deified, but the simplest elements of time, of thought, and action. Ordinary mental abstractions were clothed with the attributes of gods. Mens (Mind), Pudicitia (Chastity), Pietas (Piety), Fides (Fidelity), Concordia (Concord), Virtus (Courage), Spes (Hope), and Voluptas (Pleasure), were all deities of the human soul, and were enthusiastically worshiped by the Romans. A single human action was frequently broken into parts each of which had a little god of its own. The beginning of a marriage had one deity and its conclusion, another. Cunina was the cradle-goddess of a child. Statilinus, Edusa, Potnia, Paventia, Fabelinus and Catius were other goddesses who presided over other phases of its infancy. Juventas was the goddess of its youth; and, in case of loss of parents, Orbona was the goddess that protected its orphanage. Any political development in the Roman state necessitated a new divinity to mark the change. In the early periods of their history, the Romans used cattle as a medium of exchange in buying and bartering. Pecunia was then the goddess of such exchange. But when, in later times, copper money came into use, a god called Æsculanus was created to preside over the finances; and when, still later, silver money began to be used, the god Argentarius was called into being to protect the coinage. This Argentarius was naturally the son of Æsculanus. Not only the beneficent but the malign forces of nature were deified. Pests, plagues, and tempests had their special divinities who were to be placated. "There were particular gods for every portion of a dwelling--the door, the threshold of the door, and even the hinges of the door. There was a special god for each different class--even the most menial and the most immoral; and a special divinity for those who were afflicted in a peculiar manner, such as the childless, the maimed or the blind. There was the god of the stable, and the goddess of the horses; there were gods for merchants, artists, poets and tillers of the soil. The gods must be invoked before the harvest could be reaped; and not even a tree could be felled in the forest without supplicating the unknown god who might inhabit it."[136] The extreme of the Roman divinity-making process was the deification of mere negative ideas. Tranquillitas Vacuna was the goddess of "doing nothing." Not only were special actions and peculiar ideas broken up and subdivided with an appropriate divinity for each part or subdivision, but the individual gods themselves were subdivided and multiplied. It is said that there were three hundred Jupiters in Rome. This means that Jupiter was worshiped under three hundred different forms. Jupiter Pluvius, Jupiter Fulgurator, Jupiter Tonans, Jupiter Fulminator, Jupiter Imbricitor, Jupiter Serenator, were only a few designations of the supreme deity of the Romans. It will thus be seen that polytheism was insatiable in its thirst for new and strange gods. When the god-casting business was once begun, there was no end to it. And when the Roman empire had reached its greatest expansion, and Roman public and private life had attained to complete development, the deities of the Roman religion were innumerable. No pantheon could hold them, and no Roman could remember the names of all. Temples of the gods were everywhere to be found throughout the empire; and where there were no altars or temples, certain trees, stones and rocks were decorated with garlands and worshiped as sacred places which the gods were supposed to frequent. Thus the Roman world became crowded with holy places, and the gods and goddesses became an innumerable host. Petronius makes a countrywoman from a district adjoining Rome declare that it was much easier to find a god in her neighborhood than a man. We shall see that the multiplicity of the gods was finally the cause of the decay and ruin of the Roman religion. _The Roman Priesthood._--The Roman priesthood was composed of several orders of pontiffs, augurs, keepers of the Sibylline books, Vestal virgins, epulos, salians, lupercals, etc. Fifteen pontiffs exercised supreme control in matters of religion. They were consecrated to the service of the gods; and all questions of doubtful religious interpretation were submitted to the judgment of their tribunal. Fifteen learned and experienced augurs observed the phenomena of nature and studied the flight of birds as a means of directing the actions of the state. Fifteen keepers of the Sibylline books read the pages of their treasures and from them divined coming events. Six Vestals, immaculate in their virginity, guarded the Roman sacred fire, and presided at the national hearthstone of the Roman race. Seven epulos conducted the solemn processions and regulated the religious ceremonies at the annual festivals of the gods. Fifteen flamens were consecrated to the service of separate deities. Those of Jupiter, Mars, and Quirinus were held in the highest esteem. The Flamen Dialis, or priest of Jupiter, was loaded down with religious obligations and restrictions. He was not permitted to take an oath, to ride, to have anything tied with knots on his person, to look at a prisoner, see armed men, or to touch a dog, a goat, or raw flesh, or yeast. He was not allowed to bathe in the open air; nor could he spend the night outside the city. He could resign his office only on the death of his wife. The Salians were priests of Mars, who, at festivals celebrated in honor of the war-god, danced in heavy armor, and sang martial hymns. _Roman Forms of Worship._--Roman worship was very elaborate and ceremonial. It consisted of sacrifices, vows, prayers, and festivals. With the exception of the ancient Hebrews, the Romans were the greatest formalists and ritualists of antiquity. Every act of Roman public and private life was supposed to be framed in accordance with the will of the gods. There was a formula of prayer adapted to every vicissitude of life. Cæsar never mounted his chariot, it is said, that he did not repeat a formula three times to avert dangers. A painful exactness in the use of words was required in the offering of a Roman prayer. A syllable left out or a word mispronounced, or the intervention of any disturbing cause of evil import, would destroy the merit of the formula. The Romans believed that the voice of prayer should not be interrupted by noises or bad omens. And that the sound of evil augury might not be heard at the moment of supplication, they were in the habit of covering their ears. Musical notes of favorable import were not objectionable, and frequently flutes were played while the prayer was being offered to chase away disturbing sounds. At other times, the priests had special assistants whose duty it was to maintain silence during the recital of the formula. But, if the ceremony was successful, if the language had been correctly pronounced, without the omission or addition of a word; if all disturbing causes and things of evil omen had been alienated from the services, then the granting of the prayer was assured, regardless of the motive or intention of the person praying. It should be remembered that piety and faith were not necessary to the efficacy of Roman prayer. Ceremonial precision, rather than purity of heart, was pleasing to the Roman gods. A peculiar element entered into the religions of both the ancient Romans and the ancient Hebrews. It was the principle of contract in an almost purely juristic sense. Both the Romans and the Hebrews believed that if the divine law was obeyed to the letter, their deities were under the strictest obligation to grant their petitions. Under the Roman form of worship, a peculiar act of supplication was performed by the suppliant who kissed his right hand, turned round in a circle by the right, and then seated himself upon the ground. This was done in obedience to one of the laws of Numa. The circular movement of the earth, it was thought, was symbolized by the turning round in a circle; and the sitting down indicated that the suppliant was confidant that his prayer would be granted. The Romans believed that prayers were more efficacious if said in the immediate presence and, if possible, in actual contact with the image of the god. The doorkeepers of the temple were frequently besieged by suppliants who begged to be admitted into the inclosures of the sacred places where they might pray to the deity on the spot. On account of the vast numbers of the gods, the Romans were sometimes at a loss to know which one to address in prayer. Unlike the Greeks, they had no preferences among their deities. Each was supplicated in his turn according to the business in hand. But they were frequently in doubt as to the name of the god who had control of the subject-matter of their petitions. In such cases, the practical genius of the Roman people served them well. They had recourse to several expedients which they believed would insure success. When in doubt as to the particular divinity which they should address in supplication, they would, at times, invoke, in the first place, Janus, the god of all good beginnings, the doorkeeper, so to speak, of the pantheon, who, it was believed, would deliver the prayer to the proper deity. At other times, in such perplexity, they would address their petitions to a group of gods in which they knew the right one was bound to be. It sometimes happened that they did not know whether the deity to be supplicated was a god or goddess. In such an emergency, they expressed themselves very cautiously, using the alternative proviso: "Be thou god or goddess." At other times, in cases of extreme doubt, they prayed to all the deities at once; and often, in fits of desperation, they dismissed the entire pantheon and addressed their prayers to the Unknown God. Another mode of propitiating the gods was by sacrifice. Animals, the fruits of the fields, and even human beings were devoted to this purpose. In the matter of sacrifice, the practical genius of the Roman people was again forcibly manifested. They were tactful enough to adapt the sacrifice to the whims and tastes of the gods. A provision of the Twelve Tables was that "such beasts should be used for victims as were becoming and agreeable to each deity." The framers of these laws evidently believed that the gods had keenly whetted appetites and discriminating tastes in the matter of animal sacrifice. Jupiter Capitolinus was pleased with an offering of white cattle with gilded horns, but would not accept rams or bulls. Mars, Neptune and Apollo were, on the other hand, highly delighted with the sacrifice of bulls. It was also agreeable to Mars to have horses, cocks, and asses sacrificed in his honor. An intact heifer was always pleasing to the goddess Minerva. A white cow with moon-shaped horns delighted Juno Calendaris. A sow in young was sacrificed to the great Mother; and doves and sparrows to Venus. Unweaned puppies were offered as victims of expiation to the Lares and Penates. Black bulls were usually slaughtered to appease the infernal gods. The most careful attention was given to the selection of the victims of sacrifice from the flocks and herds. Any serious physical defect in the animal disqualified. A calf was not fit for slaughter if its tail did not reach to the joint of the leg. Sheep with cloven tongues and black ears were rejected. Black spots on a white ox had to be rubbed white with chalk before the beast was available for sacrifice. Not only animals were sacrificed, but human beings as well, to appease the wrath of the gods in time of awful calamity. In early Roman history, gray-headed men of sixty years were hurled from the Pons Sublicius into the Tiber as an offering to Saturn. In the year 227 B.C., the pontiffs discovered from the Sibylline books that the Gauls and Greeks were to attack and capture the city. To fulfill the prophecy and, at the same time to avert the danger, the senate decreed that a man and woman of each of these two nations should be buried alive in the forum as a form of constructive possession. This was nothing but a human sacrifice to the gods. Again, two of Cæsar's soldiers, who had participated in a riot in Rome, were taken to the Campus Martius and sacrificed to Mars by the pontiffs and the Flamen Martialis. Their heads were fixed upon the Regia, as was the case in the sacrifice of the October-horse. As an oblation to Neptune, Sextus Pompeius had live men and horses thrown into the sea at the time when a great storm was destroying the fleet of the enemy. A near approach to human sacrifice was the custom of sprinkling the statue of Jupiter Latiaris with the blood of gladiators. A priest caught the blood as it gushed from the wound of the dying gladiator, and dashed it while still warm at the face of the image of the god. Suetonius tells us that after the capture of Perugia, Augustus Cæsar slaughtered three hundred prisoners as an expiatory sacrifice to Julius Cæsar. Thus at the beginning of the Christian era, human beings were still being sacrificed on the altars of superstition. _Ascertaining the Will of the Gods._--Various methods were employed by the Romans in ascertaining the will of the gods. Chief among these were the art of divination from the flight of birds and from the inspection of the entrails of animals; also from the observation of lightning and the interpretation of dreams. The Romans had no oracles like those of the Greeks, but they frequently sent messengers to consult the Delphic oracle. Nothing is stranger or more disgusting in all the range of religious history than the practice of the Roman haruspices. That the ancient masters of the world should have felt themselves obliged to search in the belly of a beast for the will of Jupiter is one of the abominable enigmas of Pagan superstition. The inspection of the entrails of victims was a Tuscan science, early imported from Etruria, and naturalized at Rome. Tuscan haruspices accompanied the Roman armies everywhere, and determined by their skill whether a battle should be fought or a retreat ordered. When it was doubtful what to do, an animal was slaughtered, and the heart, lungs, liver, tongue, spleen, kidneys and caul were closely inspected with the aid of a small needle or knife. Various conditions and appearances of these parts were considered as signs of the pleasure or disfavor of the gods. Largely developed veins on the adverse side were considered tokens of extreme displeasure and an indication of pending misfortune. It was also considered gravely ominous when the head or protuberance in the right lobe of the liver was wanting. The Romans were too practical and indomitable, however, to allow a single bad omen to frustrate a great enterprise. If the inspection of the entrails of the first animal was not favorable, they slaughtered still others until a propitious sign was observed. At times, a score of beasts were slain before the gods gave assent to the enterprise in hand. Divination from the flight and notes of birds was another method employed by the Romans in finding out the will of the gods. And it may be remarked that this was certainly a more rational and elevated form of divination than that which we have just discussed. An eagle swooping down from the skies would certainly be a more natural and pleasing suggestion of the thoughts and attributes of Jove than the filthy interior of the entrails of a bull. The elements of divination from the flight of birds were derived either from the significant notes and sounds of their voices, or from the manner in which their wings were flapped or their flight conducted. If the bird flew from the left to the right of the augur, it was considered a happy omen; if the flight was in the opposite direction, the enterprise in hand had to be abandoned or at least delayed. Augury by flight was usually applied to eagles and vultures, while woodpeckers, ravens, crows, and screech owls announced the will of the gods by note. The direction from which the note came, usually determined the nature of the augury. But, in the case of the screech owl, the sounds were always of evil omen, from whatever side they came. And those who have been so unfortunate as to hear its mournful, desolate and God-forsaken tones will not be disposed to censure either the Romans or their gods for the low esteem in which they held this bird. Again, it was a principle of Roman augury that auspices could be neutralized or overcome. If a crow furnished an omen, and an eagle gave another which was opposed to it, the first sign was wiped out, because the eagle was a larger and nobler bird than the crow. And, as in the case of prayer, so also in the matter of the auspices, a disturbing sound would destroy the effect of the augury. The squeak or cry of a mouse would destroy a message from Jupiter conveyed in the scream of an eagle. But the most potent manifestation of the divine mind, among the ancient Romans, was that derived from thunder and lightning. Lightning to them was the sovereign expression of the will of the gods; and a single flash blotted out every other sign and token. It was an irrevocable presage and could not be remotely modified or evaded. It came directly from the hand of the deity and was an emphatic revelation of the divine mind. All places struck by lightning were considered sacred and were consecrated to the god who had sent the bolt. Upon the spot where it fell, an altar was raised and an inclosure formed. The service of consecration consisted in burying the lightning, that is, in restoring the earth thrown up by it, and in the sacrifice of a two-year-old sheep. All such places were considered hallowed spots and it was impious and sacrilegious to touch them or even look at them. The gods deprived of reason those who destroyed the altars and sacred inclosures of these places. These various methods of ascertaining the will of the deities were employed in every important transaction of Roman public and private life. At times, all of them coöperated on occasions of vast import and when the lives and destinies of great men were involved. The following single paragraph from Suetonius contains allusions to all the modes of divination which we have just discussed: After the death of Cæsar, upon his return from Apollonia as he was entering the city, on a sudden, in a clear and bright sky a circle resembling the rainbow surrounded the body of the sun; and immediately afterwards, the tomb of Julia, Cæsar's daughter, was struck by lightning. In his first consulship whilst he was observing the auguries, twelve vultures presented themselves as they had done to Romulus. And when he offered sacrifice, the livers of all the victims were folded inward in the lower part; a circumstance which was regarded by those present, who had skill in things of that nature, as an indubitable prognostic of great and wonderful fortune.[137] The interpretation of dreams also formed an important part in the determination of the will of the gods, not only among the Romans, but among all ancient nations. The literature of antiquity, both sacred and profane, is filled with dreams. Whether the biographer is Matthew or Plutarch, dreams appear on the pages of both. Chrysippus made a collection of prophetical dreams in order to explain their meaning. Both Galen and Hippocrates believed that dreams were sent by the gods to men. Artemidorus wrote a treatise on the subject, and in it he assures us that it was compiled at the express bidding and under the direction of Apollo himself. It was in a dream that Joseph was warned not to put away Mary his wife.[138] It was also in a dream that an angel voice warned him to flee into Egypt with the infant Savior to escape the murderous designs of Herod.[139] Nearly every great event, both in Greek and Roman history, seems to have been heralded or attended by dreams. The following account is given by Suetonius of the dreams of Quintus Catulus and Marcus Cicero presaging the reign of Augustus: Quintus Catulus had a dream, for two nights successively after his dedication of the Capitol. The first night he dreamt that Jupiter out of several boys of the order of the nobility who were playing about his altar, selected one, into whose bosom he put the public seal of the commonwealth, which he held in his hand; but in his vision the next night, he saw in the bosom of Jupiter Capitolinus, the same boy; whom he ordered to be removed, but it was forbidden by the God, who declared that it must be brought up to become the guardian of the state. The next day, meeting Augustus, with whom till that hour he had not the least acquaintance, and looking at him with admiration, he said he was extremely like the boy he had seen in his dream. Some gave a different account of Catulus's first dream, namely that Jupiter, upon several noble lads requesting of him that they might have a guardian, had pointed to one amongst them, to whom they were to prefer their requests; and putting his fingers to the boy's mouth to kiss, he afterwards applied them to his own. Marcus Cicero, as he was attending Caius Cæsar to the Capitol, happened to be telling some of his friends a dream which he had the preceding night, in which he saw a comely youth let down from heaven by a golden chain, who stood at the door of the Capitol, and had a whip put into his hands by Jupiter. And immediately upon sight of Augustus, who had been sent for by his uncle Cæsar to the sacrifice, and was as yet perfectly unknown to most of the company, he affirmed that it was the very boy he had seen in his dream. When he assumed the manly toga, his senatorian tunic becoming loose in the seam on each side, fell at his feet. Some would have this to forebode, that the order of which that was the badge of distinction, would some time or other be subject to him.[140] Omens also played an important rôle in molding the destiny of the Roman state. In his "Life of Cæsar Augustus," Suetonius says: Some signs and omens he regarded as infallible. If in the morning, his shoe was put on wrong, the left instead of the right, that boded some disaster. If when he commenced a long journey, by land or sea, there happened to fall a mizzling rain, he held it to be a good sign of a speedy and happy return. He was much affected likewise with anything out of the common course of nature. A palm-tree which chanced to grow up between some stones in the court of his house, he transplanted into a court where the images of the Household Gods were placed, and took all possible care to make it thrive. In the island of Capri, some decayed branches of an old ilex, which hung drooping to the ground, recovered themselves upon his arrival; at which he was so delighted, that he made an exchange with the Republic of Naples, of the Island of Ischia, for that of Capri. He likewise observed certain days; as never to go from home the day after the Numdinæ, nor to begin any serious business upon the nones; avoiding nothing else in it, as he writes to Tiberius, than its unlucky name.[141] Any unusual happening and all the striking phenomena of nature were regarded by the Romans as prodigies or omens indicative of the will of the gods. The nature of the occurrence indicated the pleasure or the wrath of the deity. An eclipse of the sun and the moon, a shooting star, a rainbow of peculiar color, showers of stones and ashes, were regarded as awful prodigies, and generally threw the Roman Senate into a panic. On such occasions, the pontifical college called a hurried meeting. The augurs and haruspices were summoned to immediate duty; and everything was done to ascertain the will of the gods and to do their bidding. A two-headed snake or a three-legged chicken, such as we frequently see to-day, would have shaken the whole Roman religious system to the center. Such was the credulity of the Roman people, that the most improbable and impossible stories, mere rumors born of lying imposture, were heard and believed. "Idols shed tears or sweated blood, oxen spoke, men were changed into women, cocks into hens, lakes or brooks ran with blood or milk, mice nibbled at the golden vessels of the temples, a swarm of bees lighted on a temple or in a public place." All such alleged occurrences required sacrifices and expiatory rites to conquer the fury and regain the favor of the gods. _Fall of the Early Roman Religion._--At the beginning of the Christian era, the old Roman religion, founded upon the institutions of Numa, had almost come to an end. The invasion of Italy by the Greek gods was the first serious assault upon the early Roman faith. The elegant refinement and fascinating influence of Greek literature, philosophy and sculpture, had incrusted with a gorgeous coating the rude forms of the primitive Roman worship. But, as time advanced, the old gods grew stale and new deities were sought. The human soul could not forever feed upon myths, however brilliant and bewitching. The mysterious and melancholy rites of Isis came to establish themselves by the side of those of Janus and Æsculapius. The somber qualities of the Egyptian worship seemed to commend it. Even so good and grand a man as Marcus Aurelius avowed himself an adorer of Serapis; and, during a sojourn in Egypt, he is reported to have conducted himself like an Egyptian citizen and philosopher while strolling through the temples and sacred groves on the banks of the Nile.[142] The effect of the repeated changes from one form of religious faith to another was to gradually destroy the moral fiber of Roman worship and to shatter Roman faith in the existence and stability of the gods. The first manifestation of that disintegration which finally completely undermined and destroyed the temple of Roman worship was the familiarity with which the Romans treated their gods. Familiarity with gods, as with men, breeds contempt. A striking peculiarity of both the Roman and Greek mythologies was the intimate relationship that existed between gods and human beings. Sometimes it took the form of personal intercourse from which heroes sprang, as was the case with Jupiter and Alcmene, of whom Hercules was born. At other times, deities and human beings traveled together on long voyages, as was the case with Minerva and Telemachus on their trip to the island of Calypso. These were instances of what the Greeks regarded as that natural and sympathetic relationship that not only could but should exist between them and their divinities. But in time the Romans entered upon a career of frivolous fellowship and familiarity with their gods which destroyed their mutual respect, and hastened the dissolution of the bonds that had hitherto held them together. They began to treat their divinities as men, deserving of honor indeed, but nevertheless human beings with all the frailties and attributes of mortals. "Arnobius speaks of morning serenades sung with an accompaniment of fifes, as a kind of reveille to the sleeping gods, and of an evening salutation, in which leave was taken of the deity with the wishing him a good night's rest." The Lectisternia or banquets of the gods were ordinary religious functions to which the deities themselves were invited. These feasts were characterized at times by extreme exclusiveness. It was not right, thought the Romans, to degrade and humiliate the greater gods by seating them at the banquet board with smaller ones. So, a right royal fête was annually arranged in the Capitol in honor of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva. The statue of the great god was placed reclining on a pillow; and the images of the two goddesses were seated upon chairs near him. At other times, the functions were more democratic, and great numbers of the gods were admitted, as well as a few select and distinguished mortals. On such occasions, the images of the gods were placed in pairs on cushions near the table. The Romans believed that the spirit of the god actually inhabited or occupied the statue. This we learn from Lucian. The happy mortals who were fortunate enough to be present at the banquet, actually believed that they were seated among the gods. Livy tells us that once the gods turned on their cushions and reversed themselves at the table, and that mice then came and devoured the meats.[143] The Roman historians very seriously inform us that special invitations were extended the gods to attend these banquets. They fail to tell us, however, whether R.S.V.P. or any other directions were inserted in the cards of invitation. We are left completely in the dark as to the formality employed by the deities to indicate their acceptance or rejection of the proffered honor. The purpose of the Lectisternia was at first undoubtedly to promote hospitality and fellowship, and to conciliate the good will of the gods. But finally such intimacy ripened into contempt and all kinds of indecencies began to be practiced against the deities. Speaking of the actions of certain Romans, Seneca says: "One sets a rival deity by the side of another god; another shows Jupiter the time of day; this one acts the beadle, the other the anointer, pretending by gesture to rub in the ointment. A number of coiffeurs attend upon Juno and Minerva, and make pretence of curling with their fingers, not only at a distance from their images, but in the actual temple. Some hold the looking-glass to them; some solicit the gods to stand security for them; while others display briefs before them, and instruct them in their law cases." This rude conduct was practiced by men. But Seneca, continuing, says: "Women, too, take their seats at the Capitol pretending that Jupiter is enamored of them, and not allowing themselves to be intimidated by Juno's presence."[144] _Roman Skepticism._--Of contempt of the gods, which was due to many causes, skepticism was born. The deities of every race had been brought to Rome and placed in the pantheon; and there, gazing into each other's faces, had destroyed each other. The multiplicity of the gods was the chief agency in the destruction of the Roman faith and ritual. The yoke and burden of endless ceremonials had been borne for centuries and were now producing intolerable irritation and nauseating disgust. The natural freedom of the soul was in open rebellion and revolt against the hollow forms and rigid exactions of the Roman ritual. The eagle of the human intellect was already preparing to soar above the clouds of superstition. Cicero gave expression to the prevalent sentiments of educated Romans of his day when he wrote: I thought I should be doing an immense benefit both to myself and to my countrymen if I could entirely eradicate all superstitious errors. Nor is there any fear that true religion can be endangered by the demolition of this superstition; for as this religion which is united with the knowledge of nature is to be propagated, so, also, are all the roots of superstition to be destroyed; for that presses upon and pursues and persecutes you wherever you turn yourself, whether you consult a diviner or have heard an omen or have immolated a victim, or beheld a flight of birds; whether you have seen a Chaldæan or a soothsayer; if it lightens or thunders, or if anything is struck by lightning; if any kind of prodigy occurs; some of which things must be frequently coming to pass, so that you can never rise with a tranquil mind. The completion of Roman conquest in the reign of Augustus was another potent influence in the destruction of the old Roman religion. The chief employment of the Roman gods had ever been as servants of the Roman state in the extension of the Roman empire. Their services were now no longer needed in this regard, and their ancient worshipers were ready to repudiate and dismiss them. The Hebrew characteristic of humility and resignation in the presence of divine displeasure was not a Roman trait. The ancient masters of the world reserved the right to object and even to rebel when the gods failed to do their duty after appropriate prayers had been said and proper ceremonies had been performed. Sacrilege, as the result of disappointment, was a frequent occurrence in Roman religious life. Bitter defiance of the heavenly powers sometimes followed a defeat in battle or a failure in diplomacy. Augustus, as supreme pontiff, chastised Neptune, the god of the sea, because he lost his fleet in a storm, by forbidding the image of the god to be carried in the procession of the next Circensian games. The emperor Julian was regarded as a most pious potentate, but he did not hesitate to defy the gods when he became displeased. At the time of the Parthian war, he was preparing to sacrifice ten select and beautiful bulls to Mars the Avenger, when nine of them suddenly lay down while being led to the altar, and the tenth broke his band. The fury of the monarch was aroused, and he swore by Jupiter that he would not again offer a sacrifice to Mars.[145] Claudius, the commander of the Roman fleet at Drepanum, ordered the sacred pullets to be thrown into the sea because they would not eat. When Germanicus was sick in Asia, his devoted admirers offered frequent prayers to the gods for his recovery. When the report of his death reached Rome, the temples of the unaccommodating deities were stoned, and their altars were overturned.[146] The same feeling of angry resentment and defiance may be discerned in inscriptions on the graves of relatives prematurely snatched away by death. An epitaph on the monument of a child of five years was this: "To the unrighteous gods who robbed me of my life." Another on the tombstone of a maiden of twenty, named Procope, read as follows: "I lift my hand against the god who has deprived me of my innocent existence."[147] The soil of familiarity, contempt and sacrilege which we have just described, was most fertile ground for the growth of that rank and killing skepticism which was destroying the vitals of the Roman faith at the time of Christ. This unbelief, it is true, was not universal. At the time of the birth of the Savior, the Roman masses still believed in the gods and goddesses of the Greek and Roman mythologies. Superstition was especially prevalent in the country districts of both Greece and Italy. Pausanias, who lived about the middle of the second century of the Christian era, tells as that in his time the olden legends of god and hero were still firmly believed by the common people. As he traveled through Greece, the cypresses of Alcmæon, the stance of Amphion, and the ashes of the funeral piles of Niobe's children were pointed out to him. In Phocis, he found the belief still existing that larks laid no eggs there because of the sin of Tereus.[148] Plutarch, who lived about the middle of the first century of our era, tells us that the people were still modeling the gods in wax and clay, as well as carving them in marble and were worshiping them in contempt and defiance of philosophers and statesmen.[149] But this credulity was limited to the ignorant and unthinking masses. The intellectual leaders of both the Greek and Roman races had long been in revolt against the absurdity and vulgarity of the myths which formed the foundation of their popular faiths. The purity and majesty of the soul felt keenly the insult and outrage of enforced obedience to the obscene divinities that Homer and Hesiod had handed down to them. Five hundred years before Christ, Pindar, the greatest lyric poet of Greece, had denounced the vulgar tales told of the deities, and had branded as blasphemous the story of the cannibal feast spread for the gods by the father of Pelops. Xenophanes, also, in the sixth century before Christ, had ridiculed the mythical tales of the Homeric poems, and had called attention to the purely human character of popular religions. He had pointed out that the Ethiopians painted the images of their deities black, and gave them flat noses, in the likeness of themselves; that the Thracians, on the other hand, created their gods blue-eyed and red; and that, in general, every race had reflected its own physical peculiarities in the creation of its gods. He declared it to be his opinion that if the beasts of the field should attempt to produce a likeness of the gods, the horses would produce a resemblance of themselves, and that oxen and lions would ascribe to their own divinities their own images and peculiarities. The whole structure of the Roman religion, built upon myths and adorned with fables, was ill fitted to stand the tests of analysis and criticism. It was destined to weaken and crumble the moment it was subjected to serious rational inquiry. Such inquiry was inevitable in the progress of that soul-growth which the centuries were sure to bring. Natural philosophy and historical study began to dissolve the sacred legends and to demand demonstration and proof where faith had before sufficed. Skeptical criticism began to dissect the formulæ of prayer and to analyze the elements of augury and sacrifice. Reason began to revolt against the proposition that Jupiter was justified in rejecting a petition because a syllable had been omitted or a word mispronounced. Men began to ask: "What explanation could be given of the strange changes of mind in the gods, often threatening evil on the first inspection of the victim, and at the second promising good? How did it happen that a sacrifice to Apollo gave favorable, and one to Diana unfavorable signs? Why did the Etruscan, the Elan, the Egyptian, and the Punic inspectors of sacrifice interpret the entrails in an entirely different manner? Again, what connection in nature was there between a fissure in the liver of a lamb, and a trifling advantage to a man, an inheritance to be expected, or the like? And on a man's intending to sacrifice, did a change, corresponding to his circumstances, take place in the entrails of the beast; so that, supposing another person had selected the same victim, he would have found the liver in a quite different condition?" The gods themselves became subjects of inspection and analysis. Their origin and nature were studied historically, and were also reviewed in the light of natural and ethical products. Three hundred years before Christ, Evhemere of Messina boldly declared that the gods were simply ancient kings deified by fear and superstition after death. Anaxagoras sought to identify the several deities with the forces and phenomena of nature, thus converting the pantheon into an observatory, or into a physical and chemical laboratory. Metrodorus contended that the gods were deifications of mere abstract ethical precepts. Instances are recorded in history, from time to time, where the philosophers attempted to explain to the people the natural meaning of those things which they believed were pregnant with supernatural import. On a certain occasion, a ram with one horn was found on the farm of Pericles, and, from this circumstance, an Athenian diviner, named Lampon, predicted that the party of the orator would triumph over the opposite faction and gain control of the government. Whereupon Anaxagoras dissected the skull, and demonstrated to the people the natural cause of the phenomenon in the peculiar shape of the animal's brain. But this reformer finally suffered the fate of other innovators, was prosecuted for impiety, and was only saved by the influence of Pericles. At the beginning of the Christian era, the religion of Rome was privately ridiculed and repudiated by nearly all statesmen and philosophers of the empire, although they publicly professed it on grounds of public policy. Seneca, a contemporary of Jesus, advised observance of rites appointed by law, on patriotic grounds. "All which things," he says, "a wise man will observe as being commanded by the laws, but not as being pleasing to the gods." Again he says: "All that ignoble rabble of gods which the superstition of ages has heaped up, we shall adore in such a way as to remember that their worship belongs rather to custom than to reality." Ridiculing the popular notions of the matrimonial relations of the deities, the same eminent philosopher says: "And what of this, that we unite the gods in marriage, and that not even naturally, for we join brothers and sisters? We marry Bellona to Mars, Venus to Vulcan, Salacia to Neptune. Some of them we leave unmarried, as though there were no match for them, which is surely needless, especially when there are certain unmarried goddesses, as Populonia, or Fulgora, or the goddess Rumina, for whom I am not astonished that suitors have been wanting." The prevailing skepticism of the times is well illustrated in a dialogue which Cicero introduces into his first Tusculan Disputation between M, which may be interpreted Marcus, and A, which may be translated Auditor: MARCUS: Tell me, are you not afraid of the three-headed Cerberus in the infernal regions, and the roaring of Cocytus, and the passage over Acheron, and Tantalus, dying with thirst, while water laves his chin, and Sisyphus, "Who sweats with arduous toil in vain The steepy summit of the mount to gain?" Perhaps you are also afraid of the inexorable judges, Minos and Rhadamanthus, because before them neither L. Crassus nor M. Antonius can defend you, and because appearing before Grecian judges, you will not be permitted to employ Demosthenes, but must plead for yourself before a very great crowd. All these things, perhaps, you fear, and therefore regard death as an eternal evil. AUDITOR: Do you think I'm such a fool as to give credence to such things? MARCUS: What! You don't believe in them? AUDITOR: Truly, not in the least. MARCUS: I am deeply pained to hear that. AUDITOR: Why? MARCUS: Because, if occasion had offered, I could very eloquently have denounced them, myself.[150] The contemptuous scorn of the cultivated Romans of his time is frequently revealed in the writings of Cicero. He refers more than once to the famous remark of Cato, who said that he could not explain why the haruspices did not laugh in each other's faces when they began to sacrifice. At this point, it is worthy of observation that the prevalent unbelief was not limited to a simple denial of the existence of mythical divinities and of the efficacy of the worship rendered them. Roman skepticism sought to destroy the very foundation of all religious belief by denying not only the existence of the gods, but also the immortality of the soul. Cicero is said to have been the only great Roman of his time who believed that death was not the end. Students of Sallust are familiar with his account of the conspiracy of Cataline in which it is related that Julius Cæsar, in a speech before the Roman senate, opposed putting the traitor to death because that form of punishment was too mild, since beyond the grave there was neither joy nor sorrow.[151] Antagonism to the doctrine of the immortality of the soul reached a melancholy refinement in the strange contention that life after death was a cruel thought. Pliny expresses this sentiment admirably when he says: What folly it is to renew life after death. Where shall created beings find rest if you suppose that shades in hell and souls in heaven continue to have any feeling? You rob us of man's greatest good--death. Let us rather find in the tranquillity which preceded our existence the pledge of the repose which is to follow it. When skepticism had destroyed their faith in the gods, and had robbed them of the consolations of religion, educated Romans sought refuge and solace in Greek philosophy. Stoicism and Epicureanism were the dominant spiritual and intellectual forces of the Roman empire at the time of Christ. Epicureanism was founded by Epicurus, who was born of an Athenian family in the Island of Samos about 342 B.C. Stoicism originated with Zeno, a native of Cittium in Cyprus, born about the year 340 B.C. The original design of the system of Epicurus was to found a commonwealth of happiness and goodness in opposition to the purely intellectual aristocracy of Plato and Aristotle. Men were beginning to tire of speculation and dialectics, and to long for a philosophy built upon human feeling and sensibility. As a touchstone of truth, it was proposed to substitute sensation for intellect. Whatever was pleasing to the natural and healthful senses was to be taken to be true. The pursuit of happiness was to be the chief aim of the devotees of this system. The avoidance of mental pain and physical suffering, as well as the cultivation of all pleasurable emotions, were to be the leading features of every Epicurean programme. In the beginning, Epicureanism inculcated principles of virtue as a means of happiness. The mode of life of the first followers of Epicurus was simple and abstemious. Barley-bread and water are said to have been their ordinary food and drink. But in time this form of philosophy became identified with the coarsest sensuality and the most wicked lust. This was especially true after it was transplanted from Greece to Italy. The doctrines of this school met with a ready response from the pleasure-seeking, luxury-loving Roman people who were now enriched by the spoils and treasures of a conquered world. "This philosophy therefore became at Rome a mere school of self-indulgence, and lost the refinement which, in Greece, had led it to recognize in virtue that which gave zest to pleasure and in temperance that which prolonged it. It called simply for a continuous round of physical delights; it taught the grossest sensuality; it proclaimed the inanity of goodness and the lawfulness of lust. It was the road--sure, steep and swift, to awful demoralization." Stoicism, on the other hand, furnished spiritual and intellectual food to that nobler class of Romans who were at once the support and ornament of a magnificent but decadent civilization. This form of philosophy was peculiarly consonant with early Roman instincts and habits. In its teachings were perfectly reflected that vigor, austerity, and manly self-reliance which had made the Roman race undisputed masters of the world. Many of its precepts were not only moral and ennobling, but deeply religious and sustaining. A striking kinship between them and certain Christian precepts has been frequently pointed out. Justice, fortitude, prudence, and temperance were the four cardinal virtues of Stoicism. Freedom from all passions and complete simplicity of life, resulting in perfect purity of manners, was its chief aim. But the fundamental principles of both Epicureanism and Stoicism were destructive of those spiritual elements which furnish complete and permanent nourishment to the soul. Stoicism was pantheism, and Epicureanism was materialism. The Stoic believed that the human soul was corporeal, but that it was animated and illuminated by the universal soul. The Epicurean taught that the soul was composed of material atoms, which would perish when its component parts separated or dissolved. Epicureanism was materialistic in its tendency, and its inevitable result, in perverted form, was sensualism. Stoicism was pervaded throughout by a melancholy and desolating fatalism. It was peculiarly the philosophy of suicide; or, as a great French writer once described it, "an apprenticeship for death."[152] To take one's life was not only allowable but commendable in certain cases. Zeno, the founder of the sect, taught that incurable disease was a sufficient excuse for suicide. Marcus Aurelius considered it an obligation of nature and of reason to make an end of life when it became an intolerable burden. "Kill thyself and die erect in the consciousness of thy own strength," would have been a suitable inscription over the doorway of every Stoic temple. Seneca furnished to his countrymen this Stoic panacea for all the ills of life: Seest thou yon steep height, that is the descent to freedom. Seest thou yon sea, yon river, yon well; freedom sits there in the depths. Seest thou yon low withered tree; there freedom hangs. Seest thou thy neck, thy throat, thy heart; they are the ways of escape from bondage. And the Roman philosopher was not only conscientious but consistent in his teachings. He was heroic enough to take the medicine himself which he had prescribed for others. Indeed, he took a double dose; for he not only swallowed poison, but also opened his veins, and thus committed suicide, as other Stoics--such as Zeno, Cleanthes and Cato--had done before him. It was not a problem of the Stoic philosophy, Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?[153] A familiar illustration of the advocates of suicide among the Roman writers was that a human body afflicted with incurable disease, or a human mind weighed down with intolerable grief, was like a house filled with smoke. As it was the duty of the occupant of the house to escape from the smoke by flight, so it was the duty of the soul to leave the body by suicide. But neither Epicureanism nor Stoicism could satisfy the natural longing of the soul for that which is above the earth and beyond the grave. It was impossible that philosophy should completely displace religion. The spiritual nature of the Roman people was still intact and vigorous after belief in myths was dead. As a substitute for their ancient faith and as a supplement to philosophy, they began to deify their illustrious men and women. The apotheosis of the emperors was the natural result of the progressive degradation of the Roman religion. The deification of Julius Cæsar was the beginning of this servile form of worship; and the apotheosis of Diocletian was the fifty-third of these solemn canonizations. Of this number, fifteen were those of princesses belonging to the imperial family. Divine honors began to be paid to Cæsar before he was dead. The anniversary of his birth became a national holiday; his bust was placed in the temple, and a month of the year was named for him. After his assassination, he was worshiped as a god under the name of Divus Julius; and sacrifices were offered upon his altar. After Julius Cæsar, followed the deification of Augustus Cæsar. Even before his death, Octavian had consented to be worshiped in the provinces, especially in Nicomedia and Pergamus. After his death, his worship was introduced into Rome and Italy. The act of canonizing a dead emperor was accomplished by a vote of the senate, followed by a solemn ceremony, in which an eagle was released at the funeral pile, and soaring upward, became a symbol of the ascent of the deceased to the skies. A Roman senator, Numerius Atticus, swore that he had seen Augustus ascending to heaven at the time of his consecration; and received from Livia a valuable gift of money as a token of her appreciation of his kindness. Not only were grand and gifted men like Julius and Augustus Cæsar, but despicable and contemptible tyrants like Nero and Commodus, raised to the rank of immortals. And, not content with making gods of emperors, the Romans made goddesses of their royal women. Caligula had lived in incestuous intercourse with his sister Drusilla; nevertheless, he had her immortalized and worshiped as a divine being. This same Caligula who was a monster of depravity, insisted on being worshiped as a god in the flesh throughout the Roman empire, although the custom had been not to deify emperors until after they were dead. The cowardly and obsequious Roman senate decreed him a temple in Rome. The royal rascal erected another to himself, and appointed his own private priests and priestesses, among whom were his uncle Claudius, and the Cæsonia who afterwards became his wife. This temple and its ministry were maintained at an enormous expense. Only the rarest and most costly birds like peacocks and pheasants, were allowed to be sacrificed to him. Such was the impious conceit of Caligula that he requested the Asiatics of Miletus to convert a temple of Apollo into a shrine sacred to himself. Some of the noblest statuary of antiquity was mutilated in displacing the heads of gods to make places for the head of this wicked monster. A mighty descent this, indeed, from the Olympian Zeus of Phidias to a bust of Caligula! Domitian, after his deification, had himself styled "Lord and God," in all documents, and required all his subjects to so address him. Pliny tells us that the roads leading into Rome were constantly filled with flocks and herds being driven to the Capital to be sacrificed upon his altar.[154] The natural and inevitable result of the decay of the Roman religion was the corruption and demoralization of Roman social life. All experience teaches that an assault upon a people's religious system is an assault upon the entire social and moral organization. Every student of history knows that a nation will be prosperous and happy to the extent that it is religiously intelligent, and in proportion to its loyalty to the laws of social virtue, to the laws of good government, and the laws of God; and that an abandonment of its gods means the wreck and dissolution of its entire social structure. The annals of Rome furnish a striking confirmation of this fact. The closing pages of this chapter will be devoted to a short topical review of Roman society at the time of Christ. Only a few phases of the subject can be presented in a work of this character. II.--GRÆCO-ROMAN SOCIAL LIFE _Marriage and Divorce._--The family is the unit of the social system; and at the hearthstone all civilization begins. The loosening of the domestic ties is the beginning of the dissolution of the state; and whatever weakens the nuptial bonds, tends to destroy the moral fiber of society. The degradation of women and the destruction of domestic purity were the first signs of decay in Roman life. In the early ages of the republic, marriage was regarded not only as a contract, but as a sacrament as well. Connubial fidelity was sacredly maintained. Matrons of the type of Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, were objects of national pride and affection. The spirit of desperation which caused the father of Virginia to plunge a butcher's knife into the chaste and innocent heart of his child to save her from the lust of Appius Claudius, was a tragic illustration of the almost universal Roman respect for virtue in the age of the Tarquins. To such an extent were the marital relations venerated by the early Romans that we are assured by Dionysius that five hundred and twenty years had passed before a single divorce was granted. Carvilius Ruga, the name of the first Roman to procure a divorce, has been handed down to us.[155] If we are to believe Döllinger, the abandonment of the policy of lifelong devotion to the marriage relation and the inauguration of the system of divorce were due not to the faults of the men but to the dangerous and licentious qualities of the Roman women. In connection with the divorce of Carvilius Ruga, he discusses a widespread conspiracy of Roman wives to poison their husbands. Several of these husbands fell victims to this plot; and, as punishment for the crime, twenty married women were forced to take the poison which they had themselves prepared, and were thus put to death. And, about a half century after this divorce, several wives of distinguished Romans were discovered to be participants in the bacchanalian orgies. From all these things, Döllinger infers that the Roman men began to tire of their wives and to seek legal separation from them.[156] But, whatever the cause, the marriage tie was so easily severed during the latter years of the republic, that divorce was granted on the slightest pretext. Q. Antistius Vetus divorced his wife because she was talking familiarly and confidentially to one of his freedmen. The wife of C. Sulpicius imprudently entered the street without a veil, and her husband secured a divorce on that ground. P. Sempronius Sophus put away his wife for going to the theater without his knowledge. Cicero divorced his first wife that he might marry a younger and wealthier woman; and because this second one did not exhibit sufficient sorrow at the death of his daughter, Tullia, he repudiated her. Cato, the stern Stoic moralist, was several times divorced. To accommodate his friend Hortensius he gave him his second wife Marcia, with her father's consent; and, after the death of the orator, he remarried her. After being several times previously divorced, Pompey put away Mucia in order that he might wed Julia, Cæsar's daughter, who was young enough to be the child of Pompey. Cæsar himself was five times married. He divorced his wife, Pompeia, because of her relationship to Clodius, a dashing and dissolute young Roman, who entered Cæsar's house on the occasion of the celebration of the feast of the Bona Dea in a woman's dress, in order that he might pay clandestine suit to the object of his lust. Cæsar professed to believe that the charges against Pompeia were not true, but he divorced her nevertheless, with the remark that "Cæsar's wife must be above suspicion." We are reminded by this that, in ancient as in modern times, society placed greater restrictions upon women than upon men; for Cæsar, who uttered this virtuous and heroic sentiment, was a most notorious rake and profligate. Suetonius tells us that he debauched many Roman ladies of the first rank; among them "Lollia, the wife of Aulus Gabinius; Tertulla, the wife of Marcus Crassus; and Mucia, the wife of Cneius Pompey." It was frequently made a reproach to Pompey, "that to gratify his ambition, he married the daughter of a man upon whose account he had divorced his wife, after having had three children by her; and whom he used, with a deep sigh, to call Ægisthus." But the favorite mistress of Cæsar was Servilia, the mother of Marcus Brutus. To consummate an intrigue with her, he gave Servilia a pearl which cost him six millions of sesterces. And at the time of the civil war he had deeded to her for a trifling consideration, several valuable farms. When people expressed surprise at the lowness of the price, Cicero humorously remarked: "To let you know the real value of the purchase, between ourselves, Tertia was deducted." It was generally suspected at Rome that Servilia had prostituted her daughter Tertia to Cæsar; and the witticism of the orator was a _double entendre_, Tertia signifying the third (of the value of the farm), as well as being the name of the girl, whose virtue had paid the price of the deduction. Cæsar's lewdness was so flagrant and notorious that his soldiers marching behind his chariot, on the occasion of his Gallic triumph, shouted in ribald jest, to the multitude along the way: Watch well your wives, ye cits, we bring a blade, A bald-pate master of the wenching trade.[157] If this was the private life of the greatest Roman of the world, who, at the time of his death, was Pontifex Maximus, the supreme head of the Roman religion, what must have been the social life of the average citizen who delighted to style Cæsar the demigod while living and to worship him as divine, when dead? A thorough knowledge of the details of the most corrupt and abandoned state of society recorded in history may be had by a perusal of the Annals of Tacitus and the Satires of Juvenal. The Sixth Satire is a withering arraignment of Roman profligacy and wickedness. "To see the world in its worst estate," says Professor Jowett, "we turn to the age of the satirists and of Tacitus, when all the different streams of evil, coming from east, west, north, south, the vices of barbarism and the vices of civilization, remnants of ancient cults, and the latest refinements of luxury and impurity, met and mingled on the banks of the Tiber." Rome was the heart of the empire that pumped its filthy blood from the center to the extremities, and received from the provinces a return current of immorality and corruption. Juvenal complains that Long since the stream that wanton Syria laves, Has disembogued its filth in Tiber's waves. Grecian literature and manners were the main cause of Roman dissoluteness. The grandfather of Cicero is said to have made this declaration: "A Roman's wickedness increases in proportion to his acquaintance with Greek authors." It is undeniably true that the domestic immorality of the Greeks exercised a most baneful influence upon the social life of the Romans. Both at Athens and in Sparta marriage was regarded as the means to an end, the procreation of children as worshipers of the gods and citizens of the state. In this fundamental purpose were involved, the Greeks believed, the mission and the destiny of woman. Marriage was not so much a sacred institution, as it was a convenient arrangement whereby property rights were regulated and soldiers were provided for the army and the navy. This view was entertained by both the Athenians and the Spartans. The code of Lycurgus regulated the family relations to the end that healthy, vigorous children might be born to a military commonwealth. The Spartan maidens were required to exercise in the palestra, almost naked, in the presence of men and strangers. And so loose and extravagant were the ideas of conjugal fidelity among the Spartans that it was not regarded as an improper thing to borrow another man's wife for the purpose of procreating children, if there had already been born to the legitimate husband all the children that he desired. This we learn from Xenophon[158] and from Polybius,[159] who assure us that it often happened that as many as four Spartans had one woman, in common, for a wife. "Already in the time of Socrates, the wives of Sparta had reached the height of disrepute for their wantonness throughout the whole of Greece; Aristotle says that they lived in unbridled licentiousness; and, indeed, it is a distinctive feature in the female character there, that publicly and shamelessly they would speed a well-known seducer of a woman of rank by wishing him success, and charging him to think only of endowing Sparta with brave boys."[160] [Illustration: AVE CÆSAR! IO SATURNALIA (ALMA-TADEMA)] At Athens the principle was the same, even if the gratification of lust was surrounded with a halo of poetry and sentiment which the Spartan imagination was incapable of creating. The Athenians were guilty of a strange perversion of the social instincts by placing a higher appreciation upon the charms of a certain class of lewd women that they did upon the virtuous merits of their own wives and mothers. These latter were kept in retirement and denied the highest educational advantages; while the former, the Hetairai, beautiful and brilliant courtesans, destined for the pleasure and entertainment of illustrious men, were accorded the utmost freedom, as well as all the advantages of culture in the arts and sciences. Demosthenes has classified the women of ancient Athens in this sentence: "We have Hetairai for our pleasure, concubines for the ordinary requirements of the body, and wives for the procreation of lawful issue and as confidential domestic guardians." The most renowned of the Hetairai was Aspasia, the mistress of Pericles. She was exceedingly beautiful and brilliantly accomplished. At her house in Athens, poets, philosophers, statesmen, and sculptors frequently gathered to do her honor. Pericles is said to have wept only three times in life; and one of these was when he defended Aspasia before the dicastery of Athens against the charge of impiety. Another of the Hetairai scarcely less famous than Aspasia was the celebrated Athenian courtesan, Phryne. Praxiteles, the sculptor, was one of her adorers. She, too, was tried for impiety before the dicastery. Hiperides, the Attic orator, defended her. To create a favorable impression upon the court, he bade her reveal her bosom to the judges. She did so, and was acquitted. So great was the veneration in which Phryne was held that it was considered no profanation to place her image in the sacred temple at Delphi. And so overwhelming was her beauty, that her statues were identified with the Aphrodite of Apelles and the Cnidian goddess of Praxiteles. At Eleusis, on the occasion of a national festival, she impersonated Venus by entering naked into the waves, in the presence of spectators from all the cities of Greece. She is said to have amassed such a fortune that she felt justified in offering to build the walls of Thebes. Such was the esteem in which these elegant harlots were held, that we find recorded among their patrons on the pages of Greek history the names of Pericles, Demades, Lysias, Demosthenes, Isocrates, Aristotle, Aristippus, and Epicurus. So little odium attached to the occupation of this class of women that we read that Socrates frequently paid visits to one of them named Theodota and advised her as to the best method of gaining "friends" and keeping them.[161] As the sculptors did not hesitate to carve the images of the Hetairai in marble and give them the names of the goddesses of Olympus, so the poets, orators, and historians did not fail to immortalize them in their poems, orations, and annals. Greek statuary and literature were then transported to Italy to corrupt Roman manners. It was not long before adultery and seduction had completely poisoned and polluted every fountain of Roman private life. "Liaisons in the first houses," says Mommsen, "had become so frequent, that only a scandal altogether exceptional could make them the subject of special talk; a judicial interference seems now almost ridiculous." Roman women of patrician rank, not content with noblemen as lovers, sought out "lewd fellows of the baser sort" among slaves and gladiators, as companions of corrupt intrigues. Juvenal, in his Sixth Satire, paints a horrible picture of social depravity when he describes the lewdness of Messalina, the wife of Claudius I. This woman, the wife of an emperor, and the mother of the princely Britannicus, descends from the imperial bed, in the company of a single female slave, at the dead of night, to a common Roman brothel, assumes the name Lycisca, and submits to the embraces of the coarsest Roman debauchees. The degradation of women was not peculiar to the Capital of the empire, but extended to every province. Social impurity was rankest in the East, but it was present everywhere. Virtue seemed to have left the earth, and Vice had taken her place as the supreme mistress of the world. _Luxury and Extravagance._--At the birth of Christ, the frontiers of the Roman empire comprised all the territory of the then civilized world. In extending her conquests, Rome laid heavy tribute upon conquered nations. All the wealth of the earth flowed into her coffers. The result was unexampled luxury and extravagance. A single illustration will serve to show the mode of life of the wealthy Roman citizen of the time of which we write. Lucullus, the lieutenant of Sulla, and the friend of Cicero and Pompey, had amassed enormous wealth in the Mithradatic wars. This fortune he employed to inaugurate and maintain a style of social life whose splendor and extravagance were the astonishment and scandal of his age and race. The meals served upon his table, even when no guests were present, were marked by all the taste, elegance, and completeness of a banquet. On one occasion, when he happened to dine alone, the table was not arranged with the ordinary fullness and splendor; whereupon he made complaint to the servants, who replied that they did not think it necessary to prepare so completely when he was alone. "What! did you not know that Lucullus would dine with Lucullus?" was his answer. At another time, Cicero and Pompey met him in the Forum and requested that he take them with him to dine, as they desired to learn how his table was spread when no visitors were expected. Lucullus was embarrassed for a moment; but soon regained his composure, and replied that he would be delighted to have such distinguished Romans dine with him, but that he would like to have a day for preparation. They refused this request, however; nor would they consent that he send directions to his servants, as they desired to see how meals were served in his home when no guests were there. Lucullus then requested Cicero and Pompey to permit him to tell his servants, in their presence, in what room the repast should be served. They consented to this; and Lucullus then directed that the Hall of Apollo should be arranged for the dinner. Now the dining rooms in the home of Lucullus were graded in price; and it was only necessary to designate the room in order to notify the servants of the style and costliness of the entertainment desired. The Hall of Apollo called for an expenditure, at each meal, of fifty thousand drachmas, the equivalent of $10,000 in our money. And when Cicero and Pompey sat down at the table of Lucullus a few hours later, the decorations of the room and the feast spread before them, offered a spectacle of indescribable beauty and luxury. The epicure had outwitted the orator and the general. Other anecdotes related by Plutarch also illustrate the luxurious life of Lucullus. Once when Pompey was sick, his physician prescribed a thrush for his meal; whereupon Pompey's servants notified him that a thrush could not be secured in Italy during the summer time, except in the fattening coops of Lucullus. Cato despised the luxurious habits of Lucullus; and, on one occasion, when a young man was extolling the beauties of frugality and temperance in a speech before the senate, the Stoic interrupted him by asking: "How long do you mean to go on making money like Crassus, living like Lucullus and talking like Cato?"[162] Lucullus was not the only Roman of his day who spent fabulous sums of money in luxurious living and in building palatial residences. M. Lepidus, who was elected Consul in 87 B.C., erected the most magnificent private edifice ever seen in Rome. But the culmination of magnificence in Roman architecture was the Golden House of Nero. Its walls were covered with gold and studded with precious stones. The banquet rooms were decorated with gorgeous ceilings, and were so constructed that from them flowers and perfumes could be showered from above on the guests below. Concerning the luxurious life of the later days of the republic, Mommsen says: "Extravagant prices, as much as one hundred thousand sesterces (£1,000) were paid for an exquisite cook. Houses were constructed with special reference to this subject.... A dinner was already described as poor at which the fowls were served up to the guests entire, and not merely the choice portions.... At banquets, above all, the Romans displayed their hosts of slaves ministering to luxury, their bands of musicians, their dancing-girls, their elegant furniture, their carpets glittering with gold, or pictorially embroidered, their rich silver plate."[163] But the luxury and extravagance of the Romans were nowhere so manifest as in their public bathing establishments. "The magnificence of many of the thermæ and their luxurious arrangements were such that some writers, as Seneca, are quite lost in their descriptions of them. The piscinæ were often of immense size--that of Diocletian being 200 feet long--and were adorned with beautiful marbles. The halls were crowded with magnificent columns, and were ornamented with the finest pieces of statuary. The walls, it has been said, were covered with exquisite mosaics that imitated the art of the painter in their elegance of design and variety of color. The Egyptian syenite was encrusted with the precious green marbles of Numidia. The rooms contained the works of Phidias and Praxiteles. A perpetual stream of water was poured into capacious basins through the wide mouths of lions of bright and polished silver. 'To such a pitch of luxury have we reached,' says Seneca, 'that we are dissatisfied if we do not tread on gems in our baths.'"[164] The circuses were scarcely inferior to the baths in magnificence. Caligula is said to have strewn them with gold dust. The result of Roman luxury in the matter of food and drink was a coarse and loathsome gluttony which finds no parallel in modern life. Epicureanism had degenerated from barley-bread and water to the costliest diet ever known. Wealthy Romans of the age of Augustus did not hesitate to pay two hundred and fifty dollars for a single fish--the mullet. And that they might indulge their appetite to the fullest extent, and prolong the pleasures of eating beyond the requirements and even the capacity of nature, they were in the habit of taking an emetic at meal times. We learn from the letters of Cicero that Julius Cæsar did this on one occasion when he went to visit the orator at his country villa. And the degeneracy of Roman life is nowhere more clearly indicated than in the Fourth Satire of Juvenal where he describes the gathering of the great men of the state, at the call of Domitian, to determine how a turbot should be cooked. But the reader must not infer that all Romans were rich and that luxury was indulged in every home. In the Roman capital the extremes of wealth and poverty met. The city was filled with idlers, vagabonds and paupers from all quarters of the globe. In the early days of the Republic, sturdy farmers had tilled the soil of Italy and had filled the legions with brave and hardy warriors. The beginning of the empire witnessed a radical change. Hundreds of thousands of these farmers had been driven from their lands to furnish homes to the disbanded soldiers of conquerors like Sulla, Marius, and Cæsar. Homeless and poverty-stricken, they wandered away to Rome to swell the ranks of mendicants and adventurers that crowded the streets of the imperial city. The soldiers themselves, finding agriculture distasteful and unprofitable, sold their lands to Roman speculators, and returned to the scene of the triumphs of their military masters. The inevitable consequence of this influx of strangers and foreigners, without wealth and without employment, was the degradation and demoralization of Roman social and industrial life. Augustus was compelled to make annual donations of money and provisions to 200,000 persons who wandered helpless about the streets. This state of things--fabulous wealth in the hands of a few, and abject poverty as the lot of millions--was the harbinger sure and swift of the destruction of the state. _Slavery._--At the beginning of the Christian era, slavery existed in every province of the Roman empire. Nearly everywhere the number of slaves was much greater than that of the free citizens. In Attica, according to the census of Demetrius Phalereus, about the beginning of the fourth century B.C., there were 400,000 slaves, 10,000 foreign settlers, and 20,000 free citizens. Zumpt estimates that there were two slaves to every freeman in Rome in the year 5 B.C. It frequently happened that a wealthy Roman possessed as many as 20,000 slaves. Slaves who gained their freedom might themselves become masters and own slaves. During the reign of Augustus, a freedman died, leaving 4,116 slaves. Crassus possessed so many that his company of architects and carpenters alone exceeded 500 in number. The principal slave markets of Greece were those at Athens, Ephesus, Cyprus, and Samos. In the market place of each of these cities, slaves were exposed for sale upon wooden scaffolds. From the neck of each was hung a tablet or placard containing a description of his or her meritorious qualities, such as parentage, educational advantages, health and freedom from physical defects. They were required to strip themselves at the request of purchasers. In this way, the qualifications of slaves for certain purposes could be accurately judged. The vigorous, large-limbed Cappadocians, for instance, like our modern draft horses, were selected for their strength and their ability to lift heavy loads and endure long-continued work. The property of the master in the slave was absolute. The owner might kill or torture his slave at will. Neither the government nor any individual could bring him to account for it. Roman law compelled female slaves to surrender themselves, against their will, to their master's lust. All the coarseness and brutality of the haughty, arrogant, and merciless Roman disposition were manifested in the treatment of their slaves. Nowhere do we find any mercy or humanity shown them. On the farms they worked with chains about their limbs during the day; and at night they were lodged in the _ergastula_--subterranean apartments, badly lighted and poorly ventilated. The most cruel punishment awaited the slave who attempted to escape. The _fugitavarii_--professional slave chasers--ran him down, branded him on the forehead, and brought him back to his master. If the master was very rich, or cared little for the life of the slave, he usually commanded him to be thrown, as a punishment for his attempt to flee, to the wild beasts in the amphitheater. This cruel treatment was not exceptional, but was ordinary. Cato, the paragon among the Stoics, was so merciless in his dealings with his slaves that one of them committed suicide rather than await the hour of punishment for some transgression of which he was guilty.[165] It frequently happened that the slaves had knowledge of crimes committed by their masters. In such cases they were fortunate if they escaped death, as the probability of their becoming witnesses against their masters offered every inducement to put them out of the way. In his defense of Cluentius, Cicero speaks of a slave who had his tongue cut out to prevent his betraying his mistress.[166] If a slave murdered his master, all his fellow-slaves under the same roof were held responsible for the deed. Thus four hundred slaves were put to death for the act of one who assassinated Pedanius Secundus, during the reign of Nero.[167] Augustus had his steward, Eros, crucified on the mast of his ship because the slave had roasted and eaten a quail that had been trained for the royal quail-pit. Once a slave was flung to the fishes because he had broken a crystal goblet.[168] On another occasion, a slave was compelled to march around a banquet table, in the presence of the guests, with his hands, which had been cut off, hanging from his neck, because he had stolen some trifling article of silverware. Cicero, in his prosecution of Verres, recites an instance of mean and cowardly cruelty toward a slave. "At the time," he says, "in which L. Domitius was prætor in Sicily, a slave killed a wild boar of extraordinary size. The prætor, struck by the dexterity and courage of the man, desired to see him. The poor wretch, highly gratified with the distinction, came to present himself before the prætor, in hopes, no doubt, of praise and reward; but Domitius, on learning that he had only a javelin to attack and kill the boar, ordered him to be instantly crucified, under the barbarous pretext that the law prohibited the use of this weapon, as of all others, to slaves." The natural consequence of this cruel treatment was unbounded hatred of the master by the slave. "We have as many enemies," says Seneca, "as we have slaves." And what rendered the situation perilous was the numerical superiority of the slave over the free population. "They multiply at an immense rate," says Tacitus, "whilst freemen diminish in equal proportion." Pliny the Younger gave expression to the universal apprehension when he wrote: "By what dangers we are beset! No one is safe; not even the most indulgent, gentlest master." Precautionary measures were adopted from time to time both by individuals and by the government to prevent concerted action among the slaves and to conceal from them all evidences of their own strength. To keep down mutiny among his slaves, Cato is said to have constantly excited dissension and enmity among them. "It was once proposed," says Gibbon, "to discriminate the slaves by a peculiar habit; but it was justly apprehended that there might be some danger in acquainting them with their own numbers."[169] If the Roman masters maltreated and destroyed the bodies of their slaves, the slaves retaliated by corrupting and destroying the morals of their masters. The institution of slavery was one of the most potent agencies in the demoralization of ancient Roman manners. The education of children was generally confided to the slaves, who did not fail to poison their minds and hearts in many ways. In debauching their female slaves, the Roman masters polluted their own morals and corrupted their own manhood. The result teaches us that the law of physics is the law of morals: that action and reaction are equal, but in opposite directions. _Destruction of New-Born Infants._--The destruction of new-born children was the deepest stain upon the civilization of the ancient Greeks and Romans. In obedience to a provision of the code of Lycurgus, every Spartan child was exhibited immediately after birth to public view; and, if it was found to be deformed and weakly, so that it was unfit to grow into a strong and healthy citizen of the Spartan military commonwealth, it was exposed to perish on Mount Taygetus. The practice of exposing infants was even more arbitrary and cruel in Rome than in Greece. The Roman father was bound by no limitations; but could cast his offspring away to die, through pure caprice. Paulus, the celebrated jurist of the imperial period, admitted that this was a paternal privilege. Suetonius tells us that the day of the death of Germanicus, which took place A.D. 19, was signalized by the exposition of children who were born on that day.[170] This was done as a manifestation of general sorrow. The emperor Augustus banished his granddaughter Julia on account of her lewdness and licentiousness, as he had done in the case of his daughter, Julia. In exile, she gave birth to a child which Augustus caused to be exposed. It often happened that new-born babes that had been cast away to die of cold and hunger or to be devoured by dogs or wild beasts were rescued by miscreants who brought them up to devote them to evil purposes. The male children were destined to become gladiators, and the females were sold to houses of prostitution. Often such children were picked up by those who disfigured and deformed them for the purpose of associating them with themselves as beggars. The custom of exposing infants was born of the spirit of fierceness and barbarity that characterized many ancient races. Its direct tendency was to make savages of men by destroying those tender and humane feelings for the weak and helpless which have been the most marked attributes of modern civilizations. Occasionally in our day one hears or reads of a proposition by some pseudo-philanthropist that the good of the race demands the destruction of certain persons--deformed infants, imbecile adults and the like. But the humanity of the age invariably frowns upon such proposals. The benign and merciful features of our Christian creed would be outraged by such a practice. _Gladiatorial Games._--The combats of gladiators were the culmination of Roman barbarity and brutality. All the devotees of vice and crime met and mingled at the arena, and derived strength and inspiration from its bloody scenes. The gatherings in the amphitheater were miniatures of Roman life. There, political matters were discussed and questions of state determined, as was once the case in the public assemblies of the people. Now that the gates of Janus were closed for the third time in Roman history, the combats of the arena took the place, on a diminutive scale, of those battles by which Romans had conquered the world. The processions of the gladiators reminded the enthusiastic populace of the triumphal entries of their conquerors into the Roman capital. Nothing so glutted the appetite and quenched the thirst of a cruel and licentious race as the gorgeous ceremonials and bloody butchery of the gladiatorial shows. These contests, strange to say, first took place at funerals, and were intended to honor the dead. In 264 B.C., at the burial of D. Junius Brutus, we are told, three pairs of gladiators fought in the cattle market. Again, in 216 B.C., at the obsequies of M. Æmilius Lepidus, twenty-two pairs engaged in combat in the Forum. And, in 174 B.C., on the death of his father, Titus Flaminius caused seventy-four pairs to fight for three days.[171] It will thus be seen that the death of one Roman generally called for that of several others. In time, the fondness of these contests had grown so great that generals and statesmen arranged them on a gigantic scale as a means of winning the favor and support of the multitude. The Roman proletariat demanded not only bread to satisfy their hunger, but games to amuse them in their hours of idleness. Augustus not only gave money and rations to 200,000 idlers, but inaugurated gladiatorial shows in which 10,000 combatants fought. Not only men but wild beasts were brought into the arena. Pompey arranged a fight of 500 lions, 18 elephants and 410 other ferocious animals, brought from Africa. In a chase arranged by Augustus, A.D. 5, 36 crocodiles were killed in the Flaminian circus, which was flooded for the purpose. Caligula brought 400 bears into the arena to fight with an equal number of African wild animals. But all previous shows were surpassed in the magnificent games instituted by Trajan, A.D. 106, to celebrate his victories on the Danube. These games lasted four months; and, in them, 10,000 gladiators fought, and 11,000 beasts were slain. Such was the thirst for blood, and to such a pitch had the fury of the passions reached at the beginning of the empire that Romans were no longer satisfied with small fights by single pairs. They began to demand regular battles and a larger flow of blood. And to please the populace, Julius Cæsar celebrated his triumph by a real battle in the circus. On each side were arrayed 500 foot soldiers, 300 cavalrymen, and 20 elephants bearing soldiers in towers upon their backs. This was no mimic fray, but an actual battle in which blood was shed and men were killed. To vary the entertainment, Cæsar also arranged a sea fight. He caused a lake to be dug out on Mars Field, and placed battleships upon it which represented Tyrian and Egyptian fleets. These he caused to be manned by a thousand soldiers and 2,000 oarsmen. A bloody fight then ensued between men who had no other motive in killing each other than to furnish a Roman holiday. Augustus also arranged a sea fight upon an artificial lake where 3,000 men were engaged. But both these battles were eclipsed by the great sea fight which the emperor Claudius caused to be fought on Lake Fucinus, in the presence of a great multitude that lined the shore. Nineteen thousand men engaged in the bloody struggle. On an eminence overlooking the lake, the Empress Agrippina, in gorgeous costume, sat by the side of the emperor and watched the battle. Announcement of gladiatorial fights in the amphitheater was made by posters on the walls of the city. In these advertisements, the number and names of the fighters were announced. On the day of the performance a solemn procession of gladiators, walking in couples, passed through the streets to the arena. The arrangements of the building and the manner of the fights were so ordered as to arouse to the highest pitch of excitement the passions and expectations of the spectators. The citizens were required to wear the white toga. The lower rows of seats were occupied by senators, in whose midst were the boxes occupied by the imperial family. The equestrian order occupied places immediately above the senators. The citizens were seated next after the equestrians, and in the top-most rows, on benches, were gathered the Roman rabble. An immense party-colored awning, stretched above the multitude, reflected into the arena its variegated hues. Strains of music filled the air while preparations for the combat were being made. The atmosphere of the amphitheater was kept cool and fragrant by frequent sprays of perfume. The regular combat was preceded by a mock fight with blunt weapons. Then followed arrangements for the life-and-death struggle. The manager of the games finally gave the command, and the fight was on. When one of the gladiators was wounded, the words "hoc habet" were shouted. The wounded man fell to the earth, dropped his weapon, and, holding up his forefinger, begged his life from the people. If mercy was refused him, he was compelled to renew the combat or to submit to the death stroke of his antagonist. Attendants were at hand with hot irons to apply to the victim to see that death was not simulated. If life was not extinct, the fallen gladiator was dragged out to the dead room, and there dispatched. Servants then ran into the arena and scattered sand over the blood-drenched ground. Other fighters standing in readiness, immediately rushed in to renew the contest. Thus the fight went on until the Roman populace was glutted with butchery and blood. Gladiators were chosen from the strongest and most athletic among slaves and condemned criminals. Thracians, Gauls, and Germans were captured and enslaved for the purpose of being sacrificed in the arena. They were trained with the greatest care in gladiatorial schools. The most famous of these institutions was at Capua in Italy. It was here that Spartacus, a young Thracian, of noble ancestry, excited an insurrection that soon spread throughout all Italy and threatened the destruction of Rome. Addressing himself to seventy of his fellow-gladiators, Spartacus is said to have made a bitter and impassioned speech in which he proposed that, if they must die, they should die fighting their enemies and not themselves; that, if they were to engage in bloody battles, these battles should be fought under the open sky in behalf of life and liberty, and not in the amphitheater to furnish pastime and entertainment to their masters and oppressors. The speech had its effect. The band of fighters broke out of Capua, and took refuge in the crater of Mount Vesuvius (73 B.C.). Spartacus became the leader, with Crixus and Oenomaus, two Celtic gladiators, as lieutenants. Their ranks soon swelled to the proportions of an army, through accessions of slaves and desperadoes from the neighborhood of the volcano. During two years, they terrorized all Italy, defeated two consuls, and burned many cities. Crixus was defeated and killed at Mount Gargarus in Apulia by the prætor Arrius. Spartacus compelled three hundred Roman prisoners, whom he had captured, to fight as gladiators, following Roman custom, at the grave of his fallen comrade and lieutenant. Finally, he himself was slain, sword in hand, having killed two centurions before he fell. With the death of their leaders, the insurgents either surrendered or fled. Those who were captured were crucified. It is said that the entire way from Capua to Rome was marked by crosses on which their bodies were suspended, to the number of ten thousand.[172] Throughout Italy were amphitheaters for gladiatorial games. But the largest and most celebrated of all was the Coliseum at Rome. Its ruins are still standing. It was originally called the Flavian Amphitheater. This vast building was begun A.D. 72, upon the site of the reservoir of Nero, by the emperor Vespasian, who built as far as the third row of arches, the last two rows being finished by Titus after his return from the conquest of Jerusalem. It is said that twelve thousand captive Jews were employed in this work, as the Hebrews were employed in building the Pyramids of Egypt, and that the external walls alone cost nearly four millions of dollars. It consists of four stories: the first, Doric; the second, Ionic; the third and fourth, Corinthian. Its circumference is nearly two thousand feet; its length, six hundred and twenty feet; and its width, five hundred and thirteen. The entrance for the emperor was between two arches facing the Esquiline, where there was no cornice. The arena was surrounded by a wall sufficiently high to protect the spectators from the wild beasts, which were introduced by subterranean passages, closed by huge gates from the side. The Amphitheater is said to have been capable of seating eighty-seven thousand people, and was inaugurated by gladiatorial games that lasted one hundred days, and in which five thousand beasts were slain. The emperor Commodus himself fought in the Coliseum, and killed both gladiators and wild beasts. He insisted on calling himself Hercules, was dressed in a lion's skin, and had his hair sprinkled with gold dust. [Illustration: THE DYING GLADIATOR (ANTIQUE SCULPTURE)] An oriental monk, Talemachus, was so horrified at the sight of the gladiatorial games, that he rushed into the midst of the arena, and besought the spectators to have them stopped. Instead of listening to him, they put him to death. The first martyrdom in the Coliseum was that of St. Ignatius, said to have been the child especially blessed by our Savior, the disciple of John, and the companion of Polycarp, who was sent to Rome from Antioch when he was bishop. When brought into the arena, St. Ignatius knelt down and exclaimed: "Romans who are here present, know that I have not been brought into this place for any crime, but in order that by this means I may merit the fruition of the glory of God, for love of whom I have been made a prisoner. I am as the grain of the field and must be ground by the teeth of the lions that I may become bread fit for His table." The lions were then let loose, and devoured him, except the larger bones which the Christians collected during the night. The spot where the Christian martyrs suffered was for a long time marked by a tall cross devoutly kissed by the faithful. The Pulpit of the Coliseum was used for the stormy sermons of Gavazzi, who called the people to arms from thence in the Revolution of March, 1848. _Græco-Roman Social Depravity, Born of Religion and Traceable to the Gods._--The modern mind identifies true religion with perfect purity of heart and with boundless love. "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you" is the leading aphorism of both the Hebrew and Christian faiths. The Sermon on the Mount is the chart of the soul on the sea of life; and its beatitudes are the glorifications of the virtues of meekness, mercy, and peace. To the mind imbued with the divine precepts of the Savior, it seems incredible that religion should have ever been the direct source of crime and sin. It is, nevertheless, a well-established fact that the Roman and Greek mythologies were the potent causes of political corruption and social impurity in both Italy and Greece. Nothing better illustrates this truth than the abominable practice that found its inspiration and excuse in the myth of the rape of Ganymede. The guilty passion of Zeus for the beautiful boy whom he, himself, in the form of an eagle, had snatched up from earth and carried away to Olympus to devote to shameful and unnatural uses, was the foundation, in Greece, of the most loathsome habit that ever disgraced the conduct of men. Passionate fondness for beautiful boys, called paiderastia in Greek, termed sodomy in modern criminal law, was the curse and infamy of both Roman and Grecian life. This unnatural vice was not confined to the vulgar and degenerate. Men of letters, poets, statesmen and philosophers, debased themselves with this form of pollution. It was even legalized by the laws of Crete and Sparta. Polybius tells us that many Romans paid as much as a talent ($1,000) for a beautifully formed youth. This strange perversion of the sexual instincts was marked by all the tenderness and sweetness of a modern courtship or a honeymoon. The victim of this degrading and disgusting passion treated the beautiful boy with all the delicacy and feeling generally paid a newly wedded wife. Kisses and caresses were at times showered upon him. At other times, he became an object of insane jealousy. An obscene couplet in Suetonius attributes this filthy habit to Julius Cæsar in the matter of an abominable relationship with the King of Bithynia.[173] "So strong was the influence of the prevalent epidemic on Plato, that he had lost all sense of the love of women, and in his descriptions of Eros, divine as well as human, his thoughts were centered only in his boy passion. The result in Greece confessedly was that the inclination for a woman was looked upon as low and dishonorable, while that for a youth was the only one worthy of a man of education."[174] A moment's reflection will convince the most skeptical of the progress of morality and the advance of civilization. That which philosophers and emperors not only approved but practiced in the palmiest days of the commonwealths of Greece and Rome, is to-day penalized; and the person guilty of the offense is socially ostracized and branded with infamy and contempt. The above is only one of many illustrations of the demoralizing influence of the myths. The Greeks looked to the gods as models of behavior, and could see nothing wrong in paiderastia, since both Zeus and Apollo had practiced it. Nearly every crime committed by the Greeks and Romans was sought to be excused on the ground that the gods had done the same thing. Euthyphro justified mistreatment of his own father on the ground that Zeus had chased Cronos, his father, from the skies. Homer was not only the Bible, but the schoolbook of Grecian boys and girls throughout the world; and their minds were saturated at an early age with the escapades of the gods and goddesses as told by the immortal bard. Plato, in the "Republic," deprecates the influence of the Homeric myths upon the youth of Greece, when he says: "They are likely to have a bad effect on those who hear them; for everybody will begin to excuse his own vices when he is convinced that similar wickednesses are always being perpetrated by the kindred of the gods." And Seneca thus condemns the moral effect of the myth of Zeus and Alcmene: "What else is this appeal to the precedent of the gods for, but to inflame our lusts, and to furnish a free license and excuse for the corrupt act under shelter of its divine prototype?" "This," says the same author in another treatise, "has led to no other result than to deprive sin of its shame in man's eyes, when he saw that the gods were no better than himself." We have seen that, in the matter of the multiplicity of the gods, there were deities of the baser as well as of the better passions, and of criminal as well as virtuous propensities. Pausanias tells us that in his day, on the road to Pellene, there were statues of Hermes Dolios (the cheat), and that the worshipers of this god believed that he was always ready to help them in their intrigues and adventures. The same writer also tells us that young maidens of Troezene dedicated their girdles to Athene Apaturia, the deceiver, for having cunningly betrayed Æthra into the hands of Neptune. The festivals of Bacchus were far-famed in ancient times for the drunken debauches and degrading ceremonies that accompanied them. The Attic feasts of Pan were celebrated with every circumstance of low buffoonery. The solemnities of the Aphrodisia were akin to the bacchanalian orgies in all the features of inebriety and lust. The name of the goddess of love and beauty was blazoned across the portal of more than one Greek and Roman brothel. The Aphrodite-Lamia at Athens and the Aphrodite-Stratonikis at Smyrna were the favorite resorts of the most famous courtesans of antiquity. Venus was the recognized goddess of the harlots. A thousand of them guarded her temple at Corinth; and, when an altar was erected to her at the Colline gate in Rome, in the year 183 A.U.C., they celebrated a great feast in her honor, and dedicated chaplets of myrtle and roses, as a means of obtaining her favor as the guardian divinity of their calling. What more could be expected, then, of the morality of the Greeks and Romans, when we consider the nature of their religion and the character of their gods? Jupiter and Apollo were notorious rakes and libertines; Venus and Flora were brazen-faced courtesans; Harmonia was a Phrygian dancer, who had been seduced by Cadmus; Hercules was a gladiator; Pan was a buffoon; Bacchus was a drunkard, and Mercury was a highway robber. And not only in the poems of Homer and Hesiod did the Greek and Roman youth learn these things, but from the plays of the theaters and from plastic art as well. If we except the gladiatorial fights in the amphitheaters, nothing was more cruel and unchaste than Greek and Roman tragedy and comedy. At the time of Christ, the tastes and appetites of the multitude had grown so fierce and depraved that ordinary spectacles were regarded as commonplace and insipid. Lifelike realities were demanded from the actors on the stage; and accordingly, the hero who played the rôle of the robber chief, Laureolus, was actually crucified before the spectators, and was then torn to pieces by a hungry bear. The burning of Hercules on Mount Oeta and the emasculation of Atys were sought to be realized on the stage by the actual burning and emasculation of condemned criminals. Lustful as well as cruel appetites were inflamed and fed by theatrical representations of the intrigues and adventures of the gods and goddesses. Pantomimes and mimic dances, with flute accompaniment, were employed to reproduce the amours and passionate devotions of the inhabitants of Olympus. The guilty loves of Aphrodite with Mars and Adonis, the adventures of Jupiter and Apollo with the wives and daughters of mortals, were the plays most frequently presented and most wildly applauded. And the ignorant rabble were not the only witnesses of these spectacles. "The sacerdotal colleges and authorities," says Arnobius, "flamens, and augurs, and chaste vestals, all have seats at these public amusements. There are seated the collective people and senate, consuls and consulars, while Venus, the mother of the Roman race, is danced to the life, and in shameless mimicry is represented as reveling through all the phases of meretricious lust. The great mother, too, is danced; the Dindymene of Pessinus, in spite of her age, surrendering herself to disgusting passion in the embraces of a cowherd. The supreme ruler of the world is himself brought in, without respect to his name or majesty, to play the part of an adulterer, masking himself in order to deceive chaste wives, and take the place of their husbands in the nuptial bed."[175] Not only gladiatorial games and theatrical shows, but painting and sculpture as well, served to corrupt and demoralize Roman and Greek manners. Nor is there any prudery in this statement. The masterpieces of the Greek artists have been the astonishment and despair of all succeeding ages; and the triumphs of modern art have been but poor imitations of the models of the first masters. But it is, nevertheless, true that the embodiment in marble of certain obscene myths was destructive of ancient morals. The paintings in the temples and houses of the cities of Greece and Italy were a constant menace to the mental purity of those who gazed upon them. The statue of Ganymede at the side of Zeus was a perpetual reminder to the youth of Athens of the originator of the loathsome custom of paiderastia. The paintings of Leda and the swan, of the courtship of Dionysus and Ariadne, of the naked Aphrodite ensnared and caught in the net with Ares that adorned the walls and ceilings of Greek and Roman homes, were not too well calculated to inspire pure and virtuous thoughts in the minds and hearts of tender youths and modest maidens who looked upon and contemplated them. At Athens, especially, was the corrupting influence of painting and plastic art most deeply felt. "At every step," says Döllinger, "which a Greek or Roman took, he was surrounded by images of his gods and memorials of their mythic history. Not the temples only, but streets and public squares, house walls, domestic implements and drinking vessels, were all covered and incrusted with ornaments of the kind. His eye could rest nowhere, not a piece of money could he take into his hand without confronting a god. And in this way, through the magical omnipresence of plastic art, the memory of his gods had sunk into his soul indelibly, grown up with every operation of his intellect, and inseparably blended with every picture of his imagination."[176] It can thus be easily imagined how close the connection between the social depravity and the religion of the Greeks and Romans. What was right in the conduct of the gods, men could not deem sinful in their own behavior. Indeed, lewd and lascivious acts were frequently proclaimed not only right, but sacred, because they had been both sanctioned and committed by the gods themselves. "As impurity," says Döllinger, "formed a part of religion, people had no scruples in using the temple and its adjoining buildings for the satisfaction of their lust. The construction of many of the temples and the prevalent gloom favored this. 'It is a matter of general notoriety,' Tertullian says, 'that the temples are the very places where adulteries were arranged, and procuresses pursue their victims between the altars.' In the chambers of the priests and ministers of the temple, impurity was committed amid clouds of incense; and this, Minucius adds, more frequently than in the privileged haunts of this sin. The sanctuaries and priests of Isis at Rome were specially notorious in this respect. 'As this Isis was the concubine of Jove herself, she also makes prostitutes of others,' Ovid said. Still more shameful sin was practiced in the temples of the Pessinuntine mother of the gods, where men prostituted themselves and made a boast of their shame afterwards."[177] _The Bacchanalian Orgies._--The most interesting passage of ancient literature dealing with social life in its relation to religious observances, is an extract from Livy, the most elegant of Roman historians. This passage describes the bacchanalian orgies, and gives exquisite touches to certain phases of ancient Roman social life. Its insertion here entire is excused on the ground of its direct bearing upon the subject matter of this chapter: A Greek of mean condition came, first, into Etruria; not with one of the many trades which his nation, of all others the most skilful in the cultivation of the mind and body, has introduced among us, but a low operator in sacrifices, and a soothsayer; nor was he one who, by open religious rites, and by publicly professing his calling and teaching, imbued the minds of his followers with terror, but a priest of secret and nocturnal rites. These mysterious rites were, at first, imparted to a few, but afterwards communicated to great numbers, both men and women. To their religious performances were added the pleasures of wine and feasting, to allure a greater number of proselytes. When wine, lascivious discourse, night, and the intercourse of the sexes had extinguished every sentiment of modesty, then debaucheries of every kind began to be practiced, as every person found at hand that sort of enjoyment to which he was disposed by the passion predominant in his nature. Nor were they confined to one species of vice--the promiscuous intercourse of free-born men and women, but from this store-house of villany proceeded false witnesses, counterfeit seals, false evidences, and pretended discoveries. From the same place, too, proceeded poison and secret murders, so that in some cases, even the bodies could not be found for burial. Many of their audacious deeds were brought about by treachery, but most of them by force; it served to conceal the violence, that on account of the loud shouting, and the noise of drums and cymbals, none of the cries uttered by the persons suffering violation or murder could be heard abroad. [Illustration: READING FROM HOMER (ALMA-TADEMA)] The infection of this mischief, like that from the contagion of disease, spread from Etruria to Rome; where, the size of the city affording greater room for such evils, and more means of concealment, cloaked it at first; but information of it was at length brought to the consul, Postumius, principally in the following manner. Publius Æbutius, whose father had held equestrian rank in the army, was left an orphan, and his guardians dying, he was educated under the eye of his mother Duronia, and his stepfather Titus Sempronius Rutilus. Duronia was entirely devoted to her husband; and Sempronius, having managed the guardianship in such a manner that he could not give an account of the property, wished that his ward should be either made away with, or bound to compliance with his will by some strong tie. The Bacchanalian rites were the only way to effect the ruin of the youth. His mother told him, that, "During his sickness, she had made a vow for him, that if he should recover, she would initiate him among the Bacchanalians; that being, through the kindness of the gods, bound by this vow, she wished now to fulfil it; that it was necessary he should preserve chastity for ten days, and on the tenth, after he should have supped and washed himself, she would conduct him into the place of worship." There was a freedwoman called Hispala Fecenia, a noted courtesan, but deserving of a better lot than the mode of life to which she had been accustomed when very young, and a slave, and by which she had maintained herself since her manumission. As they lived in the same neighborhood, an intimacy subsisted between her and Æbutius, which was far from being injurious either to the young man's character or property; for he had been loved and wooed by her unsolicited; and as his friends supplied his wants illiberally, he was supported by the generosity of this woman; nay, to such a length did she go under the influence of her affection, that, on the death of her patron, because she was under the protection of no one, having petitioned the tribunes and prætors for a guardian, when she was making her will, she constituted Æbutius her sole heir. As such pledges of mutual love subsisted, and as neither kept anything secret from the other, the young man jokingly bid her not be surprised if he separated himself from her for a few nights, as, "on account of a religious duty, to discharge a vow made for his health, he intended to be initiated among the Bacchanalians." On hearing this, the woman, greatly alarmed, cried out, "May the gods will more favorably!" affirming that "It would be better, both for him and her, to lose their lives than that he should do such a thing:" she then imprecated curses, vengeance, and destruction on the head of those who advised him to such a step. The young man, surprised both at her expressions and at the violence of her alarm, bid her refrain from curses, for "it was his mother who ordered him to do so, with the approbation of his stepfather." "Then," said she, "your stepfather (for perhaps it is not allowable to censure your mother), is in haste to destroy, by that act, your chastity, your character, your hopes and your life." To him, now surprised by such language, and inquiring what was the matter, she said, (after imploring the favor and pardon of the gods and goddesses, if, compelled by her regard for him, she disclosed what ought not to be revealed), that "when in service, she had gone into that place of worship, as an attendant on her mistress, but that, since she had obtained her liberty, she had never once gone near it: that she knew it to be the receptacle of all kinds of debaucheries; that it was well known that, for two years past, no one older than twenty had been initiated there. When any person was introduced he was delivered as a victim to the priests, who led him away to a place resounding with shouts, the sound of music, and the beating of cymbals and drums, lest his cries while suffering violation, should be heard abroad." She then entreated and besought him to put an end to that matter in some way or other, and not to plunge himself into a situation, where he must first suffer, and afterwards commit, everything that was abominable. Nor did she quit him until the young man gave her his promise to keep himself clear of those rites. When he came home, and his mother made mention of such things pertaining to the ceremony as were to be performed on that day, and on the several following days, he told her that he would not perform any of them, nor did he intend to be initiated. His stepfather was present at this discourse. Immediately the woman observed that "he could not deprive himself of the company of Hispala for ten nights; that he was so fascinated by the caresses and baneful influence of that serpent, that he retained no respect for his mother or stepfather, or even the gods themselves." His mother on one side and his stepfather on the other loading him with reproaches, drove him out of the house, assisted by four slaves. The youth on this repaired to his aunt Æbutia, told her the reason of his being turned out by his mother, and the next day, by her advice, gave information of the affair to the consul Postumius, without any witnesses of the interview. The consul dismissed him, with an order to come again on the third day following. In the meantime, he inquired of his mother-in-law, Sulpicia, a woman of respectable character, "whether she knew an old matron called Æbutia, who lived on the Aventine hill?" When she had answered that "she knew her well, and that Æbutia was a woman of virtue, and of the ancient purity of morals;" he said that he required a conference with her, and that a messenger should be sent for her to come. Æbutia, on receiving the message, came to Sulpicia's house, and the consul, soon after, coming in, as if by accident, introduced a conversation about Æbutius, her brother's son. The tears of the woman burst forth, and she began to lament the unhappy lot of the youth: who after being robbed of his property by persons whom it least of all became, was then residing with her, being driven out of doors by his mother, because, being a good youth (may the gods be propitious to him), he refused to be initiated in ceremonies devoted to lewdness, as report goes. The consul thinking that he had made sufficient inquiries concerning Æbutius, and that his testimony was unquestionable, having dismissed Æbutia, requested his mother-in-law to send again to the Aventine, and bring from that quarter Hispala, a freedwoman, not unknown in that neighborhood; for there were some queries which he wished to make of her. Hispala being alarmed because she was being sent for by a woman of such high rank and respectable character, and being ignorant of the cause, after she saw the lictors in the porch, the multitude attending to the consul and the consul himself, was very near fainting. The consul led her into the retired part of the house, and, in the presence of his mother-in-law, told her, that she need not be uneasy, if she could resolve to speak the truth. She might receive a promise of protection either from Sulpicia, a matron of such dignified character, or from himself. That she ought to tell him, what was accustomed to be done at the Bacchanalia, in the nocturnal orgies in the grove of Stimula. When the woman heard this, such terror and trembling of all her limbs seized her, that for a long time she was unable to speak; but recovering at length she said, that "when she was very young, and a slave, she had been initiated, together with her mistress; but for several years past, since she had obtained her liberty, she knew nothing of what was done there." The consul commended her so far, as not having denied that she was initiated, but charged her to explain all the rest with the same sincerity; and told her, affirming that she knew nothing further, that "there would not be the same tenderness or pardon extended to her, if she should be convicted by another person, and one who had made a voluntary confession; that there was such a person, who had heard the whole from her, and had given him a full account of it." The woman, now thinking without a doubt that it must certainly be Æbutius who had discovered the secret, threw herself at Sulpicia's feet, and at first began to beseech her, "not to let the private conversation of a freedwoman with her lover be turned not only into a serious business, but even capital charge;" declaring that "she had spoken of such things merely to frighten him, and not because she knew anything of the kind." On this Postumius, growing angry, said "she seemed to imagine that then too she was wrangling with her gallant Æbutius, and not that she was speaking in the house of a most respectable matron, and to a consul." Sulpicia raised her, terrified, from the ground, and while she encouraged her to speak out, at the same time pacified her son-in-law's anger. At length she took courage, and, having censured severely the perfidy of Æbutius, because he had made such a return for the extraordinary kindness shown to him in that very instance, she declared that "she stood in great dread of the gods, whose secret mysteries she was to divulge; and in much greater dread of the men implicated, who would tear her asunder with their hands if she became an informer. Therefore she entreated this favor of Sulpicia, and likewise of the consul, that they would send her away some place out of Italy, where she might pass the remainder of her life in safety." The consul desired her to be of good spirits, and said that it should be his care that she might live securely in Rome. Hispala then gave a full account of the origin of the mysteries. "At first," she said, "those rites were performed by women. No man used to be admitted. They had three stated days in the year on which such persons were initiated among the Bacchanalians, in the daytime. The matrons used to be appointed priestesses, in rotation. Paculla Minia, a Campanian, when priestess, made an alteration in every particular as if by the direction of the gods. For she first introduced men, who were her own sons, Minucius and Herrenius, both surnamed Cerrinius; changed the time of celebration, from day to night; and, instead of three days in the year, appointed five days of initiation in each month. From the time that the rites were thus made common, and men were intermixed with women, and the licentious freedom of the night was added, there was nothing wicked, nothing flagitious, that had not been practiced among them. There were more frequent pollution of men, with each other, than with women. If any were less patient in submitting to dishonor, or more averse to the commission of vice, they were sacrificed as victims. To think nothing unlawful, was the grand maxim of their religion. The men, as if bereft of reason, uttered predictions, with frantic contortions of their bodies; the women, in the habit of Bacchantes, with their hair dishevelled, and carrying blazing torches, ran down to the Tiber; where, dipping their torches in the water, they drew them up again with the flame unextinguished, being composed of native sulphur and charcoal. They said that those men were carried off by the gods, whom the machines laid hold of and dragged from their view into secret caves. These were such as refused to take the oath of the society or to associate in their crimes, or to submit to defilement. Their number was exceedingly great now, almost a second state in themselves and among them were many men and women of noble families. During the last two years it had been a rule, that no person above the age of twenty should be initiated, for they sought for people of such age as made them more liable to suffer deception and personal abuse." When she had completed her information, she again fell at the consul's knees, and repeated the same entreaties, that he might send her out of the country. The consul requested his mother-in-law to clear some part of the house, into which Hispala might remove; accordingly an apartment was assigned her in the upper part of it, of which the stairs, opening into the street, were stopped up, and the entrance made from the inner court. Thither all Fecenia's effects were immediately removed, and her domestics sent for. Æbutius, also, was ordered to remove to the house of one of the consul's clients. When both the informers were by these means in his power, Postumius represented the affair to the senate, laying before them the whole circumstance, in due order; the information given to him at first, and the discoveries gained by his inquiries afterwards. Great consternation seized on the senators; not only on the public account, lest such conspiracies and nightly meetings might be productive of secret treachery and mischief, but, likewise, on account of their own particular families, lest some of their relations might be involved in this infamous affair. The senate voted, however, that thanks should be given to the consul because he had investigated the matter with singular diligence, and without exciting any alarm. They then commit to the consuls the holding an inquiry, out of the common course, concerning the Bacchanals and their nocturnal orgies. They ordered them to take care that the informers, Æbutius and Fecenia, might suffer no injury on that account; and to invite other informers in the matter, by offering rewards. They ordered that the officials in those rites, whether men or women, should be sought for, not only at Rome, but also throughout all the market towns and places of assembly, and be delivered over to the power of the consuls; and also that proclamation should be made in the city of Rome, and published through all Italy, that "no persons initiated in the Bacchanalian rites should presume to come together or assemble on account of those rites, or to perform any such kind of worship;" and above all, that search should be made for those who had assembled or conspired for personal abuse, or for any other flagitious practices. The senate passed these decrees. The consuls directed the curule ædiles to make strict inquiry after all the priests of those mysteries, and to keep such as they could apprehend in custody until their trial; they at the same time charged the plebeian ædiles to take care that no religious ceremonies should be performed in private. To the capital triumvirs the task was assigned to post watches in proper places in the city, and to use vigilance in preventing any meetings by night. In order likewise to guard against fires, five assistants were joined to the triumvirs, so that each might have the charge of the buildings in his own separate district, on this side the Tiber. After despatching these officers to their several employments, the consuls mounted the rostrum; and, having summoned an assembly of the people, one of the consuls, when he had finished the solemn form of prayer which the magistrates are accustomed to pronounce before they address the people, proceeded thus: "Romans, to no former assembly was this solemn supplication to the gods more suitable or even more necessary: as it serves to remind you, that these are the deities whom your forefathers pointed out as the objects of your worship, veneration and prayers: and not those which infatuated men's minds with corrupt and foreign modes of religion, and drove them, as if goaded by the furies, to every lust and every vice. I am at a loss to know what I should conceal, or how far I ought to speak out; for I dread lest, if I leave you ignorant of any particular, I should give room for carelessness, or if I disclose the whole, that I should too much awaken your fears. Whatever I shall say, be assured that it is less than the magnitude and atrociousness of the affair would justify: exertions will be used by us that it may be sufficient to set us properly on our guard. That the Bacchanalian rites have subsisted for some time past in every country in Italy, and are at present performed in many parts of this city also, I am sure you must have been informed, not only by report, but by the nightly noises and the horrid yells that resound through the whole city; but still you are ignorant of the nature of that business. Part of you think it is some kind of worship of the gods; others, some excusable sport and amusement, and that whatever it may be, it concerns but a few. As regards the number if I tell you that there are many thousands, that you would be immediately terrified to excess is a necessary consequence; unless I further acquaint you who and what sort of persons they are. First, then, a great part of them are women, and this was the source of the evil; the rest are males, but nearly resembling women; actors and pathics in the vilest lewdness; night revellers, driven frantic by wine, noise of instruments, and clamors. The conspiracy, as yet, has no strength; but it has abundant means of acquiring strength, for they are becoming more numerous every day. Your ancestors would not allow that you should ever assemble casually without some good reason; that is, either when the standard was erected on the Janiculum, and the army led out on occasion of elections; or when the tribunes proclaimed a meeting of the commons, or some of the magistrates summoned you to it. And they judged it necessary, that wherever a multitude was, there should be a lawful governor of that multitude present. Of what kind do you suppose are the meetings of these people? In the first place, held in the night, and in the next, composed promiscuously of men and women. If you knew at what ages the males are initiated, you would feel not only pity, but also shame for them. Romans, can you think youths initiated, under such oaths as theirs, are fit to be made soldiers? That arms should be intrusted with wretches brought out of that temple of obscenity? Shall these, contaminated with their own foul debaucheries and those of others, be champions for the chastity of your wives and children? "But the mischief were less, if they were only effeminated by their practices; or that the disgrace would chiefly affect themselves; if they refrained their hands from outrage, and their thoughts from fraud. But never was there in the state an evil of so great magnitude, or one that extended to so many persons or so many acts of wickedness. Whatever deeds of villany have, during late years been committed through lust; whatever through fraud; whatever through violence; they have all, be assured, proceeded from that association alone. They have not yet perpetrated all the crimes for which they combine. The impious assembly at present confines itself to outrages on private citizens; because it has not yet acquired force sufficient to crush the commonwealth: but the evil increases and spreads daily; it is already too great for the private ranks of life to contain it, and aims its views at the body of the state. Unless you take timely precautions, Romans, their nightly assembly may become as large as this, held in open day and legally summoned by a consul. Now they one by one dread you collected together in the assembly; presently, when you shall have separated and retired to your several dwellings, in town and country, they will again come together, and will hold a consultation on the means of their own safety, and, at the same time, of your destruction. Thus united, they will cause terror to every one of you. Each of you therefore, ought to pray that his kindred may have behaved with wisdom and prudence; and if lust, if madness, has dragged any of them into that abyss, to consider such a person as the relation of those with whom he has conspired for every disgraceful and reckless act, and not as one of your own. I am not secure, lest some even of yourselves may have erred through mistake; for nothing is more deceptive in appearance than false religion. When the authority of the gods is held out as a pretext to cover vice, fear enters our minds, lest in punishing the crimes of men, we may violate some divine right connected therewith. Numberless decisions of the pontiffs, decrees of the senate, and even answers of the aruspices, free you from religious scruples of this character. How often in the ages of our fathers was it given in charge to the magistrates, to prohibit the performances of any foreign religious rites; to banish strolling sacrificers and soothsayers from the Forum, the circus and the city; to search for and burn books of divination; and to abolish every mode of sacrificing that was not conformable to the Roman practice! For they, completely versed in every divine and human law, maintained that nothing tended so strongly to the subversion of religion as sacrifice, when we offered it not after the institutions of our forefathers, but after foreign customs. Thus much I thought necessary to mention to you beforehand, that no vain scruple might disturb your minds when you should see us demolishing the places resorted to by the Bacchanalians, and dispersing their impious assemblies. We shall do all these things with the favor and approbation of the gods; who, because they were indignant that their divinity was dishonored by those people's lust and crimes, have drawn forth their proceedings from hidden darkness into the open light; and who have directed them to be exposed, not that they may escape with impunity, but in order that they may be punished and suppressed. The senate have committed to me and my colleague, an inquisition extraordinary concerning that affair. What is requisite to be done by ourselves, in person, we will do with energy. The charge of posting watches through the city, during the night, we have committed to the inferior magistrates; and, for your parts, it is incumbent on you to execute vigorously whatever duties are assigned you, and in the several places where each will be placed, to perform whatever orders you shall receive, and to use your best endeavors that no danger or tumult may arise from the treachery of the party involved in the guilt." They then ordered the decrees of the senate to be read, and published a reward for any discoverer who should bring any of the guilty before them, or give information against any of the absent, adding, that "if any person accused should fly, they would limit a certain day upon which, if he did not answer when summoned, he would be condemned in his absence; and if anyone should be charged who was out of Italy, they would not allow him any longer time, if he should wish to come and make his defence." They then issued an edict, that "no person whatever should presume to buy or sell anything for the purpose of leaving the country; or to receive or conceal, or by any means aid the fugitives." On the assembly being dismissed, great terror spread throughout the city; nor was it confined merely within the walls, or to the Roman territory, for everywhere throughout the whole of Italy alarm began to be felt--when the letters from the guest-friends were received--concerning the decree of the senate, and what passed in the assembly and the edict of the consuls. During the night, which succeeded the day in which the affair was made public, great numbers attempting to fly, were seized and bought back by the triumvirs, who had posted guards at all the gates; and informations were lodged against many, some of whom, both men and women, put themselves to death. Above seven thousand men and women are said to have taken the oath of the association. But it appeared that the heads of the conspiracy were the two Catinii, Marcus and Caius, Roman plebeians; Lucius Opiturnius, a Faliscian; and Minius Cerrinius, a Campanian: that from these proceeded all their criminal practices, and that these were the chief priests and founders of the sect. Care was taken that they should be apprehended as soon as possible. They were brought before the consuls, and confessing their guilt, caused no delay to the ends of justice. But so great were the numbers that fled from the city, that because the lawsuits and property of many persons were going to ruin, the prætors, Titius Mænius and Marcus Licinius were obliged, under the direction of the senate, to adjourn their courts for thirty days until the inquiries should be finished by the consuls. The same deserted state of the law courts, since the persons against whom charges were brought did not appear to answer, nor could be found in Rome, necessitated the consuls to make a circuit of the country towns, and there to make their inquisitions and hold the trials. Those who, as it appeared, had been only initiated, and had made after the priest, and in the most solemn form, the prescribed imprecations, in which the accursed conspiracy for the perpetration of every crime and lust was contained, but who had not themselves committed, or compelled others to commit, any of those acts to which they were bound by the oath--all such they left in prison. But those who had forcibly committed personal defilements or murders, or were stained with the guilt of false evidence, counterfeit seals, forged wills, or other frauds, all these they punished with death. A greater number were executed than thrown into prison; indeed the multitude of men and women who suffered in both ways, was very considerable. The consuls delivered the women who were condemned to their relations, or to those under whose guardianship they were, that they might inflict the punishment in private; but if there did not appear any proper person of the kind to execute the sentence, the punishment was inflicted in public. A charge was then given to demolish all the places where the Bacchanalians had held their meetings; first, in Rome, and then throughout all Italy; excepting those wherein should be found some ancient altar, or consecrated statue. With regard to the future, the senate passed a decree, "that no Bacchanalian rites should be celebrated in Rome or in Italy:" and ordering that, "in case any person should believe some such kind of worship incumbent upon him, and necessary; and that he could not, without offence to religion, and incurring guilt, omit it, he should represent this to the city prætor, and the prætor should lay the business before the senate. If permission were granted by the senate, when not less than one hundred members were present, then he might perform those rites, provided that no more than five persons should be present at the sacrifice, and that they should have no common stock of money, nor any president of the ceremonies, nor priest." Another decree connected with this was then made, on a motion of the consul, Quintus Marcius, that "the business respecting the persons who had served the consuls as informers should be proposed to the senate in its original form, when Spurius Postumius should have finished his inquiries, and returned to Rome." They voted that Minus Cerrinius, the Campanian, should be sent to Ardea, to be kept in custody there; and that a caution should be given to the magistrates of that city, to guard him with more than ordinary care, so as to prevent not only his escaping, but his having an opportunity of committing suicide. Spurius Postumius some time after came to Rome and on his proposing the question, concerning the reward to be given to Publius Æbutius and Hispala Fecenia, because the Bacchanalian ceremonies were discovered by their exertions, the senate passed a vote, that "the city quæstors should give to each of them, out of the public treasury, one hundred thousand asses; and that the consuls should desire the plebeian tribunes to propose to the commons as soon as convenient, that the campaigns of Publius Æbutius should be considered as served, that he should not become a soldier against his wishes, nor should any censor assign him a horse at the public charge." They voted also, that "Hispala Fecenia should enjoy the privileges of alienating her property by gift or deed; of marrying out of her rank, and of choosing a guardian, as if a husband had conferred them by will; that she should be at liberty to wed a man of honorable birth, and that there should be no disgrace or ignominy to him who should marry her; and that the consuls and prætors then in office, and their successors, should take care that no injury should be offered to that woman, and that she might live in safety. That the senate wishes, and thought proper, that all these things should be so ordered."--All these particulars were proposed to the commons, and executed, according to the vote of the senate; and full permission was given to the consuls to determine respecting the impunity and rewards of the other informers.[178] The bacchanalian orgies were first suppressed nearly two hundred years before Christ. The above extract from Livy reminds us that at that time the Romans were still strong and virtuous, and that a proposal of their Consul to eradicate a vicious evil that threatened the existence of both domestic life and the State, met with warm approval and hearty support from both the Senate and the people. But the insidious infection was never completely eradicated; and the work of the "Greek from Etruria" bore bitter fruit in the centuries that followed. And when we consider that not only bacchanalian orgies, but Greek literature, painting, sculpture, tragedy and comedy, were the chief causes of the pollution of Roman morals and the destruction of the Roman State, should we be surprised that Juvenal, in an outburst of patriotic wrath, should have declaimed against "a Grecian capital in Italy";[179] and that he should have hurled withering scorn at The flattering, cringing, treacherous, artful race, Of fluent tongue and never-blushing face, A Protean tribe, one knows not what to call, That shifts to every form, and shines in all. And, when we consider the state of the Roman world at the time of Christ, should we be surprised that St. Paul should have described Romans as "Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, without understanding, covenant-breakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful"?[180] Suffice it to say, in closing the chapter on Græco-Roman paganism, that, at the beginning of the Christian era, the Roman empire had reached the limit of physical expansion. Roman military glory had culminated in the sublime achievements of Pompey and of Cæsar. Mountains, seas, and deserts, beyond which all was barbarous and desolate, were the natural barriers of Roman dominion. Roman arms could go no farther; and Roman ambition could be no longer gratified by conquest. The Roman religion had fallen into decay and contempt; and the Roman conscience was paralyzed and benumbed. Disgusted with this world, the average Roman did not believe in any other, and was utterly without hope of future happiness. A gloomy despondency filled the hearts of men and drove them into black despair. When approaching death, they wore no look of triumph, expressed no belief in immortality, but simply requested of those whom they were leaving behind, to scatter flowers on their graves, or to bewail their early end. An epigram of the Anthology is this: "Let us drink and be merry; for we shall have no more of kissing and dancing in the kingdom of Proserpine: soon shall we fall asleep to wake no more." The same sentiments are expressed in epitaphs on Roman sepulchral monuments of the period. One of them reads thus: "What I have eaten and drunk, that I take with me; what I have left behind me, that have I forfeited." This is the language of another: "Reader, enjoy thy life; for after death there is neither laughter nor play, nor any kind of enjoyment." Still another: "Friend, I advise, mix thee a goblet of wine, and drink, crowning thy head with flowers. Earth and fire consume all that remains after death." And, finally, one of them assures us that Greek mythology is false: "Pilgrim, stay thee, listen and learn. In Hades there is no ferryboat, nor ferryman Charon; no Æacus or Cerberus;--once dead, and we are all alike."[181] Matthew Arnold has very graphically described the disgusting, sickening, overwhelming despair of the Roman people at the birth of Christ. Ah! carry back thy ken, What, some two thousand years! Survey The world as it was then. Like ours it looked, in outward air, Its head was clear and true; Sumptuous its clothing, rich its fare; No pause its action knew. Stout was its arm, each thew and bone Seem'd puissant and alive-- But ah! its heart, its heart was stone And so it could not thrive. On that hard pagan world disgust And secret loathing fell; Deep weariness and sated lust Made human life a hell. In his goodly hall with haggard eyes, The Roman noble lay; He drove abroad in furious guise Along the Appian Way. He made a feast, drank fierce and fast, And crowned his hair with flowers; No easier, nor no quicker passed The impracticable hours.[182] But the "darkest hour is just before the dawn," and "the fulness of the time was come." Already the first faint glimmers of the breaking of a grander and better day were perceptible to the senses of the noblest and finest of Roman intellects. Already Cicero had pictured a glorious millennium that would follow if perfect virtue should ever enter into the flesh and come to dwell among men.[183] Already Virgil, deriving inspiration from the Erythræan Sibylline prophecies, had sung of the advent of a heaven-born child, whose coming would restore the Golden Age, and establish enduring peace and happiness on the earth.[184] Already a debauched, degraded and degenerate world was crying in the anguish of its soul: "I know that my Redeemer liveth!" And, even before the Baptist began to preach in the wilderness, the ways had been made straight for the coming of the Nazarene. _APPENDICES_ APPENDIX I CHARACTERS OF THE SANHEDRISTS WHO TRIED JESUS The following short biographical sketches of about forty of the members of the Sanhedrin who tried Jesus are from a work entitled "Valeur de l'assemblée qui prononça la peine de mort contre Jésus Christ"--Lémann. The English translation, under the title "Jesus Before the Sanhedrin," is by Julius Magath, Oxford, Georgia. Professor Magath's translation is used in this work by special permission.--THE AUTHOR. THE MORAL CHARACTERS OF THE PERSONAGES WHO SAT AT THE TRIAL OF CHRIST The members of the Sanhedrin that judged Christ were seventy-one in number, and were divided into three chambers; but we must know the names, acts, and moral characters of these judges. That such a knowledge would throw a great light on this celebrated trial can be easily understood. The characters of Caiaphas, Ananos, and Pilate are already well known to us. These stand out as the three leading figures in the drama of the Passion. But others have appeared in it; would it not be possible to produce them also before history? This task, we believe, has never yet been undertaken. It was thought that documents were wanting. But this is an error; such documents exist. We have consulted them; and in this century of historical study and research we shall draw forth from the places where they have been hidden for centuries, the majority of the judges of Christ. Three kinds of documents have, in a particular manner, enabled us to discover the characters of these men: the books of the Evangelists, the valuable writings of Josephus the historian, and the hitherto unexplored pages of the Talmud. We shall bring to light forty of the judges, so that more than half of the Sanhedrin will appear before us; and this large majority will be sufficient to enable us to form an opinion of the moral tone of the whole assembly. To proceed with due order, we will begin with the most important chamber--viz., the chamber of the priests. I. THE CHAMBER OF THE PRIESTS We use the expression "chamber of the _priests_." In the Gospel narrative, however, this division of the Sanhedrin bears a more imposing title. Matthew, Mark, and the other Evangelists, designate it by the following names: the council _of the high priests_, and the council _of the princes of the priests_.[185] But we may ask, Why is this pompous name given to this chamber by the Evangelists? Is this not an error on their part? An assembly of priests seems natural, but how can there be an assembly of high priests, since according to the Mosaic institution there could be only one high priest, whose office was tenable for life. There is, however, neither an error nor an undue amplification on the part of the Gospel narrators; and we may also add here that both Talmuds positively speak of an assembly of high priests.[186] But how, then, can we account for the presence of several high priests at the same time in the Sanhedrin? Here is the explanation, to the shame of the Jewish assembly: For nearly a century a detestable abuse prevailed, which consisted in the arbitrary nomination and deposition of the high priest. The high priesthood, which for fifteen centuries had been preserved in the same family, being hereditary according to the divine command,[187] had at the time of Christ's advent become an object of commercial speculation. Herod commenced these arbitrary changes,[188] and after Judea became one of the Roman conquests the election of the high priest took place almost every year at Jerusalem, the procurators appointing and deposing them in the same manner as the prætorians later on made and unmade emperors.[189] The Talmud speaks sorrowfully of this venality and the yearly changes of the high priest. This sacred office was given to the one that offered the most money for it, and mothers were particularly anxious that their sons should be nominated to this dignity.[190] The expression, "_the council of the high priests_," used by the Evangelists to designate this section of the Sanhedrin, is therefore rigorously correct; for at the time of the trial of Christ there were about twelve ex-high priests, who still retained the honorable title of their charge, and were, by the right of that title, members of the high tribunal. Several ordinary priests were also included in this chamber, but they were in most cases related to the high priests; for in the midst of the intrigues by which the sovereign pontificate was surrounded in those days, it was customary for the more influential of the chief priests to bring in their sons and allies as members of their chamber. The spirit of caste was very powerful, and as M. Dérembourg, a modern Jewish savant, has remarked: "_A few priestly, aristocratic, powerful, and vain families, who cared for neither the dignity nor the interests of the altar, quarreled with each other respecting appointments, influence, and wealth_."[191] To sum up, we have, then, in this first chamber a double element--high priests and ordinary priests. We shall now make them known by their names and characters, and indicate the sources whence the information has been obtained. CAIAPHAS, high priest then in office. He was the son-in-law of Ananos, and exercised his office for eleven years--during the whole term of Pilate's administration (25-36 A.D.). It is he who presided over the Sanhedrin during this trial, and the history of the Passion as given by the Evangelists is sufficient to make him known to us. (See Matt. xxvi. 3; Luke iii. 2, etc.; Jos., "Ant.," B. XVIII. C. II. 2.) ANANOS held the office of high priest for seven years under Coponius, Ambivus, and Rufus (7-11 A.D.). This personage was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, and although out of office was nevertheless consulted on matters of importance. It may be said, indeed, that in the midst of the instability of the sacerdotal office he alone preserved in reality its authority. For fifty years this high office remained without interruption in his family. Five of his sons successively assumed its dignity. This family was even known as the "sacerdotal family," as if this office had become hereditary in it. Ananos had charge also of the more important duties of the Temple, and Josephus says that he was considered the most fortunate man of his time. He adds, however, that the spirit of this family was haughty, audacious, and cruel. (Luke iii. 2; John xviii. 13, 24; Acts iv. 6; Jos., "Ant.," B. XV. C. III 1; XX. IX. 1, 3; "Jewish Wars," B. IV. V. 2, 6, 7.) ELEAZAR was high priest during one year, under Valerius Grattus (23-24 A.D.). He was the eldest son of Ananos. (Jos., "Ant.," B. XVIII. II. 2.) JONATHAN, son of Ananos, simple priest at that time, but afterwards made high priest for one year in the place of Caiaphas when the latter was deposed, after the disgrace of Pilate, by Vitellius, Governor-general of Syria (37 A.D.). (Jos., "Ant.," B. XVIII. IV. 3.) THEOPHILUS, son of Ananos, simple priest at that time, but afterwards made high priest in the place of his brother Jonathan, who was deposed by Vitellius. Theophilus was in office five years (38-42 A.D.). (Jos., "Ant.," B. XIX. VI. 2; Munk, "Hist. de la Palestine," p. 568.) MATTHIAS, son of Ananos. Simple priest; afterwards high priest for two years (42-44 A.D.). He succeeded Simon Cantharus, who was deposed by King Herod Agrippa. (Jos., "Ant.," XIX. VI. 4.) ANANUS, son of Ananos. Simple priest at the time; afterwards made high priest by Herod Agrippa after the death of the Roman governor, Portius Festus (63 A.D.). Being a Sadducee of extravagant zeal, he was deposed at the end of three months by Albanus, successor of Portius Festus, for having illegally condemned the apostle James to be stoned. (Acts xxiii. 2, xxiv. 1; Jos., "Ant.," B. XX. IX. 1.) JOAZAR, high priest for six years during the latter days of Herod the Great and the first years of Archelaus (4 B.C.-2 A.D.). He was the son of Simon Boethus, who owed his dignity and fortune to the following dishonorable circumstance, as related by Josephus the historian: "There was one Simon, a citizen of Jerusalem, the son of Boethus, a citizen of Alexandria and a priest of great note there. This man had a daughter, who was esteemed the most beautiful woman of that time. And when the people of Jerusalem began to speak much in her commendation, it happened that Herod was much affected by what was said of her; and when he saw the damsel he was smitten with her beauty. Yet did he entirely reject the thought of using his authority to abuse her ... so he thought it best to take the damsel to wife. And while Simon was of a dignity too inferior to be allied to him, but still too considerable to be despised, he governed his inclinations after the most prudent manner by augmenting the dignity of the family and making them more honorable. Accordingly he forthwith deprived Jesus, the son of Phabet, of the high priesthood, and conferred that dignity on Simon." Such, according to Josephus, is the origin--not at all of a supernatural nature--of the call to the high priesthood of Simon Boethus and his whole family. Simon, at the time of this trial, was already dead; but Joazar figured in it with two of his brothers, one of whom was, like himself, an ex-high priest. (Jos., "Ant.," B. XV. IX. 3; XVII. VI. 4; XVIII. I. 1; XIX. VI. 2.) ELEAZAR, second son of Simon Boethus. He succeeded his brother Joazar when the latter was deprived of that function by King Archelaus (2 A.D.). Eleazar was high priest for a short time only, the same king deposing him three months after his installation. (Jos., "Ant.," B. XVII. XIII. 1; XIX. VI. 2.) SIMON CANTHARUS, third son of Simon Boethus. Simple priest at the time; was afterwards made high priest by King Herod Agrippa (42 A.D.), who, however, deposed him after a few months. (Jos., "Ant.," B. XIX. VI. 2, 4.) JESUS _ben_ SIE succeeded Eleazar to the high priesthood, and held the office for five or six years (1-6 A.D.) under the reign of Archelaus. (Jos., "Ant.," XVII. XIII. 1.) ISMAEL _ben_ PHABI. High priest for nine years under procurator Valerius Grattus, predecessor of Pontius Pilate. He was considered, according to the rabbins, the handsomest man of his time. The effeminate love of luxury of this chief priest was carried to such an extent that his mother, having made him a tunic of great price, he deigned to wear it once, and then consigned it to the public wardrobe, as a grand lady might dispose of a robe which no longer pleased her caprices. ("Talmud," "Pesachim," or "of the Passover," fol. 57, verso; "Yoma," or "the Day of Atonement," fol. 9, verso; 35, recto; Jos., "Ant.," XVIII. II. 2; XX. VIII. 11; Bartolocci, "Grand Bibliothèque Rabbinique," T. III. p. 297; Munk, "Palestine," pp. 563, 575.) SIMON _ben_ CAMITHUS, high priest during one year under procurator Valerius Grattus (24-25 A.D.). This personage was celebrated for the enormous size of his hand, and the Talmud relates of him the following incident: On the eve of the day of atonement it happened, in the course of a conversation which he had with Arathus, King of Arabia--whose daughter Herod Antipas had just married--that some saliva, coming out of the mouth of the king, fell on the robe of Simon. As soon as the king left him, he hastened to divest himself of it, considering it desecrated by the circumstance, and hence unworthy to be worn during the services of the following day. What a remarkable instance of Pharisaical purity and charity! ("Talmud," "Yoma," or "the Day of Atonement," fol. 47, verso; Jos., "Ant.," XVIII. II. 2; Dérembourg, "Essai sur l'histoire," p. 197, n. 2.) JOHN, simple priest. He is made known to us through the Acts of the Apostles. "And Annas the high priest, and Caiaphas, and John, and Alexander, and as many as were of the kindred of the high priest, were gathered together in Jerusalem." (Acts iv. 6.) ALEXANDER, simple priest; also mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles in the passage above quoted. Josephus also makes mention of him, and says that he afterwards became an _Alabarch_--that is to say, first magistrate of the Jews in Alexandria. That he was very rich is to be learned from the fact that King Herod Agrippa asked and obtained from him the loan of two hundred thousand pieces of silver. (Acts iv. 6; Jos., "Ant.," XVIII. VI. 3; XX. V. 2; Petri Wesselingii, "Diatribe de Judæorum Archontibus," Trajecti ad Rhenum, pp. 69-71.) ANANIAS _ben_ NEBEDEUS, simple priest at that time; was elected to the high priesthood under procurators Ventideus, Cumanus, and Felix (48-54 A.D.). He is mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles and by Josephus. It was this high priest who delivered the apostle Paul to procurator Felix. "Ananias the high priest descended with the elders, and with a certain orator named Tertullus, who informed the governor against Paul." (Acts xxiv. 1.) According to Jewish tradition, this high priest is chiefly known for his excessive gluttony. What the Talmud says of his voracity is quite phenomenal. It mentions three hundred calves, as many casks of wine, and forty pairs of young pigeons as having been brought together for his repast. ("Talmud," Bab., "Pesachim," or "of the Passover," fol. 57, verso; "Kerihoth," or "Sins which Close the Entrance to Eternal Life," fol. 28, verso; Jos., "Ant.," XX. V. 2; Dérembourg, work quoted above, pp. 230, 234; Munk, "Palestine," p. 573, n. 1.) HELCIAS, simple priest, and keeper of the treasury of the Temple. It is probably from him that Judas Iscariot received the thirty pieces of silver, the price of his treason. (Jos., "Ant.," XX. VIII. 11.) SCEVA, one of the principal priests. He is spoken of in the Acts apropos of his seven sons, who gave themselves up to witchcraft. (Acts xix. 13, 14.) Such are the chief priests that constituted the first chamber of the Sanhedrin at the time of the trial of Christ. From the documents which we have consulted and the résumé which we have just given, we gather: 1. That several of the high priests were personally dishonorable. 2. That all these high priests, who succeeded each other annually in the Aaronic office in utter disregard of the order established by God, were but miserable intruders. We trust that these expressions will not offend our dear Israelitish readers, for they are based on the statements of eminent and zealous Jewish writers. To begin with Josephus the historian. Although endeavoring to conceal as much as possible the shameful acts committed by the priests composing this council, yet he was unable, in a moment of disgust, to refrain from stigmatizing them. "About this time," he says, "there arose a sedition between the high priests and the principal men of the multitude of Jerusalem, each of which assembled a company of the boldest sort of men, and of those that loved innovations, and became leaders to them. And when they struggled together they did it by casting reproachful words against one another, and by throwing stones also. And there was nobody to reprove them; but these disorders were done after a licentious manner in the city, as if it had no government over it. And such was the impudence and boldness that had seized on the high priests that they had the hardness to send their servants into the threshing-floors, to take away those tithes that were due the [simple] priests. Insomuch that the poorest priests died of want."[192] Such are the acts, the spirit of equity and kindness, that characterized the chief judges of Christ! But the Talmud goes farther still. This book, which ordinarily is not sparing of eulogies on the people of our nation, yet, considering separately and by name, as we have done, the high priests of that time, it exclaims: "What a plague is the family of Simon Boethus; cursed be their lances! What a plague is the family of Ananos; cursed be their hissing of vipers! What a plague is the family of Cantharus; cursed be their pens! What a plague is the family of Ismael ben Phabi; cursed be their fists! They are high priests themselves, their sons are treasurers, their sons-in-law are commanders, and their servants strike the people with staves."[193] The Talmud continues: "The porch of the sanctuary cried out four times. The first time, Depart from here, descendants of Eli;[194] ye pollute the Temple of the Eternal! The second time, Let Issachar ben Keifar Barchi depart from here, who polluteth himself and profaneth the victims consecrated to God![195] The third time, Widen yourselves, ye gates of the sanctuary, and let Israel ben Phabi the willful enter, that he may discharge the functions of the priesthood! Yet another cry was heard, Widen yourselves, ye gates, and let Ananias ben Nebedeus the gourmand enter, that he may glut himself on the victims!" In the face of such low morality, avowed by the least to be suspected of our own nation, is it possible to restrain one's indignation against those who sat at the trial of Christ as members of the chamber of priests? This indignation becomes yet more intense when one remembers that an ambitious hypocrisy, having for its aim the domineering over the people, had perverted the law of Moses in these men. The majority of the priests belonged, in fact, to the Pharisaic order, the members of which sect made religion subservient to their personal ambition; and in order to rule over the people with more ease, they used religion as a tool to effect this purpose, encumbering the law of Moses with exaggerated precepts and insupportable burdens which they strenuously imposed upon others, but failed to observe themselves. Can we, then, be astonished at the murderous hatred which these false and ambitious men conceived for Christ? When his words, sharper than a sword, exposed their hypocrisy and displayed the corrupt interior of these whitened sepulchers wearing the semblance of justice, the hatred they already cherished for him grew to a frenzied intensity. They never forgave him for having publicly unmasked them. Hypocrisy never forgives that. Such were the men composing the council of priests, when the Sanhedrin assembled to judge Christ. Were we not justified in forming of them an unfavorable opinion?... But let us pass on to the second chamber, viz., the chamber of the scribes. II. CHAMBER OF THE SCRIBES Let us recall in a few words who the scribes were. Chosen indiscriminately among the Levites and laity, they formed the _corps savant_ of the nation; they were doctors in Israel, and were held in high esteem and veneration. It is well known what respect the Jews, and the Eastern nations generally, have always had for their _wise men_. Next to the chamber of the priests, that of the scribes was the most important. But from information gathered from the documents to which we have already referred, we are constrained to affirm that, with a few individual exceptions, this chamber was no better than that of the priests. The following is a list of the names and histories of the _wise men_ who composed the chamber of the scribes at the trial of Christ: GAMALIEL, surnamed the ancient. He was a very worthy Israelite, and his name is spoken of with honor in the Talmud as well as in the Acts of the Apostles. He belonged to a noble family, being a grandson of the famous Hillel, who, coming from Babylon forty years before Christ, taught with such brilliant success in Jerusalem. Gamaliel acquired so great a reputation among his people for his scientific acquirements that the Talmud could say of him: "_With the death of Rabbi Gamaliel the glory of the law has departed._" It was at the feet of this doctor that Saul, afterwards Paul the apostle, studied the law and Jewish traditions, and we know how he gloried in this fact. Gamaliel had also among his disciples Barnabas and Stephen, the first martyr for the cause of Christ. When the members of the Sanhedrin discussed the expediency of putting the apostles to death, this worthy Israelite prevented the passing of the sentence by pronouncing these celebrated words: "Ye men of Israel, take heed to yourselves what ye intend to do as touching these men.... And now I say unto you, refrain from these men, and let them alone; for if this counsel be of men it will come to naught; but if it be of God ye cannot overthrow it; lest haply ye be found even to fight against God." Gamaliel died nineteen years after Christ (52 A.D.). (Acts v. 34-39; xxii. 3; Mishna, "Sotah," or "the Woman Suspected of Adultery," C. IX.; "Sepher Juchasin," or "the Book of the Ancestors," p. 53; David Ganz, "Germe de David ou Chronologie" to 4768; Bartolocci, "Bibliotheca magna Rabbinica," T. i. pp. 727-732.) SIMON, son of Gamaliel, like his father, had a seat in the assembly. The rabbinical books speak of him in the highest terms of eulogy. The Mishna, for instance, attributes to him this sentence: "Brought up from my infancy among learned men, I have found nothing that is of greater value to man than silence. Doctrines are not the chief things, but work. He who is in the habit of much talking falls easily into error." This Simon became afterwards the intimate friend of the too celebrated bandit, John of Giscala, whose excesses and cruelty toward the Romans, and even the Jews, caused Titus to order the pillaging of Jerusalem. Simon was killed in the last assault in 70 A.D. (David Ganz, "Chronologie" to 4810; Mishna, "Aboth," or "of the Fathers," C. I.; "Talmud," Jerusalem, "Berachoth," or "of Blessings," fol. 6, verso; "Historia Docorium Misnicorum," J. H. Otthonis, pp. 110-113; De Champagny, "Rome et la Judée," T. ii. 86-171.) ONKELOS was born of heathen parents, but embraced Judaism, and became one of the most eminent disciples of Gamaliel. He is the author of the famous Chaldaic paraphrase of the Pentateuch. Although the rabbinical books do not mention him as a member of the Sanhedrin, yet it is highly probable that he belonged to that body, his writings and memory having always been held in great esteem by the Jews; even at the present day every Jew is enjoined to read weekly a portion of his version of the books of Moses. Onkelos carried the Pharisaical intolerance to the last degree. Converted from idolatry to Judaism, he hated the Gentiles to such an extent that he cast into the Dead Sea, as an object of impurity, the sum of money that he had inherited from his parents. We can easily understand how that, with such a disposition, he would not be favorably inclined toward Jesus, who received Gentiles and Jews alike. ("Talmud," "Megilla," or "Festival of Esther," fol. 3, verso; "Baba-bathra," or "the Last Gate," fol. 134, verso; "Succa," or "the Festival of Tabernacles," fol. 28, verso; "Thosephthoth," or "Supplements to the Mishna," C. v.; Rabbi Gedalia, "Tzaltzeleth Hakkabalah," or "the Chain of the Kabalah," p. 28; "Histor. Doct. Misnic.," p. 110; De Rossi, "Dizionario degli Autori Ebrei," p. 81.) JONATHAN _ben_ UZIEL, author of a very remarkable paraphrase of the Pentateuch and the Prophets. There is a difference of opinion regarding the precise time at which he lived. Some place it several years before Christ; others at the time of Christ. We believe, however, that not only was he contemporary with Christ, but that he was also one of his judges. In support of our assertion we give the two following proofs, which we think indisputable: 1. Jonathan, the translator of the Prophets, has purposely omitted Daniel, which omission the Talmud explains as due to the special intervention of an angel who informed him that the manner in which the prophet speaks of the death of the Messiah coincided too exactly with that of Jesus of Nazareth. Now, since Jonathan has intentionally left out the prophecies of Daniel on account of their coincidence with the death of Christ, it proves that he could not have lived before Christ, but must have been contemporary with him. 2. In comparing the paraphrase of Onkelos with that of Jonathan, we find that the latter had made use of the work of the former, who lived in the time of Christ. Examples may be found in Deut. xxii. 5, Judges v. 26, Num. xxi. 28, 29. If, then, Jonathan utilized the work of Onkelos, who lived in the time of Christ, the fact proves beyond question that he could not have lived before Christ. The Talmudists, in order to reward this person for having, through his hatred of Christ, erased the name of Daniel from the roll of prophets, eulogize him in the most absurd manner. They relate that while engaged in the study of the law of God, the atmosphere which surrounded him, and came in contact with the light of his understanding, so caught fire from his fervor that the birds, silly enough to be attracted toward it, were consumed immediately. ("Talmud," "Succa," or "the Festival of Tabernacles," fol. 28, verso; David Ganz, "Chronol." 4728; Gesenius, "Comm. on Isaiah," Part I. p. 65; Zunz, "Culte divin des Juifs," Berlin, 1832, p. 61; Dérembourg, work quoted above, p. 276; Hanneburg, "Révelat Bibliq.," ii. 163, 432.) SAMUEL HAKATON, or _the Less_. Surnamed to distinguish him from Samuel the prophet. It was he who, some time after the resurrection of Christ, composed the famous imprecation against the Christians, called "Birchath Hamminim" (Benedictions of Infidels). The "Birchath Hamminim," says the Talmud, and the commentary of R. Jarchi, "was composed by R. Samuel Hakaton at Jabneh, where the Sanhedrin had removed after the misconduct of the Nazarene, who taught a doctrine contrary to the words of the living God." The following is the singular benediction: "_Let there be no hope for the apostates of religion, and let all heretics, whosoever they may be, perish suddenly. May the kingdom of pride be rooted out; let it be annihilated quickly, even in our days! Be blessed, O Lord, who destroyest the impious, and humblest the proud!_" As soon as Samuel Hakaton had composed this malediction, it was inserted as an additional blessing in the celebrated prayer of the synagogue, the "Shemonah-Essara" (the eighteen blessings). These blessings belonged to the time of Ezra--that is to say, five centuries before the Christian era; and every Jew has to recite it daily. St. Jerome was not ignorant of this strange prayer. He says: "_The Jews anathematize three times daily in their synagogue the name of the Christian, disguising it under the name of Nazarene._" According to R. Gedalia, Samuel died before the destruction of Jerusalem, about fifteen or twenty years after Christ. ("Talmud," "Berachoth," or "of Prayers," fol. 28, verso; "Megilla," or "the Festival of Esther," fol. 28, verso; St. Jerome, "Comment. on Isaiam," B. II. C. V. 18, 19; Tom. iv. p. 81 of the "Valarsius," quarto edition; Vitringa, "de Synagoga vetr.," T. ii. p. 1036, 1047, 1051; Castellus, "Lexicon heptaglotton," art. Min.) CHANANIA _ben_ CHISKIA. He was a great conciliator in the midst of the doctrinal quarrels so common at that time; and it happened that the rival schools of Shammai and Hillel, which were not abolished with the death of their founders, often employed him as their arbitrator. This skillful umpire did not always succeed, however, in calming the disputants; for we read in the ancient books that in the transition from force of argument to argument of force, the members of the schools of Shammai and Hillel frequently came to blows. Hence the French expression _se chammailler_. It happened, however, according to the Talmud, that Chanania once departed from his usual system of equilibrium in favor of the prophet Ezekiel. It appears that on one occasion the most influential members of the Sanhedrin proposed to censure, and even reject, the book of this prophet, because, according to their opinion, it contained several passages in contradiction of the law of Moses; but Chanania defended it with so much eloquence that they were obliged to desist from their project. This fact alone, reported fully as it is in the Talmud, would be sufficient to show the laxity of the study of the prophecies at that time. Although the exact date of his death is uncertain, it is, nevertheless, sure that it took place before the destruction of the Temple. ("Talmud," "Chagiga," or "the obligations of the males to present themselves three times a year at Jerusalem," 2, 13; "Shabbath," or "of the Sabbath," C. I.; "Sepher Juchasin," or "the Book of Ancestors," p. 57.) ISMAEL _ben_ ELIZA, renowned for the depth of his mind and the beauty of his face. The rabbins record that he was learned in the most mysterious things; for example, he could command the angels to descend from heaven and ascend thither. We have it also from the same authority that his mother held him in such high admiration that one day on his return from school she washed his feet, and, through respect for him, drank the water she had used for that purpose. His death was of a no less romantic nature. It appears that after the capture of Jerusalem, the daughter of Titus was so struck with his beauty that she obtained permission of her father to have the skin of his face taken off after his death, which skin she had embalmed, and, having perfumed it, she sent it to Rome to figure among the spoils as a trophy. ("Talmud," "Aboda Zarah," or "of Idolatry," C. I.; Rabbi Gedalia, "Tzaltzeleth Hakkabalah," or "the Chain of the Kabalah," p. 29; "Sepher Juchasin," or "the Book of Ancestors," p. 25; "Tosephoth Kiddushin," C. IV.) Rabbi ZADOK. He was about forty years old at the trial of Christ, and died after the burning of the Temple, aged over seventy. The Talmud relates that for forty years he ceased not from fasting, that God might so order it that the Temple should not be destroyed by fire. Upon this the question is propounded in the same book, but no answer given, as to how this rabbin could have known that the Temple was threatened with so great a calamity. We believe that Rabbi Zadok could have obtained information of this terrible event in one of the two ways--either from the prophetic voice of Daniel which proclaimed more than forty years previous to the occurrence that abomination and desolation should crush the Temple of Jerusalem when the Messiah should have been put to death; or by the voice of Jesus himself, who said forty years before the destruction of the Temple: "See ye not all these things?" (i.e., the buildings of the Temple) "verily, verily I say unto you, There shall not be left here one stone upon another that shall not be thrown down." (Mishna, "Shabbath," or "of the Sabbath," C. XXIV. 5 to end; "Eduth," or "of Testimony," C. VII. 1; "Aboth," or "of the Fathers of Tradition," IV. 5; David Ganz, "Chronol." 4785; Seph. Juchasin," fol. 21, 26; Schikardi, "Jus Regium Hebræorum," p. 468; Dan. ix. 25-27; Luke xxi. 6; Matt. xxvi. 2.) JOCHANAN _ben_ ZAKAI. The rabbinical books accord to this rabbi an extraordinary longevity. From their writings it would appear that, like Moses, he lived a hundred and twenty years, forty years of which he consecrated to manual labor; another forty to the study of the law; and the last forty years of his life he devoted to imparting his knowledge to others. His reputation as a savant was so well established that he was surnamed the _Splendor of Wisdom_. After the destruction of the Temple, he rallied together the remaining members of the Sanhedrin to Jabneh, where he presided over this remnant for the last four or five years of his life. He died in the year 73 A.D. When he breathed his last, says the Mishna, a cry of anguish was heard, saying: "With the death of Jochanan ben Zakai the splendor of wisdom has been quenched!" We have, however, other information regarding this rabbi which is, so to speak, like the reverse side of a medal. The Bereshith Rabba says that Rabbi Jochanan was in the habit of eulogizing himself in the most extravagant manner, and gives the following as a specimen of the praises he bestowed upon himself: "If the skies were parchment, all the inhabitants of the world writers, and all the trees of the forest pens, all these would not suffice to transcribe the doctrines which he had learned from the masters." What humility of language! One day his disciples asked him to what he attributed his long life. "To my wisdom and piety," was his reply in his tone of habitual modesty. Besides, if we were to judge of his moral character by an ordinance of which he is the author, his morality might be equal to the standard of his humility. He abolished the Mosaical command of the ordeal of bitter waters, immorally isolating a passage in Isaiah from its context. Finally, to fill up the measure of his honesty, he became one of the lewdest courtiers of Titus, and the destroyer of his country. But while obsequious to human grandeur, he was obdurate to the warnings of God, and died proud and impenitent. ("Talmud," "Rosh Hashanah," or "of the New Year," fol. 20, recto; 31, recto; "Sotah," or "of the Woman Suspected," etc., IX. 9; "Yoma," or "the Day of Atonement," fol. 39, recto, and 43; "Gittin," or "of Divorce," fol. 56, verso and recto; "Succa," or "of the Festival of Tabernacles," fol. 28, verso; Mishna, Chapter, "Egla arupha"; "Sepher Juchasin," or "the Book of Ancestors," fol. 20, recto; "Seph. Hakkabalah"; Otthonis, "Hist. Doct. Misn.," pp. 93-103; Hosea iv. 14; Jos., "Wars," VI. V. 3; De Champagny, "Rome et la Judée," T. i. p. 158.) ABBA SAUL. He was of prodigious height, and had the charge of superintending the burials of the dead, that everything might be done according to the law. The rabbins, who delight in the marvelous, affirm that in the exercise of his duties he found the thigh bone of Og, the King of Bashan, and the right eye of Absalom. By virtue of the marrow extracted from the thigh of Og, he was enabled to chase a young buck for three leagues; as for the eye of Absalom, it was so deep that he could have hidden himself in it as if in a cavern. These stories, no doubt, appear very puerile; and yet, according to a Talmudical book (Menorath-Hammoer, "the lighted candlestick"), which is considered of great authority even in the modern [orthodox] synagogue, we must judge of these matters in the following manner: "Everything which our doctors have taught in the Medrashim (allegoric or historical commentaries) we are bound to consider and believe in as the law of Moses our master; and if we find anything in it which appears exaggerated and incredible, we must attribute it to the weakness of our understandings, rather than to their teachings; and whoever turns into ridicule whatever they have said will be punished." According to Maimonides, Abba Saul died before the destruction of the Temple. (Mishna, "Middoth," or "of the Dimensions of the Temple," Chapter, "Har habbaith"; "Talmud," "Nidda," or "the Purification of Women," C. III. fol. 24, recto; Maimonides, "Proef ad zeraim"; Drach, "Harmonies entre l'Eglise et la Synagogue," T. ii. p. 375.) R. CHANANIA, surnamed the Vicar of the Priests. The Mishna attributes to him a saying which brings clearly before us the social position of the Jewish people in the last days of Jerusalem. "Pray," said he, "for the Roman Empire; for should the terror of its power disappear in Palestine, neighbor will devour neighbor alive." This avowal shows the deplorable state of Judea, and the divisions to which she had become a prey. The Romans seem, however, to have cared very little for the sympathy of R. Chanania, for, having possessed themselves of the city, they put him to death. (Mishna, "Aboth," or "of the Fathers of Tradition," C. III. 2; "Zevachim," or "of Sacrifices," C. IX. 3; "Eduth," or "of Testimony," C. II. 1; David Ganz, "Chronologie," 4826; "Sepher Juchasin," or "the Book of Ancestors," p. 57.) Rabbi ELEAZAR _ben_ PARTAH, one of the most esteemed scribes of the Sanhedrin, on account of his scientific knowledge. Already very aged at the destruction of the Temple, he yet lived several years after that national calamity. ("Talmud," "Gittin," or "of Divorces," C. III. 4; "Sepher Juchasin," p. 31.) Rabbi NACHUM HALBALAR. He is mentioned in the rabbinical books as belonging to the Sanhedrin in the year 28 A.D., but nothing particular is mentioned of his history. ("Talmud," "Peah," or "of the Angle," C. II. 6, "Sanhedrin.") Rabbi SIMON HAMIZPAH. He also is said to have belonged to the Sanhedrin in the year 28 A.D. Beyond this but little is known. ("Talmud," "Peah," C. II. 6.) These are, according to Jewish tradition, the principal scribes, or doctors, that composed the second chamber of the Sanhedrin at the time of the trial of Christ. The ancient books which speak of them are, of course, filled with their praises. Nevertheless, blended with these praises are some remarks which point to the predominant vice of these men--namely, pride. We read in Rabbi Nathan's book, "Aruch" (a Talmudical dictionary of great authority[196]): "_In the past and more honorable times the titles of rabbin, rabbi, or rav,[197] to designate the learned men of Babylon and Palestine, were unknown; thus when Hillel came from Babylon the title of rabbi was not added to his name. It was the same with the prophets, who were styled simply Isaiah, Haggai, etc., and not Rabbi Isaiah, Rabbi Haggai, etc. Neither did Ezra bring the title of rabbi with him from Babylon. It was not until the time of Gamaliel, Simon, and Jochanan ben Zackai that this imposing title was first introduced among the worthies of the Sanhedrin._" This pompous appellation appears, indeed, for the first time among the Jews contemporary with Christ. "They love the uppermost rooms at feasts, and the chief seats in the synagogues, and greetings in the market-places, and to be called of men, Rabbi, Rabbi." Proud of their titles and learning, they laid claim to the foremost rank in society. _A wise man_, say they, _should be preferred to a king; the king takes the precedence of the high priest; the priest of the Levite; the Levite of the ordinary Israelite. The wise man should be preferred to the king, for if the wise man should die he could not easily be replaced; while the king could be succeeded by an Israelite of any order_.[198] Basing the social status on this maxim we are not astonished to find in the Talmud[199] that at a certain time twenty-four persons were excommunicated for having failed to render to the rabbi the reverence due his position. Indeed, a very small offense was often sufficient to call forth maledictions from this haughty and intolerant dignitary. Punishment was mercilessly inflicted wherever there was open violation of any one of the following rules established by the rabbis themselves: If any one opposes his rabbi, he is guilty in the same degree as if he opposed God himself.[200] If any one quarrels with his rabbi, it is as if he contended with the living God.[201] If any one thinks evil of his rabbi, it is as if he thought evil of the Eternal.[202] This self-sufficiency was carried to such an enormous extent that when Jerusalem fell into the hands of Titus, who came against it armed with the sword of vengeance of Jehovah, Rabbi Jehudah wrote with an unflinching pen: "_If Jerusalem was destroyed, we need look for no other cause than the people's want of respect for the rabbis._"[203] We ask now of every sincere Israelite, What opinion can be formed of the members of the second chamber who are about to assist in pronouncing judgment upon Christ? Could impartiality be expected of those proud and selfish men, whose lips delighted in nothing so much as sounding their own praises? What apprehensions must one not have of an unjust and cruel verdict when he remembers it was of these very men that Christ had said: "Beware of the scribes, which desire to walk in long robes; they make broad their phylacteries and enlarge the borders of their garments; they love greetings in the market, and to be called Rabbi, Rabbi; which devour widows' houses; and for show make long prayers."[204] The remembrance of this rebuke, so galling to their pride, continually rankled in their minds; and when the opportunity came, with what remorseless hate did they wreak upon him their vengeance! We may, then, conclude from the foregoing facts that the members of the chamber of the scribes were no better than those composing the chamber of the priests. To this assertion, however, there is one exception to be made; for, as we have already seen, there was among those arrogant and unscrupulous men[205] one whose sense of justice was not surpassed by his great learning. That man was Gamaliel. III. CHAMBER OF THE ELDERS This chamber was the least influential of the three; hence, but few names of the persons composing it at the period to which we refer have been preserved. JOSEPH OF ARIMATHEA. The Gospel makes of him the following eulogy: Rich man; honorable counselor; good and just man; the same had not consented to the counsel and deed of the others. Joseph of Arimathea is called in the Vulgate, or the Latin version of the Bible, "noble centurion," because he was one of the ten magistrates or senators who had the principal authority in Jerusalem under the Romans. His noble position is more clearly marked in the Greek version. That he was one of the seventy may be concluded, first, because it was common to admit senators who were considered the ancients of the people in this assembly; they were indeed the chiefs and the princes of the nation--_seniores populi, principes nostri_; second, because these words, "he had not consented to the counsel and deed of the others," proves that he had a right to be in the grand assembly and take part in the discussions. (Matt. xxvii. 57-59; Mark xv. 43-46; Luke xxiii. 50; John xix. 38; Jacobi Alting, "Schilo seu de Vaticinio patriarchæ Jacobi," p. 310; Goschler, _Diction. Encyclopediq._; word, "Arimathea"; Cornelius Lapidus, "Comment. in Script. sac.," edition Vivés, T. xv. p. 638, second col.) NICODEMUS. St. John the Evangelist says that he was by profession a Pharisee, a prince of the Jews, a master in Israel, and a member of the Sanhedrin, where he one day attempted to oppose his colleagues by speaking in defense of Jesus. This act brought down upon him the disdainful retort from the others, "Art thou also a Galilean?" He was one, it is true, but in secret. We know from the Gospel account of him that he possessed great riches, and that he used nearly a hundred pounds of myrrh and spices for the burial of Christ. The name of Nicodemus is mentioned in the Talmud also; and, although it was known that his attachment to Christ was great, he is, nevertheless, spoken of with honor. But this fact may be due to his great wealth. There were, says the Hebrew book, three eminent men in Jerusalem--Nicodemus ben Gurien, ben Tzitzith Hacksab, ben Kalba Shevuah--each of whom could have supported the whole city for ten years. (John iii. 1-10; vii. 50-52; xix. 39; "Talmud" "Gittin," or "of Divorces," C. V. fol. 56, verso; "Abodah Zarah," or "of Idolatry," C. II. fol. 25, verso; "Taanith," or "of the Fast Days," III. fol. 19, recto; fol. 20, verso; Midrash Rabbah on "Koheleth," VII. II; David Ganz, "Chron." 4757; Knappius, "Comment. in Colloquium Christi cum Nicodemo"; Cornelius Lapidus, "Comment. in Joann." Cap. III. _et seq._) BEN KALBA SHEVUAH. After stating that he was one of the three rich men of Jerusalem, the Talmud adds: "His name was given to him because whosoever entered his house as hungry as a dog came out filled." There is no doubt that his high financial position secured for him one of the first places in the chamber of the ancients. His memory, according to Ritter, is still preserved among the Jews in Jerusalem. ("Talmud," "Gittin," or "of Divorces," C. V. fol. 56, verso; David Ganz, "Chronol." 4757; Ritter, "Erdkunde," XVI. 478.) BEN TZITZITH HACKSAB. The effeminacy of this third rich man is made known to us by the Talmud, where it is stated that the border of his pallium trained itself always on the softest carpets. Like Nicodemus and Kalba Shevuah, he no doubt belonged to the Sanhedrin. ("Talmud," "Gittin," C. V. fol. 56, verso; David Ganz, "Chron." 4757.) SIMON. From Josephus the historian we learn that he was of Jewish parentage, and was highly esteemed in Jerusalem on account of the accurate knowledge of the law which he possessed. He had the boldness, one day, to convoke an assembly of the people and to bring an accusation against King Herod Agrippa, who, he said, deserved, on account of his bad conduct, that the entrance into the sacred portals should be forbidden him. This took place eight or nine years after Christ--that is to say, in the year 42 or 43 A.D. We may safely conclude that a man who had power enough to convoke an assembly and sufficient reputation and knowledge to dare accuse a king, must undoubtedly have belonged to the council of the Sanhedrin. Besides, his birth alone at a time when nobility of origin constituted, as we have already said, a right to honors, would have thrown wide open to him the doors of the assembly. (Jos., "Ant.," XIX. VII. 4; Dérembourg, "Essai sur l'histoire et la géographie de la Palestine," p. 207, n. 1; Frankel, _Monatsschrift._, III. 440.) DORAS was a very influential citizen of Jerusalem, and is thus spoken of by Josephus. He was, however, a man of cruel and immoral character, not hesitating, for the sake of ingratiating himself with Governor Felix, to cause the assassination of Jonathan, the high priest who had made himself obnoxious to that ruler by some just remonstrances respecting his administration. Doras effected the assassination in cold blood by means of murderers hired at the expense of Felix (52 or 53 A.D.). The prominence which this man for a long time maintained in Jerusalem warrants the presumption that he was a member of the Sanhedrin. (Jos., "Ant.," XX. VIII. 5.) JOHN, son of JOHN. DOROTHEAS, son of NATHANAEL. TRYPHON, son of THEUDION. CORNELIUS, son of CERON. These four personages were sent as ambassadors by the Jews of Jerusalem to Emperor Claudius in the year 44, when Cuspius Fadus was governor of Judea. Claudius mentions this fact in a letter sent by him to Cuspius Fadus, and which Josephus has preserved. It is very probable that either they themselves or their fathers were members of the chamber of the ancients; for the Jews appointed as their ambassadors only such members of the Sanhedrin as were distinguished for superior learning. (Jos., "Ant.," XX. I. 1, 2.) The rabbinical books limit their information concerning the members of this chamber to the names we have just mentioned. To be guided, then, by the documents quoted, one would suppose that although this chamber was the least important of the three, yet its members were perhaps more just than those composing the other two, and consequently manifested less vehemence against Christ during His trial. But a statement made by Josephus the historian proves beyond doubt that this third chamber was made up of men no better than were to be found in the others. It was from among the wealthy element of Jewish society, says Josephus, that Sadduceeism received most of its disciples.[206] Since, then, the chamber of ancients was composed principally of the rich men of Jerusalem, we may safely conclude that the majority of its members were infected with the errors of Sadduceeism--that is to say, with a creed that taught that the soul dies before the body.[207] We are, then, in the presence of real materialists, who consider the destiny of man to consist in the enjoyment of material and worldly things,[208] and who are so carnally minded that it would seem as if the prophetic indignation of David had stigmatized them beforehand when he says: "They have so debased themselves as to become like the beasts that have no understanding."[209] Let not our readers imagine that in thus speaking we at all mean to do injustice to the memory of these men. A fact of great importance proves indisputably that Sadducees or Epicureans were numerous among the Sanhedrin. When, several years after the trial of Christ, the apostle Paul had in his turn to appear before that body, he succeeded by the skill of his oratory in turning the doctrinal differences of that assembly to his benefit. "Men and brethren," he exclaimed, "I am a Pharisee, the son of a Pharisee; of the hope and the resurrection of the dead I am called in question."[210] Hardly had the apostle pronounced these words when a hot discussion arose between the Sadducees and the Pharisees, all of them rising and speaking in great confusion--some for the resurrection, others against it--and it was in the tumult of recrimination and general uproar that the apostle was able peacefully to withdraw. Such was the state of things in the supreme council of the Hebrews; and men of notorious heresy, and even impiety, were appointed as judges to decide on questions of doctrine. Among these materialists there were, however, two just men; and, like Lot among the wicked inhabitants of Sodom, there were in this assembly Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. We shall now briefly sum up the contents of the preceding chapter. We possess certain information respecting more than one half of the seventy-one members of the Sanhedrin. We know almost all the high priests, who, as we have already said, formed the principal element of this council. This majority, as we have intimated, is sufficient for the forming of an estimate of the moral tone of all the judges; and before the debates begin, it is easy to foresee the issue of the trial of Christ. What, indeed, could have been the issue of a trial before the first chamber, composed as it was of demoralized, ambitious, and scheming priests? of priests who were mostly Pharisees--that is to say, men of narrow minds, careful only of the external, haughty, overbearing, and self-satisfied, believing themselves to be both infallible and impeccable?[211] It is true they expected a Messiah; but their Messiah was to subdue unto them all their enemies, impose for their benefit a tax on all the nations of the earth, and uphold them in all the absurdities with which they have loaded the law of Moses. But this man who is about to be brought before them has exposed their hypocritical semblance of piety, and justly stripped them of the undeserved esteem in which they were held by the people. He has absolutely denounced the precepts which they invented and placed above the law. He even desired to abolish the illegal taxes which they had imposed upon the people. Are not all these more than sufficient to condemn Him in their eyes and prove Him worthy of death? Can a more favorable verdict be expected of the members of the second chamber, composed as it was of men so conceited and arrogant? These doctors expected a Messiah who would be another Solomon, under whose reign and with whose aid they would establish at Jerusalem an academy of learning that would attract all the kings, even as the Queen of Sheba was attracted to the court of the wisest king of Israel. But this Jesus, who claims to be the Messiah, has the boldness to declare blessed those who are humble in spirit. His disciples are but ignorant fishermen, chosen from the least of the tribes; his speech of a provoking simplicity, condemning before the multitude the haughty and pretentious language of the doctors. Are not these things sufficient to bring down upon him their condemnation? And what justice can we expect, in fine, from the third chamber, when we remember that most of its members were depraved Sadducees, caring only for the enjoyment of the things of this world, heedless of the welfare of the soul, almost denying the existence of God, and disbelieving in the resurrection of the dead? According to their views, the mission of the Messiah was not to consist in the regenerating of Israel as well as of the whole human race, but in the making of Jerusalem the center of riches and worldly goods, which would be brought hither by the conquered and humbled Gentiles, who were to become the slaves of the Israelites. But the man upon whom they are called to pass judgment, far from attaching great importance to wealth and dignity, as did they, prescribes to his disciples the renunciation of riches and honors. He even despises those things which the Sadducees esteem most--viz., pedigree, silk attire, cups of gold, and sumptuous repast. What could have rendered his condemnation surer than such manifestations of contempt for the pride and voluptuousness of these men? To limit our inquiry to the moral characters of the judges alone, the issue of the trial can be but fatal to the accused; and so, when the three chambers constituting the Sanhedrin council had entered into session, we can well imagine that there was no hope for the acquittal of Jesus; for are not all the high priests, as well as the majority of the scribes and ancients, against him?[212] APPENDIX II ACTS OF PILATE The apocryphal Acts of Pilate are herewith given under Appendix II. The authenticity of these writings has never been finally settled by the scholarship of the world. It is safe to say, however, that the current of modern criticism is decidedly against their genuineness. Nevertheless, the following facts seem to be very generally conceded by the critics: That there are now in existence certain ancient documents called the "Acts of Pilate"; that they were probably discovered at Turin, in northern Italy, and were first used by the noted New Testament palæographer, Dr. Constantine Tischendorf, who studied them in company with the celebrated orientalist, Victor Amadee Peyron, professor of oriental languages in the University of Turin; and, furthermore, that these documents that we now have are approximately accurate copies of the document mentioned by Justin Martyr about the year 138 A.D., and by Tertullian about the year 200 A.D. But, admitting all these things, the question of _genuineness_ and _authenticity_ still remains to be settled. Was the document referred to by Justin as the "Acts of Pilate," and again as the "Acts recorded under Pontius Pilate," a genuine manuscript, written by or composed under the direction of Pilate, or was it a "pious fraud of some Christian," who gathered his prophecies from the Old, and his facts from the New Testament, and then embellished both with his imagination? The subject is too vast and the space at our disposal is too limited to permit a discussion of the authenticity of the Acts of Pilate. We have deemed it sufficient to insert under Appendix II lengthy extracts from the writings of Tischendorf and Lardner, two of the most celebrated biblical critics, relating to the genuineness of these Acts. The reader would do well to peruse these extracts carefully before reading the Acts of Pilate. LARDNER'S REMARKS ON THE ACTS OF PILATE _The Acts of Pontius Pilate, and his letter to Tiberius_ "Justin Martyr, in his first Apology, which was presented to the emperor Antoninus Pius, and the Senate of Rome, about the year 140, having mentioned our Savior's crucifixion and some of the circumstances of it, adds: 'And that these things were so done you may know from the Acts made in the time of Pontius Pilate.' "Afterwards in the same Apology, having mentioned some of our Lord's miracles, such as healing diseases and raising the dead, he adds: 'And that these things were done by him you may know from the Acts made in the time of Pontius Pilate.' "Tertullian, in his Apology, about the year 200, having spoken of our Savior's crucifixion and resurrection, and his appearance to his disciples, who were ordained by him to preach the gospel over the world, goes on: 'Of all these things, relating to Christ, Pilate, in his conscience a Christian, sent an account to Tiberius, then emperor.' "In another chapter or section of his Apology, nearer the beginning, he speaks to this purpose: 'There was an ancient decree that no one should be received for a deity unless he was first approved by the senate. Tiberius, in whose time the Christian religion had its rise, having received from Palestine in Syria an account of such things as manifested our Savior's divinity, proposed to the senate, and giving his own vote as first in his favor, that he should be placed among the gods. The senate refused, because he himself had declined that honor.' "'Nevertheless the emperor persisted in his own opinion, and ordered that if any accused the Christians they should be punished.' And then adds: 'Search,' says he, 'your own writings, and you will there find that Nero was the first emperor who exercised any acts of severity toward the Christians, because they were then very numerous at Rome.' "It is fit that we should now observe what notice Eusebius takes of these things in his Ecclesiastical History. It is to this effect: 'When the wonderful resurrection of our Savior, and his ascension to heaven, were in the mouths of all men, it being an ancient custom for the governors of provinces to write the emperor, and give him an account of new and remarkable occurrences, that he might not be ignorant of anything; our Savior's resurrection being much talked of throughout all of Palestine, Pilate informed the emperor of it, as likewise of his miracles, which he had heard of, and that being raised up after he had been put to death, he was already believed by many to be a god. And it is said that Tiberius referred the matter to the senate, but that they refused their consent, under a pretence that it had not been first approved of by them; there being an ancient law that no one should be deified among the Romans without an order of the senate; but, indeed, because the saving and divine doctrine of the gospel needed not to be confirmed by human judgment and authority. However, Tiberius persisted in his former sentiment, and allowed not anything to be done that was prejudicial to the doctrine of Christ. These things are related by Tertullian, a man famous on other accounts, and particularly for his skill in the Roman laws. I say he speaks thus in his Apology for the Christians, written by him in the Roman tongue, but since (in the days of Eusebius) translated into the Greek.' His words are these: 'There was an ancient decree that no one should be consecrated as a deity by the emperor, unless he was first approved of by the senate. Marcus Aemilius knows this by his god Alburnus. This is to our purpose, forasmuch as among you divinity is bestowed by human judgment.' "And if God does not please man, he shall not be God. And, according to this way of thinking, man must be propitious to God. Tiberius, therefore, in whose time the Christian name was first known in the world, having received an account of this doctrine out of Palestine, where it began, communicated that account to the senate; giving his own suffrage at the same time in favor of it. But the senate rejected it, because it had not been approved by themselves. 'Nevertheless the emperor persisted in his judgment, and threatened death to such as should accuse the Christians.' 'Which,' adds Eusebius, 'could not be other than the disposal of Divine Providence, that the doctrine of the gospel, which was then in its beginning, might be preached all over the world without molestation.' So Eusebius. "Divers exceptions have been made by learned moderns to the original testimonies of Justin Martyr and Tertullian. 'Is there any likelihood,' say they, 'that Pilate should write such things to Tiberius concerning a man whom he had condemned to death? And if he had written them, is it probable that Tiberius should propose to the senate to have a man put among the gods upon the bare relation of a governor of a province? And if he had proposed it, who can make a doubt that the senate would not have immediately complied? So that though we dare not say that this narration is absolutely false, yet it must be reckoned as doubtful.' So says Du Pin. "These and other difficulties shall now be considered. "Now, therefore, I shall mention some observations: "In the first place, I shall observe that Justin Martyr and Tertullian are early writers of good repute. That is an observation of Bishop Pearson. These testimonies are taken from the most public writings, Apologies for the Christian religion, presented, or at least proposed and recommended to the emperor and senate of Rome, or to magistrates of high authority and great distinction in the Roman empire. Secondly: It certainly was the custom of governors of provinces to compose Acts or memoirs or commentaries of the remarkable occurrences in the places where they presided. In the time of the first Roman emperors there were Acts of the Senate, Acts of the City, or People of Rome, Acts of other cities, and Acts of governors of provinces. Of all these we can discern clear proofs and frequent mention in ancient writers of the best credit. Julius Cæsar ordered that Acts of the Senate, as well as daily Acts of the People, should be published. See Sueton. Jul. Cæs. c. xx. "Augustus forbade publishing Acts of the Senate. "There was an officer, himself a senator, whose province it was to compose those Acts. "The Acts of the Senate must have been large and voluminous, containing not only the question proposed, or referred to the senate by the consul, or the emperor, but also the debates and speeches of the senators. "The Acts of the People, or City, were journals or registers of remarkable births, marriages, divorces, deaths, proceedings in courts of judicature, and other interesting affairs, and some other things below the dignity of history. "To these Acts of each kind Roman authors frequently had recourse for information. "There were such Acts or registers at other places besides Rome, particularly at Antium. From them Suetonius learned the day and place of the birth of Caligula, about which were other uncertain reports. And he speaks of those Acts as public authorities, and therefore more decisive and satisfactory than some other accounts. "There were also Acts of the governors of provinces, registering all remarkable transactions and occurrences. "Justin Martyr and Tertullian could not be mistaken about this; and the learned bishop of Cæsarea admits the truth of what they say. And in the time of the persecuting emperor Maximin, about the year of Christ 307, the heathen people forged Acts of Pilate, derogatory to the honor of our Savior, which were diligently spread abroad, to unsettle Christians, or discourage them in the profession of their faith. Of this we are informed by Eusebius in his Ecclesiastical History. Thirdly: It was customary for the governors of provinces to send to the emperor an account of remarkable transactions in places where they presided. "So thought the learned Eusebius, as we have seen. "And Pliny's letters to Trajan, still extant, are a proof of it. Philo speaks of the Acts or Memoirs of Alexandria sent to Caligula, which that emperor read with more eagerness and satisfaction than anything else. "Fourthly: It has been said to be very unlikely that Pilate should write such things to Tiberius, concerning a man whom he [Pilate] had condemned to death. "To which it is easy to reply, that if he wrote to Tiberius at all, it is very likely that he should speak favorably and honorably of the Savior. "That Pilate passed sentence of condemnation upon our Lord very unwillingly, and not without a sort of compulsion, appears from the history of the Evangelist: Matt. xxvii.; Mark xv.; Luke xxiii.; John xviii. Pilate was hard pressed. The rulers of the Jews vehemently accused our Lord to him. They said they had found him perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying that himself is Christ, a king, and the like; and all without effect for a while. "Pilate still sought for expedients to set Jesus at liberty. "As his reluctance had been very manifest and public in a court of judicature, in the chief city of the nation at the time of one of their great festivals, it is highly probable that when he sent to Rome he should make some apology for his conduct. Nor could anything be more proper than to allege some of our Savior's miracles which he had heard of, and to give an account to the zeal of those who professed faith in him after his ignominious crucifixion, and openly asserted that he had risen from the dead and ascended to heaven. "Pilate would not dare in such a report to write falsehood, nor to conceal the most material circumstances of the case about which he was writing. At the trial he publicly declared his innocence: and told the Jews several times 'that he found no fault in him at all.' "And when he was going to pronounce the sentence of condemnation, he took water and washed his hands before the multitude, saying: I am innocent of the blood of this just person: 'See ye to it.' Matt. xxvii. 24. "When he wrote to Tiberius he would very naturally say something of our Lord's wonderful resurrection and ascension, which were much talked of and believed by many, with which he could not be possibly unacquainted. The mention of these things would be the best vindication of his inward persuasion, and his repeated declarations of our Lord's innocence upon trial notwithstanding the loud clamors and united accusations of the Jewish people and their rulers. "Pilate, as has been said several times, passed condemnation upon Jesus very unwillingly, and not until after long trial. "When he passed sentence upon him he gave orders that this title or inscription should be put upon the cross: 'Jesus of Nazareth, the king of the Jews.' "When he had expired, application was made to Pilate, by Joseph of Arimathea, an honorable counsellor, that the body might be taken down and buried. To which he consented; but not till assurance from the centurion that he had been sometime dead. The next day some of the priests and pharisees came to him, saying: 'Sir, we remember that that deceiver said while he was yet alive, After three days I will rise again. Command, therefore, that the sepulchre be made sure, until the third day, lest his disciples come by night and steal him away, and say unto the people, He is risen from the dead.' 'So the last error shall be worse than the first.' "Pilate said unto them: 'Ye have a watch; go your way, make it sure as you can.' So they went and made the sepulchre sure, sealing the stone and setting a watch. "Whilst they were at the sepulchre there was a 'great earthquake,' the stone was rolled away by an Angel, 'whose countenance was like lightning, and for fear of whom the guards did shake and become as dead men.' Some of the guards went down into the City, and showed unto the chief priests all the things that were done. "Nor can there be any doubt that these things came also to the governor's ears. Pilate, therefore, was furnished with materials of great importance relating to this case, very proper to be sent to the emperor. And very probably he did send them, for he could do no otherwise. "Fifthly: it is said, 'That if Pilate had sent such things to Tiberius, it is nevertheless very unlikely that Tiberius should propose to the senate that our Savior might be put among the gods, because that emperor had little or no regard for things of religion.' "But it is easy to answer that such observations are of little or no importance. Few princes are able to preserve uniformity in the whole of their conduct, and it is certain that Tiberius varied from himself upon many occasions and in different parts of his life. "Sixthly: it is further urged, that if Tiberius had proposed the thing to the senate, there can be no doubt that the senate would have immediately complied. "But neither is this difficulty insuperable; for we are assured by Suetonius that Tiberius let several things be decided by the senate contrary to his own opinion, without showing much uneasiness. (It must be observed here that Dr. Lardner is very copious in quotations from the best authorities in proof of all his statements. The reader is referred to Vol. VI of his great works, pages 605-620, where will be found these quotations in foot-notes too lengthy to be transcribed here.) "Seventhly: The right interpretation of the words of Tertullian will be of use to remove difficulties and to confirm the truth of the account. "I have translated them in this manner: 'When Tiberius referred the matter to the senate, that our Lord should be placed in the number of gods, the senate refused, because he had himself declined that honor.' "The words are understood to the like purpose by Pearson. "There is another sense, which is that of the Greek translation of Tertullian's Apology, made use of by Eusebius: 'The senate refused because it had not itself approved of it.' But that sense, if it be any sense at all, is absurd, and therefore unlikely. If none beside the senate had a right to consecrate any for the deity, yet certainly the consul or the emperor might _refer_ such a thing to that venerable body. According to Tertullian's account, the whole is in a fair way of legal proceeding." [And it may be remarked here that Tertullian, being well versed in Roman law, would hardly have passed by a blunder here or committed one in anything wherein he may have had to do with the statement.] "By virtue of an ancient law, no one might be reckoned a god (at least by the Romans) without the approbation of the senate. Tiberius having been informed of some extraordinary things concerning Jesus, referred it to the senate, that he also might be placed in the number of deities. Was it possible after this that the senate should refuse it, under a pretense that Tiberius had bestowed divinity upon Jesus without their consent, when he had done no such thing, and at the very time was referring it to their judgment in the old legal way? "Le Clerc objects that the true reading in Tertullian is not--_Non quia in se non probaverat_, but _quia non ipse probaverat_. "Be it so. The meaning is the same. _Ipse_ must intend the emperor, not the senate. The other sense is absurd, and next to a contradiction, and therefore not likely to be right, and at the same time it is a rude and needless affront. The other interpretation represents a handsome compliment, not without foundation. For it is very true that Tiberius had himself declined receiving divine honors. "Eighthly: It has been objected that Tiberius was unfriendly to the Jewish people, and therefore it must be reckoned very improbable that he should be willing to put a man who was a Jew among the gods. "But there is little or no ground for this objection. It was obviated long ago in the first part of this work, where beside other things it is said: In the reign of Tiberius the Jewish people were well used. They were indeed banished out of Italy by an edict; but it was for a misdemeanor committed by some villains of that nation. The great hardship was that many innocent persons suffered beside the guilty. "Upon other occasions Tiberius showed the Jews all the favor that could be desired, especially after the death of Sejanus; and is much applauded for it by Philo. "Ninthly: Still it is urged, 'Nothing can be more absurd than to suppose that Tiberius would receive for a deity a man who taught the worship of one God only, and whose religion decried all other deities as mere fiction.' "Upon which I must say, nothing can be more absurd than this objection. Tertullian does not suppose Tiberius to be well acquainted with the Christian religion, our Savior's doctrine. "All he says is, that, having heard of some extraordinary things concerning him, he had a desire to put him among the Roman deities. "Tenthly: Tertullian proceeds: 'Nevertheless the emperor persisted in his opinion, and ordered that if any accused the Christians they should be punished.' This was very natural. Though the senate would not put Jesus in the number of deities, the emperor was still of opinion that it might have been done. "And he determined to provide by an edict for the safety of those who professed a high regard for Jesus Christ. Which edict, as Eusebius reasonably supposes, was of use for securing the free preaching of the gospel in many places. "But the authority of that edict would cease at the emperor's demise, if not sooner. Unfortunately, it could not be in force, or have any great effect, for a long season. "Nor need we consider the ordering such an edict as in favor of the Christians as an incredible thing, if we observe what Philo says, who assures us that 'Tiberius gave orders to all the governors of provinces, to protect the Jews in the cities where they lived in the observation of their own rights and customs; and that they should bear hard on none of them, but such as were unpeaceable and transgressed the laws of the State.' "Nor is it impossible that the Christians should partake of the like civilities, they being considered as a sect of the Jews. And it is allowed that the Roman empire did not openly persecute the Christians, till they became so numerous that the heathen people were apprehensive of the total overthrow of their religion. "In the eleventh place, says a learned and judicious writer, 'It is probable that Pilate, who had no enmity toward Christ, and accounted him a man unjustly accused and an extraordinary person, might be moved by the wonderful circumstances attending and following his death, to hold him in veneration, and perhaps to think him a hero and the son of some deity. It is possible that he might send a narrative, such as he thought most convenient, of these transactions to Tiberius: but it is not at all likely that Tiberius proposed to the senate that Christ should be deified, and that the senate rejected it, and that Tiberius continued favorably disposed toward Christ, and that he threatened to punish those who should molest and accuse the Christians.' 'Observe also,' says the same learned writer, 'that the Jews persecuted the apostles, and slew Stephen, and that Saul made havoc of the church, entering into every house, and hailing men and women, committing them to prison, and that Pilate connived at all this violence, and was not afraid of the resentment of Tiberius on that account.' "Admitting the truth of all these particulars just mentioned, it does not follow that no orders were given by Tiberius for the protection of the followers of Jesus. "For no commands of princes are obeyed by all men everywhere. They are oftentimes transgressed. "Nor was any place more likely than Judea, where the enmity of many against the disciples of Jesus was so great. Nor need it be supposed that Tiberius was very intent to have this order strictly regarded. For he was upon many occasions very indolent and dilatory; and he was well known to be so. Moreover, the death of Stephen was tumultuous, and not an act of the Jewish council. And further, the influence of Pilate in that country was not now at its full height. We perceive from the history of our Lord's trial before him, as recorded in the gospels, that he stood in fear of the Jews. "He was apprehensive that, if he did not gratify them in that point, they might draw up a long list of maladministrations for the emperor's view. His condemnation of Jesus at the importunity of the Jews, contrary to his own judgment and inclination, declared to them more than once, was a point gained; and his government must have been ever after much weakened by so mean a condescension. And that Pilate's influence in the province continued to decline is manifest, in that the people of it prevailed at last to have him removed in a very ignominious manner by Vitellius, president of Syria. "Pilate was removed from his government before the Passover in the year of Christ 36. After which there was no procurator or other person with the power of life and death, in Judea, before the ascension of Herod Agrippa, in the year 41. "In that space of time the Jews would take an unusual license, and gratify their own malicious dispositions, beyond what they could otherwise have done, without control. "Twelfth: Some have objected that Tertullian is so absurd as to speak of Christians in the time of Tiberius; though it be certain that the followers of Jesus were not known by that denomination till some time afterwards. "But this is a trifling objection. Tertullian intends no more by Christians than followers of Jesus, by whatever name they were known or distinguished; whether that of Nazarenes, or Galileans, or disciples. "And it is undoubted, that the Christian religion had its rise in the reign of Tiberius; though they who professed to believe in Jesus, as risen from the dead and ascended to heaven, were not called Christians till some time afterwards. "So at the beginning of the paragraph he says, 'There was an ancient law that no god should be consecrated by the emperor, unless it was first approved by the senate.' Nevertheless, Tertullian was not so ignorant as not to know that there were not any emperors when the ancient decree was passed. "His meaning is, that no one should be deified by any man, no, not by a consul or emperor, without the approbation of the senate. "Finally: We do not suppose that Tiberius understood the doctrine of the Savior, or that he was at all inclined to be a Christian. "Nor did Tertullian intend to say any such thing, for immediately after the passage first cited from him, he adds: 'But the Cæsars themselves would have believed in Jesus Christ, if they had not been necessary for the world, or if Christians could have been Cæsars.' "Grotius appears to have rightly understood the importance of these passages of Tertullian; whose note upon Matthew xxiv. 2, I have transcribed below." The reader is referred to Vol. VI. of Lardner's Works, where he will find the notes of this learned writer, as quoted from various ancients and moderns, in proof of all he has brought forward in these lengthy arguments, and which cannot be transcribed here. "Admit, then, the right interpretation of Tertullian, and it may be allowed that what he says is not incredible or improbable. The Romans had almost innumerable deities, and yet they frequently added to that number and adopted new. As deifications were very frequent, Tiberius might have indulged a thought of placing Jesus among the established deities without intending to derogate from the worship or honor of those who were already received. "But the senate was not in a humor to gratify him. "And the reason assigned is, because the emperor himself had declined that honor, which is so plausible a pretense, and so fine a compliment, that we cannot easily suppose it to be Tertullian's own invention; which, therefore, gives credibility to his account. "Eusebius, though he acknowledged the overruling providence of God in the favorable disposition of Tiberius toward the first followers of Jesus, by which means the Christian religion in its infancy was propagated over the world with less molestation, does also say, at the beginning of the chapter quoted, 'The senate refused their consent to the emperor's proposal, under a pretence that they had not been first asked, there being an ancient law, that no one should be deified without the approbation of the senate, but, indeed,' adds he, 'because the saving and divine doctrine of the gospel needed not to be ratified by human judgment and authority.' Chrysostom's observation is to like purpose, but with some inaccuracies. It is likely that he was not at all acquainted with Tertullian; and he was no admirer of Eusebius. Perhaps he builds upon general tradition only. 'The Roman senate,' says he, 'had the power of nominating and decreeing who should be gods. When, therefore, all things concerning Christ had been published, he who was the governor of the Jewish nation sent to them to know if they would be pleased to appoint him also to be a god. But they refused, being offended and provoked, that before their decree and judgment had been obtained, the power of the crucified one had shined out and had attracted all the world to the worship of him. But, by the overruling providence of God, this was brought to pass against their will, that the divinity of Christ might not be established by human appointment and that he might not be reckoned one of the many who were deified by them.' "Some of which, as he proceeds to show, had been of infamous characters. "I shall now transcribe below in his own words what Orosius, in the fifth century, says of this matter, that all my readers may have it at once before them without looking farther for it." This quotation from Orosius will be found in the "Testimony of the Fathers," under the title, "Testimony of Orosius." "And I refer to Zonoras and Nicephoras. The former only quotes Eusebius, and transcribes into his Annals the chapter of his Ecclesiastical History quoted by me. Nor has Nicephoras done much more."[213] TISCHENDORF'S COMMENTS ON THE ACTS OF PILATE "It is the same with the second apocryphal work brought under review above, the so-called Acts of Pilate, only with the difference that they refer as much to John as to the synoptical Gospels. Justin, in like manner as before, is the most ancient voucher for this work, which is said to have been written under Pilate's jurisdiction, and by reason of its specification of wonderful occurrences before, during, and after the crucifixion, to have borne strong evidence to the divinity of Christ. Justin saw as little reason as Tertullian and others for believing that it was a work of pious deception from a Christian hand." [As has been alleged by opponents.] "On the contrary, Justin appeals to it twice in his first Apology in order to confirm the accounts of the occurrences which took place at the crucifixion in accordance with prophecy, and of the miraculous healings effected by Christ, also the subject of prophetic announcement. He cites specifically (chap. 35) from Isaiah lxv. 2, and lviii. 2: 'I have spread out my hands all the day unto a rebellious people which walketh in a way that was not good. They ask of me the ordinances of justice, they take delight in approaching to God.' Further, from the 22nd Psalm: 'They pierced my hands and my feet; they parted my garments upon them and cast lots upon my vesture.' With reference to this he remarks that Christ fulfilled this; that he did stretch forth his hands when the Jews crucified him--the men who contended against him and denied that he was Christ. 'Then,' he says further, 'as the prophet foretold, they dragged him to the judgment seat, set him upon it and said, Judge us.' The expression, however, 'they pierced,' etc., refers to the nails with which they fastened his feet and hands to the cross. And after they had crucified him they threw lots for his clothing, and they who had taken part in the act of crucifixion divided it among themselves. To this he adds: And you can learn from the Acts, composed during the governorship of Pontius Pilate, that these things really happened. "Still more explicit is the testimony of Tertullian. It may be found in Apologeticus (chap. 2) where he says that out of envy Jesus was surrendered to Pilate by the Jewish ceremonial lawyers, and by him, after he had yielded to the cries of the people, given over for crucifixion; that while hanging on the cross he gave up the ghost with a loud cry, and so anticipated the executioner's duty; that at that same hour the day was interrupted by a sudden darkness; that a guard of soldiers was set at the grave for the purpose of preventing his disciples stealing his body, since he had predicted his resurrection, but that on the third day the ground was suddenly shaken and the stone rolled away from before the sepulchre; that in the grave nothing was found but the articles used in his burial; that the report was spread abroad by those who stood outside that the disciples had taken the body away; that Jesus spent forty days with them in Galilee, teaching them what their mission should be, and that after giving them their instructions as to what they should preach, he was raised in a cloud to heaven. Tertullian closes this account with the words, 'All this was reported to the Emperor at that time, Tiberius, by Pilate, his conscience having compelled even him to become a Christian.' "The document now in our possession corresponds with this evidence of Justin and Tertullian. Even in the title it agrees with the account of Justin, although instead of the word _acta_, which he used, and which is manifestly much more Latin than Greek, a Greek expression is employed which can be shown to have been used to indicate genuine Acts. The details recounted by Justin and Tertullian are all found in our text of the Acts of Pilate, with this variation, that nothing corresponds to what is joined to the declaration of the prophet, 'They dragged him to the seat of judgment and set him upon it and said,' etc. Besides this, the casting lots for the vesture is expressed simply by the allusion to the division of the clothes. We must give even closer scrutiny to one point. Justin alludes to the miracles which were performed in fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, on the lame, the dumb, the blind, the dead, and on lepers. In fact, in our Acts of Pilate there are made to appear before the Roman governor a palsied man who had suffered for thirty-eight years, and was brought in a bed by young men, and healed on the Sabbath day; a blind man cured by the laying on of hands; a cripple who had been restored; a leper who had been cleansed; the woman whose issue of blood had been stanched, and a witness of the raising of Lazarus from the dead. Of that which Tertullian cites we will adduce merely the passage found in no one of our gospels, that Jesus passed forty days after his resurrection in company with his disciples in Galilee. "This is indicated in our Acts of Pilate at the end of the fifteenth chapter, where the risen man is represented as saying to Joseph: 'For forty days go not out of thy house, for behold I go to my brethren in Galilee.' "Every one will perceive how strongly the argument that our Acts of Pilate are the same which Justin and Tertullian read is buttressed by these unexpected coincidences. The assertion recently made requires, consequently, no labored contradiction that the allusions to both men have grown out of their mere suspicion that there was such a record as the Acts of Pilate, or out of the circulation of a mere story about such a record, while the real work was written as the consequence of these allusions at the close of the third century. What an uncommon fancy it requires in the two men to coincide so perfectly in a single production, as is the case in the Acts to which I am now referring. And are we to imagine that they referred with such emphasis as they employed to the mere creations of their fancy? "The question has been raised with more justice, whether the production in our possession may not have been a copy or a free revision of the old and primitive one. The modern change in the title has given support to this conjecture, for it has occasioned the work to be commonly spoken of as the Gospel of Nicodemus. But this title is borne neither by any Greek manuscript, the Coptic-Sahidian papyrus, nor the Latin manuscripts with the exception of a few of the most recent. It may be traced only subsequently to the twelfth century, although at a very early period, in one of the two prefaces attached to the work, Nicodemus is mentioned in one place as a Hebrew author and in another as a Greek translator. But aside from the title, the handwriting displays great variation, and the two prefaces alluded to above show clearly the work of two hands. Notwithstanding this, however, there are decisive grounds for holding that our Acts of Pilate contains in its main substance the document drawn from Justin and Tertullian. The first of these to be noticed is, that the Greek text, as given in the version most widely circulated in the manuscripts, is surprisingly corroborated by two documents of the rarest character, and first used by myself--a Coptic-Sahidian papyrus manuscript and a Latin palimpsest--both probably dating from the fifth century. Such a documentary confirmation of their text is possessed by scarcely ten works of the collective Greek classic literature. Both of these ancient writings make it in the highest degree probable that the Egyptian and Latin translations which they contain were executed still earlier. "But could a work which was held in great consideration in Justin's and Tertullian's time and down to the commencement of the fourth century, and which strenuously insists that the Emperor Maximin caused other blasphemous Acts of Pilate to be published and zealously circulated, manifestly for the purpose of displacing and discrediting the older Christian Acts--could such a work suddenly change its whole form, and from the fifth century, to which in so extraordinary a manner translators, wholly different in character, point back with such wonderful concurrence, continue in the new form? Contrary as this is to all historical criticism, there is in the contents of the work, in the singular manner in which isolated and independent details are shown to be related to the canonical books, no less than in the accordance with the earliest quotations found in Justin and Tertullian, a guaranty of the greatest antiquity. "There are in the contents, also, matters of such a nature that we must confess that they are to be traced back to the primitive edition, as, for example the narrative in the first chapter of the bringing forward of the accused. "It is incorrect, moreover, to draw a conclusion from Justin's designation of the Acta which is not warranted by the whole character of the work. The Acta, the _[Greek: hypomnêmata]_, are specified in Justin's account not less than in the manuscripts which we possess, as being written _under_ Pontius Pilate, and that can signify nothing else than that they were an official production composed under the direct sanction of the Roman governor. Their transmission to the emperor must be imagined as accompanied by a letter of the same character with that which has been brought down to us in the Greek and Latin edition, and yet not at all similar in purport to the notable Acts of Pilate."[214] THE ACTS OF PILATE (_First Greek Form_) I, Ananias, of the proprætor's bodyguard, being learned in the law, knowing our Lord Jesus Christ from the Holy Scriptures, coming to Him by faith, and counted worthy of the holy baptism, searching also the memorials written at that time of what was done in the case of our Lord Jesus Christ, which the Jews had laid up in the time of Pontius Pilate, found these memorials written in Hebrew, and, by the favor of God, have translated them into Greek for the information of all who call upon the name of our Master Jesus Christ, in the seventeenth year of the reign of our lord Flavius Theodosius, and the sixth of Flavius Valentianus, in the ninth indiction. All ye, therefore, who read and transfer into other books, remember me and pray for me, and pardon my sins which I have sinned against Him. Peace be to those who read and those who hear, and to their households. Amen. * * * * * CHAPTER 1.--Having called a council, the high priests and the scribes Annas and Caiaphas and Semes and Dathaes, and Gamaliel, Judas, Levi and Nepthalim, Alexander and Jaïrus, and the rest of the Jews, came to Pilate accusing Jesus about many things, saying: We know this man to be the son of Joseph the carpenter, born of Mary; and he says that he is the Son of God, and a king; moreover, profanes the Sabbath, and wishes to do away with the law of our fathers. Pilate says: And what are the things which he does, to show that he wishes to do away with it? The Jews say: We have a law not to cure anyone on the Sabbath; but this man has, on the Sabbath, cured the lame and the crooked, the withered and the blind and the paralytic, the dumb and the demoniac, by evil practices. Pilate says to them: What evil practices? They say to him: He is a magician, and by Beelzebub, prince of the demons, he casts out the demons, and all are subject to him. Pilate says to them: This is not casting out the demons by an unclean spirit, but by the god Esculapius. The Jews say to Pilate: We entreat your highness that he stand at the tribunal and be heard. And Pilate, having called them, says: Tell me how I, being a procurator, can try a king? They say to him: We do not say that he is a king, but he himself says that he is. And Pilate, having called the runner, says to him: Let Jesus be brought in with respect. And the runner, going out and recognizing him, adored him, and took his cloak into his hand and spread it on the ground, and says to him: My Lord, walk on this and come in, for the procurator calls thee. And the Jews, seeing what the runner had done, cried out against Pilate, saying: Why hast thou ordered him to come in by a runner, and not by a crier? for assuredly the runner, when he saw him, adored him, and spread his doublet on the ground and made him walk like a king. And Pilate, having called the runner, says to him: Why hast thou done this, and spread out thy cloak upon the earth and made Jesus walk upon it? The runner says to him: My Lord procurator, when thou didst send me to Jerusalem to Alexander, I saw him sitting upon an ass, and the sons of the Hebrews held branches in their hands and shouted; and others spread their clothes under him saying: Save now, thou who art in the highest; blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord. The Jews cry out and say to the runner: The sons of the Hebrews shouted in Hebrew; whence, then, hast thou the Greek? The runner says to them: I asked one of the Jews, and said: What is it they are shouting in Hebrew? And he interpreted it for me. Pilate says to them: And what did they shout in Hebrew? The Jews say to him: _Hosanna membrome baruchamma adonai._ Pilate says to them: And this hosanna, etc., how is it interpreted? The Jews say to him: Save now in the highest; blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord. Pilate says to them: If you bear witness to the words spoken by the children, in what has the runner done wrong? And they were silent. And the procurator says to the runner: Go out and bring him in what way thou wilt. And the runner, going out, did in the same manner as before, and says to Jesus: My Lord, come in; the procurator calleth thee. And Jesus, going in, and the standard bearers holding their standards, the tops of the standards bent down, and adored Jesus. And the Jews, seeing the bearing of the standards how they were bent down and adored Jesus, cried out vehemently against the standard bearers. And Pilate says to the Jews: Do you not wonder how the tops of the standards were bent down and adored Jesus? The Jews say to Pilate: We saw how the standard bearers bent them down and adored him. And the procurator, having called the standard bearers, says to them: Why have you done this? They say to Pilate: We are Greeks and temple slaves, and how could we adore him? and assuredly, as we were holding them up, the tops bent down of their own accord and adored him. Pilate says to the rulers of the synagogue and the elders of the people: Do you choose for yourselves men strong and powerful, and let them hold up the standards, and let us see whether they will bend down with them. And the elders of the Jews picked out twelve men powerful and strong, and made them hold up the standards six by six; and they were placed in front of the procurator's tribunal. And Pilate says to the runner: Take him outside of the Pretorium, and bring him in again in whatever way may please thee. And Jesus and the runner went out of the Pretorium. And Pilate, summoning those who had formerly held up the standards, says to them: I have sworn by the health of Cæsar, that if the standards do not bend down when Jesus comes in, I will cut off your heads. And the procurator ordered Jesus to come in the second time. And the runner did in the same manner as before, and made many entreaties to Jesus to walk on his cloak. And he walked on it and went in. And as he went in the standards were again bent down and adored Jesus. * * * * * CHAP. 2.--And Pilate, seeing this, was afraid, and sought to go away from the tribunal, but when he was still thinking of going away, his wife sent to him saying: Have nothing to do with this just man, for many things have I suffered on his account this night. And Pilate, summoning the Jews, says to them: You know that my wife is a worshiper of God, and prefers to adhere to the Jewish religion along with you. They say to him: Yes, we know. Pilate says to them: Behold, my wife has sent to me, saying, Have nothing to do with this just man, for many things have I suffered on account of him this night. And the Jews answering, say unto Pilate: Did we not tell thee that he was a sorcerer? Behold, he has sent a dream to thy wife. And Pilate, having summoned Jesus, says to him: What do these witness against thee? Sayest thou nothing? And Jesus said: Unless they had the power, they would say nothing; for every one has the power of his own mouth to speak both good and evil. They shall see to it. And the elders of the Jews answered, and said to Jesus: What shall we see? First, that thou wast born of fornication; secondly, that thy birth in Bethlehem was the cause of the murder of the infants; thirdly, that thy father Joseph and thy mother Mary fled into Egypt because they had no confidence in the people. Some of the bystanders, pious men of the Jews, say: We deny that he was born of fornication; for we know that Joseph espoused Mary, and he was not born of fornication. Pilate says to the Jews who said he was of fornication: This story of yours is not true, because they were betrothed, as also these fellow-countrymen of yours say. Annas and Caiaphas say to Pilate: All the multitude of us cry out that he was born of fornication, and are not believed; these are proselytes and his disciples. And Pilate, calling Annas and Caiaphas, says to them: What are proselytes? They say to him: They are by birth children of the Greeks, and have now become Jews. And those that said that he was not born of fornication, viz.: Lazarus, Asterius, Antonius, James, Amnes, Zeras, Samuel, Isaac, Phinees, Crispus, Agrippas and Judas, say: We are not proselytes, but are children of the Jews, and speak the truth; for we were present at the betrothal of Joseph and Mary. And Pilate, calling these twelve men who said that he was not born of fornication, says to them: I adjure you, by the health of Cæsar, to tell me whether it be true that you say, that he was not born of fornication. They say to Pilate: We have a law against taking oaths, because it is a sin; but they will swear by the health of Cæsar that it is not as we have said, and we are liable to death. Pilate says to Annas and Caiaphas: Have you nothing to answer to this? Annas and Caiaphas say to Pilate: These twelve are believed when they say that he was not born of fornication; all the multitude of us cry out that he was born of fornication, and that he is a sorcerer; and he says that he is the Son of God and a king, and we are not believed. And Pilate orders all the multitude to go out, except the twelve men who said that he was not born of fornication, and he ordered Jesus to be separated from them. And Pilate says to them: For what reason do they wish to put him to death? They say to him: They are angry because he cures on the Sabbath. Pilate says: For a good work do they wish to put him to death? They say to him: Yes. * * * * * CHAP. 3.--And Pilate, filled with rage, went outside of the Pretorium and said to them: I take the sun to witness that I find no fault in this man. The Jews answered and said to the procurator: Unless this man were an evil-doer, we should not have delivered him to thee. And Pilate said: Do you take him and judge him according to your law. The Jews said to Pilate: It is not lawful for us to put anyone to death. Pilate said: Has God said that you are not to put to death, but that I am? And Pilate went again into the Pretorium and spoke to Jesus privately, and said to him: Art thou the king of the Jews? Jesus answered Pilate: Dost thou say this of thyself, or have others said it to thee of me? Pilate answered Jesus: Am I also a Jew? Thy nation and the chief priests have given thee up to me. What hast thou done? Jesus answered: My kingdom is not of this world; for if my kingdom were of this world, my servants would fight in order that I should not be given up to the Jews: but now my kingdom is not from thence. Pilate said to him: Art thou, then, a king? Jesus answered him: Thou sayest that I am king. Because for this have I been born, and I have come, in order that everyone who is of the truth might hear my voice. Pilate says to him: What is truth? Jesus says to him: Truth is from heaven. Pilate says: Is truth not upon earth? Jesus says to Pilate: Thou seest how those who speak the truth are judged by those that have the power upon earth. * * * * * CHAP. 4.--And leaving Jesus within the Pretorium, Pilate went out to the Jews and said to them: I find no fault in him. The Jews say to him: He said, I can destroy this temple, and in three days build it. Pilate says: What temple? The Jews say: The one that Solomon built in forty-six years, and this man speaks of pulling it down and building it up in three days. Pilate says to them: I am innocent of the blood of this just man. See you to it. The Jews say: His blood be upon us and upon our children. And Pilate, having summoned the elders and priests and Levites, said to them privately: Do not act thus, because no charge that you bring against him is worthy of death; for your charge is about curing and Sabbath profanation. The elders and the priests and the Levites say: If anyone speak evil against Cæsar, is he worthy of death or not? Pilate says: He is worthy of death. The Jews say to Pilate: If anyone speak evil against Cæsar, he is worthy of death; but this man has spoken evil against God. And the procurator ordered the Jews to go outside of the Pretorium; and, summoning Jesus, he says to him: What shall I do to thee? Jesus says to Pilate: As it has been given to thee. Pilate says: How given? Jesus says: Moses and the prophets have proclaimed beforehand of my death and resurrection. And the Jews, noticing this and hearing it, say to Pilate: What more wilt thou hear of this blasphemy? Pilate says to the Jews: If these words be blasphemous, do you take him for the blasphemy, and lead him away to your synagogue and judge him according to your law. The Jews say to Pilate: Our law bears that a man who wrongs his fellow-men is worthy to receive forty save one: but he that blasphemeth God is to be stoned with stones. Pilate says to them: Do you take him and punish him in whatever way you please. The Jews say to Pilate: We wish that he be crucified. Pilate says: He is not deserving of crucifixion. And the procurator, looking round upon the crowds of the Jews standing by, sees many of the Jews weeping, and says: All the multitude do not wish him to die. The elders of the Jews say: For this reason all the multitude of us have come, that he should die. Pilate says to the Jews: Why should he die? The Jews say: Because he called himself the Son of God and King. * * * * * CHAP. 5.--And one Nicodemus, a Jew, stood before the procurator and said: I beseech your honor let me say a few words. Pilate says: Say on. Nicodemus says: I said to the elders and the priests and Levites, and to all the multitude of the Jews in the synagogue, What do you seek to do with this man? This man does many miracles and strange things, which no one has done or will do. Let him go and do not wish any evil against him. If the miracles which he does are of God, they will stand; but if of man, they will come to nothing. For assuredly Moses, being sent by God into Egypt, did many miracles, which the Lord commanded him to do before Pharaoh, king of Egypt. And there were Jannes and Jambres, servants of Pharaoh, and they also did not a few of the miracles which Moses did; and the Egyptians took them to be gods--this Jannes and Jambres. But, since the miracles which they did were not of God, both they and those who believed in them were destroyed. And now release this man, for he is not deserving of death. The Jews say to Nicodemus: Thou hast become his disciple, and therefore thou defendest him. Nicodemus says to them: Perhaps, too, the procurator has become his disciple, because he defends him. Has the emperor not appointed him to this place of dignity? And the Jews were vehemently enraged, and gnashed their teeth against Nicodemus. Pilate says to them: Why do you gnash your teeth against him when you hear the truth? The Jews say to Nicodemus: Mayst thou receive his truth and his portion. Nicodemus says: Amen, amen; may I receive it, as you have said. * * * * * CHAP. 6.--One of the Jews, stepping up, asked leave of the procurator to say a word. The procurator says: If thou wishest to say anything, say on. And the Jew said: Thirty-eight years I lay in my bed in great agony. And when Jesus came, many demoniacs and many lying ill of various diseases were cured by him. And when Jesus saw me he had compassion on me, and said to me: Take up thy couch and walk. And I took up my couch and walked. The Jews say to Pilate: Ask him on what day it was when he was cured. He that had been cured says: On a Sabbath. The Jews say: Is not this the very thing we said, that on a Sabbath he cures and casts out demons? And another Jew stepped up and said: I was born blind; I heard sounds, but saw not a face. And as Jesus passed by I cried out with a loud voice, Pity me, O son of David. And he pitied me and put his hands upon my eyes, and I instantly received my sight. And another Jew stepped up and said: I was crooked and he straightened me with a word. And another said: I was a leper, and be cured me with a word. * * * * * CHAP. 7.--And a woman cried out from a distance and said: I had an issue of blood, and I touched the hem of his garment, and the issue of blood, which I had had for twelve years, was stopped. The Jews say: We have a law that a woman's evidence is not received. * * * * * CHAP. 8.--And others, a multitude both of men and women, cried out, saying: This man is a prophet, and the demons are subject to him. Pilate says to them who said that the demons were subject to him: Why, then, were not your teachers also subject to him? They say to Pilate: We do not know. And others said: He raised Lazarus from the tomb after he had been dead four days. And the procurator trembled, and said to all the multitude of the Jews: Why do you wish to pour out innocent blood? * * * * * CHAP. 9.--And, having summoned Nicodemus and the twelve men that said he was not born of fornication, he says to them: What shall I do, because there is an insurrection among the people? They say to him: We know not; let them see to it. Again Pilate, having summoned all the multitude of the Jews, says: You know that it is customary, at the feast of unleavened bread, to release one prisoner to you. I have one condemned prisoner in the prison, a murderer named Bar Abbas, and this man standing in your presence, Jesus in whom I find no fault. Which of them do you wish me to release to you? And they cry out: Bar Abbas. Pilate says: What, then, shall we do to Jesus, who is called Christ? The Jews say: Let him be crucified. And others said: Thou art no friend of Cæsar's if thou release this man, because he called himself the Son of God and King. You wish this man, then, to be a king, and not Cæsar? And Pilate, in a rage, says to the Jews: Always has your nation been rebellious, and you always speak against your benefactors. The Jews say: What benefactors? He says to them: Your God led you out of the land of Egypt from bitter slavery, and brought you safe through the sea as through dry land, and in the desert fed you with manna and gave you quails, and quenched your thirst with water from a rock, and gave you a law; and in all these things have you provoked your God to anger, and sought a molten calf. And you exasperated your God, and he sought to slay you. And Moses prayed for you, and you were not put to death. And now you charge me with hating the emperor. And, rising up from the tribunal, he sought to go out. And the Jews cry out and say: We know that Cæsar is king, and not Jesus. For assuredly the magi brought gifts to him as to a king. And when Herod heard from the magi that a king had been born, he sought to slay him, and his father, Joseph, knowing this, took him and his mother, and they fled into Egypt. And Herod, hearing of it, destroyed the children of the Hebrews that had been born in Bethlehem. And when Pilate heard these words he was afraid; and, ordering the crowd to keep silence, because they were crying out, he says to them: So this is he whom Herod sought? The Jews say: Yes, it is he. And, taking water, Pilate washed his hands in the face of the sun, saying: I am innocent of the blood of this just man: see you to it. Again the Jews cry out: His blood be upon us and upon our children. Then Pilate ordered the curtain of the tribunal where he was sitting to be drawn, and says to Jesus: Thy nation has charged thee with being a king. On this account, I sentence thee first to be scourged, according to the enactment of venerable kings, and then to be fastened on the cross in the garden where thou was seized. And let Dysmas and Gestas, the two malefactors, be crucified with thee. * * * * * CHAP. 10.--And Jesus went forth out of the Pretorium, and the malefactors with him. And when they came to the place they stripped him of his clothes and girded him with a towel, and put a crown of thorns on him round his head. And they crucified him; and at the same time, also, they hung up the two malefactors along with him. And Jesus said: Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. And the soldiers parted his clothes among them; and the people stood looking at him. And the chief priests and the rulers with them mocked him, saying: He saved others, let him save himself. If he be the Son of God, let him come down from the cross. And the soldiers made sport of him, coming near and offering him vinegar mixed with gall, and said: Thou art the king of the Jews; save thyself. And Pilate, after the sentence, ordered the charge against him to be inscribed as a superscription in Greek and Latin and Hebrew, according to what the Jews had said: He is king of the Jews. And one of the malefactors hanging up spoke to him, saying: If thou be the Christ, save thyself and us. And Dysmas answering reproved him, saying: Dost thou not fear God, because thou art in the same condemnation? And we, indeed, justly, for we receive the fit punishment of our deeds; but this man has done no evil. And he said to Jesus: Remember me, Lord, in thy kingdom. And Jesus said to him: Amen, amen; I say to thee, To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise. * * * * * CHAP. 11.--And it was about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the earth until the ninth hour, the sun being darkened; and the curtain of the temple was split in the middle. And, crying out with a loud voice, Jesus said: Father, _baddach ephkid ruel_, which is, interpreted, Into thy hands I commit my spirit. And, having said this, he gave up the ghost. And the centurion, seeing what had happened, glorified God and said: This was a just man. And all the crowds that were present at this spectacle, when they saw what had happened, beat their breasts and went away. And the centurion reported what had happened to the procurator. And when the procurator and his wife heard it they were exceedingly grieved, and neither ate nor drank that day. And Pilate sent for the Jews and said to them: Have you seen what has happened? And they say: There has been an eclipse of the sun in the usual way. And his acquaintances were standing at a distance, and the women who came with him from Galilee, seeing these things. And a man named Joseph, a councillor from the city of Arimathea, who also waited for the kingdom of God, went to Pilate and begged the body of Jesus. And he took it down and wrapped it in a clean linen, and placed it in a tomb hewn out of the rock, in which no one had ever lain. * * * * * CHAP. 12.--And the Jews, hearing that Joseph had begged the body of Jesus, sought him, and the twelve who said that Jesus was not born of fornication, and Nicodemus and many others who had stepped up before Pilate and declared his good works. And of all these that were hid Nicodemus alone was seen by them, because he was a ruler of the Jews. And Nicodemus says to them: How have you come into the synagogue? The Jews say to him: How hast thou come into the synagogue? for thou art a confederate of his, and his portion is with thee in the world to come. Nicodemus says: Amen, amen. And likewise Joseph also stepped out and said to them: Why are you angry against me because I begged the body of Jesus? Behold, I have put him in my new tomb, wrapping him in clean linen; and I have rolled a stone to the door of the tomb. And you have acted not well against the just man, because you have not repented of crucifying him, but also have pierced him with a spear. And the Jews seized Joseph and ordered him to be secured until the first day of the week, and said to him: Know that the time does not allow us to do anything against thee, because the Sabbath is dawning: and know that thou shalt not be deemed worthy of burial, but we shall give thy flesh to the birds of the air. Joseph says to them: These are the words of the arrogant Goliath, who reproached the living God and holy David. For God has said by the prophet, Vengeance is mine, and I will repay, saith the Lord. And now that he is uncircumcised in flesh, but circumcised in heart, has taken water and washed his hands in the face of the sun, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just man; see ye to it. And you answered and said to Pilate: His blood be upon us and upon our children. And now I am afraid, lest the wrath of God come upon you and upon your children, as you have said. And the Jews, hearing these words, were embittered in their souls, and seized Joseph and locked him into a room where there was no window; and guards were stationed at the door, and they sealed the door where Joseph was locked in. And on the Sabbath the rulers of the synagogue and the priests and the Levites made a decree that all should be found in the synagogue on the first day of the week. And, rising up early, all the multitude in the synagogue consulted by what death they should slay him. And when the Sanhedrin was sitting, they ordered him to be brought with much indignity. And, having opened the door, they found him not. And all the people were surprised and struck with dismay, because they found the seals unbroken, and because Caiaphas had the key. And they no longer dared to lay hands upon those who had spoken before Pilate in Jesus' behalf. * * * * * CHAP. 13.--And while they were still sitting in the synagogue and wondering about Joseph, there came some of the guard whom the Jews had begged of Pilate to guard the tomb of Jesus, that his disciples might not come and steal him. And they reported to the rulers of the synagogue, and the priests and Levites, what had happened: how there had been an earthquake; and we saw an angel coming down from heaven, and he rolled away the stone from the mouth of the tomb and sat upon it; and he shone like snow and like lightning. And we were very much afraid, and lay like dead men; and we heard the voice of the angel, saying to the women who remained beside the tomb, Be not afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here. He has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay; and go quickly and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead, and is in Galilee. The Jews say: To what women did he speak? The men of the guard say: We know not who they were. The Jews say: At what time was this? The men of the guard say: At midnight. The Jews say: And wherefore did you not lay hold of them? The men of the guard say: We were like dead men from fear, not expecting to see the light of day, and how could we lay hold of them? The Jews say: As the Lord liveth, we do not believe you. The men of the guard say to the Jews: You have seen so great miracles in the case of this man, and have not believed; and how can you believe us? And assuredly you have done well to swear that the Lord liveth, for indeed he does live. Again the men of the guard say: We have heard that you have locked up the man that begged the body of Jesus, and put a seal on the door; and that you have opened it and not found him. Do you, then, give us the man whom you were guarding, and we shall give you Jesus. The Jews say: Joseph has gone away to his own city. The men of the guard say to the Jews: And Jesus has risen, as we heard from the angel, and is in Galilee. And when the Jews heard these words they were very much afraid, and said: We must take care lest this story be heard, and all incline to Jesus. And the Jews called a council, and paid down a considerable money and gave it to the soldiers, saying: Say, while he slept, his disciples came by night and stole him; and if this come to the ears of the procurator we shall persuade him and keep you out of trouble. And they took it, and said as they had been instructed. * * * * * CHAP. 14.--And Phinees, a priest, and Adas, a teacher, and Haggai, a Levite, came down from Galilee to Jerusalem, and said to the rulers of the synagogue, and the priests and the Levites: We saw Jesus and his disciples sitting on the mountain called Mamilch; and he said to his disciples, Go into all the world, and preach to every creature: he that believeth and is baptized shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be condemned. And these signs shall attend those who have believed: in my name they shall cast out demons, speak new tongues, take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing it shall by no means hurt them, they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall be well. And while Jesus was speaking to his disciples we saw him taken up into heaven. The elders and priests and Levites say: Give glory to the God of Israel, and confess to him whether you have heard and seen those things, of which you have given us an account. And those who had given the account said: As the Lord liveth, the God of our fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, we heard these things, and saw him taken up into heaven. The elders and the priests and the Levites say to them: Have you come to give us this announcement, or to offer prayer to God? And they say: To offer prayer to God. The elders and the chief priests and the Levites say to them: If you have come to offer prayer to God, why, then, have you told these idle tales in the presence of all the people? Says Phinees, the priest, and Adas, the teacher, and Haggai, the Levite, to the rulers of the synagogues, and the priests and the Levites: If what we have said and seen be sinful, behold, we are before you; do to us as seems good in your eyes. And they took the law and made them swear upon it not to give any more an account of these matters to anyone. And they gave them to eat and drink and sent them out of the city, having given them also money, and three men with them; and they sent them away to Galilee. And these men, having gone into Galilee, the chief priests and the rulers of the synagogue, and the elders came together in the synagogue and locked the door, and lamented with great lamentation, saying: Is this a miracle that has happened in Israel? And Annas and Caiaphas said: Why are you so much moved? Why do you weep? Do you not know that his disciples have given a sum of gold to the guards of the tomb, and have instructed them to say that an angel came down and rolled away the stone from the door of the tomb? And the priests and elders said: Be it that his disciples have stolen his body; how is it that the life has come into his body, and that he is going about in Galilee? And they, being unable to give an answer to these things, said, after great hesitation: It is not lawful for us to believe the uncircumcised. * * * * * CHAP. 15.--And Nicodemus stood up, and stood before the Sanhedrin, saying: You say well; you are not ignorant, you people of the Lord, of these men that come down from Galilee, that they fear God, and are men of substance, haters of covetousness, men of peace; and they have declared with an oath, we saw Jesus upon the mountain Mamilch with his disciples, and he taught what we heard from him, and we saw him taken up into heaven. And no one asked them in what form he went up. For assuredly, as the book of the Holy Scriptures taught us, Helias also was taken up into heaven, and Elissæus cried out with a loud voice, and Helias threw his sheepskin upon Elissæus, and Elissæus threw his sheepskin upon the Jordan, and crossed and came into Jericho. And the children of the prophets met him and said, O Elissæus, where is thy master Helias? And he said, He has been taken up into heaven. And they said to Elissæus, Has not a spirit seized him, and thrown him upon one of the mountains? But let us take our servants with us and seek him. And they persuaded Elissæus, and he went away with them. And they sought him three days, and did not find him; and they knew that he had been taken up. And now listen to me, and let us send into every district of Israel and see, lest, perchance, Christ has been taken up by a spirit and thrown upon one of the mountains. And this proposal pleased all. And they sent into every district of Israel and sought Jesus, and did not find him; but they found Joseph in Arimathea, and no one dared to lay hands on him. And they reported to the elders and the priests and the Levites: We have gone round to every district of Israel, and have not found Jesus; but Joseph we have found in Arimathea. And hearing about Joseph they were glad and gave glory to the God of Israel. And the rulers of the synagogue, and the priests and the Levites, having held a council as to the manner in which they should meet with Joseph, took a piece of paper and wrote to Joseph as follows: Peace to thee! We know that we have sinned against God, and against thee; and we have prayed to the God of Israel that thou shouldst deign to come to thy fathers and to thy children, because we all have been grieved. For, having opened the door, we did not find thee. And we know that we have counseled evil counsel against thee; but the Lord has defended thee, and the Lord himself has scattered to the winds our counsel against thee, O honorable father Joseph. And they chose from all Israel seven men, friends of Joseph, whom, also, Joseph himself was acquainted with; and the rulers of the synagogue, and the priests and the Levites say to them: Take notice; if, after receiving our letter he read it, know that he will come with you to us. But if he do not read it, know that he is ill-disposed towards us. And, having saluted him in peace, return to us. And having blest the men, they dismissed them. And the men came to Joseph and did reverence to him, and said to him: Peace to thee! And he said: Peace to you and to all the people of Israel! And they gave him the roll of the letter. And Joseph, having received it, read the letter and rolled it up, and blessed God and said: Blessed be the Lord God, who has delivered Israel, that they should not shed innocent blood, and blessed be the Lord, who sent out his angel and covered me under his wings. And he set a table for them: and they ate and drank and slept there. And they rose up early and prayed. And Joseph saddled his ass and set out with the men: and they came to the holy city Jerusalem. And all the people met Joseph and cried out: Peace to thee in thy coming in! And be said to all the people: Peace to you! and he kissed them. And the people prayed with Joseph, and they were astonished at the sight of him. And Nicodemus received him into his house and made a great feast, and called Annas and Caiaphas and the elders and the priests and the Levites to his house. And they rejoiced, eating and drinking with Joseph; and, after singing hymns, each proceeded to his own house. But Joseph remained in the house of Nicodemus. And on the following day, which was the preparation, the rulers of the synagogue and the priests and the Levites went early to the house of Nicodemus; and Nicodemus met them and said: Peace to you! And they said: Peace to thee and to Joseph, and to all thy house and to all the house of Joseph! And he brought them into his house. And all the Sanhedrin sat down, and Joseph sat down between Annas and Caiaphas; and no one dared to say a word to him. And Joseph said: Why have you called me? And they signaled to Nicodemus to speak to Joseph. And Nicodemus, opening his mouth, said to Joseph: Father, thou knowest that the honorable teachers and the priests and the Levites seek to learn a word from thee. And Joseph said: Ask. And Annas and Caiaphas, having taken the law, made Joseph swear, saying: Give glory to the God of Israel, and give him confession; for Achar, being made to swear by the prophet Jesus, did not forswear himself, but declared unto him all, and did not hide a word from him. Do thou also, accordingly, not hide from us to the extent of a word. And Joseph said: I shall not hide from you one word. And they said to him: With grief were we grieved because thou didst beg the body of Jesus and wrap it in clean linen and lay it in a tomb. And on account of this we secured thee in a room where there was no window; and we put locks and seals upon the doors, and guards kept watching where thou wast locked in. And on the first day of the week we opened and found thee not, and were grieved exceedingly; and astonishment fell upon all the people of the Lord until yesterday. And now relate to us what happened to thee. And Joseph said: On the preparation, about the tenth hour, you locked me up, and I remained all the Sabbath. And at midnight, as I was standing and praying, the room where you locked me in was hung up by the four corners, and I saw a light like lightning into my eyes. And I was afraid and fell to the ground. And some one took me by the hand and removed me from the place where I had fallen; and moisture of water was poured from my head even to my feet, and a smell of perfumes came about my nostrils. And he wiped my face and kissed me, and said to me, Fear not, Joseph: open thine eyes and see who it is that speaks to thee. And, looking up, I saw Jesus. And I trembled and thought it was a phantom; and I said the commandments, and he said them with me. Even so you are not ignorant that a phantom, if it meet anybody and hear the commandments, takes to flight. And seeing that he said them with me, I said to him, Rabbi Helias. And he said to me, I am not Helias. And I said to him, Who art thou, my lord? And he said to me, I am Jesus, whose body thou didst beg from Pilate; and thou didst clothe me with clean linen, and didst put a napkin on my face, and didst lay me in thy new tomb, and didst roll a great stone to the door of the tomb. And I said to him that was speaking to me, Show me the place where I laid thee. And he carried me away and showed me the place where I laid him; and the linen cloth was lying in it, and the napkin for his face. And I knew that it was Jesus. And he took me by the hand and placed me, though the doors were locked, in the middle of my house, and led me away to my bed and said to me, Peace to thee! And he kissed me and said to me, For forty days go not forth out of thy house; for, behold, I go to my brethren in Galilee. * * * * * CHAP. 16.--And the rulers of the synagogue, and the priests and the Levites when they heard these words from Joseph, became as dead, and fell to the ground, and fasted until the ninth hour. And Nicodemus, along with Joseph, exhorted Annas and Caiaphas, the priests and the Levites, saying: Rise up and stand upon your feet, and taste bread and strengthen your souls, because to-morrow is the Sabbath of the Lord. And they rose up and prayed to God, and ate and drank, and departed every man to his own house. And on the Sabbath our teachers and the priests and Levites sat questioning each other and saying: What is this wrath that has come upon us? for we know his father and mother. Levi, a teacher, says: I know that his parents fear God, and do not withdraw themselves from the prayers, and give the tithes thrice a year. And when Jesus was born his parents brought him to this place and gave sacrifices and burnt offerings to God. And when the great teacher, Symeon, took him into his arms, he said, Now thou sendest away thy servant, Lord, according to thy word, in peace; for mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all the peoples; a light for the revelation of the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel. And Symeon blessed them, and said to Mary his mother, I give thee good news about this child. And Mary said, It is well, my lord. And Symeon said to her, It is well; behold, he lies for the fall and the rising again of many in Israel, and for a sign spoken against; and of thee thyself a sword shall go through the soul, in order that the reasoning of many hearts may be revealed. They say to the teacher Levi: How knowest thou these things? Levi says to them: Do you not know that from him I learned the law? The Sanhedrin say to him: We wish to see thy father. And they sent for his father. And they asked him, and he said to them: Why have you not believed my son? The blessed and just Symeon himself taught him the law. The Sanhedrin says to Rabbi Levi: Is the word that you have said true? And he said: It is true. And the rulers of the synagogue, and the priests and the Levites said to themselves: Come, let us send into Galilee to the three men that came and told about his teaching and his taking up, and let them tell us how they saw him taken up. And this saying pleased all. And they sent away the three men who had already gone away into Galilee with them; and they say to them: Say to Rabbi Adas and Rabbi Phinees and Rabbi Haggai, Peace to you and all who are with you! A great inquiry having taken place in the Sanhedrin, we have been sent to you to call you to this holy place, Jerusalem. And the men set out into Galilee and found them sitting and considering the law: and they saluted them in peace. And the men who were in Galilee said to those who had come to them: Peace unto all Israel! And they said: Peace to you! And they again said to them: Why have you come? And those who had been sent said: The Sanhedrin call you to the holy city Jerusalem. And when the men heard that they were sought by the Sanhedrin they prayed to God, and reclined with the men and ate and drank, and rose up and set out in peace to Jerusalem. And on the following day the Sanhedrin sat in the synagogue, and asked them, saying: Did you really see Jesus sitting on the mountain Mamilch teaching his eleven disciples, and did you see him taken up? And the men answered them and said: As we saw him taken up, so also we said. Annas says: Take them away from one another and let us see whether their account agrees. And they took them away from one another. And first they call Adas and say to him: How didst thou see Jesus taken up? Adas says: While he was yet sitting on the mountain Mamilch and teaching his disciples, we saw a cloud overshadowing both him and his disciples. And the cloud took him up into heaven, and his disciples lay upon their faces upon the earth. And they call Phinees, the priest, and ask him also, saying: How didst thou see Jesus taken up? And he spoke in like manner. And they again asked Haggai, and he spoke in like manner. And the Sanhedrin said: The law of Moses holds: At the mouth of two or three every word shall be established. Buthem, a teacher, says: It is written in the law, And Enoch walked with God, and is not, because God took him. Jaïrus, a teacher, said: And the death of holy Moses we have heard of, and have not seen it; for it is written in the law of the Lord, and Moses died from the mouth of the Lord, and no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day. And Rabbi Levi said: Why did Rabbi Symeon say, when he saw Jesus, "Behold, he lies for the fall and rising again of many in Israel, and for a sign spoken against"? And Rabbi Isaac said: It is written in the law, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, who shall go before thee to keep thee in every good way, because my name has been called upon him. Then Annas and Caiaphas said: Rightly have you said what is written in the law of Moses, that no one saw the death of Enoch, and no one has named the death of Moses; but Jesus was tried before Pilate, and we saw him receiving blows and spittings on his face, and the soldiers put about him a crown of thorns, and he was scourged and received sentence from Pilate, and was crucified upon the Cranium, and two robbers with him; and they gave him to drink vinegar with gall, and Longinus, the soldier, pierced his side with a spear; and Joseph, our honorable father, begged his body, and he says he is risen; and as the three teachers say, We saw him taken up into heaven; and Rabbi Levi has given evidence of what was said by Rabbi Symeon, and that he said, Behold, he lies for the fall and rising again of many in Israel, and for a sign spoken against. And all the teachers said to all the people of the Lord: If this was from the Lord, and is wonderful in your eyes, knowing you shall know, O house of Jacob, that it is written, Cursed is every one that hangeth upon a tree. And another scripture teaches: The gods which have not made the heaven and the earth shall be destroyed. And the priests and the Levites said to each other: If this memorial be until the year that is called Jobel, know that it shall endure forever, and he hath raised for himself a new people. Then the rulers of the synagogue, and the priests and the Levites, announced to all Israel, saying: Cursed is that man who shall worship the work of man's hand, and cursed is the man who shall worship the creatures more than the Creator. And all the people said, Amen, amen. And all the people praised the Lord, and said: Blessed is the Lord, who hath given rest to his people Israel, according to all that he hath spoken; there hath not fallen one word of every good word of his that he spoke to Moses, his servant. May the Lord our God be with us, as he was with our fathers; let him not destroy us. And let him not destroy us, that we may incline our hearts to him, that we may walk in all his ways, that we may keep his commandments and his judgments which he commanded to our fathers. And the Lord shall be for a king over all the earth in that day; and there shall be one Lord, and his name one. The Lord is our king; he shall save us. There is none like thee, O Lord. Great art thou, O Lord, and great is thy name. By thy power heal us, O Lord, and we shall be healed; save us, O Lord, and we shall be saved, because we are thy lot and heritage. And the Lord will not leave his people, for his great name's sake; for the Lord has begun to make us into his people. And all, having sung praises, went away each man to his own house glorifying God; for his is the glory forever and ever. Amen. FOOTNOTES: [1] Mommsen, "Römisches Staatsrecht," III. I. p. 748. [2] "The Jewish People in the Time of Jesus Christ," 2d Div., I. p. 185. [3] "The Jewish People in the Time of Jesus Christ," 2d Div., I. p. 187. [4] Josephus, "Wars of the Jews," II. 8, 1. [5] Josephus, "Ant.," XX. 9, 1. [6] John xix. 10. [7] John xviii. 31. [8] Acts xxv., xxvi. [9] "The Trial of Jesus," p. 77. [10] "The Jewish People in the Time of Jesus Christ," 1st Div., II. p. 74. [11] "The Legal Procedure of Cicero's Time," p. 118. [12] "The Legal Procedure of Cicero's Time," p. 118. [13] "The Trial of Jesus," p. 293. [14] "The Legal Procedure of Cicero's Time," p. 413. [15] "Geschichte des römischen Criminalprocesses." [16] "The Trial of Jesus," pp. 291-93. [17] Dionysius II. 14. [18] Liv. II. iv. 5. [19] Heuzey, "Miss. archeol. de Maced.," p. 38. [20] Accusatores multos esse in civitate utile est, ut metu contineatur audacia (pro Roscio Amer. 20). [21] Persa V. 63 _seq._ [22] Fiske, "Manual of Classical Literature," III. Sec. 264. [23] Gibbon, "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," Chap. XLIV. [24] Const. crim. Theres., Art. 5, par. 2. [25] Keim, "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. p. 250. [26] Keim, "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. p. 250. [27] John xix. 38-41. [28] "History of Madagascar," vol. i. p. 371, 372. [29] "Records of Travel in Turkey and Greece," vol. i. p. 447. [30] "The Celtic Druids," p. 126; "Anacalypsis," vol. i. p. 317. [31] "Anacalypsis," vol. i. p. 217. [32] Colenso's "Pentateuch Examined," vol. vi. p. 115. [33] Baring-Gould, "Curious Myths," p. 291. [34] "Octavius," Chap. XXIX. [35] "Ancient Art and Mythology," p. 30. [36] Brinton, "The Myths of the New World," p. 95. [37] Baring-Gould, "Curious Myths," p. 299. [38] Vol. iii. Art., "Cross." [39] Kingsborough, "Mexican Antiquities," vol. vi. 166. p. [40] "Curious Myths," p. 311. [41] "Digest," XLVIII. 4. [42] "De Inventione," II. 17. [43] Tacitus, "Annals," p. 215. [44] Dio, Lib. LVIII. [45] "Annals," B. VI. Chap. II. [46] Döllinger, "The Gentile and the Jew," vol. ii. p. 33. [47] Döllinger, "The Gentile and the Jew," vol. ii. p. 172. [48] "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity," pp. 89, 90. [49] De Legibus. [50] Correspondence between Pliny and Trajan, Letters XCVII, XCVIII. [51] Suet., "Cæsar Augustus," Chap. LXIV. [52] Philo, "De Legatione ad Cajum," Sec. 38, ed. Mangey, II. 589 _sq._ [53] Josephus, "Ant.," XVIII. 3, 1. [54] Apol. c. 21 ("jam pro sua conscientia Cristianum"). [55] "Historical Lectures," 6th ed. p. 350. [56] Josephus, "Ant.," XVIII. 3, 2. [57] Scott, "Anne of Geierstein," Chap. I. [58] Gessner, "Descript. Mont. Pilat," Zürich, 1555. [59] Golbery, "Univers Pittoresque de la Suisse," p. 327. [60] Matt. xxvii. 1, 2. [61] Mark xv. 1. [62] Keim, "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. p. 84. [63] Josephus, "Wars of the Jews," II. 14, 8; II. 15, 1. [64] Keim, "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. p. 87. [65] Geikie, "The Life and Words of Christ," vol. ii. p. 533. [66] Acts xxiv. 1. [67] Acts xxv. 16. [68] John xviii. 30. [69] John xviii. 31. [70] Act IV. Scene i. [71] Luke xxiii. 2. [72] Acts xviii. 14, 15. [73] Matt. xxii. 21. [74] Matt. xvii. 24, 25. [75] Matt. xxvi. 18, 19. [76] Josephus, "Ant.," XVII. 10, 5. [77] Josephus, "Ant.," XVII. 10, 6. [78] Josephus, "Ant.," XVII. 10, 7. [79] John xviii. 33. [80] Matt. xx. 25. [81] Matt. xi. 8. [82] John xviii. 34. [83] John xviii. 36. [84] John xviii. 37. [85] John xviii. 38. [86] Luke xxiii. 5. [87] Luke xiii. 32. [88] Luke xxiii. 8. [89] Josephus, "Ant.," XVIII. 7, 1, 2. [90] Luke xxiii. 9. [91] Luke xxxii. 10. [92] Luke xxiii. 11. [93] Tacitus, "Hist.," II. 89. [94] Luke xxiii. 12. [95] Luke xxiii. 13-16. [96] Luke xxiii. 17. [97] Livy v. 13: "Vinctis quoque demptu vincula." [98] Matt. xxvii. 16-18. [99] Matt. xxvii. 20-22. [100] Vie, par. 131. [101] Luke xxvii. 19. [102] John xix. 7. [103] John xix. 9. [104] John xix. 15. [105] John xix. 15. [106] John xix. 12. [107] Matt. xxvii. 24. [108] Matt. xxvii. 26-31. [109] Keim, "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. p. 87. [110] Geikie, "The Life and Words of Christ," vol. ii. p. 533. [111] Geikie, "The Life and Words of Christ," vol. ii. p. 532. [112] Acts xxiv.; xxv. II; xxvi. 32. [113] Matt. xxvii. 11. [114] Mark xv. 2. [115] Luke xxiii. 3. [116] John xviii. 37. [117] Luke xxiii. 4-16. [118] Luke xxiii. 23, 24. [119] "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity," p. 87. [120] "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity," pp. 93-95. [121] L. 12, Cod. De poenis, ix. 47: "Vanæ voces populi non sunt audiendæ, nec enim vocibus eorum credi oportet quando aut noxium crimine absolvi aut innocentem condemnari desiderant." [122] John xix. 10. [123] Dr. Smith's "History of Greece," Chap. XXXV. p. 418. [124] 1 Tim. iii. 16. [125] See Dict. Philos. Art. "Religion." [126] "Emile." [127] "Sartor Resartus," 137, 140. [128] "Herzog's Encyc." vol. v. 751. Art. "Herder." [129] "Vergängl. u. Bleibendes im Christenthum," 132. [130] "Études d'Hist. Rel.," pp. 213, 214. [131] "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. pp. 430, 431. [132] Montholon, "Récit de la Captivité de l'Emp. Napoleon." [133] Bertrand's "Memoirs," Paris, 1844. [134] "Je meurs dans la religion catholique, apostolique et romaine, dans le sein de laquelle je suis né, il y a plus de cinquante ans." [135] Döllinger, "The Gentile and the Jew," vol ii. p. 29. [136] "Preparation of the World for Christ," pp. 380, 381. [137] Suetonius, "Cæsar Augustus," Chap. XCV. [138] Matt. i. 20. [139] Matt. ii. 13. [140] Suetonius, "Cæsar Augustus," Chap. XCIV. [141] Suetonius, "Cæsar Augustus," Chap. XCII. [142] Döllinger, "The Gentile and the Jew," vol. ii. p. 185. [143] Liv. xl. 59. [144] Ap. Aug. C.D. VI. 2. [145] Döllinger, vol. ii. p. 183. [146] Suetonius, "Caligula," Chap. V. [147] Mabillon, "Iter. Ital." p. 77. [148] Pausanias, ix. 17. 1. [149] De Superst. 6. [150] M. Dic, quæso, num te illa terrent? Triceps apud inferos Cerberus? Cocyti fremitus? travectio Acherontis? "Mento summam aquam attingens enectus siti, Tantalus, tum illud quod, Sisiphus versat Saxum sudans nitendo neque proficit hilum," fortasse etiam inexorabiles judices Minor et Rhadamanthus? apud quos nec te L. Crassus defendet, nec M. Antonius; nec, quoniam apud Græcos judices res agetur, poteris adhibere Demosthenen; tibi ipsi pro te erit maxima corona causa dicenda. Hæc fortasse metuis, et idcirco mortem censes esse sempiternum malum. A. Adeone me delirare censes, ut ista esse credam? M. An tu hæc non credis? A. Minime vero. M. Male hercule narras. A. Cur, quæso. M. Quia disertus esse possem, si contra ista dicerem. [151] Sallust, "Bellum Catilinarium, 50." [152] Renan, "Les Apôtres." [153] "Hamlet," Act III, Scene i. [154] Döllinger, vol. ii. pp. 175-79. [155] Dion. ii. 25. [156] Döllinger, vol. ii. pp. 267-69. [157] Suetonius, "Julius Cæsar," l-li. [158] Xen. de Rep. Lac. i. 8. [159] "Polyb. Fragm." in Scr. Vet. Nov. Coll. ed. Mav. ii. 384. [160] Döllinger, vol. ii. p. 249. [161] "Xen. Mem. Socr." iii. 13. [162] Plutarch, "Life of Lucullus." [163] Fisher, "The Beginnings of Christianity," p. 205. [164] "Encyc. Brit." vol. iii. p. 436. [165] Plutarch, "Life of Cato." [166] Cicero, "Pro Cluent." 66. [167] Tacitus, "Annals," 42-44. [168] De Pressensé, "The Religions Before Christ," p. 158. [169] Milman's "Gibbon's Rome," vol. i. p. 51. [170] Suetonius, "Caligula," Chap. V. [171] Fisher, "The Beginnings of Christianity," p. 213. [172] Pliny, Ep. X. 38. [173] Suetonius, "Julius Cæsar," Chap. XLIX. [174] Döllinger, vol. ii. pp. 253, 254. [175] Döllinger, vol. ii. pp. 205, 206. [176] Döllinger, vol. ii. p. 207. [177] Döllinger, vol. ii. p. 208. [178] Livy, b. xxxix. Chaps. VII.-XX. [179] "----non possum ferre, Quirites, Græcam urbem." (Sat. III.) [180] Romans i. 29-31. [181] Döllinger, vol ii. pp. 155, 156. [182] Matthew Arnold's Poems--"Obermann Once More." [183] Cicero, "De Fin." v. pp. 24, 69. [184] Eclogue IV. [185] Matt. ii. 4; xxi. 15; xxvi. 3, 47, 59; Mark xi. 18; xv. 11; Luke xix. 47; xx. 1; John xi. 47; xii. 20. [186] Dérembourg, "Essai sur l'histoire et la géographie de la Palestine," p. 231, note 1. [187] Josephus, "Ant.," Book XX. Chap. X. 1; XV. III. 1. [188] Josephus, "Ant." Book XV. Chap. III. 1. [189] Josephus, "Ant.," Book XVIII. Chap. II. 3; Book XX. Chap. IX, 1, 4. [190] See "Talmud," "Yoma," or "the Day of Atonement," fol. 35, recto; also Dérembourg, work above quoted, p. 230, note 2. [191] "Essai sur l'histoire et la géographie de la Palestine," p. 232. [192] Jos., "Ant.," XX. VIII. 8. [193] "Talmud," "Pesachim," or "of the Passover," fol. 57, verso. [194] The high priests designated under the name of the descendants of Eli are those who, as sons of the high priest Eli, polluted the Temple by their immorality. (See 1 Kings iii. 22-25.) [195] This Issachar was a priest of such a dainty nature that in order to touch the sacrifices he covered his hands with silk. ("Talmud," "Pesachim," or "of the Passover," fol. 57, verso.) [196] Rabbi Nathan, son of Rabbi Yechiel, was the disciple of the celebrated Moses, the preacher and first rabbi of the synagogue at Rome in the ninth century. His work forms a large folio volume, and contains some minute explanations of the most difficult passages in the "Talmud." [197] I. e., lord. [198] "Talmud," Jerus., "Horayoth," or "Regulations of Justice," fol. 84. recto. [199] "Talmud," Jerus., "Shevuoth," or "of Oaths," fol. 19, verso. [200] "Tanchumah," or "Book of Consolation," fol. 68, recto. [201] "Tanchumah," or "Book of Consolation," fol. 68, recto. [202] "Tanchumah," or "Book of Consolation," fol. 68, recto, and "Sanhedrin," fol. 110, verso. [203] "Talmud," "Shabbath," or "of the Sabbath," fol. 119, recto. [204] Luke xx. 46; Matt. xxiii. 5-7; Mark xii. 38, 39. [205] Some remarkable pages respecting the pride of the Jewish scribes and doctors may be found in Bossuet's "Meditations on the Gospel." [206] Jos., "Ant.," XVIII. I. 4. [207] Jos., "Ant.," XVIII. I. 4. [208] Munk, "Palestine," p. 515. [209] Psalms. [210] Acts xxiii. 6. [211] Matt. vi. 2, 5, 16; ix. 11, 14; xii. 2; xxiii. 5, 15, 23; Luke v. 30; vi. 2, 7; xi. 39, etc.; xviii. 12; John ix. 16; "Perkeh Avoth," or "Sentences of the Fathers," I. 16; Jos., "Ant.," XVII. II. 4; XVIII. I. 3; "Vita," 38; "Talmud," Bab., "Sotah," fol. 22, recto. [212] "From that time forth began Jesus to show unto his disciples, how that he must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes." (Matt. xvi. 21.) [213] "The Credibility of the Gospel History," in the chapter on "Testimonies of Ancient Heathens," vol. vi. p. 605 _et seq._ [214] "Origin of the Four Gospels," pp. 141-50. BIBLIOGRAPHY MAIN AUTHORITIES THE BIBLE. English Authorized Version of 1611. THE TALMUD. Babylonian Recension, translated into English by Michael L. Rodkinson. New Talmud Publishing Company, New York, 1896. THE MISHNA. Edition of Surenhusius. Amsterdam, 1698-1703. Consulted by the author in the Astor Library, New York City. MINOR AUTHORITIES ABBOTT. Jesus of Nazareth, by Lyman Abbott. Harper Brothers, New York, 1882. ANDREWS. The Life of Our Lord, by Samuel J. Andrews. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1906. BARING-GOULD. Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, by S. Baring-Gould. Roberts Brothers, Boston, 1880. BAUR. The Church History of the First Three Centuries, by F. C. Baur. Translated from German by A. Mendies. London, 1878. BENNY. The Criminal Code of the Jews, by Philip Berger Benny. Smith, Elder & Company, London, 1880. BLACKSTONE. Commentaries on the Laws of England, by Sir William Blackstone. Edited and annotated by Thomas M. Cooley. Callaghan & Company, Chicago, 1884. CICERO. M. Tullii Ciceronis orationes. Whittaker & Company, London, 1855. DEUTSCH. The Talmud, by Emanuel Deutsch. The Jewish Publication Society of America, Philadelphia, 1896. DÖLLINGER. The Gentile and the Jew, by John J. I. Döllinger. Two volumes. Gibbings & Company, London, 1906. EDERSHEIM. The Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah, by Alfred Edersheim. Two volumes. Longmans, Green & Company, New York, 1905. FARRAR. The Life of Christ, by Frederic W. Farrar. E. P. Dutton & Company, New York, 1883. FISHER. The Beginnings of Christianity, by George P. Fisher. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1906. GEIB. Geschichte des römischen Criminalprocesses, von Dr. Gustav Geib. Weidmann'sche Buchhandlung. Leipzig, 1842. GEIKIE. The Life and Words of Christ, by Cunningham Geikie. Two volumes. Henry S. King & Company. London, 1877. GIBBON. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, by Edward Gibbon. With notes by Rev. H. H. Milman. Phillips, Sampson & Company, Boston, 1853. GRAETZ. History of the Jews, by Heinrich Graetz. Six volumes. The Jewish Publication Society of America, Philadelphia, 1891. GREENLEAF. The Testimony of the Evangelists, by Simon Greenleaf. Soney & Sage, Newark, N. J., 1903. GREENIDGE. The Legal Procedure of Cicero's Time, by A. H. J. Greenidge. Stevens & Sons, London, 1901. HARNACK. Reden und Aufsätze, von Adolf Harnack. J. Ricker'sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, Giessen, 1904. HIGGINS. Anacalypsis: An Enquiry into the Origin of Languages, Nations and Religions, by Godfrey Higgins. Longman, Brown & Longman, London, 1827. HODGE. Systematic Theology, by Charles Hodge. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1892. INNES. The Trial of Jesus Christ, by A. Taylor Innes. T. & T. Clark, Edinburgh, 1905. JOSEPHUS. The Works of Flavius Josephus, Whiston's Translation. JOST. Geschichte des Judenthums, von I. M. Jost. Dörffling und Francke, Leipzig, 1857. JUVENAL. The Satires of Juvenal. George Bell & Sons, London, 1904. KEIM. Jesus of Nazara, by Theodor Keim. Six volumes. Williams & Norgate, London, 1883. LARDNER. Works of Nathaniel Lardner. Ten volumes. William Ball, London, 1838. LÉMANN. Valeur de l'assemblée qui prononça la peine de mort contre Jésus-Christ, par MM. Lémann. Translated from the French into English under the title "Jesus Before the Sanhedrin," by Prof. Julius Magath, of Oxford, Ga., in 1899. LIVY. The History of Rome, by Titus Livius. George Bell & Sons, London, 1906. LOISY. Les Évangiles Synoptiques, par Alfred Loisy. Librairie Fishbacher, Paris, 1907. MENDELSOHN. The Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews, by S. Mendelsohn. M. Curlander, Baltimore, 1891. MOMMSEN. The Provinces of the Roman Empire, by Theodor Mommsen. Two volumes. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1899. MONTESQUIEU. De l'Esprit Des Lois, par Montesquieu. Garnier Frères, Paris, 1905. PALEY. Evidences of Christianity, by William Paley. The Religious Tract Society, London, 1794. RABBINOWICZ. Législation Criminelle du Talmud, par I. J. M. Rabbinowicz. Chez l'auteur, Paris, 1876. RENAN. Histoire des origines du christianisme, par Joseph Ernest Renan. Paris, 1863. Livres 1-6: 1. Vie de Jésus. 2. Les apôtres. 3. Saint Paul. 4. L'Antichrist. 5. Les évangiles et la seconde génération chrétienne. 6. L'église chrétienne. ROSADI. The Trial of Jesus by Giovanni Rosadi. Dodd, Mead & Company, New York, 1905. SALVADOR. Histoire des Institutions de Moïse, par J. Salvador. Michel Lévy-Frères, Paris, 1862. SCHÜRER. The Jewish People in the Time of Jesus Christ, by Emil Schürer. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1906. STEPHEN. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, by James Fitzjames Stephen. Henry Holt & Company, New York, 1873. SUETONIUS. The Lives of the Twelve Cæsars, by C. Suetonius Tranquillus. George Bell & Sons, London, 1906. TACITUS. The Works of Tacitus. American Book Company, New York, 1904. WISE. The Martyrdom of Jesus, by Isaac M. Wise. The Bloch Publishing and Printing Company, Cincinnati & Chicago, 1888. In addition to the above, many other authorities have been consulted in the preparation of the two volumes of this work. Quotations from them are frequently found in the text, and citations are given in the notes. The author, in closing the article, entitled "Bibliography," wishes to express his sense of great indebtedness and appreciation to the numerous very valuable encyclopedias that adorn the shelves of the various libraries of New York City; and especially to The Jewish Encyclopedia, published by Funk & Wagnalls, New York and London, 1901. INDEX A Abarbanel, Isaac, on the Sanhedrin, I, 106 Ab-beth-din, vice-president of the Sanhedrin, I, 112 Abbott, Lyman, on the scribes of the Sanhedrin, I, 158 Acts of Pilate, the Apocryphal, modern criticism of, II, 327 discovery of, II, 327 Lardner on the authenticity of, II, 328 _seq._ Tischendorf on the authenticity of, II, 345 _seq._ antiquity of, II, 351 text of, II, 351 _seq._ Æbutius, Publius, part of, in the exposure of Bacchanalian orgies, II, 271 _seq._ Ædile, Roman, judicial powers of, II, 36 Æsculapius, Græco-Roman divinity, II, 198 Akiba, Jewish rabbi, Mishna systematized by, I, 79 Albanus, Roman governor, his deposition of Albanus, II, 296 Alcmene, myth of Zeus and, II, 265 Alexander, Jewish Alabarch, biographical note on, II, 299 Alexander III, pope, genuineness of "true cross" attested by bull of, II, 63 Alexandrian MS. of the Bible, I, 67 Ananias ben Nebedeus, Jewish priest, biographical note on, II, 299 family of, cursed in Talmud, II, 302 Ananos. See Annas Ananus, son of Annas, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 296 Anathemas, Jewish, against the Christians, II, 307, 308 Anaxagoras, Greek philosopher, on the deification of natural forces, II, 225 his exposure of the divination of Lampon, II, 226 Annanias, author of "Acts of Pilate," II, 351 Annas (Ananos), Jewish high priest, examination of Christ before, I, 238-247 deposition of, by Gratus, I, 244; II, 20 Christ examined in house of, I, 256 biographical note on, II, 295 legendary examination of Joseph of Arimathea, II, 374, 376 Antecedent Warning, peculiar provision of Hebrew Criminal Law regarding, I, 147-152 Antistius, L., Roman tribune, impeachment of Julius Cæsar by, II, 46 Antoninus Pius, Roman emperor, persecution of Christians by, II, 78 Aphrodisia, rites of, II, 265 Aphrodite, Greek divinity, patroness of prostitutes, II, 265 Aquillius, Manlius, Roman governor, trial of, before the Comitia, II, 40 Antonius, Marcus, Roman advocate, defense of, of Manlius Aquillius, II, 40 Aristotle, Greek philosopher, on the licentiousness of Sparta, II, 241 Arnold, Matthew, on despair of Roman people, II, 286 Arnobius, Numidian writer, on the familiar treatment of Roman gods, II, 218 on the lewdness of the Roman drama, II, 267 Art, effect of, in corruption of Roman and Greek morals, II, 268 Aspasia, mistress of Pericles, II, 242 Athens, domestic licentiousness of, II, 240, 241 Athronges, Jewish peasant, revolt of, II, 110 Atticus, Numerius, Roman senator, attests ascent of Augustus to heaven, II, 234 Atys, myth of, represented on Greek and Roman stage, II, 267 Augurs, Roman priests, II, 204 spectators at licentious dramas, II, 267 Augury, modes of, II, 211 Augustus Cæsar, Roman emperor, reign and policy of, II, 25, 26 care of profligate daughter Julia, II, 83 belief of, in omens, II, 215 his chastisement of Neptune, II, 222 deification of, II, 233 Aurelius Antoninus, Marcus, Roman emperor and philosopher, persecution of Christianity by, II, 78 adoration of Serapis by, II, 217 on suicide, II, 232 B Bacchanalian orgies, Livy's account of, II, 270-283 Bacchus, Roman deity, licentious festivals of, II, 265 Barabbas (Bar Abbas) released by Pilate, II, 131, 138, 363 Baring-Gould, S., on the symbolism of the Cross, II, 66 Baths, Roman, splendor of, II, 247 Beheading of criminals under Hebrew Law, I, 91, 99 Benny, on the Talmud, I, 75 on internment in Jewish Cities of Refuge, I, 98, 99 Bernhardt, Sarah, insulted in Quebec, II, 182 Bernice (Berenice), Jewish queen, a suppliant before Florus, II, 100 Bible, the manuscripts of, I, 67 purity of text of, I, 69 anthropomorphism of, I, 336-338 influence of, II, 4, 5 "Birchath Hamminim" Jewish imprecation against Christians, II, 308 Blasphemy, discussion of charge against Christ of, I, 193-209 Hebrew definition of, I, 199-201 classification of, I, 203 Boethus, family of, cursed in Talmud, II, 301. See also Simon Bossuet, Jacques B., French divine, on the citizenship of Christ, II, 108 Brothels, Roman, dedication of, to Venus, II, 265 Burning of criminals under Hebrew Law, I, 92, 99 C Cæsar, Caius Julius, 10th legion cowed by, II, 169 superstition of, II, 205 disbelief of, in immortality, II, 229 deification of, II, 233 divorces of, II, 238 profligacy of, II, 238, 239 unnatural practices attributed to, II, 263 Caiaphas, Jewish high priest, accusation of, against Christ, before Sanhedrin, I, 190 erratic conduct of, at trial of Christ, I, 290 rôle of, in trial of Jesus before Pilate, II, 101 biographical note on, II, 295 legendary examination of Joseph of Arimathea by, II, 374, 376 Caligula, Roman emperor, deifies his sister Drusilla, II, 234 depravity of, II, 234 Cantharus, family of, cursed in Talmud, II, 301 Capital Crimes under Hebrew Criminal Law, classification and punishments of, I, 91-101 Carlyle, Thomas, on the life of Christ, II, 187 Cassius, Dion, on the labeling of Roman criminals, I, 57 Cato, Marcus Porcius, contempt of, for the haruspices, II, 228 suicide of, II, 232 divorces of, II, 237 contempt of, for Lucullus, II, 246 merciless treatment of slaves, II, 251 Catulus, Quintus, dream of, presaging accession of Augustus, II, 214 Chanania, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 314 Chanania ben Chiskia, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 309 Charles IX, king of France, bloody sweat of, I, 59, 60 Christianity, conflict of, with Roman paganism, I, 16; II, 76-79 Chrysostom, St. John, on the legendary desire of Tiberius to deify Christ, II, 344 Cicero, Marcus Tullius, dream of, presaging accession of Augustus, II, 215 on Roman superstition, II, 221 on Roman skepticism, II, 227 his divorce of his wife, II, 237 witticism of, upon Cæsar's gallantries, II, 239 Cities of Refuge, Jewish, internment in, I, 96-99 Claudia, granddaughter of Augustus, marriage of, to Pilate, II, 82 dream of, regarding Jesus, II, 133, 355 Claudius, Roman commander, throws sacred pullets into the sea, II, 222 Clement V, pope, and the Talmud, I, 88, 89 Coliseum, the, description of, II, 260 Comitia Centuriata, public criminal trials in, II, 37-43 miscarriage of justice in, II, 38-42 Commodus, Roman emperor, deification of, II, 234 Consul, Roman, judicial powers of, II, 36 Coke, Sir Edward, contrast between Pilate and, II, 170-172 Cornelius, son of Ceron, the elder, biographical note on, II, 321 Cross, Roman instrument of death, erroneous representations of, II, 56 forms of, II, 62 use of, by various races as religious symbol, II, 64-67 "Cross, the True," legends of, II, 62, 63 Crucifixion, Plutarch on, I, 56 history of, II, 54, 55 mode of, II, 55 pathology of, II, 58, 59 Roman citizens exempt from, II, 54 of Jesus, II, 365 Cybele, Roman deity, importation of, from Phrygia, II, 199 D Deification of Roman emperors, ceremony of, II, 234 Dembowski, Bishop, and the Talmud, I, 88 Demosthenes, on the women of Athens, II, 242 Dérembourg, Joseph, on the Jewish priestly families, II, 294 Deutsch, Emanuel, on the Talmud, I, 74, 80 on the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 179, 181 Diocletian, Roman emperor, deification of, II, 233 Divination, Roman modes of, II, 211 Divorce, among the Romans, II, 236-239 trivial pretexts for, II, 237, 238 Döllinger, on the Roman view of Christianity and high treason, II, 77 on divorce, and the profligacy of Roman matrons, II, 236 on the effect of art in corrupting Greek and Roman manners, II, 268 Domitian, Roman emperor, self-deification of, II, 235 Doras, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 321 Dorotheas, son of Nathanael, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 321 Drama, the, licentiousness of, among Greeks and Romans, II, 266 Dreams, interpretation of, among Romans and Greeks, II, 213, 214 Druidism, annihilation of, II, 73 Drusilla, deified by Caligula, II, 234 Dysmas, legendary name of one of the thieves crucified with Jesus, II, 364 E Edersheim, Alfred, on the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 177 Elders, Jewish chamber of. See Sanhedrin Eleazar ben Partah, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 314 Eleazar, son of Annas, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 295 Eleazar, son of Simon Boethus, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 297 Eliezer, Jewish rabbi, Mishna amplified by, I, 79 Ellicott, Dr., on the character of Pilate, II, 91 Epicurus, Greek philosopher, II, 229 Epicureanism, degradation of, among Romans, II, 230 Epitaphs, irreligious Roman, II, 222, 285 Epulos, Roman priests, II, 204 Etruria, importation of haruspices from, II, 210 Eusebius, reference of, to the "Acts of Pilate," II, 329, 333, 344 Evhemere, on the Greek gods, II, 225 Evangelists, honesty of, I, 12 character of, I, 13, 14 motives of, I, 15 ability of, I, 18 candor of, I, 20-24 discrepancies of, I, 29-33 corroborative elements of narrative of, I, 34-39 impossibility of collusion among, I, 38 conformity of narrative of, with human experience, I, 39 coincidence of testimony of, with collateral circumstances, I, 52-67 narrative of, confirmed by profane historians, I, 56, 57 Evidence, rules of, under Hebrew Law, I, 144, 145 F False swearing under Hebrew Criminal Law, I, 93 Fathers, Church, writings of the, I, 68 Fecenia, Hispala, part of, in exposure of Bacchanalian orgies, II, 271 _seq._ Felix, Minucius, Christian father, controversy of, with pagans on adoration of the cross, II, 64 Flagellation, under Hebrew Criminal, I, 94 Flamens, Roman priests, II, 204 spectators at licentious dramas, II, 267 G Gallio, pro-consul of Achaia, attitude of, toward Jewish clamors, II, 107 Gamaliel, Jewish rabbi, biographical note on, II, 304 Ganymede, depraving influence of myth of rape of, II, 262 Gavazzi, Alessandro, sermons of, in Coliseum, II, 262 Geib, on the status of Judea, II, 16 on the courts of the Roman Provinces, II, 32 Geikie, Cunningham, on the non-existence of the Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 181 on the character of the trial of Jesus before Sanhedrin, I, 184 Gemara, the Jerusalem and Babylonian recensions of, I, 81 relation of, to Mishna, I, 83. See also Talmud and Mishna Germanicus, Cæsar temples profaned on death of, II, 222 exposure of children born on day of death of, II, 254 Gestas, legendary name of one of thieves crucified with Jesus, II, 364 Golden House of Nero, II, 246 Gibbon, Edward, on the jurisdiction of the great Sanhedrin, I, 120 on the laws of the Twelve Tables, II, 53 on the extent of the Roman Empire, II, 196 Gladiatorial games, origin of, II, 256 gigantic scale of, in Rome, II, 256, 257 conduct of, II, 258 Gospels, the, admissibility of, as legal evidence, I, 5-12 Governors, Roman, powers of, II, 24, 27, 28, 29 forbidden to take wives to their provinces, II, 84, 85 Graetz, Heinrich, on the existence of the Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 181 Greeks, superstition of, II, 223 philosophy of, II, 229 depraving effect on Romans of art, literature, and manners of, II, 240-244, 268, 284 Bacchanalian orgies introduced by, II, 270 invective of Juvenal against, II, 284 Greenidge, on the interpretation of native law by Roman proprætors, II, 31 Greenleaf, Simon, American jurist, on the admissibility of the Scriptures as legal evidence, I, 6-9 on the testimony of the Evangelists, I, 10, 11 on the legal justice of the conviction of Christ for blasphemy, I, 209 H Hacksab ben Tzitzith, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 320 "Hall of Hewn Stones," sessions of Sanhedrin in, I, 117 Haruspices, Roman, account of, II, 210 Helcias, Jewish treasurer, biographical note on, II, 300 Helena, Empress, legendary discovery of "true cross" by, II, 62 Hercules, Greek divinity, burning of, represented on Greek and Roman stage, II, 267 Herder, Johann, on the character of Christ, II, 187 Herod Antipas, character of, II, 120 his treatment of Jesus, II, 122-127 Herod I, the Great, last will of, II, 119, 120 arbitrary changes of, in high priesthood, II, 293 Hetairai, status of, in Athens, II, 242, 243 High priest, Jewish, vestments of, I, 158 abuses in appointment of, II, 293 Hillel, Jewish doctor, inspiration of, I, 84 Hillel, School of, and the Mishna, I, 79 dissensions of, with School of Shammai, II, 309 Homer, the bible of the Greeks, II, 264 Honorius IV, pope, and the Talmud, I, 87 Horatius, trial of, before the Comitia Centuriata, II, 40 I Ignatius, St., martyrdom of, in Coliseum, II, 261 Impalement, death by, II, 61 Infanticide, among Romans, II, 254 Inkerman, story of soldier killed at battle of, II, 191 Innes, on the trials of Jesus before the Sanhedrin, I, 185; II, 10 on the cowardice of Pilate, II, 138 Interpreters, not allowed in Jewish courts, I, 107 Imprisonment. See Law, Hebrew Criminal, I, 93 Ishmael, Jewish rabbi, and the Mishna, I, 79 Ismael ben Eliza, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 309 Ismael ben Phabi, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 298 family of, cursed in Talmud, II, 301 Isis, Egyptian deity, rites of, established in Rome, II, 217 Roman temples of, a resort of vice, II, 269 Issachar ben Keifar Barchi, Jewish priest, cursed in Talmud, II, 302 J James, brother of Jesus, condemnation of, by Ananus, II, 296 Janus, Roman god, invocations of, II, 207 Jehovah, appearances of, in human form, I, 343-349 Jerome, St., on the Jewish anathema against Christians, II, 308 Jesus, the Christ, human perfection of, I, 14; II, 186 scourging of, I, 56, 57 breaking of legs of, by soldiers, I, 57 bloody sweat of, I, 59, 60 physical cause of death of, I, 61, 62 watery issue of, I, 60-62 devotion of women to, I, 66 resurrection of, I, 211; II, 368 divinity of, I, 211, 212 celebrates the Paschal feast, I, 220-224 at Gethsemane, I, 224-226 arrest of, I, 225 private examination of, before high priest, I, 238-247 charged with sedition and blasphemy I, 250 annnounces his Messiahship before Sanhedrin, I, 273, 274 Messianic prophecies fulfilled in Him, I, 323-328, 341, 342 miracles of, I, 350-355 at morning session of Sanhedrin, I, 356-362 condemned to death by Sanhedrin, I, 365 His teachings treasonable under Roman law, II, 72 before Pilate, II, 96 _seq._ charged with high treason before Pilate, II, 106, 352 indictment of, before Pilate, II, 107-109 acquitted by Pilate, II, 116 sent by Pilate to Herod, II, 118 before Herod, II, 119 _seq._ mocked, and sent back to Pilate by Herod, II, 127 second appearance of, before Pilate, II, 129 _seq._ delivered to Jews by Pilate, II, 138 mocked by mob, II, 139 tributes of skeptics to, II, 187 Napoleon's tribute to, II, 189, 190 charged by Jews with illegitimacy, II, 356 crucifixion of, II, 365 See also trial of Jesus, Hebrew, and trial of Jesus, Roman Jesus ben Sie, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 298 Jews, the political state of, at time of Jesus, II, 11-23 discussion of their responsibility for Christ's death, II, 174-180 prejudices against, II, 180-187 distinguished, II, 185, 186 Joazar, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 296 Jochanan ben Zakai, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 311 John, St., at the sepulcher, I, 37 at the crucifixion of Christ, I, 65 John, St., Gospel of, style of, I, 19 John, Jewish priest, biographical note on, II, 299 Jonathan, son of Annas, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 295 Jonathan ben Uziel, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 306 John, son of John, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 321 Joseph of Arimathea, presence of, at trials of Christ, I, 282-286, 364 biographical note on, II, 318 receives body of Jesus from Pilate, II, 366 apocryphal account of escape of, from Jews, II, 367, 373-376 Josephus, Flavius, on the character of Pilate, I, 21 on scourging I, 56 on the Pharisees, I, 87 on the existence of the great Sanhedrin at time of Christ, I, 176 on the loss, by Jews, of power of life and death, II, 19 on the rapacity of the high priests, II, 301 Jowett, Benjamin, upon the corruption of Rome, II, 240 Judah, the Holy, Jewish rabbi, and the composition of the Mishna, I, 79, 80 Judas, son of Hezekiah, Jewish rebel, put to death by Herod, II, 109 Judas Iscariot, his betrayal of Christ, I, 227-235 Julia, daughter of Augustus, profligacy of, II, 82 marriages of, II, 83 Julian, Roman emperor, his defiance of Mars, II, 222 Juno, Roman divinity, sacrifices to, II, 208 Jupiter, Roman deity, multitudinous forms of, II, 203 sacrifices to, II, 208 Justin Martyr, reference of, to "Acts of Pilate," II, 331, 346, 348 Juvenal, Satires of, on Roman social depravity, II, 240, 244, 248 K Keim, Theodor, on the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 178 on the character of Christ, II, 188, 189 Knight, R. P., on the symbolism of the Cross, II, 65 Koran, the, I, 77 L Lamartine, Alphonse, on the death of Christ, II, 3 Lampon, Greek diviner, exposed by Anaxagoras, II, 226 Lardner, on the authenticity of the "Acts of Pilate," II, 328 _seq._ Law, Hebrew Criminal, administration of, I, 153, 154 basis of, I, 73, 84, 85 burial of bodies after execution under, I, 101, 171 capital punishments under, I, 91-93, 99-101 circumstantial evidence under, I, 144 Cities of Refuge under, I, 96 courts and judges, I, 102-126 execution under, I, 170, 171 false swearing under, I, 93 flagellation under, I, 94 imprisonment under, I, 93 peculiarities of, I, 125, 132, 147, 167, 168 slavery under, I, 95 tenderness of, for human life, I, 154, 155, 310 testimony under, I, 144-147 witnesses under, I, 127-144 written and documentary evidence irrelevant, I, 133, 145 Laws, Roman, lex Appuleia, II, 69 Cornelia, II, 69 Julia Majestatis, II, 69, 80 Memmia, II, 46 Porcia, II, 54 Remmia, II, 49 Talionis, II, 53 Valeria, II, 37, 54 Varia, II, 69 Lazarus, raising of, from the dead, I, 352 Lectisternia, Roman banquets to the gods, slaves released at, II, 130 indecencies of, II, 218 Lémann, extract from work of, on Sanhedrin, II, 291 Lepidus, Marcus, Roman patrician, magnificence of, II, 246 Livy, on scourging, I, 57 account of Bacchanalian orgies, II, 270-283 Longinus, legendary name of soldier who pierced Christ, II, 379 Lucullus, Roman patrician, luxury of, II, 244 Luke, St., occupation of, I, 19 Luke, St., Gospel of, style of, I, 19 Lupercals, Roman priests, II, 204 Luxury of the Romans, II, 244 Lycurgus, code of, II, 241 M Macarius, identification of "true cross" by, II, 63 Macaulay, Lord, speech of, on Jewish disabilities, II, 184 Mahomet, character of, I, 14 Malchus, ear of, cut off by Peter, I, 36, 226 Magath, Julius, extract from work of, II, 291 Maimonides, on Hebrew Capital Crimes, I, 91 on the prohibition of nocturnal trials, I, 255, 256 Manlius, Marcus, trial of, before the Comitia Centuriata, II, 40 Marius, Caius, assassin cowed by, I, 62 Mark, St., Jesus arrested at home of, I, 220 Marriage, among the Romans, II, 236 among the Greeks, II, 240-243 Marcius, Quintus, Roman consul, motion of, on the suppression of the Bacchanalian orgies, II, 282 Mars, Roman deity, II, 208 Messiah, the, prophecies regarding, and their fulfillment in Jesus, I, 322-328 varying expectations of Jews regarding, I, 319-322; II, 110 conception of Pharisees of, II, 324 conception of Sadducees of, II, 325 Matthew, St., occupation of, I, 19 Matthias, son of Annas, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 296 Mendelssohn, on the Talmud, I, 75 Messalina, Roman empress, lewdness of, II, 244 Messalinus, Cotta, prosecuted for treason, II, 70 Metrodorus on the Greek gods, II, 226 Mezeray, de, on the bloody sweat of Charles IX, I, 60 Minerva, Roman deity, II, 208 Miracles, probability of, I, 40-51 Spinoza on, I, 40-43 Renan on, I, 44 of Christ, I, 351-354 Mishna, the, E. Deutsch on, I, 80 subdivisions of, I, 80 relation of Talmud to, I, 83 traditional view of, I, 84 on capital and pecuniary cases, I, 155, 156. See also Gemara and Talmud. Mommsen, Theodor, on the jurisdiction of native courts of Roman subject peoples, II, 15 on Roman marital looseness, II, 243 on Roman extravagance, II, 247 Montefiore, Sir Moses, anecdote of, II, 180 Mosaic Code, the, a basis of Hebrew Criminal Law, I, 73, 84, 85 Müller, Johannes, explodes legend of Pilate and Lake Lucerne, II, 95 N Nachum Halbalar, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 314 Nævius, Marcus, accusation of Scipio Africanus by, II, 41 Napoleon I, fickleness of populace toward, I, 63, 64 tribute of, to Jesus, II, 189 religious faith of, II, 190, 191 Nasi, prince of the Sanhedrin, I, 112 Nathan, Jewish rabbi, note on, II, 315, note Neptune, Roman deity, II, 208 Nero, Roman emperor, deification of, II, 234 Golden House of, II, 246 Ney, Michel, French marshal, compared with St. Peter, I, 64 Nicodemus, Jewish elder, presence of, at trial of Christ, I, 282-286 defense of Christ before Sanhedrin, I, 305 presence and conduct of, at second trial of Jesus by Sanhedrin, I, 364 biographical note on, II, 319 apocryphal account of pleading of, for Jesus before Pilate, II, 360 Gospel of. See "Acts of Pilate" Nordau, Max, on Jewish pride in Jesus, II, 188 O Oaths, not administered to witnesses, under Jewish law, I, 134 Octavian. See Augustus Omens, belief of Romans in, II, 215 Onkelos, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 305 Oracle, Delphic, consulted by Romans, II, 210 Osiris, Egyptian deity, the cross a symbol of, II, 66 Ovid, Roman poet, on unnatural practices in temples, II, 269 P Paganism, Græco-Roman, conflict of, with Christianity, I, 16; II, 76-79 Hellenization of Roman religion, II, 199 importation of foreign gods, II, 200 origin and multiplicity of Roman gods, II, 198-204 Roman priesthood, II, 204, 205 Roman forms of worship, II, 205-209 perplexity of worshipers regarding deities, II, 207 prayer, II, 207, 208-210 augury and divination, II, 210-215 omens, II, 215, 216 decay of Roman faith, II, 217-220 Roman skepticism, II, 220-229 sacrilege among Romans, II, 221 disbelief of Romans in immortality, II, 228, 229 Epicureanism among the Romans, II, 229-231 stoicism, II, 231-233 deification of Roman emperors, II, 233-235 base deities of Romans, II, 265 effect of religion in Greek and Roman social corruption, II, 269 Palace of Herod, description of, II, 96, 97 Paley, William, on the discrepancies of the Gospels, I, 32, 33 Pan, Græco-Roman divinity, feasts of, II, 265 Paul, St., on the depravity of Rome, II, 284 delivery of, to Felix, II, 299 Pericles, Greek tyrant, and the divination of Lampon, II, 226 Pentateuch, the, a basis of Hebrew jurisprudence, I, 73 Permanent Tribunals (quæstiones perpetuæ), mode of trials before, at Rome, II, 43-52 Peter, St., at the sepulcher, I, 37 compared with Marshal Ney, I, 64 and Malchus, I, 36, 226 Pharisees, and the Talmud, I, 87 attitude of, toward the law, I, 338 dominant in priestly order, II, 302 their conception of the Messiah, II, 324 characteristics of, II, 324 Philip, St., and the feeding of the five thousand, I, 35 Phillips, Wendell, on Hindu swordsmanship, I, 48 Philo, Jewish philosopher, on the character of Pilate, I, 21; II, 89-91 Phryne, mistress of Praxiteles anecdote of, II, 242 Pilate, Pontius, powers of, as procurator of Judea, II, 27-31 name and origin of, II, 81, 82 marriage of, II, 82 becomes procurator of Judea, II, 84 provokes the Jews, II, 85 appropriates funds from Corban, II, 86 hangs shields in Herod's palace, II, 88 slays Galileans, II, 88 character of, I, 21; II, 88 canonization of, II, 89 ordered to Rome by Vitellius, II, 92 legends regarding death of, II, 92-94 interrogation of Jesus, II, 112-115 talents of, II, 115 his opinion of Jesus, II, 115 acquits Jesus, II, 116 sends Jesus to Herod, II, 117 reconciled with Herod, II, 128 offers to release Barabbas, II, 130 warned by wife's dream of Jesus, II, 133, 355 washes his hands of Christ's death, II, 137, 364 releases Barabbas, II, 138, 363 summary of his conduct of Christ's trial, II, 168 conduct of, compared with Cæsar, II, 169; with Sir Edward Coke, II, 170-172 Pindar, Greek poet, denunciation of, of vulgar superstitions, II, 224 Plato, Greek philosopher, unnatural love of, II, 263 reprobation of Homeric myths, II, 264 Pliny, the Younger, correspondence of, with Trajan, II, 78 disbelief of, in immortality, II, 229 on slavery, II, 203 Plutarch, on crucifixion, I, 56 anecdotes of Lucullus, II, 244-246 Polybius, on Roman pederasty, II, 263 Pompeia divorced by Cæsar, II, 238 Pompey, Cneius, the Great, conquest of Palestine by, II, 11 defeated at Pharsalia, II, 25 divorce of his wife Mucia, II, 238 Pontiffs, Roman, II, 204 Poppæa, wife of Nero, deification of, II, 77 Postumius, Spurius, Roman consul, suppression of Bacchanalians by, II, 270-283 Prætor, Roman, judicial powers of, II, 36 Priesthood, Roman. See Roman religion Priests, Jewish Chamber of. See Sanhedrin Procurator, Roman, jurisdiction of, II, 27, 28 Provinces, Roman, classification of, by Augustus, II, 27 Q Quetzalcoatle, crucified Savior, worshiped by Mexicans, II, 66 R Rabbi, origin of Jewish title of, II, 315 Rabbis, Jewish, arrogance of, II, 316 Raphall, Morris, on the origin of the Sanhedrin, I, 104 Rawlinson, George, on the political state of Judea at the time of Christ, II, 11 Religions, policy of Romans toward foreign, and of conquered peoples, II, 72-74 Renan, Ernest, on miracles, I, 44-47 on the "judicial ambush" of blasphemers, I, 235 on the character of Pilate, II, 90 on the character of Christ, II, 187, 188 Richard III, King of England, contest of, with Saladin, I, 48 Richter on the pathology of crucifixion, II, 58, 59 Rosadi, on the confession of the accused under Hebrew law, I, 143 on the hatred of Pilate toward the Jews, II, 98 on the order of criminal trials in Roman provinces, II, 32 Rousseau, Jean Jacques, on the death of Christ, II, 187 Romans, laws of, the basis of modern jurisprudence, II, 5 policy of, toward subject peoples, II, 13-15 responsibility of, for Christ's death, II, 174-176 religion of. See Paganism Ruga, Carvilius, first Roman to procure a divorce, II, 236 S Sacrifice, human, among the Romans, II, 209 Sadducees, attitude of, toward the law, I, 338 attitude of, toward anthropomorphism of Pentateuch, I, 338 dominant in the Sanhedrin, I, 339 disbelief of, in immortality, II, 322 wealth and rank of, II, 322 Saladin, Saracen Sultan, contest of, with Richard III, I, 48 Salians, Roman priests, II, 204 Sallust, Roman historian, on the conspiracy of Cataline, II, 229 Salvador, Joseph, on the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 177 Samuel, Hakaton, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 307 Sanctuary, right of, among ancient peoples, I, 96 Sanhedrin, the Great, origin of, I, 103 history of, I, 104 organization of, I, 105 chamber of scribes, I, 105; II, 303 chamber of elders, I, 105; II, 318 chamber of priests, I, 105; II, 292 qualifications of members of, I, 106 disqualifications of judges of, I, 109 officers of, I, 112 compensation of officers of, I, 115 sessions of, I, 116 recruitment of personnel of, I, 117 quorum of, I, 119 jurisdiction of, I, 119 appeals to, from minor Sanhedrins, I, 120 morning sacrifice of, I, 157 assembling of judges of, I, 158 scribes of, I, 158, 159 examination of witnesses by, I, 159-162 debates and balloting of judges of, I, 162 procedure of, in cases of condemnation of accused, I, 165-167 method of counting votes, I, 167, 168 death march of, I, 169, 170 question of existence of, at time of Christ, I, 175-181 jurisdiction of, in capital cases at the time of Christ, I, 181-183 discussion of trial of Christ before, I, 183-186 procedure of, in trial of Christ before, I, 186 illegality of proceedings of, against Christ, I, 255-259, 260-262, 263-266, 267-270, 287-294 illegality of sentence of, against Christ, I, 271-278, 279-286 disqualifications of members of, who condemned Christ, I, 296-308 morning session of, at trial of Christ, I, 356-364 three sessions of, to discuss Christ, I, 305, 306 authority of, after Roman conquest, II, 12, 16, 21 deprived by Romans of power of capital punishment, II, 19, 20 biographical sketches of members of, who tried Jesus, II, 291-326 Sanhedrins, minor, appeals from, to Great Sanhedrin, I, 120 establishment of, I, 121 jurisdiction of, I, 121 superior rank of those of Jerusalem, I, 123, 124 Saul, Abba, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 313 Savonarola, Girolamo, Florentine reformer, burning of, I, 63 Scaurus, Manercus, prosecuted for treason, II, 70 Sceva, Jewish priest, biographical note on, II, 300 Schenck, account of, of the bloody sweat of a nun, I, 59 Schürer, on the existence of the Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 176 on the jurisdiction of the Sanhedrin, II, 18 on the administration of civil law by Sanhedrin, II, 30 Scipio Africanus, trial of, before Comitia Centuriata, II, 41 Scott, Sir Walter, on the contest between Richard III and Saladin, I, 47, 48 Scourging, of Jesus, I, 56 mode of, among Romans, II, 55 Scribes, Jewish, Edersheim on, I, 302 Scribes, Jewish Chamber of. See Sanhedrin Segnensis, Henricus, anecdote of, illustrative of mediæval ignorance regarding Talmud, II, 74 Semiramis, Assyrian queen, origin of crucifixion imputed to, II, 54 Seneca, anecdote from, regarding political informers, II, 71 on the patriotic observance of the national religion, II, 226 on suicide, II, 232 on slavery, II, 252 on Roman myths, II, 265 Septuagint, version of the Bible, paraphrasing of anthropomorphic passages in, I, 237 Sepulture, of crucified criminals forbidden, II, 58 Serapis, Egyptian deity, images of thrown down, II, 73 Marcus Aurelius an adorer of, II, 217 Servilia, mistress of Julius Cæsar, II, 239 Shammai, School of, and the Mishna, I, 79 dissensions of, with School of Hillel, II, 309 Shevuah ben Kalba, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 319 Shoterim of the Sanhedrin, I, 113 Sibylline Books, II, 199, 204 Sibyl, Erythræan, Virgil inspired by, II, 287 Simon, Jewish rebel, revolt of, II, 110 Simon, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 320 Simon Boethus, made high priest by Herod I, II, 296 Simon ben Camithus, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 298 Simon Cantharus, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 297 Simon, son of Gamaliel, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 305 Simon Hamizpah, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 314 Sinaitic MS. of the Bible, I, 67 Slavery, under Hebrew law, I, 95 account of, among Romans, II, 250, 251 Social life, Græco-Roman, marriage and divorce, II, 236-240 prostitution, II, 242-244 luxury and extravagance, II, 244-249 poverty of Roman masses, II, 249 slavery, II, 249-253 infanticide, II, 254 gladiatorial games, II, 255-262 depravity of, traceable to corrupt myths, II, 262-270 practice of Bacchanalian rites, II, 270-283 hopeless state of, at time of Christ, II, 284-287 Socrates, Greek philosopher, resemblance of charges against, to those against Jesus, II, 181 counsel of, to Hetairai, II, 243 Sodomy, prevalence of, among Greeks and Romans, II, 262-264 practiced in Roman temples, II, 269 Solomon ben Joseph, Jewish rabbi, on the Talmud, I, 90 Sonnenthal, Adolf von, Jewish actor, refused freedom of Vienna, II, 182 Sparta, licentiousness of, II, 241 Spartacus, Roman gladiator, revolt of, II, 259, 260 Spartans, marital looseness of, II, 241 Spinoza, Jewish philosopher, on miracles, I, 40-44 Standards, apocryphal miracle of, at trial of Christ, II, 354 _seq._ Starkie on the credibility of testimony, I, 12 Stephen, St., stoning of, I, 365 Stephen, Sir James F. J., on the Roman treatment of Christianity, II, 76 on Pilate's trial of Jesus, II, 159-164 Stoicism, among the Romans, II, 231 resemblance of, to Christian precepts, II, 331 Stoning of criminals under Hebrew law, I, 92, 99 Strangling of criminals under Hebrew law, I, 91, 99 Strauss, David, on the behavior of Jesus before Herod, II, 126 on the character of Christ, II, 187 Stroud on the physical cause of death of Christ, I, 61, 62 Suetonius, Roman historian, on the labeling of criminals before execution, I, 57 on divination, II, 213 narrative of, of dreams presaging reign of Augustus, II, 214 account of, of belief of Augustus in omens, II, 215 Suicide, attitude of Stoics toward, II, 232 Suspension, death by, II, 61, 62 Sweat, bloody, historical instances of, I, 59, 60 T Tacitus, Roman historian, on slavery, II, 253 Talmud, the, definition of, I, 74 recensions of, I, 81 contents of, I, 82 relation of Mishna to, I, 83, to Gemara, I, 83; to Pentateuch, I, 83; to Mosaic Code, I, 84, 85 efforts of Christians to extirpate, I, 87, 88 message and mission of, I, 89 See also Gemara and Mishna Telemachus, St., death of, in arena, II, 261 Temples, a resort of immorality in Rome, II, 269 Tertullian, Latin father, on the character of Pilate, II, 89 on the resort of vice to temple precincts, II, 269 reference of, to the "Acts of Pilate," II, 329, 333 _seq._, 347, 348 Tertullus, his prosecution of Paul, II, 299 Testimony, under Hebrew Criminal Law, of each witness required to cover entire case, I, 132 vain, I, 145 standing, I, 146 adequate, I, 147 of accomplices, I, 228-230, 235, 236 Theodota, the courtesan, counseled by Socrates, II, 243 Theophilus, son of Annas, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 296 Theresa, Maria, Austrian empress, codex of, II, 54 Three, Jewish Courts of, jurisdiction of, I, 124 Tiberius Cæsar, Roman emperor, sway of, II, 27 character of, II, 70 prosecutions of, for treason, II, 70, 71 marriage of, to Julia, II, 83 legendary desire of, to deify Christ, II, 329, 330 _seq._ Tischendorf, Constantine, on the authenticity of the "Acts of Pilate," II, 345 _seq._ Tissot, account of, of the bloody sweat of a sailor, I, 59 Trajan, Roman emperor, correspondence of, with Pliny, II, 78 Trials, Roman criminal, right of appeal, II, 28 during the regal period, II, 35 Roman, mode of, in the Comitia Centuriata, II, 37-43 mode of, in the Permanent Tribunals, II, 43-52 prosecutor, rôle and selection of, II, 43, 44, 49 Trial of Jesus, Hebrew, nature of charge against Jesus before Sanhedrin, I, 187 procedure of, before Sanhedrin, I, 188 discussion of charge of blasphemy against Jesus, I, 193-209 illegality of arrest of Jesus, I, 219-237 illegality of private examination of Jesus before high priest, I, 238-247 illegality of indictment of Jesus, I, 248-254 illegality of nocturnal proceedings against Jesus, I, 255-259 illegality of the meeting of the Sanhedrin before morning sacrifice, I, 260-262 illegality of proceedings against Christ, because held on the eve of the Sabbath, and of a feast, I, 263-266 illegality of trial, because concluded in one day, I, 267-270 condemnation of Jesus founded on uncorroborated evidence, I, 271-278 Jesus illegally condemned by unanimous verdict, I, 279-286 condemnation of Jesus pronounced in place forbidden by law, I, 288-292 irregular balloting of judges of Jesus, I, 292-294 condemnation of Jesus illegal, because of unlawful conduct of high priest, I, 290, 291 disqualifications of judges of Jesus, I, 296-308 Jesus condemned without defense, I, 309 second trial of Jesus by Sanhedrin, I, 356-366 Trial of Jesus, Roman, discussion of Roman and Hebrew jurisdiction, II, 3-23 Roman law applicable to, II, 68-80 as conducted by Pilate, II, 96-118, 129-139 legal analysis of, II, 141-168 Tribune, Roman, judicial powers of, II, 36 Tryphon, son of Theudion, Jewish elder; biographical note on, II, 321 Twelve Tables, laws of the, II, 53, 208 U Ulpian, Roman jurist, his definition of treason, II, 69 V Vatican, MS. of the Bible, I, 67 Venus, Roman deity, sacrifices to, II, 208 impersonated by Phryne, II, 243 worshiped by harlots, II, 266 Veronica, St., legend of, II, 93 Vestals, Roman priestesses, guardians of sacred fire, II, 204 spectators at licentious dramas, II, 267 Vinicius, Lucius, Roman patrician, letter of Augustus to, II, 83 Virgil, poem of, on advent of heaven-born child, I, 321; II, 287 Virginia, legend of, II, 236 Vitellius, legate of Syria, spares Jewish prejudices, II, 85 orders Pilate to Rome, II, 92 Vitia, Roman matron, executed for treason, II, 71 Voltaire, François de, account of, of the bloody sweat of Charles IX, I, 59 on character of Christ, II, 187 Vulgate, version of the Bible, I, 68 W Witnesses, under Hebrew Criminal Law, competency and incompetency of, I, 127-129 number of, required to convict, I, 129 agreement of, I, 131 adjuration to, I, 134 examination of, I, 136, 138 false, I, 140 the accused as, I, 141 separation of, I, 137 Wise, Rabbi, on the non-existence of the Great Sanhedrin at time of Christ, I, 175, 179 on the "martyrdom of Jesus," I, 330 X Xenophanes, ridicule of, of Greek religion, II, 224 Z Zadok, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 310 Zeno, Greek philosopher, originator of Stoicism, II, 229 Zeus, Greek divinity, character of, I, 14 myth of rape of Ganymede by, II, 262 Corrections The first line indicates the original, the second the correction: p. 61: Describing the punishments used in Madasgascar Describing the punishments used in Madagascar. p. 151: and that he recognized and that He recognized. p. 174: as did S. Michael as did St. Michael. p. 392: Dysmas, legendary name of one of thieves crucified with Jesus, II, 364 Dysmas, legendary name of one of the thieves crucified with Jesus, II, 364 Derembourg, Joseph, on the Jewish priestly families, II, 294 Dérembourg, Joseph, on the Jewish priestly families, II, 294 p. 397: Lemann, extract from work of, on Sanhedrin, II, 291 Lémann, extract from work of, on Sanhedrin, II, 291 p. 402: Scipio Africanus, trial of, before Comitia Centuriata Scipio Africanus, trial of, before Comitia Centuriata, II, 41 Footnote 15: Geschichte des römischen criminalprocesses Geschichte des römischen Criminalprocesses Footnote 152: Renan, "Les Apotres." Renan, "Les Apôtres." 
11980	----	Proofreading Team. [Illustration: NIGHT OVER THE BLACK SEA] A TRAMP'S SKETCHES BY STEPHEN GRAHAM 1913 TO "THE CELESTIALS" PREFACE This book was written chiefly whilst tramping along the Caucasian and Crimean shores of the Black Sea, and on a pilgrimage with Russian peasants to Jerusalem. Most of it was written in the open air, sitting on logs in the pine forests or on bridges over mountain streams, by the side of my morning fire or on the sea sand after the morning dip. It is not so much a book about Russia as about the tramp. It is the life of the wanderer and seeker, the walking hermit, the rebel against modern conditions and commercialism who has gone out into the wilderness. I have tramped alone over the battlefields of the Crimea, visited the cemetery where lie so many British dead, wandered along the Black Sea shores a thousand miles to New Athos monastery and Batum, have been with seven thousand peasant pilgrims to Jerusalem, and lived their life in the hospitable Greek monasteries and in the great Russian hostelry at the Holy City, have bathed with them in Jordan where all were dressed in their death-shrouds, and have slept with them a whole night in the Sepulchre. One cannot make such a journey without great experiences both spiritual and material. On every hand new significances are revealed, both of Russian life and of life itself. It is with life itself that this volume is concerned. It is personal and friendly, and on that account craves indulgence. Here are the songs and sighs of the wanderer, many lyrical pages, and the very minimum of scientific and topographical matter. It is all written spontaneously and without study, and as such goes forth--all that a seeker could put down of his visions, or could tell of what he sought. There will follow, if it is given to the author both to write and to publish, a full story of the places he visited along the Black Sea shore, and of the life of the pilgrims on the way to the shrine of the Sepulchre and at the shrine itself. It will be a continuation of the work begun in _Undiscovered Russia_. Several of these sketches appeared in the _St. James's Gazette_, two in _Country Life_, and one in _Collier's_ of New York, being sent out to these papers from the places where they were written. The author thanks the Editors for permission to republish, and for their courtesy in dealing with MSS. STEPHEN GRAHAM. CONTENTS I 1. FAREWELL TO THE TOWN 2. NIGHTS OUT ON A PERFECT VAGABONDAGE 3. THE LORD'S PRAYER 4. DAYS 5. THE QUESTION OK THE SCEPTIC 6. A THING OF BEAUTY IS A JOY FOR EVER 7. A STILL-CREATION-DAY 8. SUNSET FROM THE GATE OF BAIDARI 9. THE MEANING OF THE SEA II 1. HOSPITALITY 2. THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN 3. A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT 4. SOCRATES OF ZUGDIDA 5. "HAVE YOU A LIGHT HAND?" 6. ST. SPIRIDON OF TREMIFOND 7. AT A FAIR. 8. A TURKISH COFFEE-HOUSE 9. AT A GREAT MONASTERY III 1. THE BOY WHO NEVER GROWS OLD 2. ZENOBIA 3. THE LITTLE DEAD CHILD 4. HOW THE OLD PILGRIM REACHED BETHLEHEM IV THE WANDERER'S STORY (I.) MY COMPANION. (II.) HOW HE FOUND HIMSELF IN A COACH. (III.) IRRECONCILABLES. (IV.) THE TOWNSMAN. (V.) HIS CONVERSION. V THE UNCONQUERABLE HOPE VI THE PILGRIMAGE TO JERUSALEM VII THE MESSAGE FROM THE HERMIT * * * * * FRONTISPIECE NIGHT OVER THE BLACK SEA I I FAREWELL TO THE TOWN The town is one large house of which all the little houses are rooms. The streets are the stairs. Those who live always in the town are never out of doors even if they do take the air in the streets. When I came into the town I found that in my soul were reflected its blank walls, its interminable stairways, and the shadows of hurrying traffic. A thousand sights and impressions, unbidden, unwelcome, flooded through the eye-gate of my soul, and a thousand harsh sounds and noises came to me through my ears and echoed within me. I became aware of confused influences of all kinds striving to find some habitation in the temple of my being. What had been my delight in the country, my receptivity and hospitality of consciousness, became in the town my misery and my despair. For imagine! Within my own calm mirror a beautiful world had seen itself rebuilded. Mountains and valleys lay within me, robed in sunny and cloudy days or marching in the majesty of storm. I had inbreathed their mystery and outbreathed it again as my own. I had gazed at the wide foaming seas till they had gazed into me, and all their waves waved their proud crests within me. Beauteous plains had tempted, mysterious dark forests lured me, and I had loved them and given them habitation in my being. My soul had been wedded to the great strong sun and it had slumbered under the watchful stars. The silence of vast lonely places was preserved in my breast. Or against the background of that silence resounded in my being the roar of the billows of the ocean. Great winds roared about my mountains, or the whispering snow hurried over them as over tents. In my valleys I heard the sound of rivulets; in my forests the birds. Choirs of birds sang within my breast. I had been a playfellow with God. God had played with me as with a child. Bound by so intimate a tie, how terrible to have been betrayed to a town! For now, fain would the evil city reflect itself in my calm soul, its commerce take up a place within the temple of my being. I had left God's handiwork and come to the man-made town. I had left the inexplicable and come to the realm of the explained. In the holy temple were arcades of shops; through its precincts hurried the trams; the pictures of trade were displayed; men were building hoardings in my soul and posting notices of idol-worship, and hurrying throngs were reading books of the rites of idolatry. Instead of the mighty anthem of the ocean I heard the roar of traffic. Where had been mysterious forests now stood dark chimneys, and the songs of birds were exchanged for the shrill whistle of trains. And my being began to express itself to itself in terms of commerce. "Oh God," I cried in my sorrow, "who did play with me among the mountains, refurnish my soul! Purge Thy Temple as Thou didst in Jerusalem of old time, when Thou didst overset the tables of the money-changers." Then the spirit drove me into the wilderness to my mountains and valleys, by the side of the great sea and by the haunted forests. Once more the vast dome of heaven became the roof of my house, and within the house was rebuilded that which my soul called beautiful. There I refound my God, and my being re-expressed itself to itself in terms of eternal Mysteries. I vowed I should never again belong to the town. As upon a spring day the face of heaven is hid and a storm descends, winds ruffle the bosom of a pure lake, the flowers droop, wet, the birds cease singing, and rain rushes over all, and then anon the face of heaven clears, the sun shines forth, the flowers look up in tears, the birds sing again, and the pure lake reflects once more the pure depth of the sky, so now my glad soul, which had lost its sun, found it again and remembered its birds and its flowers. II NIGHTS OUT ON A PERFECT VAGABONDAGE I I have been a whole season in the wilds, tramping or idling on the Black Sea shore, living for whole days together on wild fruit, sleeping for the most part under the stars, bathing every morning and evening in the clear warm sea. It is difficult to tell the riches of the life I have had, the significance of the experience. I have felt pulse in my veins wild blood which my instincts had forgotten in the town. I have felt myself come back to Nature. During the first month after my departure from the town I slept but thrice under man's roof. I slept all alone, on the hillside, in the maize-fields, in the forest, in old deserted houses, in caves, ruins, like a wild animal gone far afield in search of prey. I never knew in advance where I should make my night couch; for I was Nature's guest and my hostess kept her little secrets. Each night a new secret was opened, and in the secret lay some pleasant mystery. Some of the mysteries I guessed--there are many guesses in these pages--some I only tried to guess, and others I could only wonder over. All manner of mysterious things happen to us in sleep; the sick man is made well, the desperate hopeful, the dull man happy. These things happen in houses which are barred and shuttered and bolted. The power of the Night penetrates even into the luxurious apartments of kings, even into the cellars of the slums. But if it is potent in these, how much more is it potent in its free unrestricted domain, the open country. He who sleeps under the stars is bathed in the elemental forces which in houses only creep to us through keyholes. I may say from experience that he who has slept out of doors every day for a month, nay even for a week, is at the end of that time a new man. He has entered into new relationship with the world in which he lives, and has allowed the gentle creative hands of Nature to re-shape his soul. The first of my nights after leaving the town was spent on a shaggy grass patch on a cliff, under three old twisted yew trees. Underfoot was an abundance of wild lavender and the air was laden with the scent. I am now at New Athos monastery, ten miles from Sukhum, and am writing this in the cell that the hospitable monks have given me. My last night was in a deep cavern at the base of a high rock on a desert shore. The first night was warm and gentle, though it was followed by several that were stormy. Wrapped in my rug I felt not a shiver of cold, even at dawn. As I lay at my ease, I looked out over the far southern sea sinking to sleep in the dusk. The glistening and sparkling of the water passed away--the sea became a great bale of grey--blue silk, soft, smooth, dreamy, like the garment of a sorceress queen. I slipped into sleep and slipped out again as easily as one goes from one room to another, sometimes sleeping one hour or half an hour at a time, or more often one moment asleep, one moment awake, like the movement of a boat on the waves. Once when I wakened, I started at an unforeseen phenomenon. The moon in her youth was riding over the sea as bright as it is possible to be, and down below her she wrote upon the waves and expressed herself in new variety, a long splash of lemon-coloured light over the placid ocean, a dream picture, something of magic. It was a marvellous sight, something of that which is indicated in pictures, but which one cannot recognise as belonging to the world of truth--something impressionistic. To waken to see something so beautiful is to waken for the first time, it is verily to be in part born; for therein the soul becomes aware of something it had not previously imagined: looking into the mirror of Nature, it sees itself anew. Where my sleeping-place would be had been a secret, and this was the mystery in it, the further secret. I was definitely aware even on my first night out that I had entered a new world. To sleep, to wake and find the moon still dreaming, to see the moon's dream in the water, to sleep again and wake, so--till the dawn. Such was my night under the old yews, the first spent with these southern stars on a long vagabondage. II How different was last night, how full of weariness after heavy tramping through leagues of loose stones. I had been tramping from desolate Cape Pitsoonda over miles and miles of sea holly and scrub through a district where were no people. I had been living on crab-apples and sugar the whole day, for I could get no provisions. It is a comic diet. I should have liked to climb up inland to find a resting-place and seek out houses, but I was committed to the seashore, for the cliffs were sheer, and where the rivers made what might have been a passage, the forest tangles were so barbed that they would tear the clothes off one's back. In many places the sea washed the cliffs and I had to undress in order to get past. It was with resignation that I gave up my day's tramping and sought refuge for the night in a deep and shapely cavern. There was plenty of dry clean sand on the floor, and there was a natural rock pillow. I spread out my blanket and lay at length, looking out to the sea. I lay so near the waves that at high tide I could have touched the foam with my staff. I watched the sun go down and felt pleased that I had given up my quest of houses and food until the morrow. As I lay so leisurely watching the sun, it occurred to me that there was no reason why man should not give up quests when he wanted to--he was not fixed in a definite course like the sun. Sunset was beautiful, and dark-winged gulls continually alighted on the glowing waves, alighted and swam and flew again till the night. Then the moon lightened up the sea with silver, and all night long the waves rolled and rolled again, and broke and splashed and lapped. The deep cavern was filled with singing sounds that at first frightened me, but at last lulled me to sleep as if a nurse had sung them. III Between these two beds what a glorious Night picture-book, a book telling almost entirely of the doings of the moon. I remember how I slept once under a wild walnut-tree. In front of me rose to heaven forested hills, and the night clothed them in majesty. Presently the moon came gently from her apartments and put out a slender hand, grasped the tree-tops, and pulled herself up over the world. She showed herself to me in all her glory, and then in a minute was gone again; for she entered into a many-windowed cloud castle and roamed from room to room. As she passed from window to window I knew by the light where she was. A calm night. The moon went right across the sky and returned to her home. Rain came before the dawn, and then mists crept down over the forests and hid them from my view. Cold, cold! The mountains were hidden by a cloud. Loose stones rolled down a cliff continually and a wind sighed. I snuggled myself into my blanket and waited for an hour. Then the sun gained possession of the sky. I went down to the river, gathered sticks--they were very damp--and made a fire. Once the fire began to burn it soon increased in size, for I had gathered a great pile of little twigs and they soon dried and burned. Then in their burning they dried bigger twigs, sticks, cudgels, logs. I boiled my kettle and made tea. Whilst I bathed in the river the sun gave a vision of his splendour: a thousand mists trembled at his gaze. An hour later it was a very hot day, and the village folk coming out of their houses could scarcely have dreamed how reluctantly the night had retired at the dawn--with what cold and damp the morning had begun. IV Another night, just after moonrise, a wind arose and drove in front of it the whole night long a great thunderstorm, with lightnings and rollings and grumblings and mutterings, but never a spot of rain. At dawn, when I looked out to sea, I saw the whole dreadful array of the storm standing to leeward like ships that had passed in the night, and as though baulked in pursuit the roll of the thunder came across the sky sullenly, though with a note of defeat. The nights were often cold and wet, and it became necessary for me to make my couch under bridges or in caves or holes of the earth. On the skirts of the tobacco plantations and in the swampy malarial region where the ground never gets dry I slept beside bonfires. I learned of the natives to safeguard against fever by placing withered leaves on bark or wilted bracken leaves between myself and the ground. At a little settlement called Olginka I slept on an accumulation of logs outside the village church. On this occasion I wrapped myself up in all the clothes I possessed, and so saved myself from the damp. Next morning, however, my blanket was so wet with dew that I could wring it, though I had felt warm all night. I had always to guard against the possibility of rain, and I generally made my couch in pleasant proximity to some place of shelter--a bridge, a cave, or a house; and more than once I had to abandon my grass bed in the very depth of the night, and take up the alternative one in shelter. V A tremendous thunderstorm took place about a fortnight after I left home. I had built a stick fire and was making tea for myself at the end of a long cloudless summer day, and taking no care, when suddenly I looked up to the sky and saw the evening turning swiftly to night before my eyes. The sun was not due to set, but the western horizon seemed as it were to have risen and gone forth to meet it. A great black bank of cloud had come up out of the west and hidden away the sun before his time. I hastened to put my tea things into my pack and take to the road, for it was necessary to find a convenient night place. In a quarter of an hour it was night. At regular intervals all along the road were the brightly lit lamps of glow-worms; they looked like miniature street lights, the fitting illumination of a road mostly occupied by hedgehogs. I found a dry resting-place under a tree and laid myself out to sleep, watching the moon who had just risen perfectly, out of the East; but I had hardly settled myself when I was surprised by a gleam of lightning. Turning to the west, I saw the vast array of cloud that had overtaken the sun, coming forward into the night--eclipsing the sky. A storm? Would it reach me? My wishes prompted comforting answers and I lay and stared at the sky, trying to find reassurance. I did not feel inclined to stir, but the clouds came on ominously. I marked out a bourne across the wide sky and resolved that if the shadow crept past certain bright planets in the north, south, and centre, I would take it as a sign, repack my wraps, and seek shelter in a farm-house. But the clouds came on and on. Slowly but surely the great army advanced and the lightnings became more frequent. My sky-line was passed. I rose sorrowfully, put all my things in the knapsack, and took the road once again. The lightning rushed past on the road and, blazing over the forests, lit up the wide night all around. Overhead the sky was cut across: in the east was a perfectly clear sky except at the horizon where the moon seemed to have left behind fiery vapours; in the west and overhead lay the dense black mass of the storm cloud. The clouds came forward in regular array like an army. Nothing could hold them back; they came on--appallingly. And the moon looked at the steady advance and her light gleamed upon the front ranks as if she were lighting them with many lanterns. I had lain down to sleep quite sober-hearted, but now as the lightnings played around I began to feel as excited as if I were in a theatre--my blood burned. I had tired feet, but I forgot them. I walked swiftly. I felt ready to run, to dance. Very strangely there was at the same time a presentiment that I might be struck by lightning. But all Nature was madly excited with me and also shared my presentiment of destruction. We lived together like the victim and the accomplices in a Dionysian sacrifice and orgy. And the clouds kept on gaining! Far away I heard the storm wind and the clamour of the sea. The thunder moaned and sobbed. I hurried along the deserted road and asked my heart for a village, a house, a church, a cave, anything to shield from the oncoming drench. Spying a light far away on a hill, I left the road and plunged towards it. I went over many maize-fields, by narrow paths through the tall waving grain, the lightning playing like firelight among the sheath-like leaves. I crossed a wide tobacco plantation and approached the light on the hill, by a long, heavily-rutted cart-track. This led right up to the doors of a farmhouse. Big surly dogs came rushing out at me, but I clumped them off with my stick, and having much doubt in my mind as to the sort of reception I should get, I knocked at the windows and doors. I expected to be met by a man with a gun, for the dogs had made such a rumpus that any one might have been alarmed. The door was opened by a tall Russian peasant. "May I spend the night here?" I asked. The man smiled and put out his arms as if to embrace me. "Yes, of course. Why ask? Come inside," he replied. "I thought of sleeping in the open air," I added, "but the storm coming up I saw I should be drenched." "Why sleep outside when man is ready to receive you?" said the peasant. "It is unkind to pass our houses by. Why do you deny your brothers so? You said you slept in the fields, eh? That is bad. You shouldn't. The earth here is full of evil, and the malaria comes up with the dampness. Your bones grow brittle and break, or they go all soft, you shrivel up and become white, or swellings come out on you and you get bigger and bigger until you die. No, no! God be thanked you came to me." He asked me would I sleep in the house or on the maize straw. His sons slept on the maize; it was covered, and so, sheltered from the rain. I could sleep in the house if I liked, but it was more comfortable on the straw. His three sons slept there, but as it was a festival they had not come home yet. I agreed to the straw. My host led me to a sort of large open barn, a barn without walls, a seven-feet depth of hay and straw surmounted by a high roof on poles. "If you feel cold, or if the rain comes in, just burrow down under the straw," said the peasant. "Very glad I am that you have come to me, that you have done me the honour. Much better to ask hospitality than to sleep out." I quite agreed it was much better to sleep with man on such a night. The lightnings were now all about--never leaving a second's pure darkness. The thunder grew more powerful and rolled forward from three sides. My host stood by me after I had lain down, a whole hour. He was most hilarious, having partaken plentifully of festival fare. He warned me repeatedly against sleeping on the ground, and advised me to find bark or withered branches to lie upon if I would not seek shelter with man. The increasing storm did not seem to impress him in the slightest. He was all agog to tell me his family history and to compare the state of agriculture in England with that in Russia. Only when his sons came home and the heavy rain spots had begun to shower down upon him did he finally shake my hand, wish me well, cross himself, and stump off back to the house. Three tall young men scrambled over me into the straw and buried themselves: two laughed and talked, the other was silent and frightened. There was no sleep. The thunder grew louder and louder, and the lightning rushed over our faces like the sudden glare of a searchlight. All four of us put our faces to the straw to shut out the light, and we tried to sleep. But we knew that the tempest at its worst had yet to break. Suddenly came a sharp premonitory crash just above us, near, astonishing. One of the young men, who had just dozed off, woke up and scratched his head, saying-- "The little bear has got into the maize. Eh, brothers, this is going to be a big piece of work." Then a great wind broke out of the sky and tore through the forests like armies of wild beasts. The trees within our view bent down as if they would break in two; the moon above them was overswept by the cloud. When the moon's light had gone the night became darker and the lightning brighter. The framework of our shelter rocked to and fro in the gale and we felt as if upon the sea; the straw and the hay jumped up as if alive, and great lumps of thatch were rent out of the roof, showing the sky and letting in the rain. I looked for the ruin of our shelter. But the hurricane passed on. The rain came in its place. The great forty-day flood re-accomplished itself in an hour. We heard the beat of the rain on the earth: in ten minutes it was the hiss of the rain on the flooded meadows. By the sulphurous illuminations we saw almost continuously the close-packed, drenching rain.... The wet came in. We burrowed deep down into the straw and slept like some new sort of animal. VI On other nights heavy rain came on unexpectedly, and I discovered how pleasant a bed may be made just under the framework of a bridge. The bridge is a favourite resort of the Russian tramp and pilgrim, and I have often come across their comfortable hay or bracken beds there. Indeed I seldom go across a bridge at night without thinking there may be some such as myself beneath it. When the weather is wet it is much more profitable to sleep in a village--there is hospitality there, and the peasant wife gives you hot soup and dries your clothes. But often villages are far apart, and when you are tramping through the forest there may be twenty miles without a human shelter. I remember I found empty houses, and though I used them they were most fearsome. I had more thrills in them than in the most lonely resting-places in the open. Some distance from Gagri I found an old ruined dwelling, floorless, almost roofless, but still affording shelter. I had many misgivings as I lay there. Was the house haunted? Was it some one else's shelter? Had some family lived there and all died out? You may imagine the questions that assailed me, once I had lain down. But whether evil was connected with the house or no, it was innocuous for me. Nothing happened; only the moon looked through the open doorway; winds wandered among the broken rafters, and far away owls shrieked. Again, on the way to Otchemchiri I came upon a beautiful cottage in the forest and went to ask hospitality, but found no one there. The front door was bolted but the back door was open. I walked in and took a seat. As there were red-hot embers in the fire some one had lately been there, and would no doubt come back--so I thought. But no one came: twilight grew to night in loneliness and I lay down on the long sleeping bench and slept. It was like the house of the three bears but that there was no hot porridge on the table. But no bears came; only next morning I was confronted by a half-dressed savage, a veritable Caliban by appearance but quite harmless, an idiot and deaf and dumb. I made signs to him and he went out and brought in wood, and we remade the fire together. I have slept out in many places--in England, in the Caucasus where it was amongst the most lawless people in Europe, in North Russian forests where the bear is something to be reckoned with--but I have never come to harm. The most glorious and wonderful nights I ever had were almost sleepless ones, spent looking at the stars and tasting the new sensations. Yet even in respect of rest it seems to me I have thriven better out of doors. There is a real tranquillity on a mountain side after the sun has gone down, and a silence, even though the crickets whistle and owls cry, though the wind murmurs in the trees above or the waves on the shore below. The noises in houses are often intolerable and one has to wait all every noise in the house and in the street has died away. It is marvellous how easily one recuperates in the open air. Even the cold untires and refreshes. Then, even if one lies awake, the night passes with extraordinary rapidity. It is always a marvel to me how long the day seems by comparison with the night when I sleep out of doors. A sleepless night in a house is an eternity, but it is only a brief interlude under the stars. I believe the animal creation that sleeps in the field is so in harmony with nature and so unself-conscious that night does not seem more than a quarter of an hour and a little cloudy weather. Perhaps the butterflies do not even realise that night endures; darkness comes--they sleep; darkness flees--they wake again. I think they have no dreams. VII It is peculiar, the tramp's feeling about night. When the sun goes down he begins to have an awkward feeling, a sort of shame; he wants to hide himself, to put his head somewhere out of sight. He finds his night place, and even begins to fall asleep as he arranges it. He feels heavy, dull. The thoughts that were bright and shapely by day become dark and ill-proportioned like shadows. He tosses a while, and stares at the stars. At last the stars stare at him; his eyes close; he sleeps. Three hours pass--it is always a critical time, three hours after sunset; many sleeping things stir at that time. His thoughts are bright for a moment, but then fall heavy again. He wonders at the moon, and the moon wonders. She is hunting on a dark mountain side. The next sleep is a long one, a deep one, and ghosts may pass over the sleeper, imps dance on his head, rats nibble at his provisions; he wakes not. He is under a charm--nought of evil can affect him, for he has prayed. Encompassed with dangers, the tramp always prays "Our Father," and that he may be kept for the one who loves him. Prayers are strong out of doors at night, for they are made at heaven's gate in the presence of the stars. An hour before dawn a new awakening. Oh dear, night not gone! The tramp is vexed. The moon has finished her hunting, and is going out of the night with her dark huntsmen; she passes through the gate. Peerless hunter! The sky is full of light, a sort of dull, paper-lantern light. In an hour it will be morning. The side on which I have been lying is sore. I turn over and reflect joyfully that when next I wake it will be day. Moths are flitting in the dawn twilight: yes, in an hour it will be day. Ah, ha, ha! The sleeper yawns and looks up. There is blue in the clouds, pale blue like that of a baby's eyes. A cart lumbers along the road, the first cart of the morning. I reflect that if I remain where I am people may come and look at me. Ten minutes hesitation, and then suddenly I make up my mind and rise. I feel a miserable creature, a despicable sort of person, one who has lately been beaten, a beggar who has just been refused alms. In the half-light of dawn it seems I scarcely have a right to exist. Or I feel a sort of self-pity. How often have I said as I gathered up my stiff limbs and damp belongings in the mist of the morning, "And the poor old tramp lifts himself and takes to the road once more, trudge, trudge, trudge--a weary life!" The mansion of my soul has been housing phantoms all the night. They may not stay after sunrise; they look out of my face with bleared eyes. It is they who gibber and chatter thus at dawn, leaving me with no more self-assurance than a man on ticket-of-leave. But as the sun comes up, behold the spirits evaporate, the films pass away from my eyes, and I am lighter, blither, happier, stronger. Then in my heart birds begin to sing in chorus. I am myself once more. A fire, a kettle, and while the kettle boils, into the sea, giving my limbs to the sparkling, buoyant water. Then am I super-self, if such an expression may be permitted. So passes the vagabond's night. Thus somehow one comes into new harmony with Nature, and the personal rhythm enters into connection with all things that sleep and wake under the stars. One lives a new life. It is something like the change from bachelor to married life. You are richer and stronger. When you move some one else moves with you, and that was unexpected. Whilst you live Nature lives with you. I have written of the night, for the night hallows the day, and the day does not hallow the night except for those who toil. III THE LORD'S PRAYER The Lord's Prayer is a very intimate whispering of the soul with God. It is also the perfect child's prayer, and the tramp being much of a child, it is his. Many people have their private interpretations of the prayer, and I have heard preachers examine it clause by clause. It can mean many things. It must mean different things to people of different lives. It is something very precious to the tramp. The tramp is the lonely one: walking along all by himself all day by the side of the sounding waves he is desolated by loneliness, and when he lies down at dusk all alone he feels the need of loving human friends. But his friends are far away. He becomes once more a little trusting child, one who, though he fears, looks up to the face of a great strong Father. He feels himself encompassed about by dangers: perhaps some one watched him as he smoothed out his bracken bed; or if he went into a cave a robber saw him and will come later in the night, when he is fast asleep, murder him, and throw his body into the sea; or he may have made his bed in the path of the bear or in the haunt of snakes. Many, many are the shapes of terror that assail the mind of the wanderer. How good to be a little boy who can trust in a great strong Father to "deliver him from evil"! And each clause of that lovely prayer has its special reality. Thus "Give us this day our daily bread" causes him to think, not so much of getting wages on the morrow as of the kindly fruits of the earth that lie in the trees and bushes like anonymous gifts, and of the hospitality of man. Most beautiful of all to the tramp is the wish--"Thy Kingdom come--Thy Will be done in earth as it is in heaven." For it is thus understood: Thy Will be done in earth--I am that earth. "Thy Kingdom come" means Thy Kingdom come in me--may my soul lie like a pure mirror before the beauty of the world, may the beauty of the world be reflected in me till the whole beautiful world is my heart. Then shall my heart be pure, and that which I see will be God. Thy Will be done in me as it is done in heaven. And the tramp asks himself as he lies full length on the earth and looks up at the stars--are you a yea-sayer? Do you say "Yes" to life? Do you raise your face in wonder to the beauty of the world? Do you stand with bare feet in sacred places? Do you remember always the mystery and wonder that is in your fellow-man whom you meet upon the road? ... "Hallowed be Thy Name." Does the wanderer love all things? It is a condition of all things loving him. He must have perfect peace in his heart for the kingdom to be built there.... "Forgive us our trespasses." We may be tempted to forget Thee, may fear danger and our hearts be ruffled, may be tempted to forget that our fellow-man is one like ourselves, with our mystery and wonder, and having a very loving human heart either apparent or prevented. We may be tempted to forget the mystery of our own souls. The tramp prays to be led not into such temptation. For, with the Father above him, is the power, the kingdom, and the glory, for ever and ever. As I said, prayers are strong out of doors, made in the presence of all the stars. One is compassed about with a great cloud of witnesses. There is calm all around and in one's own heart. The mysterious beauty of the starry sky reflects itself in the soul, and across its mirror sails the pale moon. My own body becomes a cradle in which the little Christ Child sleeps. There are angels everywhere. I am in universal keeping, for the stars are all looking and pointing to me. Because of the little Child the shepherds near by hear heavenly harmony, and journeying through the night to the land of dreams come the three wonderful old kings with gifts. IV DAYS It is because I have been tempered by the coldness of the night that I am not overwhelmed by the heat of the day. Because the night is dark and cool and sweet I see the true colours of the day, and the noon sun does not dazzle me. The tramp's eyes open and then they open again: at midday his eyes are wider than those of indoor folk. He is nearer to the birds because he has slept with them in the bush. They also are nearer to him, for the night has left her mysterious traces upon his face and garments, something which humans cannot see, not even the tramp himself, but which the wild things recognise right enough. The tramp walks. His road is one that may only be walked upon. People on wheels are never on it: at least, I never met a wheel person who had seen on either side of the road what the tramp sees--and a road is not only a path, but that which is about it. The wheel is the great enemy of Nature, whether it be the wheel of a machine or of a vehicle. Nature abhors wheels. She will not be wooed by cyclists, motorists, goggled motor-cyclists, and the rest: she is not like a modern young lady who, despite ideals, _must_ marry, and will take men as they are found in her day and generation. The woman of the woods who dresses herself in flowers, and whose voice is as birds' songs, is the same yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow--not new-fangled. You must go to her; she will not come to you. You must live as she does. Therefore the tramp moves _naturally_, on his feet. He comes into step. And sleeping out of doors, living in the sun, eating forest berries, washing in the stream or in the sea, all these are part of a coming into step. How this _coming back_ develops the temperament! I left the town timid, almost a townsman, expecting not only the dangers that were but also all those that were not. I half believed all the tales by which stay-at-home people tried to warn or frighten me. Though taking the road with every aspect of carelessness and boldness, I confessed to my heart that I was a coward. Then came my first week's tramping, and I emerged a different man. I felt bold. A few days later still I nursed a stick in my hand, saying, "If a robber comes, let him come! We'll have a struggle." Leaving the town I scanned the faces of the passers-by apprehensively, and said "Good-morning" or "Good-evening" very meekly to all dangerous-looking persons, but a fortnight later I was even strutting on the road with a smile almost malicious on my lips. I felt myself growing wilder. The truth broke upon me in an introspective moment one morning as I was nearing Sotchi. I felt I had changed. I stopped to take stock of my new life and ways. I had been living in the forest and on the seashore, away from mankind, on Nature's gifts. All my days from dawn to sunset I hunted for food. My life was food-hunting. I certainly wrote not a line and thought less. In my mind formed only such elementary ideas as "Soon more grapes," "These berries are not the best," "More walnuts," "Oh, a spring; I must drink there." Something from the ancient past was awakened. I saw a bunch of wild grapes, my heart leapt, and without a thought I jumped to it and took it. Or I saw a fresh trickling stream pouring over the ledges of the rocks, and I rushed and pressed my lips to the bubbling water. There was no intermediary between Nature's gifts and the man who needed them. Wish was translated into act without the aid of thought. One day I was lost in the forest among the giant tangles and I was not at all anxious to find the way out again. Perhaps I might have lived there all the Autumn, and only when the berries and nuts were exhausted and the cold winter winds sought me out should I come skulking back to the haunts of men like some wild animal made tame by Winter. I was aware, therefore, of a new experience, a modification in personality, a change of rhythm. I was walking with Nature, marching with her, with all her captains the great trees and her infantry the little bushes, and I caught in my ears her marching music. I was thrilled by the common chord that makes crowds act as one man, that in this case made my heart beat in unison with all the wild things. I may as well say at once I love them all and am ready to live with them and for them. V THE QUESTION OF THE SCEPTIC "That's all very well, but don't you often get bored?" asked a sceptic. "I enjoy a weekend in the country, or a good Sunday tramp in Richmond Park or Epping Forest. I take my month on the Yorkshire moors with pleasure, or I spend a season in Switzerland or Spain, and I don't mind sleeping under a bush and eating whatever I can get in shepherds' cottages. I can well appreciate the simple life and the country life, but I'm perfectly sure I should pine away if I had to live it always. I couldn't stand it. I'd rather be debarred from the country altogether than not go back to town. The town is much more indispensable to me. I feel the country life is very good in so far as it makes one stronger and fitter to work in town again, but as an end in itself it would be intolerable." This was a question I needed to answer not only to the sceptic but to myself. It is true the wanderer often feels bored, even in beautiful places. I am bored some days every year, no matter where I spend them, and I shall always be. I get tired of this world and want another. That is a common feeling, if not often analysed. There is, however, another boredom, that of the weariness of the body, or its satiety of country air; the longing for the pleasures of the town, the tides of the soul attracted by the moon of habit. The tramp also confesses to that boredom. But when he gets back to the town to enjoy it for a while he swiftly finds it much more boring than the country. If every one went to the country and lived the simple life when he was inclined, the size of European towns would be diminished to very small proportions. The evil of a town is that it establishes a tyranny and keeps its people against the people's true desires. I said to my sceptical friend: "Those who praise the simple life and those who scoff at it are both very extravagant as a rule. Let the matter be stated temperately. The tramp does not want a world of tramps--that would never do. The tramps--better call them the rebels against modern life--are perhaps only the first searchers for new life. They know themselves as necessarily only a few, the pioneers. Let the townsman give the simple life its place. Every one will benefit by a little more simplicity, and a little more living in communion with Nature, a little more of the country. I say, 'Come to Nature altogether,' but I am necessarily misunderstood by those who feel quickly bored. Good advice for all people is this--live the simple life as much as you can _till you're bored_. Some people are soon bored: others never are. Whoever has known Nature once and loved her will return again to her. Love to her becomes more and more." But whoever has resolved the common illusions of the meaning of life, and has seen even in glimpses the naked mystery of our being, finds that he absolutely must live in the world which is outside city walls. He wants to explore this desert island in space, and with it to explore the unending significance of his deathless spirit. VI A THING OF BEAUTY IS A JOY FOR EVER Rostof on the Don is always beautiful when one leaves it to go south. Nothing can efface from my mind the picture of it as I saw it when first going to the Caucasus. The sunset illumined it with the hues of romance. All the multiplicity of its dingy buildings shone as if lit up from within, and their dank and mouldy greens and blues and yellows became burning living colours. The town lay spread out upon the high banks of the Don and every segment of it was crowned with a church. The gilt domes blazed in the sunlight and the crosses above them were changed into pure fire. Round about the town stretched the grey-green steppe, freshened by the river-side, but burned down to the suffering earth itself on the horizon. Then over all, like God's mercy harmonising man's sins, the effulgence of a light-blue southern sky. By that scene I have understood the poet's thought-- To draw one beauty into the heart's core And keep it changeless. * * * * * Yet how transient is the appearance of beauty. It has an eternity not in itself but in the heart. Thus I look out at the ever-changing ocean and suddenly, involuntarily ejaculate, "How beautiful!" yet before I can call another to witness the scene it has changed. Only in the heart the beauty is preserved. Thus we see a woman in her youth and beauty, and then in a few years look again and find her worn and old. The beauty has passed away; its eternity is in the heart. We have a choice, to live in the shadow and shine of the outer life where visions fade, or to live with all the beauty we have ever known, where it is treasured, in the heart. Choosing the former we at last perish with the world, but choosing the latter we ourselves receive an immortality in the here and now. The one who chooses the latter shall never grow old, and the beauty of his world can never pass away. * * * * * Nietzsche could not tolerate the doctrine of the "immaculate perception" of Beauty. To him Beauty was _une promesse de bonheur_; Beauty was a lure and a temptation, it had no virtue in itself, but its value lay in the service rendered to the ulterior aims of Nature. Thus the beauty hung in woman's face was a device of the Life-force for the continuance of the race; strange beauty lured men to strange ends, and one of these ends the German philosopher divined and named as the Superman. Even the beauty of Nature was merely a temptation of man's will. The Kantian conception of the disinterested contemplation of Beauty Nietzsche likened to the moon looking at the earth at night and giving the earth only dreams; but the Stendhalian conception of Beauty as a promise of happiness he likened to the sun looking at the earth and causing her to bear fruit. Darwin as much as said, "Beauty has been the gleam which the instinct of the race has followed in its upward development. Beauty has been the genius of Evolution." Thus science has lent its authority to philosophy. The idea is charming. In its power it is irresistible. It certainly dominates modern literary art, being the principal dynamic of Ibsen and Bernard Shaw and all their followers. It is a very important matter. There can be nothing more important in literary art, and indeed in one's articulate conception of the meaning of life, than the notion of what is beautiful. What if this conception be narrow, what if it be simply a generalisation, a generalisation from too few observations? What if the wish were father to the thought? The only test of philosophy and art is experience. And it is the wanderer, the life-explorer without irrelevant preoccupations, who is the true naturalist, collecting experiences and making maps for spiritual eyes. What then does the wanderer note? First, that the knowledge of the beautiful is an affirmation. Something in the soul suddenly rises up and ejaculates "Yes" to some outside phenomenon, and then he is aware that he is looking at Beauty. As he gazes he knows himself in communion with what he sees--sometimes that communion is a great joy and sometimes a great sadness. Thus, looking at the opening of dawn he is filled with gladness, his spirits rising with the sun; he wishes to shout and to sing. He is one with the birds that have begun singing and with all wild Nature waking refreshed after the night. But looking out at evening of the same day over the grey sea he is failed with unutterable sorrow. I remember how all night long in the North region, where the light does not leave the sky, I looked out at the strange beauty of the white night and felt all the desolateness of the world, all the exiledom of man upon it. There was no lure, no temptation in that. The Aeolian harp of the heart does not always discourse battle music, and on this night it was as if an old sad minstrel sat before me and played unendingly one plaint, the story of a lost throne, of a lost family, lost children, a lost world. Thus a thought came to me: "We are all the children of kings; on our spiritual bodies are royal seals. Sometime or other we were abandoned on this beautiful garden, the world. We expected some one to return for us; but no one came. We lived on, and to forget homesickness devised means of pleasure, diversions, occupations, games. Some have entirely forgotten the lost heritage and the mystery of their abandonment; their games absorbed them, they have become gamblers, they have theories of chance, their talk is all of Progress of one sort or another. They forget the great mystery of life. We tramps and wanderers remember. It is our religion to remember, to count nothing as important beside the initial mystery. For us it is sweeter to remember than to forget. The towns would always have us forget, but in the country we always remember again. What is beautiful is every little rite that reminds us of our mysteries." This is a most persistent experience, and Beauty thereby promises us happiness, but in a strange way seems to tell of happiness past. It lures not forward unless to the exploration of the "prison-house" once more. Even the beauty of woman is not always a lure. There is a beauty in woman which makes one glad, but there is the beauty that haunts one like a great sadness, besides the beauty that draws one nearer to her. There is the seductive beauty of Cleopatra, but there is also the almost repulsive beauty of Medea, and besides both there is the mysterious beauty of Helen or of Eve. Beauty is also a great possession, and that is another conception, another mystery. We lie like a mirror in the presence of Beauty, and it builds the very temple of our souls. Beauty is the gold of earthly experience. It is essentially that which in looking round our eyes like best, that which they say swiftly "Yes" to. We enter into communion with the beautiful as with a beloved object. We make it part of ourselves. We absorb it into that which is integral and immortal--our very essence. "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: its loveliness can never pass away" is a truth of experience, not the idle fancy of the poet. For to have seen the beautiful is not inconsequential, it is not even a responsibility entirely your own; the beautiful thing has also seen you. Henceforth your life can never be quite the same, and the beautiful thing looked upon has either become less or more beautiful. VII A STILL-CREATION-DAY The blue-green sea is living velvet, and full of light-rings; it goes out to a distant mauve horizon, near which sea-gulls with white gleaming wings are flying. Many gulls are fluttering on the red buoys in the water. It is late in a December afternoon on the south coast of the Crimea. It is Yalta, beloved of all Russians, and I have come tramping to it--which Russians never do--and I am intending to spend lazy days looking with the gay town and all its white villas at the glorious spectacle of the southern sea. All the rest of Russia is gripped by winter, but here there is sanctuary and forgiveness. I have been tramping on the cold, cold steppes, frozen, forced to get back into myself and hide like the trees, and when I came here it seemed somehow as if Nature herself had been angry with me, relented, and was now showing me all her tenderness again. All along the road I found violets in the little bushes, and I wore them as a forgiveness gift from a woman that I love. When a woman smiles upon a man she bids him live, and when she frowns he can but die. To-day the woman of all women has smiled on me, Nature herself. Along the road I had that pleasant life with myself that one has the day after one's birthday, when one has kept good resolutions two days. My old self carried, as it were, within me a little child, and the child chattered and lisped to me. Delightful tramping along a road high over the shore! Below me, stretching far to East and to West, blue and glorious like summer, was the immense sea, all in dazzling radiance under the noonday sun. A bank of grey-blue mist lay over the South, and marked the domain where winter was felt. Up above me stood great grey rocks, stained here and there the colour of rose porphyry. The tops of these rocks, even here as I look up at them from Yalta, are outlined with a bright white line--winter and hoar-frost hold sway there also. I have been in the sight of nut-brown hillsides, something absolutely perfect, the warm living colour of thousands of little, closely packed French oak trees, all withered, and holding still their little withered leaves. The colour of these hills was the colour of Nature's eyes. There was silence too--such wonderful silence, one could hear one's own heart beating. Such a morning was indeed what Richter calls a "still-creation-day," that still silence of the heart that prefaces new revelation, as the brooding of the dove on the waters the creation of a world. You must know I saw the dawn, and have been with the sun all day. I slept at a Greek coffee-house, but was up whilst the sky was yet dark and the waves all cloudy purple. There was just one gleam of light in the dark sky, just one little promise. The great cliffs were all in their night cloaks, and night shapes were on the road. All Nature was in the night world, and I felt as if I were continuing my last night's tramping, and not starting upon a new day. Yet in the night of my heart was also just that one gleam of whiteness in the East, one little promise. I knew the whiteness must get more and more, and the darkness less and less. I stood on the cliff road and watched the waves become all alive, playing with their shadows as the light diffused in the sky, and the white lines of the East turned to rosy ribbons. Then the dawn twilight came and the night shapes slunk away. The Tartars and Greeks took down their shutters in the little village hard by. The sea became green, the rocks all grey, and then, as I watched, the rim of the sun rose over the horizon and the sea held it as a scimitar of fire. The white disc rose, a miracle; it looked very large, as if it had grown bigger in the night. It paused a moment in the sea and then suddenly seemed to bound up from it: it flooded the world with light. Then, as if from his hands angels were leaping, thousands of gulls were descried on the sea, their gleaming wings seeming to be the very meaning of morning. Out of the sea under the dawn, dark dolphins came leaping toward the shore. The sea became a grey expanse over which the sun made a silver roadway. There commenced the quiet, quiet morning, and the still-creation-day. Now the day is ending, and the sun goes down behind the hills at Yalta, the mist bank over the southern horizon catches the reflection of true sunset tints, and transmits them to the velvety water, full of light-rings. I have been sitting on a pleasure seat on the sand all the afternoon, and now I go to the end of the long pier. There one may see another vision of the mystery of the day, for the sea-waves are full of living autumn colours, of luminous withered leaves and faded rose petals; they are still living velvet, the night garment of a queen. Black ducks are swimming mysteriously on the glowing dusky water. In a moment, however, the scene has changed and the colours have been withdrawn. The presence in the world, the queen whom we call Day, has passed over the waves and disappeared; not even a fold of the long train of her dress is visible. Some one has lighted a Roman candle at the far end of the pier, as a signal to a steamer whose white and red lanterns have just been descried upon the dark horizon. It is night: the day is over. VIII SUNSET FROM THE GATE OF BAIDARI It was at the Gate of Baidari in the Crimea on the shortest day of the year that I saw the most wonderful sunset I have ever known, and entered most completely into the spirit of the dark, quiet night. It was another vision of the sea, a presentment of the sea's question in a new light. A mild December afternoon. I had been some days wandering across pleasant tree-brown valleys and immense hollows mountain-walled. In the winter silence there was no murmur of the ocean, not even was there saltness in the air. I was out of the sight of the sea and had been so for several days. But this afternoon I climbed by a long road where were many berberry bushes vermilion with their berries, up to the pass over the hills, and there all at once by surprise, without the least expecting it, at a turn of the road I had a revelation of the whole sea. It was a ravishment of the eyes, a scene on which one looks, at which one stares. The road came suddenly to a precipice, and sheer down, two thousand feet below, the waves foamed forward on the rocks, and from the foam to the remote horizon lay the mysterious sleeping sea--no, not sleeping, but rather causing all else to sleep in its presence, for it was full of serpent lines all moving toward the shore. The whole wild mountainous Crimean shore sat before the sea and dreamed. And I realised slowly all that was in the evening. Below me lay the white tortuous road leading downward to the shore in coils, and clothing the road, the many woods, all hoary white because the sharp sea-breeze had breathed on them. Evening had long since settled on the road and on the wintry trees; it lay also about the grey temple which the Russians have put up on one of the platforms of the lower cliffs. The church looked so compact and small down below me that it seemed one could have held it in the palm of the hand. It was sunset, but the sky was full of blue-grey colour. The whole South caught a radiance from the hidden West and the sea was grey. In a moment it is noticeable that the south is becoming rosier. The sea is now alight from the increase of sunset hues. In the shadow the lines of the sea are a sequence of wavings like the smoke of the snow blown over the steppes. In the hurrying clouds a great space clears, and along the south-west runs a great rosy fleece of sunset. It is rapidly darkening. The sea in the western corner is crimson, but all the vast south is silver and sombre. The horizon is like that seen from a balloon--pushed out to its furthermost, and there, where clouds and sky mingle, one sees fantastically as it were the sides of giant, shadowy fish. The motor-coach, with its passengers from Sebastopol to Yalta, comes rushing and grumbling up behind me and stops five minutes, this being its half-way point. The passengers adjourn into the inn to drink vodka: "Remember, gentlemen, five minutes only," says the chauffeur. "God help any one who gets left behind at Baidari...." Four minutes later there is a stamping of fat men in heavy overcoats round the brightly varnished 'bus. "Are we going?" says a little man to the refreshed but purple-faced chauffeur. "Yes!" "That's good. I've had enough of this." The guard winds his horn, and after a preliminary squirm of the plump tyres on the soft road, the vehicle and its company goes tumbling down the road as if it were descending into a pit. And the sunset! It develops with every instant. The lines on the sea seem to move more quickly, and the spaces between them to be larger. The west is full of storm. A closing cloud comes up out of the west: the western sea is utterly hopeless, the moving south inexorable. There is terror in the west. Evening is more below me than above me. Night is coming to me over the dark woods. The foam on the rocks below is like a milk-white robe. As I walk the first miles downhill I begin to hear the sound of the waves. The sea is beginning to roar, and the wind rushing up to me tells me that the lines of the sea are its stormy waves ridden forward to the shore by a gale. I stood on the platform where the many-domed temple was built, and watched the gathering night. Unnumbered trees lay beneath me, but it was so dusk I hardly knew them to be trees. The gigantic black cliff that shuts off the west stood blank into the heaven like a great door: to the east lay the ghostly fading coast-line of Aloopka. Among the black clouds overhead danced out happy fires, and, answering their brightness, windows lighted up in cottages far below, and lanterns gleamed on a little steamer just puffing over the horizon. There came the pure December evening with frost and Christmas bells, and happy hearths somewhere in the background. The one star in the sky was a beckoning one: my heart yearned. I dipped down upon the road, and in a few minutes was looking at the temple from below, seeing it entirely silhouetted against the sky. It was now indeed held up in a giant's palm and looked at. Far out at sea now lay a silver strand; the lines of the waves were all curves and heavily laden with shadows--they were, indeed, waves. Far above me the cliffs that I had left were mist-hidden, and in the midst shone a strange light from the last glow of sunset in the unseen west. Night. At a word the sea became lineless and shapeless. The sunset sky was green-blue, and black strips of cloud lay athwart it. Looking up to the crags above me, I missed the church: it was in heaven or in the clouds. A great wind blew, and ceased, and came no more--the one gust that I felt of a whole day's storm on the coast. Night chose to be calm, and though all the waves called in chorus upon the rocks, there was a silence and a peace within the evening that is beyond all words. I walked with the night. I walked to find an inn, and yet cared not that the way was far and that men dwelt not in these parts. For something had entered into me from Nature, and I had lived an extra life after the day was done. It was not one person alone that, pack on back, walked that dark and quiet Crimean road. And the new spirit that was with me whispered promises and lingered over secrets half-revealed. I came to know that I should really enter into it, and be one with it, that I should be part of a description of night and part of night itself. At one of the many turnings of the road I came upon five dreamy waggons, and Tartar waggoners walked by the horses, for their loads were heavy. I made friends with the third waggoner, and he asked me to carry his whip and take his place whilst he talked with one of his mates. For eight miles I walked by the side of the plodding horses, and encouraged them or whipped them, coaxed or scolded them, as they slowly dragged their lumberous merchandise along the dark and heavy roads. I almost fell asleep, but at an inn half-way I drank tea with the waggoners "cheek by jowl and knee by knee," and they saw me as one of themselves. Once more on the road--we went nearly all the way to Aloopka. The Tartars sang songs, the beasts of burden toiled; on one side the cliffs overwhelmed us, and on the other lay the dark sea on which the stars were peeping. The still night held us all. IX THE MEANING OF THE SEA I It is good to live ever in the sight of the sea. I have been tramping two months along seashores, and living a daily life in the presence of the Infinite. From Novorossisk to Batoum, eight hundred and fifty versts, I have explored all that coast of the Black Sea that lies at the feet of the Caucasus--to left of me the snow-peaked mountains shoulder to shoulder under heaven, to right the resplendent, magnificent sea. "The sea cannot be described," wrote Chekhov; "I once read in a child's copy-book an essay on the sea, four words and a full stop--'The sea is large'--and whenever I attempt a description, I am obliged to confess that I can do no better than the child." The fact is, the sea describes us; that is why we cannot describe it. It is, itself, language and metaphor for the telling of our own longings and our own mysteries. In the sound of the waves is only the song of man's life; in the endless variety of its appearance only the story of our own mystery. Thus the sea is all things. They call this the Black Sea, and at evening when the clouds in the high heaven are reflected in it, it is indeed black. But it should be called the many-coloured, for indeed it is all colours. In the full heat of noon, as I write, it is white; it is covered with half-visible vapour through which a greenness is lost in pallor. The horizon is the black line of a broken arc. Other days it is blue as a great ripe plum, and the horizon is faint-pink, like down. On cloudy afternoons it is grey with unmingled sorrow; in early morning it is joyous as a young child. I have seen it from a distance piled up to the sky like a wall of hard sapphire. I have seen it near at hand faint away from the shore, colourless, lifeless, in the heart-searching of its ebb tide. It is all things, at all times, and to all persons. II At Dzhugba the sea was quiet as a little lake; at Dagomise it was many-crested and thundering in the majesty of storm. At Gudaout the sun rose over it as it might have done on the first morning of the world. Every dawning I bathed, and each bathing was as a new baptism. And in multifarious places it was given to me to bathe; at Dzhugba, where the sun shone fiercely on green water and the dark seaweed washed to and fro on the rocks; at Olginka, the quietest little bay imaginable, where the sea was so clear that one could count the stones below it, the rippling water so crystalline that it tempted one to stoop down and drink--a dainty spot--even the stones, on long curves of the shore, seemed to have been nicely arranged by the sea the night before, and far as I swam out to sea I saw the bottom as through glass. How different at Dagomise! All night long it had thundered. I slept under a wooden bridge that spanned a dried-up river. The lightning played all about me, the rain roared, the thunder crashed overhead. The storm passed, but as the thunder died away from the sky, it broke out from the sea and roared deafeningly all around. I could not bathe, for the sea was tremendous. A grand sight presented itself at dawn, the sea foaming forwards in thousands of billows. Along five miles of seashore the white horses galloped forward against the rocks, as if the whole sea were an army arrayed against the land. How the white pennons flew! Later in the morning I undressed, and sitting in moderate safety on a shelf of rock, let the spent billows rush over me. The waves rushed up the steep beach like tigers for their prey, their eyes turned away from mine, but full of cruelty and anger. I was, deep in myself, afear'd. At what an extraordinary rate the waves rushed up the shore, fast galloping after one another, accomplishing their fates! There is only one line I know that tells well of their rate, that glory of Swinburne:-- Where the dove dipped her wing and the oars won their way, Where the narrowing Symplègades whiten the straits of Propontis with spray. III At Osipovka, where I spent a whole long summer day sitting on a log on the seashore, I saw a vision of the sea and nymphs--a party of peasant girls came down and bathed. They were very pretty and frolicsome, taking to the water in a very different style from educated women. They were boisterous and wild. They went into the sea backwards, and let the great waves knock them down; they lay down and were buffeted by the surf; they ran about the shore, sang, shouted, yelled, waved their arms; they dived headlong into the waves, swam hand over hand among them, pulled one another by the legs. The sea does not know how to play games: it seemed like an ogre with his twelve princesses. They made sport of him, pulled his beard and his hair, tempted and evaded him, mocked him when he grabbed at them, befooled him when he captured them. I used to have an idea of nymphs behaving very artistically with really drawing-room manners, but I saw I was wrong. Nymphs are only artistic and alluring singly--one nymph on a rock before a gallant prince. In numbers they are absolutely wild and have no manners at all. Lucky old ogre, to possess twelve such princesses, I thought; but as I looked at the gleam of their limbs as they mocked, and heard their hard laughter, I found him to be but a pitiable old greybeard, for he looked at beauty that he could scarce comprehend and never possess. The beauty of life has power greater than the beauty of the sea. IV One night after I had made my bed on a grassy sand-bank above the sea and was waiting, in the thrilling and breathless twilight, to fall asleep, I suddenly heard a sound as of a child weeping somewhere. My heart bounded in horror. I lay scarce daring to breathe, and then when there was silence again, looked up and down the shore for the person who had cried. But I saw no one. I listened--listened, expecting to hear the cry again, but only the waves turned the stones, broke, rolled up, and turned the stones again. Evening crept over the sea, and the waves looked dark and shadowy; the silence grew more intense. I turned on one side to go to sleep, and then once more came a sad, despairing human cry as of a lost child. I sat bolt upright and looked about me, and even then, whilst I stared, the cry came again, and from the sea. "Is it possible there is a child down by the waves?" I thought, and I tried to distinguish some little human shape in the darkness that seemed hastening on the shoulders of the incoming waves. There came a terrible wail and another silence. I dared not go and search, but I lay and shuddered and felt terribly lonely. The waves followed one another and followed again, ever faster and faster as it seemed in the darkness-- Still on each wave followed the wave behind, And then another behind, And then another behind.... They came forward fantastically, and I felt as if I were lying in the presence of something most ancient, most terrible. Presently a bird with great dark wings flew noiselessly just over my head, and then over the sea rose the moon, young, new drest, and I forgot the strange cry in the presence of a familiar friend. It was as if a light had been brought into one's bedroom. Probably the cry was that of an owl; it came no more. I slept. V There was my walk to the forlorn and lonely monastery of Pitsoonda on the promontory where the great lighthouse burns. Along the seashore were swamps overgrown with bamboos and giant grasses, twelve feet high. The sea was grey and calm. Lying on the sand, one saw the reflection, or the refracted images, of the grey stones at the bottom of the sea for twenty yards out and more. The sea had no power, it splashed in weak and hopeless waves, sucked itself away inward, came back again with a little run, and feebly toppled over. The high-water line was shown by a serpentine strip of jetsam winding along the whole of the shore. There was no yellow in the sands; clouds and sunshine struggled overhead, but beneath them all was grey. The wind rustled in the giant grasses like the sound of men on horseback, so that I was continually looking behind in apprehension. A land that is lonelier than ruin, A sea that is stranger than death. At a lonely house, half-way to the monastery, I thought to obtain bread, but as I approached it twelve large brown mastiffs rushed out and assailed me. I was in a pitiable plight, warding them off with my stick, and did not escape without bites. I called for help, and some one then whistled from a window and called the dogs back. I don't fear dogs, but these were powerful animals, and withal a tremendous surprise. I must have had a bad time had no one called them away. I came to the river Bzib, deep and fast-running, and rowed myself across in a leaky and muddy boat. I ploughed my way through deep sand, or stepped from boulder to boulder, or crushed through miles of sea-holly and prickly shrub. I came to the sacred wood in which the Ahkbasians used to pray when they were pagans, but in which, since their conversion, they have chiefly committed murder. I passed through three strange woods, the first of juniper and wild pear; the second, all dead, bleached and impenetrable, of what had once been hawthorn, but now one jagged, fixed mass of awkward arms and cruel thorns; the third, a beautiful, spacious pine-wood, climbing over cliffs to the far verge of the cape where the lighthouse flashes. These were like woods in a fairy tale, and may well have had each their own particular elves and spirits. Each had a separate character: the first as of the earth, homely, full of gentle russet colours from the juniper and the wild fruit; the second, haggish, full of witches whose finger-nails had never been clipped; the third, queenly, as if beloved of Diana. Evening grew to night as I plodded past these woods or struggled through them. The temptation was to go into the wood and walk on firmer soil--but the thickets were many, and not a furlong did it profit me. Then there were thorns, you must know, and abundant long-clawed creepers that grasped the legs and kept them fixed till they were tenderly extricated by the hand. When I came to the pine-wood it was night, and the many stars shone over the sea. I walked easily and gratefully over the soft pine needles, and I constantly sought with my eyes for the monastery domes. The moonlight through the pines looked like mist, and the forest climbed gradually over rising cliffs. Far away on the dark cape I saw the flash of the lighthouse.... No houses, no people, only a faint cart-track. That track bade me hope. I would follow it in any case. At last, suddenly, I thought I saw the cloud of white smoke of a bonfire. It was the far-away monastery wall, high and white, with a little lamp in one window. I bore up with the distance, forms grew distinct in the night; I entered the monastery by a five-hundred-yard avenue of cedars. I met a novice in a long smock. He took me to the guest-rooms of the monastery, and there, to my joy, I was accommodated with a bed--the first for many weeks. I was introduced to a very fat and ancient monk who carried at his belt a bunch of keys. Though very stupid, and, as I learnt afterwards, quite illiterate, he was the spirit of hospitality. He kept the larder, and very gladly brought me milk and bread and cheese, roast beef, wine, and would apparently have brought me anything I asked for--all "for the love of God": no monastery charges anything for its hospitality. After my supper I was glad to stretch my limbs and sleep. I opened my window and lay for a while looking at the mysterious dark masses of the cedars and listening to the low sobbing of the waves. In the monastery buildings I heard the turnings of heavy keys. I slept. Next morning at sunrise I had breakfast in the refectory, and the abbot deigned to come in and talk about Pitsoonda. His was an ancient and beautiful monastery, built by the same hand that erected St. Sophia at Constantinople, Justinian the First. It was indeed a replica of that famous building, a fine specimen of Byzantine architecture. It had changed hands many times, belonging to the Greeks, the Turks, the Cherkesses, and finally to the Russians. Here formerly stood the fortified town of Pitius, scarcely a stone of which was now standing, though many were the weapons and household implements that had been found by the monks. It was now the scene of the quiet life of twenty or thirty brethren. No one ever visited them or sought them from without. Steamers never called--only occasional feluccas came in bringing Caucasian tribesmen from neighbouring villages, and there was no carriage-way to any town. We talked later of present-day matters, the abbot being at once omniscient and omni-ignorant, and I finished my breakfast in time to accompany him to church. I went to morning service in the great high-walled cathedral and saw all the brothers pray. Of the people of the neighbourhood there were only three; these with the monks formed the whole congregation--there is no village at Pitsoonda. Imagine a gigantic and noble building fit to be the living heart of a great metropolis, and inside of it but a few little pictures, brightly painted, and a diminutive rood-screen, scarcely higher than a five-barred gate. On the ceiling of the great dome was painted a lively and striking picture of Christ, probably done of old time, but in countenance resembling, strangely enough, the accepted portrait of Robert Louis Stevenson--a Christ with a certain amount of cynicism, one who might have smoked upon occasion. No doubt it was painted by a Greek: a Russian would never have done anything so Western. The monks, looking ancient and dwarf-like, for they had never cut their beards, were accommodated in little pews along the walls, and they could stand and rest their shoulders upon the high arms of the pews and doze, but could not sit, for there were no seats. The service was beautiful, though I had little feeling of being in church--one needs many people in such a cathedral. I was more interested in the monks, their faces and appearances, and in the atmosphere of the monastery. Most of the monks were peasants, dedicated to the religion of Christ and leading particularly strict lives. It was difficult to understand how they lived. Their faces all bore witness to their religious exercises, and on some were evidences of spiritual meditation. They were all naturally rather stupid, and here more stupid than usual, because they were cut off from society, even from the society of their native villages. They did not study, or read, or write; they had no worldly life to occupy them--there was no means for it. They could gossip--yes, but I doubt if they even did that. Assuredly here the Middle Ages slept. * * * * * Round the monastery, behold, the ruins of a great fort, slowly crumbling away under the hand of Time. No fleets now sail against Pitius, no pirates land on the barren cape--there is nothing to steal. Even the monastery is without gold. VI I cannot forget this walk of gloom and mystery, and my stay in this strange, sleeping monastery of the Middle Ages. But over and against it stands the bright morning of Gudaout, four days later. Gudaout is encompassed by the highest Caucasus--its only refuge is the sea. It is a place most wonderful in the pageantry of dawn. Picture my life of one evening and morning. I left Gudaout at the dusk, and having bought myself a pound of purple grapes, strolled out along the dusty high road eating them. I made my bed on the seashore, and slept away the aches and pains of a heavy day's tramping. Next day, in that sort of reflection of last evening which comes before the morning, I rose, for the coldest of October breezes had come down to me from the mountains. The dawn was all gold--a new dawn, I thought. But when I stood on my feet I saw below the gold the lovely bosom of the East, a beautiful, soft bed of creamy rose. It was an elemental sunrise, a veritable _first_ morning. Distant mountains lay wrapped in dissolving mists, and seemed like the multifarious tents of a great army encamped on a plain--for the smooth sea was like a plain. The chamber of the dawn seemed gigantic, the mountains having lifted up the roof of heaven higher than I had ever seen it before, the sea having taken it out to a far horizon. I stood looking over the shore before sunrise, and far out in the bay were three high-masted feluccas, looking like ships of the Spanish Armada. At the water's edge, and yet silhouetted against the dawn sky, were Mahometans, washing themselves and praying--stark, black figures in the strange light. I welcomed the sun. He rose swiftly out of the waters, and shone across the bay, lighting up all the mountains that closed in north and south. He came full of promises, and after the coolness and damp of the night I had need of heat. I lay on a bank and gleaned sunshine. The morning came over the sea steadily, equably, like a good ship making for a sure harbour. Then, ten miles from Gudaout, on a mountain, I looked out from the ruins of the Tower of Iver, over a vast resplendent sea, and saw below me the monastery of Novy Afon and all its buildings, looking like children's toys. That tower was a stronghold of Christianity in the third century, and it was strange to think that Crusaders and mediaeval warriors had looked out from the same tower, over the same glorious sea. Assuredly from the watch-tower of ancient Time all buildings and man's dwellings are but toys. I thought of that when I rowed across the river Phasis, and drank coffee at Poti on the site of Colchis. That Black Sea and that river were the same which Jason sailed with his heroes; and the Golden Fleece, those children's toy, has now, forsooth, become a head-gear in these parts. We all pass away, but the sea remains the same; and all our empires and literatures, arts and towns, crumble and decay, and are proved toys. Our consolation lies in our unconquerable souls, our glorious after-life beyond this world. But the sea has an immortality in the here and now. I shall never understand its secret. A stage is reached when I cease to look at the sea, and allow the sea to look into me, when I give it habitation in my being, and am thereby proved, by virtue of my soul, something mightier than it. But in vain do we try to take the sea's mystery by storm. In vain do we search for its meaning with love. It lies beyond our mortal ken, deeper than ever plummet sounded. "Is not the sea the very peacock of peacocks?" asks Nietzsche. "Even before the ugliest of all buffaloes it unfoldeth its tail and never wearieth of its lace fan of silver and gold." But the sea is not moved by slander. "Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!" sings Byron in praise, but the sea is not encouraged. It hearkeneth not, even unto kings. It is that which changes but is itself unchanged. It manifests itself continually in change, and yet it is itself ever the same, ever the same. It reveals itself to man in the majesty and terror of storm, or in the joyousness of peace; when with leaden eye it glowers upward at the leaden clouds, or when the rain sweeps over it in misery. But the secret of the sea lies beyond all these, hidden in the depths, profound, sublime. II I HOSPITALITY I I imagine that whilst the prodigal son sat at meat with his father and their guests, there may have come to the door a weary tramp begging food and lodging. The elder brother would probably refuse hospitality, saying, "You are not even my sinning brother, and shall I harbour _you_?" The father in his wine might cry a welcome--"Let him come in for the sake of my son found this day; he also was a tramp upon the road." The prodigal would say to his steady-going, sober elder, "You say he is not your brother; but he is mine, he is my brother wanderer." "Oh, come in then," the elder brother would retort; "but you must do some work--we can't encourage laziness. You may have shelter and food, but to-morrow you must work with us in the fields till midday." This counsel of the elder brother has endured, and is accounted wise. But this type of hospitality is not of that sort that was rewarded, say, in Eager Heart. It is scarcely what the writer to the Hebrews intended when he said, "Let brotherly love continue. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." Of those who wander about the world there are many ordinary men who would be ready to do a morning's work for their board, but there are also gods in disguise. There are mysterious spirits who cannot reveal the necessities of their fate; souls whom if we could recognise in their celestial guise we should worship, falling down at their feet with the humility of the cry, "I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof." There is another important objection to the complexion of the elder brother's hospitality. Perhaps the tramp would of his own accord have volunteered to work with them next morning. If so, the tramp was deprived of his chance of giving in return. What would have been his gift has been made his price. He should not have been asked to pay. No one asks a brother to pay for food and shelter. And are we not all brothers? True hospitality is a sign of the brotherhood of man, and the open threshold symbolises the open heart. Inhospitality is the sign that man will not recognise the stranger as his brother. There are two sorts of hospitality, that which gives all it has and that which gives what you want--the former growing out of the latter. The one is prodigal and overflowing generosity, almost embarrassing in its lavishness, the other the simple and ordinary kindness that will always give what it has when there is need; the one the hospitality of Mary who poured out the precious ointment, the other the simple hospitality and homely kindness of Martha; the one is the glory of sacrifice and is of one day in a year or of one day in a life, the other is a sacred due and is of every day. The latter should at least be universal hospitality. It ought to be possible for man to wander where he will over this little world of ours and never fail to find free food and shelter and love. I know no greater shame in national development than the commercialisation of the meal and the night's lodging. It has been our great disinheritance. But, of course, it would be folly to demand hospitality or to attempt to enforce it. It is like the drunken cobbler who said to his wife, "You don't love me, curse you, but by God you shall if I have to kill you first." Even if a paternal government made a law that hospitality was obligatory and that whoever asked a night's lodging must be given it, then at one blow the whole idea of hospitality would be annihilated. Hospitality must be something freely given, flowing genially outward from the heart. When in the _Merchant of Venice_ the Duke says, "Then must the Jew be merciful!" and Shylock asks with true Jewish commercialism, "On what compulsion must I, tell me that?" then Portia gives the eternal answer-- The quality of mercy is not strained, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. Need it be said mercy and hospitality are in many respects one and the same, and that when Portia says, "We do pray for mercy and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy," it is like saying, "We pray for hospitality in heaven and that prayer teaches us to render hospitality here," like "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us." We shall never be homeless, either here or hereafter, if we love one another. The shelter and food given one for the love of God are "sanctified creatures." Sleeping in a home for the love of God is more refreshing than sleeping at an inn for a price. One has been blessed and one has also blessed in return; for again, hospitality, like mercy, blesses both those who give and those who take. Throughout a night one has helped to constitute a home, and the angels of the home have guarded one. One has lain not merely in a house but in a Christian home, not only in a home but in the temple of the heart. It is sweet in a far-away land to be treated like a son or a brother, to be taken for granted, to be embraced by strange men and blessed by strange women. Sweet also is it for the far-away man to recognise a new son or a new brother in the wanderer whom he has received. I remember one night at the remote village of Seraphimo in Archangel Government, how a peasant put both hands on my shoulders and, looking into my eyes, exclaimed, "How like he is to us!" II Tramping across the Crimean moors I lost my way in the mist near the monastery of St. George, and was conducted by a peasant to the Greek village of Kalon, well known to old campaigners--it is between Sebastopol and Balaklava. The village remains the same to-day as it was in the days of the Crimean War, and the same families as lived there then, or their descendants, live there now. I visited the _starosta_, and he indicated a home where I might sleep the night. I was taken in by an aged Greek woman and entertained among her family. They brought me bread and wine, and spread out the best couch for me. The sons told me of hunting exploits with the bear and the wild boar; they told me how at Christmas time the wild turkeys fly overhead in such numbers that it is the easiest thing in the world to shoot one's Christmas dinner--and I thought that very convenient. When the sons were silent, or talking among themselves, the old dame told me about her youth: how she was only seventeen years old at the time of the war; how the English were the most handsome of all the soldiers, how the Turks were the most lazy and the most brutal, how the French and the Italians simpered; how the English soldiers were loved by the Greek girls, how they were also more generous than the other troops and gave freely clothes and tea and sugar and whatever was needed in the cottages and asked no money for it whatever; how in these days the little children played with the cannon-balls, rolling them over the moors and up the village street--all manner of gossip the good old lady told me, beguiling the hours and my ears till it was bedtime. Next day I offered to pay at least for my food, but the old lady, though poor, waved her hand and said, "Oh no, it is for the love of God!" How often have I had that said to me day after day in Russia, especially in the North! Another day in Imeritia, when I passed at evening through a little Caucasian village and was beginning to wonder where I should have my supper and find a night's lodging, a Georgian suddenly hailed me unexpectedly. He was sitting, not in his own house, but at a table in an inn. There were of course no windows to the inn, and all the company assembled could easily converse with the horsemen and pedestrians in the street below. He called out to me and I went up to him. A place was made for me at the table, and he ordered a chicken and a bottle of wine. I was just a little doubtful, for I had never seen the man before and his anticipation of my needs was surprising, but I accepted his invitation, drank his health, and ate my meal. He looked at me very pleasantly, and he was more sensible than a Russian, the sort of person who is marvellously interested in you, but who is so gentle that he will ask no questions lest you find some pain in answering him. But I told him about myself. After the meal he took me along to his house and gave me a spare bed. All was very disorderly and he apologised, saying, "It is untidy, but I am a bachelor. What is a bachelor to do? If I were married all would be different." I spent a whole day with him, and in that short space he conceived for me as it seemed an eternal friendship. "You are very good," I said at parting. "You have been very hospitable. I don't know how to thank you...." He stopped my words. "No, no," he said, "it is only natural; it is no doubt what any one would do for me in your country were I a stranger there." "Would they?" I thought. By the way, a curious example of inhospitality showed itself in this village where I met the Georgian. We were sitting round a pitcher of sweet rose-coloured wine, and one of us signalled to a rather morose Akhbasian prince who was passing, but he took no notice. "He will not drink wine with us," said my friend. "His wife is so beautiful." "What _do_ you mean?" I asked. "His wife is very beautiful and he is as jealous of her as she is beautiful. He is like a dog who growls when he has suddenly got something very good in his mouth: he fears any familiarity on the part of other dogs." As a tramp I have often felt how little I had to give materially for all the kindness I have received. But even such as myself have their opportunities of reciprocity, though they are of a humble kind. I call to mind a cold, wet day near Batoum, how I had a big bonfire by a stream under a bridge and I warmed myself, cooked food, and took shelter from the rain. A Caucasian man and woman, both tramps, came and sat by my fire a long while. The man took from his breast some green tobacco leaves, dried them by the fire, and put them in his pipe and smoked them. They spoke a language quite unintelligible to me and knew not a word of Russian. But they were nevertheless extremely demonstrative and told me all manner of things by signs and gestures. Very poor, even starving, and I gave them some bread and beef and some hot rice pudding from my pot. In return the man gave me five and a half walnuts! We seemed like children playing at being tramps, but I felt a very lively affection for these strange wanderers who had come so trustingly to my little home under the bridge. One of the beautiful things about hospitality is that though we do not pay the giver of it directly, we do really pay him in the long run. A is hospitable to B, B to C, C to D, and so on, and at last Z is hospitable to A. It is largely a matter of "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us." It is significant that the Russian's parting word equivalent to our "God be with you" is "Forgive!" III When St. Peter said to the beggar, "Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee," it is not to be thought that he hadn't a few coppers to spare. He meant, "Silver and gold are not my gifts; I have something other and more precious." Thus the apostle indicated the deeper significance of charity. There is hospitality of the mind as well as of the hand, though both spring from the heart. Hospitality of the hand is having a home with open doors, but that of the mind is having open the temple of the soul. I once called upon a hermit and we talked of the significance of hospitality. At last he said to me: "You praise hospitality well, my brother, but there is another and a greater hospitality than you have yet mentioned. It is the will to take the wanderer not only into the house to feed but into the heart to comfort and love, the ability to listen when others are singing, to see when others are showing, to understand when others are suffering. It is what the writer to the Corinthians meant by charity. "Thus--'Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal,' is like saying, 'Though I have all possible eloquence and yet do not understand mankind, do not take him to my heart, I am as sounding brass; unless my eloquence is music played upon the common chord I am but a tinkling cymbal.' "'And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing,' is like saying, 'Though I see into the future but misunderstand its significance; though I understand all mysteries, but not the mystery of the human heart; though I am able to remove obstacles by faith, I am simply like Napoleon, finishing up at St. Helena, I am nothing.' "'And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing,' is like saying, 'Organised philanthropy is not charity, neither is the will to be a martyr, unless these things spring from the will to feel how our brothers suffer.' "'Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; "'Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth,' for the truth refutes all uncharitable judgment, the truth shows us all as brothers, shows us all needing the love which one man can give to another. "'Charity beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth.'" I understood the hermit though it seemed to me there was much that he left out. Had he been a tramp instead of a hermit he would probably have thought as I do. The world that he talked of was obviously one entirely of men and women, and he left out of account all that world which we call Nature. It is well to receive men and shelter them and feed them, and well to understand their hearts, but when men are not near there is another beautiful world knocking at our doors and asking hospitality in our souls; it is the world of Nature. Oh ye young of all ages, be hospitable unto Nature, open your doors to her, take her to your hearts! She will rebuild your soul into a statelier mansion, making for herself a fitting habitation, she will make you all beautiful within. Then, when you extend the hospitality of your hearts, your _temples_, to man, they will be spacious temples and rich hearts. Nature comes first, for she heals hearts' wounds; if you have not received her communion first you will not be so fit to receive man. The consumptive-bodied already go to the country, and we are nearly all of us, in this era of towns, consumptive-souled. We need whole hearts just as we need whole lungs. But what am I saying? I am bidding you bargain with Nature for a price, and that is wrong. You must love her, not for anything she can give you. What is more, you can never know what she will give you: she may even take away. When you see her you will love her as a bride. Be receptive to her beauty, be always Eager Heart. When any man receives her into himself there is born in his soul's house the baby Christ, the most wonderful and transfiguring spirit that man has yet known upon a strange world. II THE STORY OF THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN On my way to Jerusalem I tramped through a rich residential region where wealthy Armenians, Turks, and Russians dwelt luxuriously in beautiful villas looking over the sea. I had been sleeping out, for the road was high and dry and healthy, but at last, entering a malarial region, I began to seek shelter more from man than from Nature. One cold and cloudy night I came into the village of Ugba and sought hospitality. There were few houses and fewer lights, and some feeling of awkwardness, or perhaps simply a stray fancy, prompted me to do an unusual thing--to beg hospitality at one of the luxurious villas. I had nearly always gone to the poor man's cottage rather than to the rich man's mansion, but this night, the opportunity offering, I appealed to the rich. I came to the house of a rich man, and as I saw him standing in the light of a front window I called out to him from a distance. In the dusk he could not make out who I was, but judging by my voice he took me for an educated man, one of his own class. "Can you put me up for the night?" I asked. "Yes," he replied cheerfully. "Come round by the side of the house, otherwise the dogs may get in your way." But when the rich man saw me on his threshold a cloud passed over his eyes and the welcome faded from his face. For I was dressed simply as a tramp and had feet so tired that I had not troubled to take the signs of travel from my garments. I had a great sack on my back, and in my hand a long staff. The head of the house, a portly old gentleman with a long beard, interrogated me; his son, a limp smiling officer in white duck, peered over his shoulder; two or three others of the establishment looked on from various distances. "What do you want?" asked the old gentleman curtly, as if he had not heard already. "A lodging for the night," I said unhappily. "You won't find lodging here," said the greybeard in a false stentorian voice. And the little officer in white giggled. "You've made a mistake and come to the wrong house. We have no room." "A barn or outhouse would serve me nicely," I put in. The old man waved his hand. "No, no. You are going southward? You have strayed somewhat out of your path coming up here. There is a short cut to the main road. There you'll find a tavern." It was in my mind to say, "I am an Englishman, a traveller and writer, and I am on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. You misdoubt my appearance, and are afraid of sheltering an unknown wanderer, but I am one whom you would find it interesting and perhaps even profitable to harbour." But my heart and lips were chilled. I had taken off my pack, but put it on again humbly and, somewhat abashed, prepared to leave. The family stood by staring. It was a very unusual thing for a poor tramp to come and ask hospitality. Tramps as a rule knew better than to come to their doors. Indeed, no tramp had ever come there before. It rather touched them that I should have believed they would shelter me. Their refusal troubled them somewhat. "There's always plenty of room in the tavern," said the rich man to his wife. "And they'll be glad to have a customer." As I turned to go, some one brought a light, and a gleam fell on my face. The company expected to see the cringing, long-suffering face of a peasant in the presence of his master, but the light showed something different.... "He is perhaps one of our own class ... or ... God knows what ..." they thought, one and all. "It is hateful to have refused him. But no, if he is one of us, why does he come clothed like a common man? He has only himself to blame." The old man, feeling somewhat ashamed, offered to show me the way. He came out and pointed out the short cut to the tavern. "It is quite clear. I shall find the way," I said. "Thank you." The old man halted as if he wished to say something more. "What now?" I asked myself. I said good-bye, and as I moved away he asked: "You are going far, belike!" "To Jerusalem," I answered laconically. In Russia there is only one thing to say when a man tells you he is going to Jerusalem. It is, "Pray for me there!" But somehow that request stuck in the old man's throat. When I got outside the park gates I pulled down my pack and took out of it the only thing that had stood between me and a night's lodging--a grey tweed sportsman's jacket--and I put it on, and with it a collar and tie, and I walked along the road in real sadness. For I felt wounded. I could forgive the man for doing so unto me, but it was hard to forgive him for doing so unto himself, unto us all. He had made life ugly for a moment, and made the world less beautiful. To-morrow the sun and the earth would be less glorious because of him. But I had only walked a few steps down the road from the rich man's house when I came to a poor peasant's hut where there burned one little light at a little square window. And I thought, "Please God, I will not go to the tavern, which is possibly kept by a Turk and is very dirty. I will try for a night's lodging here." I knocked at the door with my staff. There was a stirring inside. "Who is there?" "One who wants a lodging for the night. It is late to disturb you, but I fear there will be rain." A peasant woman came to the door and unbarred it, and let me in. "Ah, little father," she said, "you come late, and we have little space, as you see, only one room and a big family, but come in if you will." She turned up the little kerosene lamp and looked at me. "Ai, ai," she said, "a _barin_." She looked at my coat and collar. "It will be but poor fare here." "Not a _barin_" I urged, "but a poor wanderer coming from far and going farther still. I generally sleep under the open sky with God as my host and the world as my home, but to-night promises storm, and I fear to take cold in the rain." The peasant girl, for she was no more, busied herself with the samovar. "You must have something hot to drink, and some milk and eggs perhaps. My husband is not yet home from market, but he will come belike very soon, and will be very glad to find a stranger. He will rejoice. He always rejoices to give hospitality to strangers upon the road." When she had brought me a meal she fetched fresh hay from a barn and spread a quilt over it and made a bed for me, and would have given me her own pillow but that I pointed out that my pack itself made a very good resting-place for my head. Then her husband came home, a strong kindly man, full of life and happiness, and he did rejoice as his little wife had promised. He was sorry he had not wine with which to entertain me. Such people drink wine not more than twice in a year. And with these humble, gentle folk I forgot the rich man's coldness, and healed my heart's wounds. Life was made beautiful again. To-morrow the sun would be as bright as ever. I slept in the comfortable warm bed on the floor of the poor peasant's hut, and the storm rolled overhead, the winds moaned and the rain fell. "You are going to Jerusalem," said the good man and woman next morning, "pray for us there. It is hard for us to leave our little hut and farm, or we would go to the Holy Land ourselves. We should like to go to the place where the Christ was born in Bethlehem and to the place where He died." "I shall pray," I said; and I thought in my heart, "They are there in Jerusalem all the time, even though they remain here. For they show hospitality to strangers." * * * * * But as I trudged along my way there seemed to be a pathos too deep for tears underlying my experiences at the hands of the rich man and of the poor man. That it should occur so in real life, and not merely in a moral tale! The position of the rich man is so defensible. Of course it would have been ridiculous of him to have sheltered me. Who was I? I had no introduction. What was I? I might have robbed him in the night ... or murdered. I was ill-dressed and poor, therefore no doubt covetous of his fine clothes and wealth. They would only have themselves to blame if they sheltered me and I did them harm. Besides, was there not the tavern close by? All reason pointed to the tavern. But something troubled them, something in my face and demeanour! Alas for such people! They forget that Christ comes into this world not clothed in purple. They forget that Christ is always walking on the road, and that he shows himself as one needing help. And always once in a man's life the pilgrim Christ comes knocking at his door, with the pack of man's sorrows on his back and in his hand the staff which may be a cross. * * * * * I met the young officer in white next morning. He looked at me with a certain amount of surprise. I hailed him. "Did you sleep well at the tavern?" he asked. "I found shelter at a peasant's house," I answered. "Ah! That's well. I didn't think of that. You said you were going to Jerusalem. Why is that? Evidently you are not Russian." I told him somewhat of my plans. He seemed interested and somewhat vexed. "I said we ought to have taken you in," he said apologetically. "But you came so late--'like a thief in the night,' as the Scripture saith." I sat down on a stone and laughed and laughed. He stared at me in perplexity. "'Like a thief in the night,'" I cried out. "Oh, how came you to hit on that expression? Go on, please--'and I knew you not.' Who is it who cometh as a thief in the night?" The officer smiled faintly. He was dull of understanding, but evidently I had made a joke, or perhaps I was a little crazed. He turned on his heel. "Sorry we turned you away," he repeated, "but there are so many scoundrels about. If you're passing our way again be sure and call in. Come whilst it's light, however." III A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT Dzhugba is an aggregation of cottages and villas round about the estuary of a little river flowing down from the Caucasus to the Black Sea. On the north a long cliff road leads to Novorossisk a hundred miles, and southward the same road goes on to Tuapse, some fifty miles from Maikop and the English oil-fields. I arrived at the little town too late to be sure of finding lodging. The coffee-house was a wild den of Turks, and I would not enter it; most private people were in bed. I walked along the dark main street and wondered in what unusual and unexpected manner I should spend the night. When one has no purpose, there is always some real _providence_ waiting for the tramp. The quest of a night's lodging is nearly always the origin of mysterious meetings. It nearly always means the meeting of utter strangers, and the recognition of the fact that, no matter how exteriorly men are unlike one another, they are all truly brothers, and have hearts that beat in unison. Thus did it happen that I met my strange host of Dzhugba. A hatless but very hairy Russian met me at a turning of the road, and eyeing me with lacklustre eyes asked me gruffly as a rude shopman might, "What do you want?" "A lodging for the night." The peasant reflected, as if mentally considering the resources of the little town. At last after a puzzling silence he put one fat hand on my shoulder, and staring into my face, pronounced his verdict-- "The houses are all shut up and the people gone to bed. There is no place; even the coffee-house is full. But never mind, you can spend the night in a shed over here. I shall find you a place. No, don't thank me; it comes from the heart, from the soul." He led me along to a lumber-room by the side of the plank pier. It contained two dozen barrels of "Portlandsky" cement. The floor was all grey-white and I looked around somewhat dubiously, seeing that cement is rather dirty stuff to sleep upon. But, nothing abashed, my new friend waved his hand as if showing me into a regal apartment. "Be at your ease!" said he. "Take whatever place you like, make yourself comfortable. No, no thanks; it is all from God, it is what God gives to the stranger." He thereupon ran out on to the sand, for the shed was on the seashore, and he beckoned me to follow. To my astonishment, we found out there an old rickety bedstead with a much rent and rusted spring mattress--apparently left for me providentially. It was so old and useless that it could not be considered property, even in Russia. It belonged to no one. Its nights were over. I gave it one night more. The peasant was in high glee. "Look what I've found for you," said he. "Who could have expected that to be waiting outside for you? Several days I have looked at that bedstead and thought, 'What the devil is that skeleton? Whence? Whither?' Now I understand it well. It is a bed, the bed of the Englishman on the long journey...." The mattress was fixed to an ancient bed frame--one could not call it bedstead--with twisted legs that gave under weight and threatened to break down. We brought the "contrapshun" in. "Splendid!" said my host. "Impossible," I thought, trying to press down the prickly wire where the mattress was torn. "No doubt you are hungry," my friend resumed. I assured him I was not in the least hungry, but despite my protestations he ran off to bring me something to eat. I felt sorry; for I thought he might be bringing me a substantial supper, and I had already made a good meal about an hour before. What was more, he lived at some distance, and I did not care to trouble the good man, or for him to waken up his wife who by that hour was probably sleeping. However, he was gone, and there was nothing to be done. I laid some hay on the creaking sorrow of a bed, and endeavoured to bend to safety the wilderness of torn and rusty wire. I spread my blanket over the whole and gingerly committed my body to the comfortable-seeming couch. Imagine how the bed became an unsteady hammock of wire and how the contrivance creaked at each vibration of my body. I lay peacefully, however, looked at the array of cement barrels confronting me, and waited for my host. I expected a plate of chicken and a bottle of wine, and was gradually feeling myself converted to the idea that I wouldn't mind a nice tasty supper even though I had made my evening meal. What was my astonishment when the good man returned bearing a square-foot slice of black bread on which reposed a single yellow carrot! I looked curiously at the carrot, but my host said, "_Nitchevo, nitchevo, vinograd_"--"Don't worry, don't worry, a grape, that's all." He had also brought a kerosene lamp, which, however, lacked a glass. He stood it on one of the grey barrels and turned it monstrously high, just to show his largeness of heart, I suppose. I got up and turned it down because it was smoking, and he waved his hand once more deprecatingly, and turning the wick up and down several times, signified that I was to do with it exactly as I pleased. He left it smoking again, however. I put the thought of a good supper out of my mind and looked at the black bread with some pathos, as who would not after conjuring before the eyes a plate of chicken and a bottle of wine? However, it was indeed _nitchevo_, to use the Russian phrase, a mere nothing. I averred I was not hungry and put the bread in my pack, of which I had made a pillow, and simulating comfort, said I thanked him and would now go to sleep. My host understood me, but was not less original in his parting greeting than in the rest. He shook hands with me effusively, and pointed to the roof. "One God," he said. "And two men underneath. Two men, one soul." He looked at me benevolently and pointed to his heart. "Two men, one soul," he repeated, and crossed himself. "You understand?" "I understand." Then he added finally, "Turn the lamp as high as you like," and suited the action to the word by turning it so high that one saw a dense cloud of smoke beyond the lurid flame. "Good-night!" "Good-night!" My queer guardian angel disappeared. I fastened the door so that it should not swing in the wind, and then climbed back into my wire hammock, stretched out my limbs, laid my cheek on my pack, and slept. Nothing disturbed me, though I woke in the night, and looking round, missed the Ikon lamp which would have been burning had I been in a home. It was a saint's day. The absence of the Ikon told me the difference between sleeping in a house and sleeping in a home. Perhaps it was because of this difference that my host blessed me so earnestly. Next morning I sought my host in vain. He had apparently left the town before dawn with a waggon of produce that had to be carted to Tuapse. At breakfast in the Turkish coffee-house I looked with some amusement at the bread and carrot, discarded the latter, but munched the former to the accompaniment of a plate of chicken and a bottle of wine. My imagining, therefore, of the previous night was not altogether vain. All that was needed was that my comical host should look in. As it was, in his absence I drank his health with a Georgian. IV SOCRATES OF ZUGDIDA I was travelling without a map, never knowing what I was coming to next, what long Caucasian settlement or rushing unbridged river, and I came quite unexpectedly to a town. I had not the remotest idea that a town was near, and when I learned the name of the town I realised that I had never heard of it before--Zugdida. This is no fairy story. Zugdida veritably exists, and may be found marked on large maps. I came into it on a Sunday evening, and found it one of the largest and most lively of all the Caucasian towns I had yet visited; the shops and the taverns all open, the wide streets crowded with gaily dressed horsemen, the footways thronged with peasants walking out in Sunday best. A remote town withal, not on the railways, and unvisited as yet by any motor-car--unvisited, because the rivers in these parts are all bridgeless. I was looking for a place where I might spend the night--towns are inhospitable places, and one is timorous of sleeping in a tavern full of armed drunkards--when I was hailed by a queer old man, who noticed that I was a stranger. He kept one of the two hundred wine-cellars of the town, and was able to give me a good supper and a glass of wine with it. He was an aged Mingrelian, bald on his crown, but lank-haired, dreamy-eyed, stooping; he had a Robinson Crusoe type of countenance. I had come to one of the oldest inhabitants of Zugdida, an extraordinary character. I asked him how the town had grown in his memory. "When I came here from the hills forty years ago," said he, "long before the Russo-Turkish War, there were three houses here--three only, two were wine-cellars. Now Zugdida is second only to Kutais. I remember how two more wine-cellars were built, and a small general shop, then a bread shop, then two more wine--cellars, two little grocer's shops, some farm-houses. We became a fair-sized village, and wondered how we had grown. The Russians came and built stone houses and a military barracks, a prison, a police-station, and a big church; then came the Hotel of Russia, the Universal Stores. We built the broad, flag-stoned market, and named a Fair day; saddlery and sword shops opened, blacksmiths, gunsmiths, coppersmiths, jewel workers, tailors; Singer's sewing machines came, two more hotels, and we grew and grew. We have now over two hundred taverns. We have offered the Government to pay for all the necessary land, and defray all minor expenses, if they will connect us with Poti by railway, and if it were not that so many people want bribes we should be part of Europe. As it is, we're just a bit of the old Caucasus." He pointed to a group of drunkards, all armed from head to foot, but now clinging to one another and raising their voices in Asiatic chanting. After supper--a stew of mutton and maize, with a bottle of very sweet rose-coloured wine--the old man took me aside and made me a long harangue on life and death and the hereafter. Better sermon on a Sunday evening I never heard in church. He told me the whole course of the good man's life and compared it with that of the bad man, weighed the two, and found the latter wanting on all counts, adding, however, that it was impossible to be good. "How did you come to think so seriously of life?" I inquired. "In this way," he replied. "Once I was very 'flee-by-the-sky'--I didn't care a rap, sinned much, and feared neither God nor the devil--or, if anything, I feared the devil a little; for God I never had the least respect. But one day I picked up a book written by one Andrew, and I read some facts that astonished me. He said that in eight thousand years after the creation of the world the sun would go red and the moon grey, the sun would grow old and cease to warm the world--just as you and I must inevitably grow old. In that day would be born together, one in the East and one in the West, Christ and the Anti-Christ, and they would fight for the dominion of the world. This story caused me to pause and think. Hitherto I had taken all for granted. "It had never occurred to me that the sun might stop shining, that the stars might go out. I had scarcely thought that I myself might stop, might die. "'What happens to me when I die?' I asked people. 'God will judge you,' they said. 'If good, you go to heaven; if evil, to hell.' That did not satisfy me. How did people know? No one had ever come back to tell us how things were done after death. "I had never thought at all before, but now I began to think so hard that I could not go about the ordinary things of life, I was so wrapped up in the mystery of my own ignorance. "People said I was under the evil eye. But that again was nonsense. 'Whence comes man?' I asked. 'Where does he go? Where was I before I was born?' I was part of my ancestors. Very well. 'But where shall I go when I die? What shall I be?' "I nearly learned to disbelieve in religion. You must know I began to go to church every Saturday evening and on all festivals. I listened intently to all the services and the sermons, and I read all that I could find to read, and I asked questions of priests and of educated people--all with the idea of solving this mystery of life. I tried to be good at the bidding of the Church, but I gave that up. I learned that it was impossible to avoid sin. "You drink wine--this is a sin; give short weight--that is a sin; look on your neighbour's wife--that is a sin; everything you do is sin--even if you do nothing, that is sin; there is no road of sinlessness. "I went on living as I felt inclined, without care as to whether it were sin or no. But still I asked myself about man's life. "Some one said to me, 'You will never understand, because you think of yourself as a separate individual, and not as just a little part of the human race. You live on in all the people who come after you, just as before you were born you lived in those who were before you.' "That was something new, but I understood him, and I asked him a new question: 'If what you say is true--and very likely it is--what, then, is the past of the whole human race, and what its future? What does the life of the human race mean?' "That he could not answer. Can you answer it? No. No one can answer it." * * * * * "You are like Socrates," I said. "Who was Socrates?" "He was the man whom the Oracle indicated as the wisest man alive. All men knew nothing, but Socrates was found wiser than they, for he alone knew that he knew nought." A look of pleased vanity floated over the face of my Mingrelian host. He was at least quite human. Before going to bed we drank one another's healths. V "HAVE YOU A LIGHT HAND?" This is not simply a matter of making pastry, as you shall see. I was tramping along a Black Sea road one night, and was wondering where I should find a shelter, when suddenly a little voice cried out to me from the darkness of the steppe. I stopped and looked and listened. In a minute a little boy in a red shirt and a grey sheepskin hat came careering towards me, and called out: "Do you want a place to sleep? My mother's coffee-house is the best you'll find. The coffee-house down the hill is nothing to it. There it is, that dark house you passed. I am out gathering wood for the fire, but I shall come in a minute." Sharp boy! He was only eight years old. How did he guess my need so well? I retraced my footsteps very happily, and came to the dark inn I had missed. It stood fifty yards back from the road, and had no light except what glimmered from the embers of a wood fire. At the door was a parrot that cried out, "Choozhoï, choozhoï, choozhoï preeshhòl"--"A stranger, a stranger, a stranger has arrived." The mother, a pugnacious gossip with arms akimbo, looked at me with perturbed pleasure. "Are you a beggar or a customer?" she asked. "Because if you're a beggar," etc. I cut her short as soon as I could. I assured her I should be much pleased to be a customer. I ordered tea. The boy came in and claimed me as his find, but was snubbed. My hostess proceeded to ask me every question known to her. To my replies, which were often not a little surprising, she invariably replied with one of these exclamations, "Say it again, if you please." "Indeed!" "With what pleasure!" That I was a tramp and earned my living by writing about my adventures pleased her immensely. I earned my living by having holidays, and gained money where other travellers never did anything but spend. "With what pleasure" did she hear that literary men were paid so many roubles a thousand words for their writings. One could easily write an immense quantity, she thought. The little boy looked at me with bright eyes, and listened. Presently, when his mother was dilating on the inferiority of painting as a profession, he broke in. The mother was saying, "Not only does the painter catch cold standing still so long in marshy places, but when he has finished his pictures he has to hawk them in the fairs, and even then he may not be able to sell them." "What fairs?" asked the boy. "The fairs of Moscow, Petersburg, Kiev, and the great towns. Some sell for fifty roubles, some for five hundred, some for five thousand and more. A little picture would go for five roubles perhaps." "What size pictures would one buy for fifty roubles?" asked the boy. "Oh, about the same size as from the floor to the ceiling." "What size would one be that cost five thousand roubles?" "Oh, an immense picture; one could build a country house out of it." The boy reflected. "And five hundred thousand roubles?" he asked. But his mother remained profitably silent over the preparation of the family soup. The fire now blazed with the additional wood that had been heaped upon it. The little voice repeated the absurd question, and the mother shouted, "Silence! Don't make yourself a nuisance." "But how big would it be?" whined the boy. "Tell me." "Oh, the same, but bigger, stupid!" Thereupon my little friend was very happy, and he apparently ascribed his happiness to me. A few minutes later he abruptly asked permission to take me up a mountain to show me a castle next morning, and his mother agreed, pointing out how extremely profitable it would be for me. The little boy rejoiced; he had apparently wanted to go up to that castle for a long while. How excited and happy he was! His mother paid little attention to her child, however, and her interest lay in the bubbling cauldron where the soup was cooking. "You have a very clever boy," I said, but she did not agree with me. His pranks and high spirits were to her evidence of stupidity. I must say I felt we were the stupid party, and the boy was a little wonder. We went on gossiping, and presently he proved us stupid. He started up with one finger to his ear and then darted out, leaving the door open and letting the steppe air pour in. The mother listened, and then said discontentedly after a pause, "That child is not usual." The boy came back with fifteen shaggy customers, however; fifteen red-faced waggoners, half-frozen in their sheepskins, and all clamoured for food and drink. The boy, all excitement, danced up to me and said, "Have you a light hand? You must have a light hand!" I didn't know what he meant, but he was off before I had time to ask. He began serving tea and cutting bread and asking questions. Did any one want soup? Nobody wanted soup at first, but at the boy's solicitations nine of them agreed to have portions at twopence a plateful. The mother persuaded others to have pickled herrings, cheese, wine. The inn was of two rooms: one a bedroom and retiring-room without a door. The Ikon of this room served the economical hostess for both rooms. The waggoners were all surly till they had fed. "Show me where we can bow to God," said one of them very gruffly, not seeing the Ikon. The little boy led him and all his mates into the little bedroom, and they all bowed their hairy faces and crossed themselves before the Ikon of St. Nicholas. Then they returned and consumed the soup and the herrings and bread and cheese and wine and tea. I looked on. My hostess was turning a pretty penny. I was looking on at a very pleasant and surprising interlude. Every now and then one of the mouzhiks would stump out to see how the horses were, for they had a long train of waggons carrying building materials to the Tsar's estate of Livadia. At length all had supped, and they came up to the counter one by one and thanked the hostess heartily, paying her the while. Only one of the men was dissatisfied--the last one to come up. "Your soup is dear," said he. "Dear! What do you mean?" said the woman. "How much would you pay for such soup in Yalta, and with beef at fivepence a pound, too?" "In Yalta they give one soup." "And here!" "Here ... as God wills ... something...." The mouzhik slammed the door. "There's a man," said my hostess, but she wasn't enraged. Had she not just sold the family's soup for eighteenpence, and made tenpence profit on it, and wouldn't her husband be pleasantly surprised when he saw there were three shillings more on the counter than usual? It was not often that such custom had come to her. The boy explained the reason to her in a whisper: "He has a light hand." "Very like," said she, looking at me with new interest. "What do you mean?" I asked the boy. "Why, don't you know?" said he wonderingly. "Wherever you go you bring good fortune. After I met you on the road I immediately began to find wood much more plentifully. When I came in I learned how to buy pictures. Then mother said she would let me go with you to see the castle. Then, not only are you a good customer staying the night, but after you came all this crowd of customers. Generally we have nobody at all...." "And I met this wonderful boy," thought I. "I should like to carry him away. He is like something in myself. He also had the light hand, but what a testimony he gave the tramp! Wherever he goes he brings happiness." As once I wrote before, "tramps often bring blessings to men: they have given up the causes of quarrels. Sometimes they are a little divine. God's grace comes down upon them." VI ST. SPIRIDON OF TREMIFOND The charge for driving on Caucasian roads is a penny per horse per mile, so if you ride ten miles and have two horses you pay the driver one shilling and eightpence. But if, as generally happens, the driver's sense of cash has deprived him of a sense of humour, a conversation of this kind commonly arises. "One and eightpence. What's this?" "Ten miles, and two horses at a penny per horse per mile; isn't that correct?" "To the devil with your one and eightpence. Give it to the horses; a penny a mile for a horse, and how about the man, the cart, the harness? I gave you hay to sit on. See what fine weather it has been! What beautiful scenery! Yonder is the church ... the wineshop, the...." "Hold hard, my good man. The Universe, our salvation by Christ, why don't you charge for these as well! Here's sixpence to buy yourself a drink." The driver takes the sixpence and looks at it, makes a calculation, and then blurts out: "What! Sixpence for a man and tenpence for a horse; ai, ai, what a _barin_ I have found. Sixpence for a man and tenpence for a horse. Bad news, bad news! Cursed be the day...." Here you give him another sixpence, and get out of earshot quickly. A penny a mile a horse. It is good pay in the Caucasus, and I for my part charge myself only a halfpenny a mile. If I walk twenty-five miles, then I allow myself a shilling wages, and, of course, some of that I save for the occasion when I come into a town with a great desire for good things. Then a spending of savings and a feast! "Good machines use little fuel," said an emaciated tramp to me one day. But I have no ambition to be accounted a good machine on those terms. I eat and drink anything that comes in my way, and am ready at any moment to feast or to fast. I seldom pass a crab-apple tree without tasting its fruit, or allow myself to pass a mountain stream without drinking. Along this Black Sea road in the autumn it would be impossible to starve, so lavish is Nature of her gifts. Here are many wild fruits, plums, pears, blackberries, walnuts, grapes, ripening in such superfluity that none value them. The peasant women pick what they need; the surplus is allowed to fall and rot into the soil. I made my way to Ghilendzhik through miles of wild fruit-trees ranged in regular order. It is said that once upon a time when this territory belonged to Turkey, or even before then, the land was laid out in orchards and vineyards, and there was not a square foot uncultivated. I ate of wild pears and kisil plums. The pears were more the concentrated idea of pears than that we take from gardens; the kisil plums, with which the bushes were flaming, are a cloudy, crimson fruit with blood-like juice, very tart, and consequently better cooked than raw. My dictionary tells me that the kisil is the burning bush of the Old Testament, but surely many shrubs claim that distinction. It was a glorious walk over the waste from Kabardinka to Ghilendzhik, with all manner of beauty and interest along the way. I left the road and cut across country, following the telegraph poles. In front of me fat blue lizards scuttled away, looking like little lilac-coloured _dachshunds_; silent brown snakes shot out of reach at the sight of my shadow; and every now and then, poking and grubbing like a hedgehog, behold a large tortoise out for prey like his brother reptiles. This domiciled the tortoise for me; otherwise I had only associated him with suburban gardens and the "Zoo." Now as he hissed at me angrily I knew him to be a lizard with a shell on his back. I picked up several of them and examined their faces--they didn't like that at all. They have a peculiar clerical appearance, something of the sternness and fixity of purpose which seems to express itself in the jaws and eyes of some learned divines. With what eagerness the tortoises scrambled away when I disturbed them. They run almost speedily in their natural state. I was amused at the strength of their claws, and the rate at which they tore a passage into a thicket and disappeared. Half-way to Ghilendzhik there is a stone quarry, and there one may see thousands of what are called in England "Cape gooseberries," bright berries of the size and colour of big ripe strawberries. They peeped out shyly everywhere among the tall grasses and the ground-scrub. Above them were stretches of saffron-coloured hollyhocks, a flood of colour, and with these as sisters, evening primroses, a great abundance. Lilac and crimson grasshoppers rushed over them, jumping into the air and into vision, a puff of bright colour--then subsiding into the greyness of the dust as they alighted and the sombre wing-cases closed over their little glory. On the ground when waiting to spring, these grasshoppers looked as if made of wood: they looked like displaced chessmen of ancient workmanship. What a rush of insect life there was in the air, new-born fritillary butterflies like little flames, dragon-flies, bee-hawks, fat sun-beetles, gorgeous flies, the sinister green praying-mantis! The Athena of the air expressed herself in all her wonder. * * * * * Ghilendzhik is a collection of datchas (country-houses) and Caucasian dwelling-places. Its name signifies "The White Bride," and it is a quiet, beautiful watering-place in a pure bay, beloved of all Russians who have ever visited it. It is the healthiest resort on the whole Black Sea shore, continually freshened by cool breezes from the steppes. It is yet but a village, utterly undeveloped, unpavemented, without shops or trams or bathing-coaches, or a railway station, and those who visit it in the season regard themselves rather as a family party. The beach is private, and a bathing costume is rather a rarity. It is an amazing testimony to the simplicity of the Russian that the upper classes behave at the seaside with little more self-consciousness than the peasant children by the village stream. When Ghilendzhik is commercialised to a Russian Brighton it will be difficult to imagine what an Eden it once was. I had looked forward to my arrival, for I had a Russian friend there, living for the summer in her own datcha, and I had received a very warm invitation to stay there some days. The welcome was no less warm than the invitation. I arrived one evening all covered with dust, my face a great flush of red from the sun, my limbs agreeably tired. The house was a little white one on the very edge of the sea. Part of the verandah had lately been washed away in a storm, so close was the datcha to the waves. I went in, washed, clad myself in fresh linen--the road-stained clothes were taken away with a promise of return clean on the morrow--borrowed some slippers, and sitting in an easy-chair on the verandah, lounged happily and chatted with my hostess. Varvara Ilinitchna is a Russian of the old type--you don't find many of them nowadays, most of her friends would add--simple, quickwitted, full of peasant lore, kind as one's own mother, hospitable as those are hospitable who believe from their hearts that all men are brothers. I was introduced to all the neighbours, to the visitors and the natives, and of course invested with much importance as one who wrote books, had no fear, who even intended pilgrimaging to Jerusalem. "You sleep under the open sky--that means you have outlived fear," said Varvara Ilinitchna with some innocence. Our next-door neighbour was a beautiful Greek girl, a veritable Helen, for the sake of whose beauty one might give up all things. Young, elegant, serpentine; clad in a single garment, a light cinnamon gown clasped at the waist; no stockings, her legs bare and brown; on her head a Persian scarf embroidered with red and gold tinsel; her face white, with a delicate pink flush over it; hair and eyes black as night, but also with a glitter of stars. Wherever she walked she was a picture, and whether she was working about the house, or idling with a cigarette on the verandah, or running over the sand to spank mischievous boys who had been trespassing, she was delicately graceful, something to watch and to remember. I shall remember her chiefly in the setting of the night when the moon cast her lemon-coloured beams over the sea. "Very beautiful and very young," said my hostess, "but already she has a history. She is only eighteen, but is married and has run away from her husband. She wanted to marry a Russian, but her family forced her to take for husband a Greek, an old man, and so jealous and so frightened of the effect of her beauty upon other men that he shut her up and made her wear a veil like a Turk. He would not let her out by herself, and he never brought any friends home; he took to beating her, and then she ran away. Her father received her and promised to protect her. The old Greek cannot get at her any more; he has given her up and gone away." "Good for her!" I hazarded. "Not at all good," was the answer. "She has a husband and yet has none. She is young, but she can't marry again because she has a husband already." * * * * * At Ghilendzhik all meals were served on the verandah, and one lived constantly in touch with the varying moods of the sea. My hostess was a talker, ready to sit to any hour of the night chatting of her life and of Russia. It was very pleasant to listen to her. We sat together on the balcony after tea, with a big plate of grapes between us, and I heard all that the world had to say at Ghilendzhik. A burning topic was the ruin that the sea had made of the verandah wall. "The sea has been gradually gaining on us," said my friend. "When we came here, the village Council reckoned on that. They smiled when we bought the house, for they held that in quite a short time it would be washed away. The Council wishes to build a fine esplanade all along the sea-front--our house stands in the way and they don't wish to buy us out. 'You'd better buy the datcha,' said Alexander Fed'otch to them. 'Oh no,' said they, 'we leave that to God'--by 'God' meaning the sea. They bound us under a contract not to build anything in front of the house: they said they did not wish the view to be obstructed, but in reality they did not want us to put up any protection against the waves. They left the rest to Providence. The result was that the whole property was nearly washed away in a storm. "It happened like this. We were away at Vladikavkaz, and Vassily, the watchman, was living in the house with his wife and family, looking after it in our absence. There came a storm one evening. No one paid any attention at first, but it became so bad in the night that even Atheists were at their prayers. At three o'clock in the morning all the villagers were up and dressed and watching it. They were afraid, not only for our house, but for the rest of the village: no one remembered such a storm. As for our datcha, being as it is the nearest to the sea, the waves were already washing stones and mortar away. Vassily worked as hard as man could, shifting the furniture, taking out his household things, and trying to save the house. The villagers helped him--even the councillors who had hoped for the storm, they helped. "The storm did not abate, so the priest was sent for, and he decided to hold a prayer service on the seashore and ask God to make peace on the water. They brought the Ikons and the banners from the church, took the Service in case of great storms or danger, and when they had sprinkled holy water on the waves, the storm drew to a lull and gradually died away. The datcha was saved; perhaps the whole village. _Slava Tebye Gospody!_ Glory be to Thee, O God! "They wrote to us at Vladikavkaz what had happened, and of course we came down quickly. Then what a to-do there was! We demanded the right to protect our property from the sea. The Council said, 'Yes, yes, yes, don't alarm yourself; you'll be quite safe, safe as the Kazbek mountain; we ourselves will protect you.' The Government engineer came round and said once more, 'Don't alarm yourself! We are going to build an embankment. Next year there will be a whole street in front of you, and electric trams going up and down perhaps.'" "Did you believe him?" I asked. "We didn't know what to do, believe him or disbelieve, but we knew he had been granted power to make investigations and draw up plans. For months, now, they have been measuring the depth of the water and testing this place and that. For my part, I think the preparations are only a device for making money. The engineer will enrich himself: the embankment and the street will be in his bank, but not here. The money they have spent already on his reports is appalling. But of course, if they _do_ build an esplanade, our house will be worth three times what it cost us. We will let it as a café or a restaurant, and it will bring us rent all the year round. God grant it may be so! "We resolved, however, to protect it, and we obtained permission to build a Chinese wall in front of it. But _Bozhe moi_, what that wall is costing us--already fifteen hundred roubles, and on the original estimate we thought five hundred. "Even as it is we don't know how we stand. The engineer may claim that wall as belonging to the town. The town may have it knocked down, for it is built just outside our boundary line. We go down to the sand, and we have built upon the sand." Obviously she hadn't built upon a rock. "Now that they think of making a street in front of us, they will call part of the seashore land, and it will be surveyed. Someone will remark that we have encroached, and then down will go our wall and with it our fifteen hundred roubles." I agreed with her and sympathised. The chances were certainly against the money having been profitably invested. But what an example of Russian ways! We sat in silence and looked out over the placid waves on whose future kindliness so much of my hostess's happiness seemed to depend. It was a beautiful night. The sun had sunk through a cloud into the sea, and, as he disappeared, the waves all seemed to grow stiller and paler; they seemed full of anxious terror, as the faces of women whose husbands are just gone from their arms to the war. Dark curtains came down over their grief: the waves disappeared. The long bay was unruffled and grey to the horizon, like a sheet of unscored ice. Even the boats in the harbour seemed to be resting on something solid. The one felucca in front of us, with its five lines of rope and mast, grew darker and darker, till at last the moon rose and gleamed on her bows and cordage. My hostess continued to talk to me of the fortunes of her property. "Twenty years ago," she said, "I was sitting on a log in a field one summer afternoon, when up comes an old peasant woman leaning on a stick and speaks to me in an ancient, squeaky voice: "'Good-day, _barinya_!' "'Good-day!' I said. "'Would you like to buy a little wooden hut and some land?' "'Eh, _Gospody_! What should I want with a little wooden hut?' said I. 'What do you ask for it?' "'Fifty roubles,' she squeaked. 'My son has written to me from Poltava. He says, "Sell the hut and come and live with me," so I'm just looking for a buyer.' "'What did you say?' I asked. 'Fifty roubles?' "'Fifty roubles, _barinya_. Is it too much?' "I was astonished. A house and land for fifty roubles. Such a matter had to be inquired into. I felt I must go and look at the hut. I went and saw it. It was all right, a nice little white cottage and thirty or forty yards of garden to it.' Here's your fifty roubles,' I said. And I bought it on the spot. "We did nothing with it. "Next summer, when I came down to Ghilendzhik, I said to my husband, 'Let us go and see our house and land.' Accordingly we went along to look. What was our astonishment to find it occupied by another old crone. I went up to the door and said: "'Good-day!' "'Good-day!' said a cracked old voice. 'And who might you be?' "'I might be the landlady,' I said. 'How is it you're here?' "'Oh, you're the _khosaika_, the hostess,' replied the old crone. 'Eh, dear! Eh, deary, deary! My respects to you. I didn't know you were the _khosaika_. I saw an empty cottage here one day; it didn't seem to belong to any one, so, as I hadn't one myself, I just came in.' "The old dame bustled about apologetically. "'Never mind,' said I. 'Live on, live on.' "'Live on,' said Alexander Fed'otch. "We went away and didn't come back to it or ask about it for seventeen years. Then one day I received a letter offering me twenty pounds (two hundred roubles) for the property, but as I had no need of money I paid no attention. A month later some one offered me thirty pounds. Obviously there was something in the air; there was some reason for the sudden lively interest in our property. Alexander Fed'otch went down, and he discovered that the site was wanted by the Government for a new vodka-shop. If we didn't sell, we should at last be forced to give up the property to the Government, and perhaps find ourselves involved in litigation over it. Alexander Fed'otch made negotiations, and sold it for ninety pounds--nine hundred roubles--think of it. And it only cost us five pounds to start with! Ah, here is a place where you can get rich if you only have a little capital." "The old woman?" I queried. "Was she evicted?" "Oh no, she had disappeared--died, I suppose." "You made a handsome profit!" "Yes, yes. But that's quite another history. You think we made eighty-five pounds profit. No, no. We ought to have invested the money quietly, but unfortunately Alexander Fed'otch, when he was selling the house, met another man who persuaded him to buy a plot of land higher up, and to build a grandiose villa upon it. They thought it a splendid idea, and Alexander Fed'otch paid the nine hundred roubles as part of the money down for the contractor. It was a great sorrow--for no profit ever came of it. It happened in the revolutionary time. We paid the contractor two thousand roubles, and then suddenly all his workmen went on strike. He was an honest man, and it was not his fault. His name was Gretchkin. He went to Novorossisk to try to get together a new band of men, and there he met with a calamity. He arrived on the day when the mutinous sailors were hanged, and the sight so upset him that he lost his head--he plunged into a barracks and began shooting at the officers with his revolver. He was arrested, tried, and condemned to death. The sentence, however, was commuted to penal servitude--that was when we got our Duma and there was the general pardon. Two thousand roubles were lost to us right away. The half-dug foundations of our house remained--a melancholy sight. "The datcha is finished now; to-morrow you must go and see it. But it has cost us in all ten thousand roubles. I should be thankful to sell it for five thousand. Ai, ai, and we are growing old now and living through everything." My hostess went out to fetch another plate of grapes. "We wanted to put a vineyard round the datcha, but what with the children and the pigs mauling and biting at everything, it couldn't be managed. We had, however, a _pood_ of grapes from one of our gardens this year." The moon now bathed her yellow reflection in the mysterious sea, and we sat and looked at it together. "Vasia, my son, who has taken his musical degree, will stay up all night to look at this sight," said my hostess. "It moves something in his soul." It moved something in mine, and yet seemed strangely alien to the tale I was hearing. That moon had flung its mystery over an Eastern world, and it seemed an irrelevance beside the fortunes of a modern watering-place. Varvara Ilinitchna went on to tell me of her early days, and how she and her husband had been poor. Alexander Fed'otch had taught in schools and received little money. Their two sons were never well. They had often wept over burdens too hard to bear. One season, however, there came a change in their life and they became prosperous. They prayed to be rich, and God heard their prayer. "We owe the change in our fortunes to a famous Ikon," said Varvara Ilinitchna. "It happened in this way. Alexander Fed'otch had an old friend who, after serving thirty years as a clerk in an office, suddenly gave up and took to the mountains. He was a wise man and knew much of life, and it was through his wisdom that we sent for the Ikon. We sheltered him all through the winters because he had no home, and he came to love us and enter into our life. He rejoiced with us on festivals when we were gay; when we were sad he sympathised. When we shed tears he shed tears also. One evening when we were more than ordinarily desperate he said to me, 'Take my advice; send for an Ikon of St. Spiridon of Tremifond.' The Ikon costs ten shillings, and ten shillings was much to us in those days. I told Alexander Fed'otch what our friend had said, and he, being a religious man, agreed. We sent ten shillings to Moscow and had the Ikon sent to us, and we took it to church and had it blessed. "That happened in the autumn. Those were the days when the Vladikavkaz Railway was a novelty. The children, and even the grown-up people, did nothing but play at trains all day. We used to take in the children of the employees and look after them while their fathers and mothers were away. Well, in the following May a director of the railway called on Alexander Fed'otch and said he had a post to offer him. "'We are thinking of taking all the children of the railway employees, and establishing a school and _pension_ for them where they can get good meals and be taught. We will provide you with a house and appointments, and you will get a good salary into the bargain. Your wife will be mother to our railway children, and you will be general manager of the establishment. Will you take the post?' "'With pleasure!' answered Alexander Fed'otch. But I for my part took some time to consider. It was hard enough to be mother to three children of my own. How could I be mother to fifty? "However, we agreed to take the offer, and then suddenly we found ourselves rich and important people, and we remembered the Ikon of St. Spiridon of Tremifond and thanked God. If you are ever poor, if ever you want money, send for the Ikon of St. Spiridon. I advise you. Its virtues are famous." "An evil Ikon, nevertheless, that Spiridon of Tremifond," I thought, but I wouldn't say so to my hostess. "And you've been happy ever since?" I asked. "Not happy. Who even hopes to be happy? But we did well. The railway company opened new establishments, and the directors have loved my husband, and one of them even said at a public meeting, 'Would to God there were more men in the world like Alexander Fed'otch!' We took larger charges and higher posts. We were even thanked publicly in the press for our services." Varvara Ilinitchna sighed. Then she resumed her talking in a different tone. "But we live through our fortune. Well, I understand it. It is our Karma after the Revolution. Property shall avail us nothing. Everything we have shall be taken from us. Look at this Chinese wall taking away all our money. Think of that foolish contractor Gretchkin and our costly datcha. Behold our sickly children. How much money have we not spent trying to heal our children, eh, eh! Doctors have all failed. Even a magic healer in the country failed." "Tell me of him," I urged. Varvara Ilinitchna went on only too gladly. She had found a listener. "It was a peasant woman. She healed so many people that, though she was quite illiterate, the medical faculty gave her a certificate to the effect that she could cure. I know for a fact that when specialists gave their patients up as hopeless cases, they recommended her as a last resort. She was a miracle worker: she almost raised the dead. You must know, however, that she could only cure rheumatism cases. For other diseases there are other peasant women in various parts of Russia. We went to this one and lived a whole summer with her on a very dirty, dismal countryside. We were all bored to death, and we came away worse than we went. And all such things cost much, I assure you." My hostess verily believed in the effect of the holy water on the stormy waves, in the gracious influence of St. Spiridon, and in the magical faculties of certain peasants. Yet observe she uses the word _Karma_: she calls herself a Theosophist. My long vagabondage she calls my _Karma_. "My happiness," I corrected her. "Happiness or unhappiness, it is all the same, your _Karma_." She went on to talk of the great powers of Mme. Blavatsky, and she told me that Alexander Fed'otch had just ordered _The Secret Doctrine_ to read. Good simple man, he will never get through a page of that abstruse work; and my hostess will understand nothing. Is it not strange--these people were peasants a generation ago; they are peasants now by their goodness, hospitality, religion, superstition, and yet they aspire to be eclectic philosophers? Varvara Ilinitchna has life itself to read, and she turns away to look at books. Life does not satisfy her--there are great empty places in it, and she would be bored often but that she has books to open in these places. She was very interesting to me as an example of the simple peasant mind under the influence of modern culture. Perhaps it is rather a shame to have put down all her old wife's talk in this way, for she is lovable as one's own mother. VII AT A FAIR One misty morning in late October I arrived at Batum, pack on back, staff in hand, to all appearances a pilgrim or a tramp, and I drank tea at a farthing a glass in the fair. "Pour it out full and running over," said a chance companion to the owner of the stall. "That's how we workmen like it; not half-full as for gentlefolk." The shopman, a silent and very dirty Turk, filled my glass and the saucer as well. And sipping tea and munching _bubliki_, we looked out upon all the sights of the _bazar_. There lay around, in all the squalor that Turks love, the marvellous superabundance of a southern harvest--spread on sacks in the mud--grapes purple and silver-green, pomegranates in rusty thousands, large dew-fed yellow apples, luscious dirt-bespattered pears, such fruits that in London even the rich might look at and sigh for, but pass by reflecting that with the taxes so high they could not afford them, but here sold by ragamuffins to ragamuffins for greasy coppers; and not only these fruits, but quinces and peaches, the large yellow Caucasian _khurma_, the little blood-red _kizil_, and many unnamed rarities. They all surged up out of the waste of over-trodden mire, as if the pageantry of some fairy world had been arrested as it was disappearing into the earth. Then, beside these gorgeous fruits, in multitudinous attendance, a confused array of scarlet runners, tomatoes, cabbages, out-tumbled sacks of glazy purple aubergines, mysterious-looking gigantic pumpkins, buckets full of pyramidal maize-cobs, yellow, white-sheathed. The motley crowd of vendors, clamouring, gesticulating, are chiefly distinguished by their hats--the Arabs in white turbans, the Turks in dingy fezes jauntily cocked over dark, unshaven faces, some fezes swathed in bright silk scarves; the Caucasians in golden fleece hats, bright yellow sheepskin busbies; the few Russians in battered peak caps, like porters' discarded head-gear; Persians in skull-caps; Armenians in shabby felts, astrakhans, or mud-coloured _bashliks_. The trousers of the Christians all very tight, the trousers of the Mahometans baggy, rainbow-coloured--it is a jealous point of difference in these parts that the Turk keeps four or five yards of spare material in the seat of his trousers. What a din! what a clamour! "_Kopeika, kopeika, kopeika_." "_Oko tre kopek, oko tre kopek, oko tre kopek._" Thus Christians shout against Mussulmans over the grape-heaps--one farthing, one farthing, one farthing; oko (three pounds) three farthings, oko three farthings, oko three farthings. Fancy shouting oneself hoarse to persuade passers-by to buy grapes at a farthing a pound! My companion at the tea-stall, a tramp-workman from Central Russia, was astonished at the price of the grapes. "It is possible to say that that is cheap," said he. "When I return to Russia I will take forty pounds of them and sell them in the train at twopence-halfpenny (ten _copecks_); that will pay for my ticket, I think, in the fourth class." I watched the Turks trafficking, jingling their ancient rusty balances, manipulating their Turkish weights--the _oko_ is not Russian--and giving what was probably the most marvellous short weight in Europe. The three-pound _oko_ was often little more than a pound. A native of Trebizond came and sat at our table. He wore carpet socks, and over them slippers with long toes curled upperward like certain specimens one may see in Bethnal Green Museum; on his head a straw-plaited, rusty fez swathed with green silk of the colour of a sun-beetle. "The Italians have taken Tripoli," said the Russian, with a grin; "fancy letting those little people thump you so!" "And the Japanese?" said a Caucasian quickly. The Turk looked sulky. "Italia will fall," said he. "She will fall yet, dishonourable country. They have stolen Tripoli. All you others look on and smile. But it is an injustice. We shall cut the throats of all the Italians in Turkey. Will you look on then and smile?" A Greek sniggered. There were many Greeks at the fair--they all wear blue as the Turks all wear red. When the Turk had gone, the Greek exclaimed: "There's a people, these Turks, stupid, stupid as sheep; all they need are horns ... and illiterate! When will that people wake up, eh?" The Turks and the Greeks never cease to spit at one another, though the former can afford to feel dignified, victors of their wars with Greece. For the Italian the ordinary Turk has almost as much contempt as for the Greek. One said to me, as I thought, quite cleverly: "A Greek is half an Italian, and the Italian is half a Frenchman, the Frenchman is half an Englishman, and you, my friend, are half a German. We have some respect for a German, for he is equal to a score of Greeks, a dozen Italians, or six Frenchmen, but we have no respect at all for the rest." Twenty Arabs passed us at the stall--all pashas, a Georgian informed me. They had arrived the night before from Trebizond and the desert beyond. Their procession through the ragged market was something to wonder at--a long file of warriors all over six feet high, broad, erect, with full flowing cloaks from their shoulders to their ankles, under the cloaks rich embroidered garments. Their faces were white and wrinkled, proud with all the assurance of men who have never known what it is to stoop before the law and trade. "They have come to make a journey through Russia," said the Georgian, "but their consul has turned them back. They will pray in the mosque and then return. It is inconvenient that they should go to Europe while there is the war." A prowling gendarme in official blue and red came up to the stall and sniffed at the company. He pounced on me. "Your letters of identification?" he asked. I handed him a recommendation I had from the Governor of Archangel. He returned it with such deference that all the other customers stared. Archangel was three thousand miles away. Russian governors have long arms. It is unpleasant, however, to be scrutinised and thought suspicious. I finished my tea and then returned to the crowd. There was yet more of the fair to see--the stalls of Caucasian wares, the silks, the guns, the knives, Armenian and Persian carpets, Turkish slippers, sandals, yards of brown pottery, where at each turn one sees huge pitchers and water-jugs and jars that might have held the forty thieves. At one booth harness is sold and high Turkish saddles, at another pannier baskets for mules. A flood of colour on the pavement of a covered way--a great disarray of little shrivelled lemons, with stalks in many cases, for they have been gathered hard by. In the centre of the market-place are all the meat and fish shops, and there one may see huge sturgeon and salmon brought from the fisheries of the Caspian. Garish notices inform in five languages that fresh caviare is received each day. Round about the butchers are sodden wooden stalls, labelled SNOW MERCHANTS, and there, wrapped in old rags, is much grey muddy snow melting and freezing itself. It has been brought on rickety lorries down the rutty tracks of the mountains, down, down into the lowland of Batum, where even October suns are hot. Near the snow stalls behold veiled Turkish women just showing their noses out of bright rags, and tending the baking of chestnuts and maize cobs, sausages, pies, fish, and chickens. Here for eightpence one may buy a hot roast chicken in half a sheet of exercise-paper. The purchasers of hot chicken are many, and they take them away to open tables, where stand huge bottles of red wine and tubs of tomato-sauce. The fowl is pulled to bits limb by limb, and the customer dips, before each bite, his bone in the common sauce-bowl. Those who are poorer buy hot maize cobs and cabbage pies; those who feel hot already themselves are fain to go to the ice and lemonade stall, and spend odd farthings there. I bought myself _matsoni_, Metchnikof's sour milk and sugar, at a halfpenny a mug. The market square is vast. It is wonderful the number of scenes enacting themselves at the same time. All the morning in another quarter men were trying on old hats and overcoats, and having the most amazing haggling over articles which are sold in London streets for a pot of ferns or a china butter-dish. In another part popular pictures are spread out, oleographs showing the Garden of Eden, or the terror of the Flood, or the Last Judgment, and such like; in another is a wilderness of home-made bamboo furniture, a speciality of Batum. And for all no lack of customers. What a place of mystery is a Russian Fair, be it in the capital or at the outposts of the Empire! There is nothing that may not be found there. One never knows what extraordinary or wonderful thing one may light upon there. Among old rusty fire-irons one finds an ancient sword offered as a poker; among the litter of holy and secular secondhand books, hand-painted missals of the earliest Russian times. Nothing is ever thrown away; even rusty nails find their way to the _bazar_. The miscellanies of a stall might upon occasion be what is left behind after a house removal. On one table at Batum I observed two moth-eaten rusty fezes, a battered but unopened tin of herrings in tomato-sauce, another tin half-emptied, a guitar with one string, a good hammer, a door-mat worn to holes, the clearing of a book-case, an old saucepan, an old kerosene stove, a broken coffee-grinder, and a rusty spring mattress. Under the stall were two Persian greyhounds, also for sale. The shopmen ask outrageous prices, but do not expect to be paid them. "How much the kerosinka?" I asked in sport. "Ten shillings," said an old, sorrowful-looking Persian. I laughed sarcastically, and was about to move away. The Persian was taking the oil-stove to bits to show me its inward perfection. "Name your price," said he. I did not want a kerosene stove, but for fun I tried him on a low figure-- "Sixpence," I said. "Whew!" The Persian looked about him dreamily. Did he sleep, did he dream? "You don't buy a machine for sixpence," said he. "I bought this second-hand for eight-and-sixpence. I can offer it to you for nine shillings as a favour." "Oh no, sixpence; not a farthing more." I walked away. "Five shillings," cried the Persian--"four shillings." "Ninepence," I replied, and moved farther away. "Two shillings." He bawled something more, inaudibly, but I was already out of hearing. I happened to repass his stall accidentally later in the morning. "That kerosinka," said the Persian--"take it; it is yours at one shilling and sixpence." I felt so sorry for the unhappy hawker, but I could not possibly buy an oil-stove. I could not take one as a gift; but I looked through his old books and there found, in a tattered condition, _The Red Laughter_, by Leonid Andreef, a drama by Gorky, a long poem by Skitaletz, and a most interesting account of Chekhof's life by Kouprin, all of which I bought after a short haggle for fivepence, twenty copecks. I was the richer by my visit to his stall, for I found good reading for at least a week. And the old Persian accepted the silver coin and dropped it into an old wooden box, looking the while with melancholy upon the unsold kerosinka. VIII A TURKISH COFFEE-HOUSE It sometimes happens that, entering a house, one enters not simply into the presence of a family but into that of a nation. So it was when I was received in a Little-Russian deacon's cottage in a village, on the Christmas Eve on which I first came to Russia. I came not to the deacon but to Russia itself, and when the Christmas musicians came and played before me it was not only Christmas music, or village music, that I heard, but the voice of a whole countryside and the song of a whole national soul. It sometimes happens that, looking at a picture, one sees not only its local and obvious beauty, but its eternal significance and message--that is a similar experience. It happened to me whilst on a tramp in Trans-Caucasia to enter a coffee-house that was at once a Turkish coffee-house and Turkey itself. I lived for a whole night veritably in Turkey. In this way-- I came into a little town; it was a cold night and I wanted shelter. I entered a noisy Turkish coffee-house--there were at least a hundred such in the town--and asked if I might spend the night there. The owner, a young man in shirt-sleeves, very dirty and unshaven, and with an old fez on the side of his head, intimated that I might stay if I liked. The café was a room full of poor Turks. Picture a crowd of ragged men, some in drab turbans with loose ends hanging down their backs, but most of them in dingy red fez hats, faces unshaved, mottled, ugly--a squat people, very talkative, but terribly mirthless; and in shadowy corners of the low dark café solitary persons with hook-nosed, ruminative faces. All about me was the din of the strange language, the clatter of dice and dominoes. All night long the doors of the café slammed and customers passed in and out, games were begun and played away, animated groups formed at certain tables and then broke up and gave way to new groups, loud discussions broke out over Turkish newspapers and politics and the war, in the course of which discussions the newspaper, a wilderness of Arabic, was often torn to bits--a series of scenes of tremendous animation and noise; but no one laughed. In the clamour of tongues sounded again and again the name "Italia." The Turks were angry over the war, full of a restrained resentment and a profound need for revenge. It was a relief to me when one of them came to my table and talked to me in Russian. "How goes the war?" I asked. "Is Italy losing?" "Of course she is losing," he replied, lying sullenly; "and she must lose." "But she has taken Tripoli and guards it with her navy. How can she lose?" "The other Powers will make her disgorge it, or we will commence an endless hostility, not only against Italy and Italian trade, but against all whom we tolerate--the Western Christians." A Caucasian, overhearing us, drew his forefinger along his throat from ear to ear, and smiled. "There are more Mahometans than Christians," the Turk went on, "and they are strong men, heroes. The Italians are the worn-out scum of ancient Rome, getting the better of us ignobly. But they shall not spoil the Mahometan world. Not even the English, most powerful of the machine nations, shall overwhelm the true faith." The keeper of the coffee-house came and stared at me. Two new customers came up, and I was pointed out as an Englishman. They talked about me in Turkish; other Turks came, they talked about England's rôle in the war, they scolded, gesticulated, poured forth endlessly, forgot me. Once more, though in a crowd, I was alone. At this time a great diversion was caused. A blind musician came in. At midnight one would have thought no new development in the life of the café was likely to take place, but the musician brought into the room such a crush of people that on all sides I felt packed and crammed. A tall, gaunt man, hatless, shaggy-headed, his black locks falling over a strange yellow brow; eyes that saw not, looking through deep purple spectacles; and in his arms, like a baby, a long Armenian guitar--the musician was somewhat to wonder at. Hemmed in by the crowd, he yet found a little space in the body of the coffee-house, and danced to and fro with his songs like some strange being in a frenzy. He played with fire on his guitar, every minute breaking from his sparkling, thrilling accompaniment into a wild human chant, his face the while triumphant and passionate, but blind with such utter blindness that he seemed like the symbol of Man's life rather than a man; a great song of heart-yearning sung to the stars and to the Infinite rather than the singer of that song. His fingers flowed over the long guitar; the wild words broke out; he flung himself in little zigzag steps to right, to left; the wild chant stopped; once more spoke only the strings. I looked at him and listened, and could not give myself enough to him. At nearly two he made a collection and received many piastres and copecks, and the crowd who had listened to him began to disperse. At three o'clock the host signified that he wished to close the shop. To all the remaining customers Turkish delight was served out as a sort of parting gift. A dozen Turks, those who had homes, slunk away; the remainder, those who had no homes of their own, stayed to sleep. The host now came to me and we did some business. I wanted to change some Turkish silver, as I was short of Russian money. As no bank would take this small coin I was obliged to try the coffee-house. Accordingly, I had asked my coffee-house keeper to buy a hundred or so piastres. After half an hour's haggling we struck a very bad bargain. I find the Turk more of a sharp than the Jew. The long day was over. The shutters were pulled along in front of the shop and padlocked. A form was accorded me on which to sleep. Another form was drawn out into the middle of the room and placed at a certain angle, pointing to the East, I suppose. Then during half an hour the Turks ascended this form in turn, stood, bowed, knelt, prostrated themselves in silent prayer, reiteratedly. They prayed very differently from Russian peasants. Their movements were abrupt and mechanical, like steps in a military drill. They were nearer to spiritual death and praying-boxes than any I had ever watched pray before. I felt myself in the presence of a new form of piety. I had crossed the great broad line that separates Europe from Asia, and come to a place where Europe is not understood and therefore hated. At six next morning the sleepers awoke and performed the same rites on the improvised praying-stool; the shutters were rolled back; the Turks who had homes returned; in came the Arabic newspaper; once more Turkish delight, coffee, the clatter of dice and dominoes, the gathering of animated groups, loud, unpleasant voices and mirthless vivacity--so the life of the coffee-house went on; so I imagine it goes on for ever. * * * * * As I think of this in retrospect it seems that the blind musician stood in some peculiar and significant relation to the more ordinary life about him. But for him, I should probably have omitted to describe my night among the Turks. He made the coffee-house worth living in, worth sketching, worth being re-seen in the reflection of words. He was what I should call the glory of the coffee-house. Thus the garden of Eden was beautiful, but Adam and Eve in the garden were the glory of the garden, the highest significance of its beauty, the voice by which relatively dumb beauty got a step farther in expressing itself. The garden would never have been described but for the episode of Adam and Eve. It would not have been worth while to describe it.... The forest is beautiful, but the bird singing in the forest is the glory of the forest. The morning is beautiful, but the tramp walking in the morning is the glory of the morning; he also, in his youth and morning of life, is a voice by which beauty endeavours to reveal itself. Each scene, each picture, has a highest significance if we could but find it. Thus the blind musician was a revelation of the very soul of the Turks. The tramp wandering through life and exploring it tries always to find what is particularly his in the scenes that come before his eyes. It is what he means by living a daily life in the presence of the Infinite. IX AT A GREAT MONASTERY I In the Middle Ages, when Christianity was still young, there was much more hospitality than to-day. The crusader and the palmer needed no introduction to obtain entertainment at a strange man's house. The doors of castle or cottage, of monastery or cell, were always on the latch to the wanderer, and not only to those performing sacred dues but to the vagabond, the minstrel, the messenger, the tradesman, even to crabbed Isaac of York. Since those days it has become clear that the thirty pieces of silver not only sold the author of Christianity but Christianity itself. As my Little-Russian deacon said, "Money has come between us and made us work more and love less. We are gathered together, not for love but for mutual profit. It is all the difference between conviviality and gregariousness." The deacon was right, and when one comes upon the Middle Ages, as yet untouched, in Russia, one reflects with a sigh--"The whole of Europe, even England, was like this once." One says with Arnold-- The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar Retreating to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Day by day, as we live, we see the disintegration of that which Christianity means, the shattering of that brotherly love that makes men nations and nations the children of God. Not without truth did Shylock say of his money that he made it breed. The pieces of silver have bred well; they jingle to-day in the pockets of millions of betrayers. These thirty pieces did not pass out of currency, though the land that they bought was left desolate. They passed from hand to hand among the covetous throughout the first centuries of Christianity. The Jews clung to them as if they were life itself; but the early Christians, having something very much better than money to live for, coveted them not. And as long as the money remained with the Jews Christianity flourished. The two symbols opposed one another, and there was no question but that the Cross triumphed. Only when the Christians turned their backs on the Cross and hankered after the silver did the eternal nature of the betrayal manifest itself. When the Saracens began to be fought, not only by swords and faith but by the aid of Jewish money, and with the pomp and circumstance of war, then already Judas had been to the priests. When the knight or baron bequeathed the thirty Jewish pieces to the monastery Judas was already kissing the Master. When the hand that held the Cross loosened to take the silver, when the monks took the treasure of Earth and relinquished the treasure of Heaven, Jesus was already taken. It was but a short way to the crucifixion. The silver profiteth no man. Where are the thirty pieces of silver now? Where are they not? When the rich holiday-maker comes scattering money in peaceful mountain valleys; when the peasant's son, infected by the idea of money, comes to town for his thirty shillings a week; when for the want of another thirty shillings he refuses to marry; when to save his mind some evangelical society--so called--accepts thirty shillings "charity"; when the millionaire leaves thirty thousand pounds to the hospitals to save his body; when a minister is paid three hundred pounds a year to save his soul; when a member of Parliament receives thirty pounds a month to remedy his social wrongs; when the love of the country girl he should have married is won by some rich man who thinks he can pay for it--on all these occasions and yet more, to examples innumerable, the curse of Judas shows itself, till every brick of our evil industrial cities is shown mortared round in bright silver hate. * * * * * As I write these lines one question is very urgent in the minds of Englishmen, that of the disestablishment and partial disendowment of a church. Once more the thirty pieces appear to be in the coffers of the church and they are attracting the curse. There is only one way for that church; it is to give up to the spoiler not only that which is demanded of it but all the material wealth it possesses, its endowments, estates, houses, palaces, sacred edifices; to lay down everything and be simply, for the moment, a church in the hand of God. As for disestablishment, the sooner Christians dissociate themselves from secular names and titles the better. The Christian church is one established for ever, upon a rock, and those who compose that church are they who love their neighbour as a brother. We have hope of new life, otherwise it were folly to write at all. The great distress which the modern commercial life causes the individual soul is perhaps a blessing in disguise; it causes the individual to pause and think, causes him to rebel, to try and imagine a way to true salvation. For, despite Progress and the benefit our posterity is supposed to be going to derive from it, it is an undisguisable fact that life, the wonderful and strange gift given to the individual perhaps once in an eternity, is being used without profit, without pause, without wonder. We are like people who have lost their memories on the way to a feast, and our steps, in which is only dimly felt the remembrance of a purpose, take us nowhither. We loiter in musty waiting-rooms, are frustrated by mobs, and foiled by an eternal clamour. We have forgotten the feast and occupy ourselves in all manner of foolish and irrelevant ways. Only now and again, struck by the absurdity of our occupations, we grope after our lost consciousness and feel somehow that somewhere out beyond is our real destination, that somewhere out there a feast is proceeding, that a cover is laid for us and dishes served, that though we are absent the master calls a toast to us and sends messengers to find us. * * * * * The _somewhere-out-beyond_ has for me been Russia. I do not suggest that it is Russia for every one. There are many tables at the feast, and the messenger sent after the absent must tell of those who sit at his own table. I think there is the same wine and the same fare at all tables. I tell of the hospitality of Russia, the hospitality of mind and of hand found amongst a simple people. In October 1911 I arrived as a pilgrim at the monastery of Novy Afon, or, to translate the Russian into more recognisable terms, New Athos, and I obtained the hospitality of the monks. There are three sorts of monasteries in Russia, one where there is great store of gold and precious stones as in Troitsky Lavra near Moscow, another where there are ancient relics and ikons of miraculous power as at Solovetz, and a third where there is neither the distinction of gold nor of relics, where the power of the monks lies in their living actual work and prayer. To the last-named category belongs Novy Afon. It is very likely that the immense wealth of the other monasteries may invite the hand of the spoiler. Even now the monks are notorious for drunkenness and corruptibility: the institutions are moribund, and there is no doubt that if revolution had overturned the Tsardom the rich monasteries like the Troitsky would have been sacked. Perhaps even Novy Afon and many another spiritual mother would have shared a common fate with their depraved sisters. That is as may be. The Revolution did not succeed and could not, because the common peasantry still prayed in the temples which the Revolutionaries would have destroyed. The living church of Russia required its buildings even though the caretakers of these buildings were in some cases false stewards. But there is no question of false stewards at Novy Afon. It is a place where a Luther might serve and feel no discontent, a place of new life. It looks into the future with eyes that see visions, and stretches forward to that future with hands that are creative; an institution with no past but only a present and an idea, not acting by precedent or tradition but taking its inspiration straight from life's sources. II It will be profitable to describe the monastery just as I saw it and felt it to be, on the occasion of my arrival there after five hundred miles tramping in the autumn of 1911. I had overtaken many pilgrims journeying thither, and the nearer I approached the more became their numbers. There were many on foot and many in carts and coaches. Multi-coloured diligences were packed with people and luggage--the people often more miscellaneously packed than the luggage, clinging on behind, squashed in the middle, sprawling on the top. The drivers looked superb though dressed in thousand-times-mended black coats, the post-boys tootled on their horns, and the passengers sang or shouted to the music of accordions. Of course not all those in the coaches were pilgrims religiously inclined; many were holiday seekers out for the day. The gates of Novy Afon are open to all, even to the Mahometan or the Pagan. It was a beautiful cloudless morning when I arrived at this most wonderful monastery in the Russian world--a cluster of white churches on a hill, a swarm of factories and workshops, cedar avenues, orchards, vineyards, and, above all, tree-covered mountains crowned by grey towers and ancient ruins, the whole looking out on the far sea. At the monastery gates were a cluster of empty coaches waiting for passengers, the drivers sitting in the dusty roadway meanwhile, playing cards or eating chunks of red melon. Pilgrims with great bundles on their backs stood staring vacantly at the walls or at the sea; monks in long grey cloaks, square hats, and long hair, passed in and out like bees about a hive, and from a distance came a musical drone, the chanting of church services. Pack on back, staff in hand, no one took me for other than a Russian pilgrim till I showed my passport. I entered the monastery, asked one of the monks where to go, and was at once shown to a room, a little square whitewashed apartment with four hard couches; the room looked upon the hostelry yard, and was lit within by electric light--the monks' own manufacture. No one asked me any questions--they were too hospitable to do that. I was at once taken for granted as one might be by one's own family after returning home from a week-end in the country. When I had disposed my clothes, brushed away some of the dust, changed boots, and washed, the novice who had shown me my room tapped at the door and, looking in with a smile, told me I had come just in time for dinner. All along the many corridors I heard the tinkling of a dinner-bell and a scuttling of many feet. The dinner was served in three halls: two of them were more exclusive apartments where those might go who did not care to rub shoulders with the common people; but the other was a large barn where any one who liked to come took the chances of his fellow-man, be he peasant or pilgrim. It was in the barn that I took my seat among a great crowd of folk at two long, narrow tables. Round about us on the walls were a multiplicity of brightly coloured ikons, pictures of the abbot, of Tsars, of miraculous happenings and last judgments. On the tables at regular intervals were large iron saucepans full of soup, platters of black bread, and flagons of red wine. A notice on the wall informed that without prayer eating or drinking was forbidden, and I wondered what was going to happen; for although we had all helped ourselves in Russian fashion, no one had as yet said grace, and there was an air of waiting among the party. Suddenly a voice of command cried "Stand!" and we all stood like soldiers on drill. We all faced round to the ikons, and to a monk standing in front of them. A long prayer was said in a very military fashion, and then we all crossed ourselves and took our places at the tables once more. Five of the brethren were in attendance, and fluttered up and down, shifting the bread or refilling the wine bowls. We were a mixed company--aged road-worn pilgrims, bright boys come from a local watering-place by coach, red-kerchiefed peasant women, pleasant citizens' wives in town-made blouses, Caucasians, a Turk, a Jew, an Austrian waiter, and many others that I took no stock of. The diet is a fast one, just as the hard beds are penance beds, and no one can procure anything different at Novy Afon for any amount of money. Even in the hall reserved for dignitaries and officials the fare was the same as for us in the _tiers état_. The soup was of vegetables only, and much inferior to what the tramp makes for himself by the roadside. The second course was cold salt fish or boiled beans and mushrooms, and the third was dry maize-meal porridge. As each plate was put on the table the brother told us it came from God, and whispered a blessing. There was not much talking; every one was busy eating and drinking. The wine was drunk plentifully, though without any toasts. One felt that more generosity was expressed in the provision of wine than in the other victuals. But for the meal only ten minutes and then once more the peremptory voice "Stand!" and we all listened to a long thank-offering and bowed before the ikons. Dinner was over. Dinner was at eleven in the morning; tea with black bread and no butter at three; supper, a repetition of the dinner menu, at seven; and all doors closed and the people in their beds by eight-thirty. After many nights in the open I slept once more with a roof over my head, and looking up in the night, missed the stars and wondered where they were. III The monastery bells in pleasant liquid tones struck every quarter of an hour, and at two o'clock in the morning I was awakened by a great jangling, and the sound of steps along the stone corridors. I asked my companions--I was sharing my room with an Armenian and a Russian--what was the reason of the bell, and I learned that it was the call to early prayers. We none of us got up, but I resolved to go next night if it were possible. Next day was one of relaxation after tramping. The Armenian went off ten miles to a celebrated cave and a point of view, "the swallows' nest"; he wished me to accompany him, but I had not come to Novy Afon to find points of view or the picturesque--moreover he had come by steamboat and was fresh, I had come on foot five hundred miles and wanted a rest. In the morning I looked through the workshops, chatted with a master in the little monastery school, lounged in the orange groves and cedar avenues. After dinner, as I sat near the pier, a monk pointed out to me some artificial water where willows drooped, and white swans rode gracefully under them. "You ought to come here at _Kreschenie_--Twelfth-Night. We make of that water a little Jordan in memory of the Jordan where the Son of God was baptized. The ponds are all decorated with fresh-cut grass, laurel leaves, and cypress branches, myrtle and oleander, many roses and wild flowers. Scarcely anywhere in all Russia could there be found such flowers at that time of the year." "Have you pilgrims then?" I asked. "Oh yes, many. They come from all the district round about, to dip themselves in the water after it has been made holy. We keep the festival very solemnly. The Archimandrite comes down from the monastery, and after him the priests, the monks, the lay brethren, the labourers, the banners and their bearers, and the sacred Ikons. There is a long service. Though the month is January, the weather is often bright and warm as early summer, and the mountains look very beautiful." As we were thus talking, the Archimandrite, Ieronym himself, came out of the hostelry yard and passed us, a benign old man, devout and ancient of aspect, but kindly and wise. He is accounted a living saint, and it may well be that after his death he will be canonised. Novy Afon has only been in existence thirty years, and he has been abbot all the time. The monastery has been his own idea, it has grown with him. If Novy Afon is a fountain of life, he is the rock out of which the fountain springs. The whole monastery and all its ways are under his guidance, and as he wishes them to be. They are as a good book that he has written, and better than that. He went to a gorgeous little chapel at the base of the landing-stage, there to hold a service in memory of the visit to New Athos of their highnesses the late Tsar, Alexander the Third, and his queen, on that day 1888. Presently behold the worthy abbot in his glorious robes, cloth of gold from head to foot, and on his head, instead of the sombre black hat of ordinary wear, a great golden crown sparkling with diamonds and rubies. The many clergy stood about him in the little temple, or beyond the door, for there was not room for all, with them some hundred monks, and the multifarious populace. The service was read in hollow, oracular tones, and every now and then a storm of glorious bass voices broke forth in response. Evidently the Ikon of the Virgin named _Izbavelnitsa_ was being thanked for her protection of the Tsar in a storm. So much I could make out; and every now and then the crowd sang thanks to the Virgin. At the end of the service the Archimandrite, who had had his back to the people all the time--or rather, to put it more truly, had all the time looked the same way, _with_ the people--turned, and lifting and lowering the gold cross which he held in his hands, gave blessing. The heads and bodies of the worshippers bowed as the Cross pointed toward them. The service was over. As the abbot Ieronym resumed his ordinary attire, and left the temple, the hundred or so peasant men and women pressed around him, and fervently kissed his little old fingers, white and delicate. I watched the old man give his hand to them--I watched their eagerness. Religion was proved to be Love. IV What struck me particularly on entering Novy Afon was the new tone in the every day. There was less of the _barin_ and servant, officer and soldier feeling, less noisy commandings and scoldings, even less beating of the patient horses that have to carry such heavy loads in Russia. Instead of these, a gentleness and graciousness, something of that which one finds in artistic and mystic communities in Russia, in art and in pictures, but which one seldom meets with in public life. Here at New Athos breathes a true Christianity. It was strange how even the undying curiosity of the Russian had been conquered; for here I was not asked the thousand and one impertinent questions that it is usually my lot to smile over and answer. There was even a restraint in asking me necessary questions lest they should be difficult to answer. Then not one of the monks possesses any property of his own, even of a purely transitory kind, such as a bed or a suit of clothes. They have all in common, and they have not that nicety or necessity of privacy which would compel an Englishman to claim the right to wear the same coat and trousers two days running. But the monks are even less diffident of claiming their own separate mugs and plates at table, and are unoffended by miscellaneous eating and drinking from one another's dishes. Every one is the servant of all--and without hypocrisy--not only in act but in sentiment and prayer. Wherever I went I found the tone ring true. This fair exterior glory seems to spring from a strong inner life. Religious life in the Holy Orthodox Church, with its many ordinances and its extraordinary proximity to everyday life, is not allowed to be monotonous and humdrum. Each day at New Athos is beautiful in itself, and if a monk's life were made into a book of such days one would not turn over two pages at once. The day begins at midnight, when, to the occasional melancholy chime of the cathedral bell, the brothers move to the first service of the morning. On my second night at Afon I wakened at the prayer-bell and joined the monks at their service. In the sky was a faint glimmer of stars behind veiling clouds. The monastery, resplendent with marble and silver by day, was now meek and white in the dark bosom of the mountain, and shining like a candle. In the church which I entered there was but one dim light. The clergy, the monks, the faces in the ikon frames all were shadows, and from a distance came hollow shadow music, _gul-l-l_, the murmur of the sea upon the shore. It was the still night of the heart where the Dove yet broods over the waters and life is only just begun. At that service a day began, a small life. When the service was over and we returned to our rooms, morning had advanced a small step; the stars were paler, one just made out the contours of the shadowy crags above us. Just a little sleep and then time to rise and wash and breakfast. The monks in charge of the kitchen must be up some time before the rest of us. At 8 A.M. the morning service commences, and every monk must attend. Then each man goes to his work, some to the carpentry sheds, others to the unfinished buildings, to the brickworks, the basket works, the cattle yards, the orchards and gardens, the cornfields, the laundries, leather works, forges, etc., etc., etc.; the teachers to the schools where the little Caucasian children are taught; the abbot to his cell, where he receives the brothers in turn, hears any confession they may wish to make, and gives advice in any sorrow that may have come upon any of them. The old abbot is greatly beloved, and the monks have children's hearts. Again in the evening the day is concluded in song and prayer. Such is the monastery day. * * * * * No doubt the upkeep of this great establishment costs much; it does not "pay"--the kingdom of God doesn't really "pay." Much money has to be sent yearly to Novy Afon ... and yet probably not so very much. In any case, it is all purely administered, for there are no bribe takers at the monastery. For the rest, it must be remembered that they make their own clothes and tools, grow their own corn and fruits, and manufacture their own electric light. They have the means of independence. Such monasteries as Novy Afon are true institutions of Christianity; they do more for the real welfare of a people than much else on which immense sums of money are spent. It is a matter of real charity and real hospitality both of hand and mind combined. The great monastery sits there among the hills like some immense mother for all the rude, rough-handed tribes that live about. In her love she sets an example. By her open-handedness she makes her guests her own children; they learn of her. Not only does she say with Christ her Master, "Suffer the little children to come unto Me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven," but she makes of all those who come to her, be they fierce of aspect or bearded like the pard, her own children. When the night-bell has rung and all are in their beds--the five hundred brethren, the many lay workers, the hundreds of guests gathered from all parts of Russia--the spirit of the monastery spreads itself out over all of them and keeps them all warm. The whole monastery is a home, and all those who are within are brothers and sisters. V Though Novy Afon is new, it is built upon an old site. There was a Christian church there in the second and third centuries, but it was destroyed by the Persian fire-worshippers; it was restored by the Emperor Justinian, but destroyed once more by the Turks. So completely did the Moslem take possession of the country that Christianity entirely lapsed till the Russian monks sailed down there two years before the Russo-Turkish war of 1877. Novy Afon is without Christian traditions. It takes its stand completely in the new, and is part of that Russian faith which has no past, but only a future. The third century ruins of the cathedral and the Roman battlements are indeed of great interest, and many people climb the two thousand feet high crag to look out from the ancient watch-tower. But the attitude of the monastery is well explained in the words of a monk: "People come here to worship God, and we stand here as a witness of God, to pray continually for the coming of the Kingdom, and to succour those who come to us. It would be a sign of disrespect to our church if people came here merely to see the ancient remains." I for my part, being of the old though also of the new, was eager to climb the steep stone way along which in ancient days had ridden crusaders and mediaeval warriors. Great trees now grew through the rent wall of the cathedral, and slender birches grew straight up in the nave to the eternal roof which had supplanted that of time--to heaven itself.... But alas for romance, the Russians are restoring the church, clearing away the old stones, chopping down the trees. An ikon has been set up within the old building, and the latter is already a place of worship. Once more: to the eye of a monk a ruined temple is somewhat of an insult to God. There is no fond antiquarianism; all the old Latin inscriptions and bas-reliefs that have been found have been mortared together at random into one wall; all the human bones that have been unearthed, and they are many, have been thrown unceremoniously into an open box. Even on the bare white ribs and ancient crumbling skulls, bourgeois visitors have written their twentieth-century names. Some ancient skeletons have been preserved in a case from pre-Mahometan times, and under them is written: With love, we ask you, look upon us. We were like you; you will be like us. The recommendation is unavailing. The bones have been picked up, passed from hand to hand, scrawled upon, joked over. They are probably the remains of strong warriors and early Christians, and one can imagine with what peculiar sensations they, in their day, would have regarded this irreverence to their bones could they but have looked forward a thousand years or so. It seemed to me, looking out from the watch-tower of Iver over the diminished monastery buildings and the vast and glorious sea, on that which must change and on that which in all ages remains ever the same, some reverence might have been begotten for that in the past which shows what we shall be in the future. The monks might have spared the bones and buried them; they might have left the ruins as they were. I am told that in a few years the work of restoration will be completely achieved, services will be held regularly on the mountain top, and peasant pilgrims will gladly, if patiently, climb morning and evening up the stone way to the church, having no thoughts of any time but that in which they are worshipping. The Russian is racially young. He is in the morning and full of prophecy; only in the evening will his eye linger here in the emotions of romance. Life at the monastery is new life; it is morning there--it is indeed only a little after the dawn. The day is as yet cool and sweet, and it gives many promises. We can see what the morning is like if we will journey thither. III I THE BOY WHO NEVER GROWS OLD Up to Christmas we are walking with the kings to the Babe's cradle, to the birth of new life and new hope. High in the heavens, and yet before us over the hard frost-bitten way, gleams the guiding star whose promise we divine. After Christmas we are walking with the spring, with a new, young, whispering child-life in the old heart. Though the winds be cold and snow sweep over the land, we know that winter and death are spent. Whilst the light grows stronger in the sky, something in us that is wooed by light responds. New eyes open in the soul. Spring comes, and then the tramp is marching with the summer. Down come the floods, and often for hours one takes shelter from the rain, and it seems as if all we hope for were being inundated. But, as I wrote before, "the spring is not advanced by rain, but it gathers strength in the rain to proceed more quickly when the sun comes out: so also with the tramp." Summer is the year itself, all that the other seasons have laboured for. It is the glory of the year. Then may the tramp cease marching, for in the height of summer nature also must cease, must cease from going forward to turn back. He may rest in the sun and mature his fruits. Autumn is coming and all the year's beauties must yield to death. I think of my autumn on the way to Jerusalem, and all that a day told me then. The skies became grey at last, and cold searching winds stole into the summer weather. Many things that by sunlight I should have rejoiced in became sombre and ugly in the shade. The tobacco farms, with their myriad tobacco leaves drying and rotting from green into yellow, became ill-kept and untidy, the peasants harvesting them surly and unwashed: the sky spread over them no glamour. I was walking over the swamps of Sukhum, and I noticed all that I disliked--the deep dust on the road, the broken-down bridges, the streams that cattle had befouled. It was perhaps a district that lacked charm even in fine weather. There were some compensations. In a wilderness of wilted maize fields, and mud or wattle-built villages, one's eyes rested with affection upon slender trees laden with rosy pomegranates--the pomegranate on the branch is a lovely rusty-brown fruit, and the tree is like a briar with large berries. Then the ancient Drandsky Monastery was a fair sight, white-walled and green-roofed against the background of black mountains, the mountains in turn shown off against the snowy ranges of the interior Caucasus. The clouds hung unevenly over the climbing mountains, so that far snow-bestrewn headlands looked like the speckly backs of monsters stalking up into the sky. I walked through miles and miles of brown bracken and rosy withered azalea leaves. There came a day of rain, and I spent thirty-six hours in a deserted house, staring most of the time at the continuous drench that poured from the sky. I made myself tea several times from the rainwater that rushed off the roof. I crouched over a log fire, and wondered where the summer had gone. It needed but a day of rain to show how tired all nature was. The leaves that were weighed down with water failed to spring back when the rain had passed. The dry and dusty shrubs did not wash green as they do in the spring. All became yellower and browner. That which had come out of the earth took a long step back towards the earth again. Tramping all day through a sodden forest, I also experienced the autumnal feeling, the promise of rest, a new gentleness. All things which have _lived_ through the summer welcome the autumn, the twilight of the long hot day, the grey curtain pulled down over a drama which is played out. All day the leaves blew down as if the trees were preparing beds for the night of winter. In a month all the woods would be bare and stark, the bushes naked, the wild flowers lost in the copse; nought green but the evergreens. And yet but a week ago, rhododendrons at New Athos, wild roses and mallow in full bloom at Gudaout, acres of saffron hollyhocks, and evening primroses at Sotchi! I had entered an exposed country, colder than much of the land that lay far to the north. Two days later the clouds moved away, the zenith cleared, and after it the whole sky, and then along the west and the south, as far as eye could see, was a great snow-field, mountain after mountain, and slope after slope all white to the sky. A cold wind, as of January, blew keenly from the snow, and even froze the puddles on the road. It seemed we had journeyed thus suddenly not only to autumn, but to winter itself. But at noon the sun was hot again. The new-born brimstone butterflies were upon the wing, a flutter of lambent green. They were of the time, and young. They must live all winter and waken every sunny day till next spring--the ambassadors of this summer to the next. All that belongs to the past is tired, and even at the bidding of the sun insect life is loth to rise. The grasshopper is tired, the dragon-fly loves to crouch among the shadows, the summer-worsted fritillary butterflies pick themselves out of their resting-places to flutter a little further; their wings, once thick with yellow down and shapely, are now all broken, transparent, ragged. The tramp's summer also is over. He will not lie full length in the sun till the spring comes round again. For the ground is wet, and the cold is searching. I walked more miles in the cold fortnight that took me to Batoum than in a whole month before New Athos. There was in the air a sting "that bids nor sit nor stand, but go." Yet thoughts were plentiful, and many memories of past autumns came back to me. How many are the rich, melancholy afternoons of late October or early November, golden afternoons that occur year after year, when one feels one's thoughts parting from the mind easily and plentifully without urging, as overripe fruit falling at last since no one has grasped it before. I hurried along the road, full of sad thoughts. The year was growing to be an old man. It looked back at spring, at the early days when it first felt the promises of life's glory and scarcely dared believe them true, at laughing May, at wide and spacious June, and then the turning of the year. It almost seemed to me that I had grown old with the year, that I had even gathered in my fruits, as indeed I had, only they were more the year's fruits than mine: I had been the guest of the year. I walked as within sight of a goal. In my imagination I saw ahead of me the winter stretches of country that I should come to, all white with snow, the trees all hoar, the people all frosted. I had literally become aware of the fact that I was travelling not only over land but over time. In the far horizon of the imagination I looked to the snowy landscapes of winter, and they lay across the road, hiding it, so that it seemed I should go no further. Old age, old age; I was an old, bearded, heavy-going, wrinkled tramp, leaning on a stout stick; my grey hairs blew about my old red ears in wisps. I stopped all passers-by upon the road, and chuckled over old jokes or detained them with garrulity. But no, not old; nor will the tramp ever be old, for he has in his bosom that by virtue of which, even in old age, he remains a boy. There is in him, like the spring buds among the withered leaves of autumn, one never-dying fountain of youth. He is the boy who never grows old. Father Time, when he comes and takes some of us along his ways into middle-age, will have to pull. Time is a dotard, an aged parent; some boys that are very strong and young are almost too much for him; when he comes to take them from the garden of boyhood they kick and punch; when Time tries to coax them, pointing out the advantages of middle-age, they turn their heads from him and refuse to listen. If at last they are taken away by main force, it is with their backs to the future, and their faces all angry, twisted, agonised, looking back at the garden in which they want to stay. II THE STORY OF ZENOBIA I have known her in summer and in winter--in summer flushed and gorgeous like the wild rose, in winter lily-pale, or grey and haggard as the town she lived in. She was a beautiful daughter of the Earth, a wondrous flower. The summer night was in her dark hair, the south wind in her eyes. Whoever looked upon her in silence knew himself in the presence of the mystery of beauty, of the mystery of an imperious inner beauty. It was because of this, because of some majestic spirit manifest in her, shining through her in soul's colours, that I called her Zenobia, naming her after that Blythedale Zenobia who always wore the rich hot-house flower in her bosom. And it was to me as if my Zenobia wore that flower there also, and in silence, a new flower each day, wondrous and rich. Never could she be seen without that flower there, and it was as if on that flower depended her very life. Should the flower at any time be wanting, then all were wanting. I remember her as she was one June when we gathered eglantine together, and the richest and deepest of all reds in roses. In the midsummer afternoons we plucked our garlands and brought them home at sunset time. Such afternoons they were, tempting all living things into the symphony of glory, such afternoons of splendour that now, looking back, it seems to be the very acme of their glory that we also were to be found there in those woods with all the rest. We came, soft stepping into the scene, and Nature, which moves continuously, harmoniously, did in the same moment build a throne and take us in it. At once the life from us flowed out, and the life about flowed in. Surely these were days of large orchestras, and of wonderful and complex melodies. Zenobia moved like a queen over the scene, her rich garments sweeping over the soft grass, her graceful arms swinging as with secret blessings. All the living things of the day seemed eager to be her pages; she was indeed a queen. The world needed her and the world went well because of her. The birds sang, they had not sung so sweetly but for her; the sun shone, it had not shone so brightly but for her; the roses stood on tiptoe on the bushes asking to be picked by her; the very air played lovingly about her, stealing and giving freshness. The memory of all this comes out to me with a rush whenever I open a book of poems at a certain page, and with it comes the odour of sweet-brier and honeysuckle. It was in a June, one of the past Junes when we also were June glory, beautiful, full-blossoming, and not more self-conscious than the brier itself. I think now of the greens and crimsons, the blaze of holy living colour in which we were able to exist and breathe....The afternoon passed, the evening came. Light unfolded silken banners of crimson floated down over the sky; crimson flower torches danced upwards from Zenobia's hands, living rose glowed from out her cheeks. About us and around floated lambent reds and blues and greens. The deep lake looked into her eyes, the trees nodded to her, birds flew over her, the first stars peeped at her. Mysterious, breathless, was the summer night. An influence of the time seemed to press upon us; something exhaled from the mystery of flowers drew sleep down upon us. Twilight lay upon the eyebrows of the girl, and the cloud of her dark hair nodded over it like the oncoming night. We sat down upon a grass mound. We ourselves, Nature around us, all things of the day, seemed under a spell. Sleep lay about the roses, the bushes mused inwardly, the honeysuckle exhaled enchantment and was itself enchanted. Then the things of the night came. The myriad midges performed their rites over the blackthorn and the oak, and blackthorn and oak looked as if changed into stone. The mice and the shrews crept safely over the toes of the blackberry bushes, the rabbits came tumbling along through banks of inanimate grass. And fat night-moths sucked honey from half-conscious flowers, and the same moths whirred duskily round our gathered roses or darted daringly into our faces. We were like the flowers and the grass and the blackberry and blackthorn. The night which had overtaken them and put them to sleep had settled upon us also, and the things of the night came out securely at our feet. For a moment, a sport of habit had betrayed us to the old Eden habits, had taken us a step into a forgotten harmony. But below the surface the old fought secretly with the new, that old that seems so much the newest of the new, that new that really is so old and stale. The new must have won, and in me first, for I rose suddenly, brusquely, as if somehow I felt I had unawares been acting unaccountably foolishly. I looked at my companion; the mood was still upon her, and I believe she might easily have slumbered on into the night, but as she saw me rise, the new in her gained reinforcement, and she too rose in a sort of mild surprise. Now I think I might have left her there to awaken late in the night, a new Titania with the moonbeams coming through the forest branches to her. I awakened her. I think she has often been awakened since then, but indeed it is seldom now that she is allowed to slip into such slumber. We walked home and I said some poems on the way; she heard. I think she heard in the same way as a flower feels the touch of a bee. No words had she, no poetry of words to give back. She had not awakened to articulateness. She had no thoughts; she breathed out beauty. She understood no thoughts; she breathed in beauty from around. * * * * * This was Zenobia, this was her aspect when she was taken, when the change came over her life. That marvellous mechanism, the modern state, with its mysterious springs and subterranean attractions and exigencies, drew her in to itself. The modern state, whose every agent is called Necessity, had appealed to her. And she had been taken. She settled on the outskirts of a city and half her life was spent under a canopy of smoke, whilst in the other half she courted morning and evening twilights. In the first June of this time, in afternoons and evenings, we had lived together among the roses, and she had stood at the zenith of her glory. But with the coming on of autumn the roses withered, and something of the old dreaminess left her eyes. A little melancholy settled upon her, and she discovered she was lonely. But the town had seen her, and henceforth the town took charge of her. It sent its angels to her. One might wonder what the town used her for, this inarticulate one--it made her a teacher because of her good memory. Then it regarded her as "good material." It sent its angels, those voluntary servants of the state, the acquaintances who call themselves friends. These at first approved of her, always misunderstood her, and at length despised her. They misunderstood her, because a person truly inarticulate was incomprehensible to them. Her naïveté they mistook for insolence, her dreaminess for disrespect. They confused her memory with her understanding. They gave her books to read, brought her to lectures, sat her at the theatre, took her to hear sermons, prayed with her and drank with her the holy wine. And some would say, "Isn't she coming on?" or "Isn't she developing?" and others, more perceiving, would say, "Well, even if she isn't getting anything from it, at least she's seeing life"; while others, more perceiving still, gave her up as past hope. "She has no brains," they said. Others, still more perceiving, said she had no soul, no love; she cared for no one, understood nothing. She, for her part, went on almost as ever, and remained next to inarticulate. Only now and again the hubbub of battle in the schoolroom would awaken her to some sort of conscious exasperation. She would appeal to her class, staring at them with eyes from which all gentleness and affection had merged into astonishment and indignation. For the rest, lack of life, lack of sun, lack of life influence told upon her beauty. She did not understand the influence of the ill-constituted around her, and did not understand the pain which now and again thrilled through her being, provoking sighs and word-sighs. Then those friend-acquaintances, ever on the alert for an expression of real meaning, interpreted her sighs and longings for week-ends in the country. Verily it is true, one cannot serve God and mammon. There was no health forthcoming through this compromise with life. She merely felt more pain. She continued her work in the town, and was enrolled and fixed in many little circles where little wheels moved greater wheels in the great state-machine. Ostensibly, always now, whatever new she did was a step toward saving her soul. I met her one January night; she was going to a tea-meeting in connection with a literary society. Very grey her face looked. Many of the old beautiful curves were gone, and mysteries about her dimples and black hair-clusters seemed departed irrevocably. Still much in her slept safe, untouched as ever, and, as ever, she was without thoughts. Her memory suggested what she should say to me. "It will be interesting," she remembered. I helped her off with coat and furs. She was dressed wonderfully. The gown she wore--of deep cinnamon and gold--was still the dress of Zenobia, and at her bosom the strange flower exhaled its mystery. I went in with her to the hot room. She was evidently a queen here, as in the forest glades. And her pale face lit up as she moved about among the "little-worldlings" and exchanged small-talk and cakes and tea. She was evidently in some way responsible for the entertainment, for the chairman said "they all owed her so much." I watched her face, it showed no sign of unusual gratification; had he slighted her, I am sure she would have listened as equably. What a mask her face was! The look of graciousness was permanent, and probably only to me did she betray her continuous sleepiness and lack of interest in the whole affair. Members propounded stupendously solemn questions about the "salvation of man," the "state of progress," the mystic meaning of passages of the Bible, and the like; and I watched her draw on her memory for answers. She was never at a loss, and her interlocutors went away, and named their little child-thoughts after her. I took her away at last and whispered some things in her ears, and showed her what could be seen of moon and stars from the narrow street, and something of the old summer feeling came over us. How the old time sang sorrowfully back, plaintively, piteously. Our steps sounded along some silent streets, the doors of the little houses were shut and dark. They might have been the under doors of tombs. Silently we walked along together, and life sang its little song to us from the depths of its prison. It sounded like the voice of a lover now lost for ever, one worth more beyond compare than any that could come after. There is no going back. I saw her to her little home and touched her tenderly at Goodbye. She went in. The door closed and I was left standing alone in front of the closed door, and there was none around but myself. Then I was aware of a gust in the night-breeze blowing up for rain. Time had changed. Something had been taken from the future and something had been added to the past. The spiral gusts lifted the unseen litter of the street, and with them the harpies rose in my breast. And words impetuous would have burst out like the torrents of rain which the dark sky threatened. The torrent came. A girl like this simply grows like a flower on a heath, blossoms, fades, withers, and is lost. No more than that. I scarcely tell what I want to say. Oh, how strongly I would whisper it into the inmost heart! Life is not thoughts, is not calm, is not sights, is not reading or music, is not the refinement of the senses,--Life is--life. This is the great secret. This is the original truth, and if we had never begun to think, we should never have lost our instinctive knowledge. In one place flowers rot and die; in another, bloom and live. The truth is that in this city they rot and die. This is not a suitable place for a strong life; men and women here are too close together, there is not enough room for them, they just spring up thinly and miserably, and can reach no maturity, and therefore wither away. All around are the ill-constituted, the decaying, the dying. What chance had fresh life coming into the tainted air of this stricken city--this city where provision is made only for the unhealthy? For here, because something is the matter, every one has begun conscience-dissecting--thinking--and a rumour has got abroad that we live to get thoughts of God. And because thoughts of God are novel and comforting, they have been raised up as the great desideratum. And the state of society responsible for the production of these thoughts is considered blessed. The work of intensifying the characteristics of that society is thought blessed, and because in ease we think not, we prefer to live in disease. And the progress of disease we call Progress. So Progress and Thought are substituted for Life. There _is_ a purpose of God in this city, but there is as much purpose in the desert. There is no astonishingly great purpose. The disease will work itself out. And I know God's whole truth to man was revealed long since, and any one of calm soul may know it. The hope of learning the purpose through the ages, the following of the gleam, is the preoccupation of the insane. What do all these people and this black city want to make of _her_? She, and ten thousand like her, need life. Life, not thought, or progress, just the same old human life that has always been going on. The rain was pouring heavily and I took shelter. I felt calmer; I had unpacked myself of words. Rather mournfully I now looked out into the night, and, as it were, ceased to speak to it, and became a listener. A song of sorrow came from the city, the wailing of mothers uncomforted, of children orphaned, uncared for, of forsaken ones. I heard again the old reproach of the children sitting in the market. "Here surely," I said, "where so many are gathered together, there is more solitude and lonely grief than in all the wide places of the earth!" Voices came up to me from thousands in a city where thousands of hands were uplifted to take a cup of comfort that cannot be vouchsafed. Is there a way out for _her_? Is there a way out for them? "For her perhaps, for them not," something whispered within me inexorably. "And Death?" The wind caught up the whisper "death" caressingly and took it away from me over the city, and wove it in and out through all the streets and all the dark lanes, and about the little chimneys, and the windows. Is there a way out for her?--Perhaps. There are some beings so full of life that even the glutton Death must disgorge them. III THE LITTLE DEAD CHILD In the little town of Gagri on the Caucasian shore of the Black Sea there is a beautiful and wonderful church surviving from the sixth century, a work of pristine Christianity. It is but the size of a cottage, and just the shape of a child's Noah's Ark, but made of great rough-hewn blocks of grey stone. One comes upon the building unexpectedly. After looking at Gagri's ancient ruins, her fortresses, her wall built by Mithridates, one sees suddenly in a shadowy close six sorrowful little cypresses standing absolutely still--like heavily dressed guardsmen--and behind the cypresses and their dark green brooms, the grey wall of the church, solid, eternal. One's eyes rest upon it as upon a perfect resting-place. If Gagri has an organic life, this church must be its beating heart. I came to Gagri one Saturday afternoon after the first two hundred and fifty miles tramping of my pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and at this little church I witnessed a strange sight. I had hardly admired the grey interior, the bare walls growing into the roof in unbroken curves, the massive stone rood-screen, the sorrowful faces in the holy pictures, when a little procession filed into the church; four girls carrying a flower-bedecked coffin, half a dozen elders, and a pack of children carrying candles--a sight at once terrible and diurnal, a child's funeral. Russian churches, having no chairs, have the appearance of being almost empty. In the centre of this emptiness at Gagri church two trestles were put up, and the open coffin placed upon them; in the coffin, lying in a bed of fresh flowers and dressed in delicate white garments, was a little dead child. The coffin was perfectly and even marvellously arranged; it would be difficult to imagine anything more beautiful, and at the same time more terrible. A girl of about four years, she lay in the coffin as in bed, with her head somewhat raised, and the face looking directly at the altar and at the sorrowful pictures; on her head was a cream silk embroidered bonnet, on her forehead, from ear to ear, a paper _riza_ with delicate line drawings of the story of the girl's angel, St. Olga. A high lighted candle stood at her head, two little ones at each side, and two at her feet. The bonnet and the dress were tied with little bits of pink ribbon; the child's hands, small, white, all lovely, lay one upon another, and in one of them was a little white cross. The face and arms were the colour of fine grey wax, the lips thin, dark red and set--the little dead girl looked steadfastly at the Ikons. I stood and wondered. Round about the coffin were a score of people, mostly little children, who every now and then nicked away flies that were about to settle on the dead body. The grey church and its beauty melted away. There was only a little grey wax figure lying poised before the face of Christ, and little children flicking away flies. Among the flowers in the coffin I noticed a heavy metal cross--it would be buried with her. Hanging over the trestles at each of the four corners were gorgeous hand-embroidered towels. "This is some rich person's child," I thought as I waited--it was twenty minutes before the father, the mother, and the priest arrived. I was mistaken; this was the child of ordinary peasants. * * * * * I wonder the mother was allowed to come to church; she was frantic with grief. When she came into the church she fell down on her knees and hugged the dead body and kissed it and sobbed--sobbed so horribly that except for the children there was no one present who kept dry eyes. The husband stood with his hands dangling at his side, his lips all puckered, his hair awry, and the tears streaming down his red cheeks. But when the priest came in he took the good woman aside and quieted her, and in his words surely was comfort. "Those who die as children are assured of that glorious life above, for of them Christ said, 'Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, _for of such is the kingdom of heaven._' Least of all should we grieve when a child dies." I held a candle with the others and joined in the little service, and when the service was over ate of the boiled rice and grapes that were handed round to save us from evil spirits. The candles were put out, the priest retired, and then the sobbing broke forth once more, the people crowded round the coffin and one by one kissed the little dead one, kissed her again and again. Most of all the little children kissed her, and the father in distraction stood by, calling out in broken treble, "Say good-bye to her, children, say good-bye!" Last of all, the wild mother said good-bye, and was only taken away by sheer force. Then the lid was put on the coffin, and the four girls--they were each about twelve years old--lifted it on the embroidered towels and carried it out of the church. The mother fainted and was taken into the open air, where one woman helped to revive her by pouring water on her head out of an old kettle, and another by drinking water and spurting it out again in her face. Meanwhile the father took eight nails--he had them in his pocket--and with all the crowd looking on, he nailed down the lid of the coffin. The girls once more lifted their burden upon the beautiful towels, and they bore it away to the grave. The crowd followed them with hymns-- All we like dust go down into the grave, the sound of their singing almost drowned by the beating of their uneven steps. The music modulated and died away to the silence of the evening. The little church remained grey and ancient, and the six cypresses stood unmoved, unmoving, like guards before some sacred portal.... And the pilgrim goes on his way. IV HOW THE OLD PILGRIM REACHED BETHLEHEM At New Athos monastery in one of the common hostels there were some hundred peasant men and women, mostly pilgrims. It was after supper; some of the company were melting away to the dormitories, others remained talking. There was one topic of conversation common to all. An old greybeard palmer had broken down that afternoon and died. He had been almost his whole life on the road to Jerusalem, and we all felt sad to think that he had been cut off when he was truly nearing the Holy Land. "He wished to go since he was a little boy," said old Jeremy, an aged pilgrim in a faded crimson shirt. Every one paid respect to Jeremy and listened to him. He was a placid greybeard who had spent all his life upon the road, full of wisdom, gentle as a little child, and very frail. "He wished to go when he was a little boy--that means he began to go when he was a little boy, for whenever you begin to wish you begin the pilgrimage. After that, no matter where you are, you are sure to be on the way. Up in the north the rivers flow under the earth, and no one sees them. But suddenly the river appears above the land, and the people cry out, 'See, the river is flowing to the sea.' But it began to go to the sea long ago. So it was with Mikhail. All his life he was a pilgrim. He lived in a distant land. He was born of poor parents, not here, but far away in the Petchora province--oh, far, far away." Grandfather Jeremy waved his hand to signify how far. "Four thousand versts at least, and he hasn't come straight by a long way. Most of the way he walked, and sometimes he got a lift, sometimes a big lift that took him on a long way." "Ah, ah!" said a youngster sympathetically, "and all in vain, all in vain--_naprasno, naprasno_--" Jeremy paid no attention. "Big lifts," his voice quavered. "And now he is there. Yes, now he is there." "Where, grandfather?" "There, where he wished to be, in the Holy City. He had got very tired, and God had mercy on him. God gave him his last lift. He is there now, long before us." "I don't see how you make that out," said a young man, a visitor, not a pilgrim. "God, I reckon, cheated him." "God never cheats," said Jeremy calmly. "God..." said the visitor, and was about to raise a discussion and try to convert these pilgrims from their superstition. But Jeremy interrupted him. For the old man, though a peasant, had a singular dignity. "Hush! Pronounce not His name lightly. I will tell you a story." "Silence now!" cried several. "Hear grandfather's story!" The old man then told the story of an aged pilgrim who had died on his way to Jerusalem. I thought he was repeating the story of the life of Mikhail, so like were his present words to those that had gone before. But the issue was different. In this case the pilgrim died and was buried in a little village near Odessa. He was a penniless beggar. In grandfather's picturesque language, "he had no money; instead of which he bore the reproach of Christ. He found other men's charity.... "All his life he wandered towards Bethlehem. He used to say he pilgrimaged not towards Calvary, but towards Bethlehem. The thought that the Roman officials had treated Christ as a thief was too much for him to bear. "He who possessed all things they treated as one who had stolen a little thing...." The old man paused at this digression, and stared around him with an expression of terror and stupefaction. There was a silence. "Go on, Jeremy," said some one impatiently. Jeremy proceeded. "He always journeyed towards Bethlehem, and whenever he saw a little child, a little baby, he would say to the mother that it foretold him what it would be like for him at the Holy Land. And of the cradles he would always say they were just the shape of the manger where the baby Christ was laid. "He was very dear to mothers, you may be sure, and he never lacked their blessing. "He travelled very slowly, for in Moscow a motor-car ran over his foot, and he always needed a strong staff. He was ill-treated sometimes in the towns, where the dogs bit him and the street children aimed stones. But he never took offence. He smiled, and thought how little his sufferings had been compared with those of the saints. "So he grew old. "'You are old, grandfather; you will never reach Jerusalem,' the peasant women told him. But he always smiled and said, 'As God wills. Perhaps if I die I shall see it sooner.' "And he died, poor, wretched, uncared for, in the streets of a little village near Odessa, and children came and beat off the hungry dogs from his body with sticks. "'What is this?' said one policeman to another. "'A _Bogo-moletz_ (God-prayer) dead, that's all,' was the reply. "'No money?' "'None. If he had any his pockets have been picked.' "By his passport he belonged to Petchora province, far away. No one knew him. No one claimed him. "'It means he must be buried at the public expense,' said the head man of the village, and spat upon the ground. "In the whole village only the coffin maker rejoiced, and he had small cause, since a pauper's coffin costs but a shilling. "'He must be buried on the common,' said the head man. 'There's no room in the churchyard.' "'But a pilgrim,' said an objector. 'You must bury him in consecrated ground; you can't shut him out of the Heavenly Kingdom.' "'No matter. Ask the priest. If the dead man can pay for a plot of ground for a grave, well and good; or if the villagers will subscribe....' "The head man looked at the little crowd assembled. They were a poor and needy crowd. No one answered him. Then, without doing any more, the head man walked away, and the dead body remained in the street. "It seemed no one would pay for the grave, but in the afternoon a woman who lived on the outskirts came and claimed the pilgrim as a distant relative. He could scarcely have been a relative, except inasmuch as we are all descended from Adam. "The head man and the village priest rejoiced, and the woman took the dead body home and washed it, and clothed it in white linen, and she ordered a three-rouble coffin covered with purple cloth. "But she was a very poor woman, and when she had paid for the grave she had no money to pay for singers and for prayers. "'God will have mercy,' she said. 'And belike he was a good man, a pilgrim.' "And that woman was a virgin," added Jeremy abruptly and, as I thought, irrelevantly. But the chambers of that old man's mind were strangely furnished. "She was a virgin. What remains to be said? She hired a man to dig a grave, and another to wheel the barrow with the coffin. She had no friends who would follow the coffin with her, but in the main street she found a cripple whom she had once befriended, and two little boys who liked to sing the funeral chant. "Thus the old pilgrim was taken to the grave, and in his honour a simple woman, two street children, and a cripple followed his corse." * * * * * There was a long pause. "You think he died," old Jeremy went on. "Oh, no; he did not die, he only went on more quickly. When he fell down dead in the street his soul suddenly began a new life, a life like a dream. Whilst the dogs were barking and snapping at his old legs he suddenly saw in front of him in the darkness a great bright star beckoning him, and in his new life he got up from the road and rushed towards that star--rushed, for he felt young again, younger than any boy, and all the lameness and tiredness were passed away. "Suddenly, in front of him, and coming to meet him, he saw a horse, draped all in silk, and attendants. A man came up to him and saluted him, offered him a crown, and bade him rise up upon the horse. He sat upon the horse, and, looking at himself, saw that he was dressed in cloth of gold. Behind him was a great train of attendants, carrying gifts. And they all journeyed forward, towards the star. "Eh, brothers," said Jeremy, looking round, "what a change in the estate of our poor friend! He has now become one of the first, because on earth he was one of the last. He is a king." The listeners were all silent, and the narrator enjoyed a triumph. * * * * * Jeremy's cracked old voice went on, and now again somewhat irrelevantly. "And the woman, who was a virgin, conceived and bore a child, and she was so poor that the child was laid in a manger. And three kings arrived, bearing precious gifts, and they did homage unto the child. It was at Bethlehem. One of these kings was the poor pilgrim who died on his way to the Holy Land." "What woman was this?" said the visitor contemptuously. "Your wits are wandering, old man. Do you mean it was the same woman who buried him?" "The same," said Jeremy huskily, "only in a different world. There are other worlds, you know. But it is very true. He came as one of the kings. And the woman now has a beautiful child. She knows.... So we shan't be very sad about Mikhail. I think he also to-day is following that star, and will be at Bethlehem to-night." "Only it doesn't happen to be Christmas Eve," said the sceptical visitor. "Eh, hey," said another pilgrim, breaking in, "there's a man--he doesn't know that it is Christmas every day in the year at Bethlehem." IV THE WANDERER'S STORY I. MY COMPANION When star passes star once in a thousand years, or perhaps once in the forever, and does not meet again, what a tale has each to tell! So with tramps and wanderers when two meet upon the road, what a tale of life is due from one to the other. Many tramps have I met in the world. Far from the West I have met those who came far from the East, and men have passed me coming from the South, and men from the North. And sometimes men have suddenly appeared on my way as if they had fallen from the sky, or as if they had started up out of the earth. One morning when I was dwelling in a cave between a mountain and a river I met him who tells this story. Probably the reader has never lived in a cave and does not appreciate cave life--the crawling in at night, the long and gentle sleep on the soft grey sand, the crawling out again at morning, the washing in the river, the stick-collecting and kettle-boiling, the berry-gathering, the lazy hours of noon, the lying outstretched on the springy turf, sun-drinking, the wading in the river and the plashing of the rushing water over one's legs; sunny days, grey days, rainy days, the joyous delight in the beautiful world, the exploration of one's own heart, the sadness of self-absorption. It was on a grey day when I met the strange tramp whose life-mystery is here told. I came upon him on a quiet forenoon, and was surprised by him. He came, as it were, out of thin air. I had been looking at the river with eyes that saw not--I was exploring my own heart and its memories--when suddenly I turned round and saw him, smiling, with a greeting on his countenance. It was long since I had looked upon a man; for though quite near the highway, no one had found me out in my snug cave. I was like a bird that had built a nest within earshot of a road along which many schoolboys ran. And any one discovering my little house was like to say, "Fancy, so near to the road, so unsuspected!" "Good-morning, friend," said I, "and greeting! You are the first who has found his way to this cave. You are a wanderer like myself, I perceive. Come, then, and share my noonday solitude, and in return give me what you have to share." "Forgive me," said he, "I thought I heard a voice; that was why I came. I thought I heard a call, a cry." I looked at him. He was a strange man, but with something peculiarly familiar in his figure. His dark hair spread over a brow whiter than mine, and veiled two deep and gentle eyes; and his sun-tanned face and dusty hat made him look like a face such as one sometimes sees in a dream. "You heard not me," I answered, "unless it was my thoughts that you heard." He smiled. I felt we need not say more. I sat with my back to the sun and he lay stretched in front of me, and thus we conversed; thus two wanderers conversed, two like spirits whose paths had crossed. "Now tell me," said I, "who you are, dear wanderer, stretched out at my feet like a shadow, and like a shadow of my own life. How long have you been upon the road, when did you set out, where is your home and why did you leave it?" The tramp smiled. "I am a wanderer and a seeker," he replied. "In one sense the whole world is my home, in that I know all its roads and am nowhere a stranger. In another sense I have no home, for I know not where I began or where I come from. I do not belong to this world." "What!" said I, starting up suddenly and consequently disturbing my companion. "You are then an apparition, a dream-face, a shadow. You came out of thin air!" I stood up, and he turned familiarly about me and whispered like an echo in my ear, "Out of thin air." And he laughed. "And you?" he went on. "On what star did you begin? Can _you_ tell me? Never yet have I found a man who could answer that question. But we do not know, because we cannot remember. My conscious life began one evening long ago when I stepped out of a coach on to a high road, this same road by which you have your cave. I had come from God-knows-where. I went backward, I came forward; I went all about and round about, and never found my kith and kin. I was absorbed into the world of men and shared its illusions, lived in cities, worked for causes, worshipped idols. But thanks to the bright wise sun I always escaped from those 'gloomy agreeable nooks.' It has now become my religion to avoid the town, the places where men make little homes which make us forget that in truth we have no homes. I have learned to do without the town, without the great machine that provides man with a _living._ I have sucked in a thousand rains, and absorbed a thousand suns, lain on many thousand banks of the earth. I have walked at the foot of mountains along long green valleys, I have climbed great ranges and peeped over them, I have lived in barren and in fertile places, and my road-companion has been Nature herself." I smiled upon my visitor and said, "How like you are to me, my friend! Stay with me and let us talk awhile. Grey days come, and rain, and we shall live in this cave together and converse. In you I see a brother man. In you as in a clear mirror I see the picture of my own soul, a darling shadow. Your songs shall be the words of my happiness, your yearning shall be the expression of my own aching heart. I shall break bread with you and we shall bathe together in the river. I shall sleep with you and wake with you, and be content to see you where'er I turn." That evening at sunset he crawled with me into the cave. And he slept so sweetly that I held him in my own heart. Next morning at sunrise we clambered out together, and together we gathered sticks, and together bent over the fire and blew into its struggling little flames. Life was rich. We hob-nobbed together. We doubled all our happinesses, and we promised to share all our griefs. Sitting on the rocks--there were many of them about, of all shape and size--we taught one another songs. I wrote songs; he sang them. I told him of places where I had been; he described them to me so that they lived again before me. I told him of beauteous women I had met; he had met them also and revealed to me their loving hearts. He could give the leaping love in my heart a precious name. I verily believe that when the sun was setting golden behind a great cliff, he could bid it stop and shine upon us an hour longer. Timid and shy at first, he grew more daring afterwards and interpreted my wishes even before I was myself aware of them. He was constantly devising some new happiness. His bird's heart was a fast overflowing fountain. Then when rainy days came we crouched together in the cave like night-birds sheltered from the day, and we whispered and recounted and planned. I scribbled in my diary in pencil, and he re-wrote my scribbling in bright-coloured chalks, and drew side pictures and wrote poems. Many are the pages we thus wrote together; some he wrote, some I wrote, and there are many from both of us in this volume. When I thought to make a book he laughed and said, "You are making to yourself a graven image." He held it idolatry to imagine that beautiful visions could be represented in words. "I shall not worship the book," I urged. "Other people may, or they may revile it," he answered, laughing. "It's the same sin." "Lest they worship or revile idolatrously, I shall write a notice," said I. "For though I praise Nature ill, and express her ill, she, the wonderful spirit, is beyond all praise or blame." And I wrote these words: "_Lest any one should think that in these pages life itself is accounted for, any beauty set down in words, any yearning defined, or sadness utterly plumbed, it is hereby notified that such appreciation is false--that in these pages lies only the symbol of life, the guide-post to the hearts of those who wrote the words. Follow, gentle reader, the directions we have given; tread the roads that we have trod, and see again what we have seen._" To which I added this note: "_The poetry is from my companion's pen, the prose from mine._" And my companion, not content with that, wrote a postscript: "_There is no prose, and the pen by itself writes nothing at all._" II. HOW MY COMPANION FOUND HIMSELF IN A COACH "There is one event in my life that I cannot account for," said my companion, "and it has conditioned all my living, an event psychologically strange. I appear, in a way, to have lost my memory at one era of my existence. I look at the event I am going to relate, and simply stare in perplexed wonder. Somewhere, somewhen, I lost something in my mind! What was that something? "Most people can tell the story of their life as they themselves remember it. Their memory takes them back to their earliest years, and the memory seems satisfactory to them. But there is a mystery in mine which to my mind remains unexplained. I remember nothing before the age of twenty-one. As far as my memory is concerned I might have been born then. More strange still, I recognise nothing of a past before then, and no one comes out of that past and claims recognition of me. "This I remember in a dim phantasmal way as the very beginning of things: my getting into a coach in a white mist. Even in that I constantly feel a doubt that my imagination has been playing false with memory. Certainly I do remember finding myself in a coach, but at the startled moment when my conscious life began, it appeared to me that I had never been anywhere in my life but sitting in the coach. A certain intellectual _horror vacuum_ may have evoked that mental image of an entering of the coach, but even then I wholly fail to fill in the life and place from which I came. All behind that strange misty entering on the coach-steps is grey, empty mist-land. "It was a large, smooth-rolling coach, most like a commodious omnibus, and full of a most jovial company. I sat half-way along one of the two lengthy seats, and opposite me was a red-faced man, with large shiny eyes and greasy hair. On one side of me was a jolly country girl of about twenty-five, on the other a thin, dry-looking man. There was an incessant din of conversation and singing; we were leaning towards one another, and saying what jolly fellows we were, we should never part. A bottle was always going round, and every now and then the postilion blew his horn; six horses clattered in front, the dust rolled off behind. I remember myself in a strange state of excitement. "It was afternoon when I began to think. Actually, at that time I knew I had no memory, but I dared not face the fact. I strove to evade thought by being one of the company. How my cheeks burned as I laughed and talked! I remember pulling a fat man by the sleeve, and whispering in his ear some secret that made us roll back and collapse in laughter. And the coach sped on. "It seemed an eternal afternoon--chiefly because it filled up all the past for me. I could remember nought before it. "At last, however, a grand sunset ran scarlet over the whole sky--we still jested, and it was at this time that a little dwarf-like man in a corner appeared fearful to me; there was a fiery reflection of the sunset in his eyes. I saw him once so, I dared not look again. Thoughts were fighting me. My jollity was losing ground. I foresaw that in a short time I should cease to belong to the company, that I should belong utterly to myself, and there would be no escaping from my thoughts. Then at last we passed out of the sunlit country into a place of grey light. It was really natural; the sunset was gone, here was grey twilight. But my disordered mind expected I know not what, either eternal sunset or sudden black night; I cannot say now. I was struck with terror. And standing still with myself, I felt absolutely confounded by the self-question I asked. "'Where are we going?' "Till that moment I had not realised that ignorance of the Past meant ignorance of the Future. I asked where we were going. The laughter and conversation increased. I was answered, but in a jargon I found quite incomprehensible. Another question. "'Who under heaven were these people?' "I stood up and staggered. I must have appeared drunk, for I was greeted with howls and cheers, an inferno of cries and laughter; and the red-faced man stood up also and clung to me, and brought his queer face close up to mine. The girl also clung to me. Then it occurred to me, this was the crisis of a nightmare; in a moment these phantasmal restraints would burst, and I should find myself peacefully--where? "I remember what seemed a prolonged struggle among laughter and sighs and affectionate clingings, and I got at last out at the door and down the steps. I found myself weakly turning about on my heels on an excessively dusty road. Just ahead of me the coach rolled off into the future stretches of the road, the postilion wound his horn, and the clouds of dust rose up behind the wheels. "And I was in an open place in the cool of evening. A grey-blue sky above, with the faintest glitter of first stars! I was alone. The past was a mystery; my future unexplored, full of the unimaginable; the ultimate future of course like my past. "Such was my beginning--the event of my life, in the shadow of which I live and by virtue of which, though I know every road and house of the world, I yet am homeless. No happening in my being but I must view it in the light of that strange initial mystery. With the problem of that past unsolved, I have never found anything in the ordinary matters of life proposed as all-absorbing occupations. Because of that, I am upon the road. I have made research, and have asked questions of all whom I have met, but I got no answer, and I tired most people with my problem. They say to me lightly, 'Your coach was a dream,' and I answer, 'If so, then what before the dream? '" "We are all of us like you and your coach," I said to my companion. "Some of us know it and some do not, that is all. Some forget the mystery and others remember it." "_We_ remember it," said the wanderer. "Because of it we are irreconcilables, but ..." he added, looking with a smile at the beautiful world about our cave, "almost reconciled; inconsolable, yet seeing how lovely is this mysterious universe, almost consoled. Most men forget, but many remember; yet whether they remember or no, they are all orphans nevertheless, lost children and homeless ones. We who sing and write and who remember are the voices of humanity. We speak for millions who are voiceless." III. IRRECONCILABLES One long sunny morning we talked of the life of the wanderer, and my companion continued his story and recounted how he had found a brotherhood of men like himself. "When first I found myself thus upon the world, I was full of hope to find an answer to the mystery. But the many fellow-beings I met upon my road were as profitless as my companions in the coach. They could not explain me, they could not explain the world or themselves, and in the midst of teeming knowledges they were obliged to confess one ignorance; among the myriad objects which they could explain they had to acknowledge a whole universe of the inexplicable. I said to them, 'What is all your knowing worth beside the terrible burden of your ignorance, and what are things that you can explain compared with those that are inexplicable?' "But I found these people proud of their little knowledges, and of the matters they could explain. They were not even startled when I called upon them to remember the great volcano of ignorance, on the slopes of which they were building their little palaces. "First I despised them, and then I loved them. But I shuddered at the thought that I, an unknown person, unknown to myself and unrecognised by a God, should love people equally unknown--a shadow loved other shadows, and like a shadow I trembled. "When I learned to love, I felt like a god--just as when the sun learned to warm, he knew that he was a sun. I became like a sun over a little world, and people who did not understand basked in my light and heat. "But one day love was lost in a cloud, as the sun is lost in a mist which it itself has raised from the earth, and I thought: 'What a fool am I, content to dwell among such people, and be as a king over _them_. All that divides me from them is that I know that I know not, and they do not even know that. For they rank their earth knowledge as something more worthy than all their ignorance. I will go forth into the world, and seek for those who are like myself, irreconcilable in front of the inexplicable.' "I sought them in towns and found them not, for the people, like foolish virgins forgetful of the bridegroom, slumbered and slept. I sought them upon deserts and mountains, and upon the wild plains, but there man was of the earth and beautiful, though not aware of his kingdom beyond the earth. But in the country places I met wise old men who kept candles burning before my shrine, and in the houses of the poor I met the body-wearied, world-defeated, and they, having lost all, found the one hope that I cherished. And in the pages of books, by converse with the dead, I found the great spiritual brotherhood. "We are many upon the world--we irreconcilables. We cry inconsolably like lost children, 'Oh, ye Gods, have ye forgotten us? Oh, ye Gods, or servants of gods, who abandoned us here, remember us!' "For perhaps we are kidnapped persons. Perhaps thrones lie vacant on some stars because we are hidden away here upon the earth. I for one have a royal seal on my bosom, a mysterious mark, the sign of a royal house. Ah, my brothers, we are all scions of that house. "One day I met a man who voluntarily sought death in order to penetrate the mystery of the beyond. But no sign showed itself forth to us, and we know not whether by his desperate deed he won what we have lost, or whether, perchance, he lost all that we can ever win. "The burden of my ignorance is hard to bear," he cried. The burden of our ignorance is hard to bear. Thus we cry, but there comes no answer, and the eternal silence which enfolds the earth is unbroken. Yet the stars still shine, promising but not fulfilling. We have become star-gazers, we irreconcilables; expecters of signs and wonders. We live upon every ridge of the world, and have made of every mountain a watch-tower; and from the towers we strain our eyes to see past the stars. For the stars are perchance but the flowers in a garden, or the lights upon the walls of a garden, and beyond them is the palace of our fathers. "And since the early days till now," said my companion, "I have wandered about the world, sometimes sojourning a while in a town, but seldom for long. For the town is not a good place." Then I told him how the town had tempted me, and we compared experiences. We told of the times when we had come nigh forgetting. "Just think," said I to him, "I should never have found you had I been swallowed up in the town." "And I should never have lain at your feet in the sun," he replied. "You would never have noticed me in the town." IV. "HOW THE TOWNSMAN TEMPTED ME" "Once I was tempted by a townsman," said the wanderer, "but instead of converting me with his town, he was himself converted by the country. "For many years I wandered by seashores, asking questions of the sea. When I came to the sea it was singing its melancholy song, the song that it has sung from its birth, and it paused neither to hear nor to answer me. Ever rolling, ever breaking, ever weeping, it continued its indifferent labour. I walked along its far-stretching sands, leaving footprints which it immediately effaced. I clambered upon its cliffs and sat looking out to sea for days, my eyes shining like lighthouse fires. But the sea revealed not itself to me. Or perhaps it had no self to reveal. And I could not reveal myself to it; but the sea expressed itself to me as a picture of my mystery. "I wandered inland to placid lakes, the looking-glasses of the clouds. I threw pebbles into their waters, disturbing their pure reflections, but the disturbances passed away harmlessly into nothingness, and the lakes once more reflected the sky. "Then I said to my heart, 'We must wander over all the world in search of my homeland, but chance shall not be my guide. I shall loose the reins to thee. Where thou leadest I will follow.' "I followed my heart through verdant valleys up into a mountain high above a great town. And there for some while I made my abiding place. For I had learned that from a mountain I could see further than from a valley. In the towns my horizons had been all walls, but from this high mountain I looked far over the world. * * * * * "One day there came towards my mountain a townsman who tried to lure me to the city below. He was too tired to climb up to me, but from low down he called out,' You unhappy one, come down out of the height and live with us in the town. We have learnt the art of curing all sorrow. Let us teach you to forget it, and live among our many little happinesses.' "And I answered him, 'It is our glory that we shall never forget.' Nevertheless I was tempted and came down. "The townsman was exceedingly glad, and even before I reached the gates of his city he said to me, 'In after years you will remember me as the man who saved you.' "'How?' said I. 'Am I already saved?' "'No,' he replied. 'But in the town is your salvation. You will find work to do, and you will not need to return to your mountain to pray. You will understand that work itself is prayer--_laborare est orare_. Your prayer towards the sky was barren and profitless, but prayer towards the earth, _work_, will give full satisfaction to your soul.' "And I mocked him. "'What lie is this?' I said. 'How do you dare to confuse labour and prayer? Learn from me, my friend, that work is work, and prayer is prayer. It is written in the old wisdom--"Six parts of thy time shalt thou work for thy bread, and on the seventh thou shalt pray." _Orare est orare; laborare est laborare_.' "On the outskirts of the town there were men paving the streets. 'Behold how these men pray!' exclaimed my companion. 'They pave the streets; that is their prayer. They do not gaze at the stars; their eyes are ever on the earth, their home. They have forgotten that there are any stars. They are happy!' "'Their souls sleep,' I answered him. "'Quite so,' he replied, 'their souls sleep and thus they are happy. They had no use for their souls, therefore we purveyed them sleep, "balm of hurt minds." We gave them narcotics.' "'Tell me your narcotics.' "'The Gospel of Progress--that is our opium; it gives deep sleep and sweet dreams. It is the most powerful of drugs. When a man takes it once he takes it again, for it tempts him with the prospect of its dreams.' "'I shall not taste of it,' said I, 'for I prize Truth above all dreams. What other narcotics have you, sleep-inducing?' "My companion paused a moment, then replied: "' There are two sovereign remedies for the relief of your sorrow, a life of work, or a life of pleasure. But work needs to be done under the influence of the Gospel of Progress. Without a belief in progress, man cannot believe that work is prayer, and that God is a taskmaster. His soul wakes up. He commits suicide or crime. Or he deserts the city, and goes, as you have done, up into the mountains.' "'One narcotic helps out the other,' I hazarded. "'Quite so. Pleasure is the alternative remedy, a perfectly delightful substitute for your life: wine, the theatre, art, women. But as in taking laudanum, one must graduate the doses--take too much and you are poisoned--' "'Wine,' I said. 'I have heard of it. It has been praised by the poets, and its service is that it makes one forget! The theatre, its comedies and farces and cunning amusements all designed to help me to forget! Art with its seductions is to obsess the soul with foreign thoughts! Women who languish upon one's eyes and tempt with their beauties, they also would steal away our memories. I will have none of them.' "'I spoke of women in general,' said my tempter. 'But think of one woman marvellously wrought for thee, the achiever and finisher of thy being, the answer to all thy questionings, the object of all thy yearnings. In the town thou wilt find the woman for thee, and she will bear thee children.' "'You misinterpret my needs, O friend of the town,' I said. 'I do not look to the stars to find a woman. My yearnings are not towards a woman of this earth. Well do I know that you have offered me the most deadly delusion in this woman, _perfectly wrought for my being_. You have taken hold of all my inexpressible yearning and have written over it the word _woman_. And when one of us irreconcilables marries, it often happens that he forgets his loneliness and loses the sense of his mystery. His wife becomes a little house which he lives inside, and his soul is covered up and lost by her. Where he used to see the eternal stars, he sees a woman, and as he understands her, he thinks he understands himself." "'But consider,' proceeded my tempter, 'the woman who is exactly the complement of yourself, a woman marvellously and uniquely fashioned to round you off and supply your deficiencies, and use your superfluities.' "'If such there be,' I replied, 'I shall not seek her in the town. I know what you mean. I ought to make a home and rear up the second generation. I ought to renounce my own future and dedicate myself to a child so that the mistakes in the old may be set right in the new. I must try to put a child on the road that I missed when I myself was a child, put it in the old coach, perhaps, with a passport in its hand. Even so, that solves no problem, rather multiplies my own problem. What is deathless in man is not answered in that way. What does it profit man that mankind goes on? We cannot tell. But it is clear that we learn nothing new thereby. Rather, as it seems, we forget what we have learned.' "My friend smiled and said, 'You will think differently later.' Meanwhile he brought me into the heart of his town, a great city of idolaters and opium-eaters. And he took me to the gaming tables of pleasure and the gaming tables of work, and he sought to enchant me with figures and hypnotise me with the gleam of gold. He showed me how fortunes were made in roulette and in commerce, and tried to bring upon me the gambler's madness. And I smiled and said: "'Behold the eyes of yonder gambler; his soul is asphyxied with gold. He pays that homage to the base gleam of a metal that I do to the light of the stars. He is an idolater.' "In the centre of the city a terrible fear troubled my soul, for it realised that it alone in all this great city of souls preserved its conscience and its wakefulness. By the glare of men's eyes it understood how all were somnambulists. We walked among millions who walked in their sleep. And in their sleep they committed terrible crimes. They looked at me with eyes that saw not; at the bidding of strange dreams they went forward secretly. "I beheld the thousand mockeries, and chief among them the mockery of our eternal mystery. Instead of the church that is the dome of heaven itself they had built churches of stone. And the people, urged by their dreams, congregated themselves in these churches and were ministered unto by false priests. And dreams of truth conflicted with nightmare enacted themselves. The churches fell out among themselves, and the people fought one another. False priests stood by irresolute, their soft, shapeless lips having been smoothed away by maxims and old words. And they stood in front of idols in a semblance of defence. "I pushed many priests aside; I thrust my sword through many idols. "'Come,' I said, 'your town is terrible. Let me away into my mountain again. You wish me to consider this world worthy of me; you offer me its small things in exchange for my great thing. You have not even small things to offer. Farewell!' "'And what is your doctrine?' he said to me at parting. As if we had a doctrine! "'For you,' I said, 'the worship of the explained; for us the remembrance of the inexplicable.'" V. HIS CONVERSION "'But your religion?' said the townsman. 'You spoke of your religion. What do you mean by religion?' "'Religion is to have charity: never to condemn, never to despair, never to believe that the finite can ever quite cover up the infinite, never to believe that anything is wholly explained, to see the inexplicable in all things, and to remember that words are idols and judgments are blasphemies. For words are the naming of things that are without name, and judgments are the limiting of the wonder of God. And what we call God is the inexplicable, the indefinable, the great Unknown to whom in the midst of the idolatry of Athens an altar was once erected.' "'As a child I learnt that God was He who made the world in six days,' said the townsman. 'God was He who delivered unto Moses the ten commandments. Is not this the same which you profess?' "'The same,' I answered. 'But you worship Him idolatrously. You limit the wonder of God by words. You limit God's fruitfulness to six days: and you say the world is finished and made. But for us the world is never finished; every spring is a new creation, every day God adds or takes away. And you limit God's laws to ten: you limit the Everlasting Wisdom to ten words. Words are your idols, the bricks out of which your idols and oracles are built. Listen, I will tell you what I have always found in towns. I have found words worshipped as something holy in themselves. Words were used to limit God, debase man. So is it in your town. Once man thought words; now words are beginning to think man. Once man conceived future progress; now your idol Progress is beginning to conceive future man. It is the same as with money; once man made money, but now in your idolatry money makes the man. Once man entered commerce that he might have more life; now he enters life that he may have more commerce. Of women, the very vessels and temples of human life, you have made clerks; of priestesses unto the Living God you have made vestals of the dead gold calf. You have insulted the dignity of man.' "I waited, but the townsman was silent. "'Is that not so?' I urged. "'You have your point of view; we have ours. You have your religion and we ours,' said the townsman obstinately. 'And _you_ use words, do you not? You have your terminology; you have your idols, just as we have. If not, then how do you use your words?' "Then I answered him: 'When I found myself upon the world I soon came under the sway of your words. Progress tempted me; commerce promised me happiness. I obeyed commandments and moral precepts, and eagerly swallowed rules of life. I prostrated myself before the great high public idols, I bowed to the little household gods, and cherished dearly your little proverb-idols and maxim-idols. The advice of Polonius to his son and such literature was to me the ancient wisdom. I became an idolater, and my body a temple of idolatry.' "'How then did you escape?' asked my companion. "'In this wise,' I answered. 'In my temple, as in ancient Athens, in the midst of the idols was an altar to the Unknown God, which altar from the first was present. That altar was to the mystery and beauty of life. "'By virtue of this altar I discovered my idolatry, and I recognised the forces of death to which I had bound myself. I broke away and escaped, and in place of all my idols I substituted my aspiring human heart, and it beat like a sacred presence in the clear temple of my being. "'Then words I degraded from their fame, and trampling them under my feet, I sang triumphantly to the limitless sky.' "'But still you use words,' said the townsman, 'you irreconcilables.' "'Yes. When we had degraded their fame and humbled them so that they came to us fawningly, asking to be used, we exalted them to be our servants. Now we are masters over them, and not they over us. They are content to be used, if but for a moment, and then forgotten for ever. We use them to reproduce in other minds the thoughts that are in our own. Woe if they ever get out of hand and become our masters again! They are our exchange metals. Woe if ever again we melt down those metals and recast them as idols! "'Come with me into the country,' I urged; and the townsman, as if foreseeing release from the bondage of his soul, allowed my flowing life to float him away from the haunts of his idolatry. Then as we passed from under the canopy of smoke and entered into the bright outside universe, I went on: "'Words are become but a small part of our language. We converse in more ways and with more people than of yore. All nature speaks to us; mountain and sea, river and plain, valley and forest; and we reveal our hearts to them, our longing, our hope, our happiness. And yet never entirely reveal. Not with words only do we converse, but with pictures, with music, with scent, with ... but words cannot name the sacred nameless mediums. And man speaks to man without words; with his eyes, with his hands, with his love...." "With that we walked some way together silently till at last the townsman put his arm in mine and said: 'In my temple also is an altar with an effaced inscription, methinks to the Ever-Living God. By your words you have revealed it to me. Let me accompany you into the beauty of the world, and interpret thou to me the mystery of its beauty.' "As if I could interpret! "'Behold,' I said, 'forest and mountain, the little copse and the grass under it, and delicate little flowers among the grass. List to the lark's song in the heavens, the wind soughing in the trees, the whispering of the leaves. In the air there is a mysterious incense spread from God's censers, the very language of mystery. Now you see far into the beauty of the world and hear tidings from afar. All the horizons of your senses have been extended. Are you not glad for all these impressions, these pictures and songs and perfumes? Every impression is a shrine, where you may kneel to God.' "'It is a beautiful world,' said he. "'It is beautiful in all its parts and beautiful every moment,' I replied. 'My soul constantly says "_Yes_" to it. Its beauty is the reminder of our immortal essence. The town is dangerous in that it has little beauty. It causes us to forget. It is exploring the illusion of trade, and its whole song is of trade. If you understand this, you have a criterion for Life-- "'_The sacred is that which reminds us; the secular is that which bids us forget_. "'When you have impressions of sight, noise, and smell, and these impressions have no shrine where one may kneel to God, it is a sure sign that you have forgotten Him, that you are dwelling in the courts of idols.' "'But it is painful to remember,' said my companion, 'and even now I have great pain. It is hard to leave the old, and painful to receive the new. My heart begins to ache for loneliness, and I long for the gaiety of the town and its diversions. I should like once more to drown my remembrances.' "I bade him have courage, for he was in the pains of birth. The old never lets out the new without pain and struggle, but when the new is born it is infinitely worthy. And my new friend was comforted. We spent many days upon the road, looking at beauty, conversing with one another, worshipping and marvelling. Along the country paths flowers looked up, and beautiful suns looked out of strange skies. Often it seemed we had been together upon the same road a thousand years before. Was it a remembrance of the time before my entering into the coach? The flowers by the roadside tried to whisper a word of the answer to my question. It seemed that we were surrounded by mysteries just about to reveal themselves. Or, anon, it seemed as if we had missed our chance, as if an unseen procession had just filed by and we had not distinguished it. "My friend was leaving behind all his idols. We sat upon a ridge together, and looked back upon the valley and the city which we had left. There was what my soul abhorred, and what I feared his soul might be too weak to face--the kaleidoscope of mean colours turning in the city, tickling our senses, striving to bind our souls and to mesmerise. Some colours would have drawn our tears, some would have persuaded smiles over our lips. Combinations of colours, groupings, subtle movements and shapings sought to interest and absorb our intellects. "'Behold,' said I. 'In the city which calls itself the world, the townsmen are casting up dice! Is it possible we shall be stricken with woe, or immensely uplifted in joy because of the falling of a die? Oh world too sordid to be opposed to us! Oh world too poor to be used by us! Is not the world's place under our feet, for it is of earth and we of spirit?' "But my friend was not with me. He wavered as if intoxicated, and wished to return to the city. 'Oh glorious world,' said he, and sighed himself towards the gates we had left. "Then seeing the brightness of my face, which just then reflected a great brightness in the sky, and remembering that his pain was only a bridge into the new, he gained possession of himself and turned his eyes away from the town. "'More than my old self and its weak flesh do I value the new young life that is to be,' said he. 'Though I am a man and a creature of pleasure, I am become as a woman that bears children. For the time is coming when I shall give birth to one younger than myself, later than myself....' "'Your old self will reappear more beautiful, new-souled, transfigured,' I replied. "Then my companion looked at me with eyes that were full both of yearning and of pain, and he said, 'Though I would fain stay with you, yet must I go apart. For I have one battle yet to fight, and that I can only fight alone. Farewell, dear friend, husband of the woman that is in me!' "Then said I farewell and we embraced and parted, for I saw that it was meet for him to commune alone with God and gain strength to win his victory. "The town lay in the west; he went into the north and I into the east. Once more I was alone." "Come, let us devise new means of happiness," said my companion. "Let us wander up-stream to the silent cradle of the river. For all day long I hear the river calling my name." And we journeyed a three days' tramp into the mountains, following the silver river upward and upward to the pure fountain of its birth. And on the way, moved by the glow of intercourse, I told my companion the story of Zenobia, and also that of the old pilgrim whom I met at New Athos. It was strange to us that the peasants in the country should live and die so much more worthily than the educated folk who live in the towns. God made the country, man made the town, and the devil made the country town, was not for us an idle platitude but a burning fact, though we agreed that man was often a much more evil creator than the devil, and that the great capitals of Europe and America were the worst places for Man's heavenly spirit that Time had ever known. Imagine our three days' journeying, the joy of the lonely one who has found a companion, the sharing of happiness that is doubling it; the beauty to live in, the little daintinesses and prettinesses of Nature to point out; the morning, sun-decked and dewy, the wide happiness of noon, the shadows of the great rocks where we rested, and the flash of the green and silver river tumbling outside in the sunshine; quiescent evening and the old age of the day, sunset and the remembrance of the day's glory, the pathos of looking back to the golden morning. The first night we made our bed where the plover has her nest, in a grassy hollow on the shelf of a mountain. "The day is done," said my companion. "A little space of time has died. Now see the vision of the Eternal, which comes after death;" and he pointed to the night sky, in which one by one little lamps were lighting. The bright world passed away, faded away in my eyes and became at last a dark night sky in which shone countless stars. During the day, my soul expressed itself to itself in the beauty which is for an hour, but at night it re-expressed itself in terms of the Infinite. I looked to my companion, and his eyes and lips shone in the darkness so that he seemed dressed in cloth cut from the night sky itself, and interwoven with stars. We lay together and looked up into the far high sky, we breathed lightly: it seemed we exhaled the scent of flowers that we had inbreathed in the morning--we slept. And then the morning! The quiet, quiet hours, the flitting of moths in the dawn twilight, the mysterious business of mice among the stones about us, the cold fleeting air just before sunrise, full of ghosts, our own awakening and the majestic sunrise, the exaggeration of all shapes, the birth of shadows, the beaming heralds, glorious rose-red summits and effulgent silvered crags, ten thousand trumpets raised to the zenith, and ten thousand promises outspoken! We arose, my companion and I--he only seemed to come to life when the first beam touched me. I greeted the sun with my voice, and turning round, there at my feet was my friend, familiar, dear, so ready for living that one would have said the sun himself was his father. "I was dead," said he, "and behold I am alive again. The world passed away, and behold, at the voice of a trumpet, it hath come back. Beauty faded yestreen from colour into darkness, from life to death, and to-day it hath out-blossomed once again; the Sun was its father, dear gentle Night its mother...." And running with me, he clambered upon a rock and outstretched his arms to the sun as if he were a woman looking to a strong man. "Greater is the glory of sunrise than the glory of sunset, for the sunrise promises what shall be, whereas the sunset only tells the glory of the past. The sunrise promises beautiful days, the sunset looks back upon beauty as if there were nothing in the future to compare with what has just departed." Thus sang my friend, and we scampered along to the newly wakened river. Cold and fresh was the water, as if it also had slept in the night. It was full of the night, but the morning which was in us strove with it, and at a stroke conquered it. The sun laughed to see us playing in the water, and we greeted him with handfuls of sparkles. The river was lusty and strong; it wrestled with us, grasped, pushed, pulled, buffeted, threw stones, charged forward in waves, laboriously rolled boulders against us.... We made our morning fire; its blue smoke rose slowly and crookedly, and the brittle wood burning crackled like little dogs barking; the kettle hissed on the hot, black stones where we had balanced it over the fire, it puffed, it growled, blew out its steam and boiled, boiled over; tea, bread and cheese, bright yellow plums from a tree hard by, and then away once more we sped on our journey, not walking, but running, scarcely running but flying, leaping, clambering ... and my companion performed the most astonishing feats, for he was ever more lively than I was. The sun strengthened. First it had empowered us to go forward, but after some hours it bid us rest. Seven o'clock ran to eight, eight to nine; nine to ten was hot, ten was scorching, and by eleven we were conquered. We rested and let the glorious husband of the earth look down upon us, and into us. "How pathetic it is that men are even now at this moment sweating, and grinding, and cursing in a town," said my companion to me. He was lying outstretched before me on a slope of the sheep-cropped downs. "They altogether miss life, life, the inestimable boon. And they get nothing in return. Even what they hope to gain is but dust and ashes. They waited perhaps a whole eternity to be born, and when they die it may be that for a whole eternity they must wait again. God allotted them each year eighty days of summer and eighty summers in their lives, and they are content to sell them for a small price, content to earn wages.... And their share in all this beauty, they hardly know of it, their share in the sun. "Have you not realised that we have more than our share of the sun? The sun is fuller and more glorious than we could have expected. That is because millions of people have lived without taking their share. We feel in ourselves all _their_ need of it, all their want of it. That is why we are ready to take to ourselves such immense quantities of it. We can rob no one, but, on the contrary, we can save a little to give to those who have none--when we meet them. You must pull down the very sun from heaven and put it in your writings. You must give samples of the sun to all those who live in towns. Perhaps some of those attracted by the samples will give up the smoke and grind of cities and live in this superfluity of sunshine." Then I said to my joyous comrade: "Many live their lives of toil and gloom and ugliness in the belief that in another life after this they will be rewarded. They think that God wills them to live this life of work." "Then perhaps in the next life they will again live in toil and gloom, postponing their happiness once more," said my companion. "Or on the Day of Judgment they will line up before God and say with a melancholy countenance, 'Oh Lord we want our wages for having lived!' ... An insult to God and to our glorious life, but how terrible, how unutterably sad! And the reply of the angel sadder still, 'Did you not know that life itself was a reward, a glory?'" V THE UNCONQUERABLE HOPE Once, long ago, when an earthquake rent the hills, and mountains became valleys, and the earth itself opened and divided, letting in the sea, a new island was formed far away upon an unvisited ocean. Out of an inland province of a vast continent this island was made, all the land upon it having been submerged, and all the peoples that dwelt to north and to south, to east and to west, having been drowned. There survived upon the island a few men and women who remained undisputed masters of the land, and they lived there and bred there. No one visited them, for the island was remote, unknown; and they visited no one, for they had never seen the sea before, they had not even known of its existence, and they did not know how to fashion a boat. The island became fertile, and men and women married, and bore sons and daughters. The people in the island multiplied and grew rich. But all the while they lived without the invention of the boat, and they thought their island was the whole world, not knowing of the other lands that lay beyond the sea. The original people died in their time, and their sons and daughters and grandsons and granddaughters, and the newer, later, survived and gave birth to newer and later still. And the story of the origin of the island was handed down from generation to generation. The story was a matter of fact. It became history, it became legend and tradition, it became a myth, it became almost the foundation of religion. For a thousand years a lost family of mankind dwelt on that island on the unvisited sea, and none of their kindred ever came out of its barren sea-horizons to claim them. And then, lest these children of men should utterly forget, a child was born who should understand. As happens once in many centuries, a wise man arose, and he interpreted the legends and traditions, and refreshed in the memory of this people the significance of their origin. He taught them the mystery of the sea, and of the beyond, that hitherto unimaginable beyond, so that men yearned to cross the ocean. Then the ignorant rose up and slew that man, thinking him an evil one, luring men to their death. And those who had understood him sorrowed greatly. His life had been pure, white, without reproach, and the light that shone in his eyes was the same that burned in the stars. But though the ignorant could destroy his body, they could not destroy the fair life that he had lived, that wonderful example of how men may stand in the presence of the eternal mysteries. There arose followers who dedicated themselves to the truth he had revealed, that truth boundless and infinite as the sea itself. And they lit a fire like the sacred fire in the temples of the fire-worshippers, and that fire should never be extinguished until some sign rose out of the horizon, illumining and dissolving the mystery. "Who knows," they say, "but that we are the descendants of kings? There is that in us that is foreign to this land, something not indigenous to this soil, of which this island is not worthy. It cometh from afar and had elsewhere its begetting. In us are latent unnamed powers, senses that in this island cannot be used. Our eyes are unnecessarily bright, our hearts superfluously strong. This Earth cannot satisfy us, it cannot afford scope enough, we cannot try ourselves upon it. This is the hope that we keep holy, that out of the heavens or across the sea our kindred, our masters, or our gods will claim us and take us to a new land where our hearts' meaning may completely show itself outwardly to the sky; where our latent senses will find the things that can be sensed, and our faculties that which can be made, where our hearts and wills may be satisfied, and we may find wings with which to soar over all seas." Behold these dedicates, with their torch of remembrance kindled in the night of ignorance, these living eternally in the presence of the mystery! They pine upon shores, looking over the unbridgeable abyss, yearning their souls towards that ultimate horizon, with limbs vainly strong, eyes vainly keen, hearts ready for an adventure they may not undertake. At their feet wails the sea with never-ending sadness. In their minds are haunting tunes, the echoes of the wailing of the waves. They cry, and no one hears; they sing, and no one responds; they are like those who have loved once and lost, and who may never be comforted. These nurse in their hearts the unconquerable hope. * * * * * So is it with us upon the world, we irreconcilable ones; we stand upon many shores and strain our eyes to see into the unknown. We are upon a deserted island and have no boats to take us from star to star, not only upon a deserted island but upon a deserted universe, for even the stars are familiar; they are worlds not unlike our own. The whole universe is our world and it is all explained by the scientists, or is explicable. But beyond the universe, no scientist, not any of us, knows anything. On all shores of the universe washes the ocean of ignorance, the ocean of the inexplicable. We stand upon the confines of an explored world and gaze at many blank horizons. We yearn towards our natural home, the kingdom in which our spirits were begotten. We have rifled the world, and tumbled it upside-down, and run our fingers through all its treasures, yet have not come upon the charter of our birth. We explored Beauty till we came to the shore of a great sea; we explored music, and came upon the outward shore of harmony and earthly truth, and found its limits. Some spoke of our limitations, but it is our glory that our hearts know no limitations except those which are the defects of the world. The world is full of limitations, but our hearts scorn them, being full of boundless power. Some day for us shall come into that blank sky-horizon which is called the zenith, a stranger, a man or a god, perhaps not like ourselves, yet having affinities with ourselves, and correlating ourselves to some family of men or gods of which we are all lost children. We shall then know our universal function and find our universal orbit. As yet the True Sun stands in the antipodes, the great light is not vouchsafed. In the night of ignorance our little sun is shining and stars gleam upon our sky-horizons. But when the True Sun shines their brightness will be obscured, and we shall know a new day and a new night, a new heaven and a new earth. It is written, "When He appears we shall be like Him." VI THE PILGRIMAGE TO JERUSALEM I Once, possibly, upon the world, man did not know of God; he had not looked to the blank horizon and spoken to the Someone beyond. He had all the need to speak, all the oppression in his soul, all the sorrow and longing pent up in him and the tears unshed, but knew no means of relief, did not even conceive of any one beyond himself. He had no great Father, as we have. A strange, unhappy life he lived upon the world, uncomforted, unfriended. He looked at the stars and comprehended them not; and at the graves, and they said nought. He walked alone under heaven's wide hollowness. We of later days have God as a heritage, or if we did find Him of ourselves, the road was made easy for us. But some one far away back in human life found God first, and said to Him the first prayer; some hard, untutored savage found out the gentlest and loveliest fact in our religion. A savage came upon the pearl and understood it and fell down in joy. A man one day named God and emptied his heart to Him in prayer. And he told the discovery to his brothers, and men all began to pray. The world lost half its heaviness at once. Men learned that their prayers were nearly all the same, that God heard the same story from thousands and hundreds of thousands of hearts. Thus men came nearer to one another, and knew themselves one in the presence of God, and they prayed together and formed churches. Man, the homeless one, had advanced a step towards his home, for he began to live partly in the beyond. I am reminded of this by the joy which accompanies the personal discovery of some new rite which brings us into relation with the unseen. Following that hypothetical first man, how many real first men there have been, each discovering new things about God and the beyond, giving mankind new letters in the Sanscrit, and each discovery accompanied by joy and relief. The conception of life as part of a journey to the heavenly city was, I think, one of these discoveries; and its rite was the church procession to the altar. In symbolic act man learned to make the journey beyond the blank horizon. He enlarged the church procession to the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and he enlarged the pilgrimage to Jerusalem to the pilgrimage of life itself. In the understanding of life as a pilgrimage, the wanderer and seeker has the world for his church. We are all on the road to the City of Jerusalem. Those who are consciously on the road may call themselves pilgrims; they have a life of glory in the heart as well as of toiling by the way. They are in a certain definite perspective, and they see all things that happen to them in the light of the pilgrimage. I for my part, directly I definitely set out for Jerusalem, on the very first day, at the sight of the first stranger who crossed my path, exclaimed to myself, "I meet him on the way to Jerusalem; that makes a difference, does it not?" But not only does the goal of the pilgrimage lend a new significance to the present and the future; it also lights up the past. It makes every idlest step of worth. It makes us so understanding of the past that we would not alter one jot or tittle in it. Our whole life is transfigured. Every deed of our hands, every thought of our minds and word of our lips, every deed of others or of Nature seen, every word of man or sound of Nature heard, is made into one glowing garment--the story of our life-pilgrimage _via_ the present moment to the Heavenly City. I started on my pilgrimage long ago, so long ago I can hardly tell when. As Jeremy the pilgrim said of Mikhail: "He wished to go when he was a little boy; that means, he began to go then, for whenever you begin to wish you begin the pilgrimage. After that, no matter where you are, you are sure to be on the way." It is a stage in the awakening of consciousness, that wishing to go; the next stage is intending to go, and the next, deciding to go and setting out--but independently of these wishes and intentions and decisions, we were really on the road, and going all the while. By our true wishes we divine our destiny. Yes, even long ago I wished, and to-day I am still on the way, though I have actually pilgrimaged to Jerusalem in Palestine. My pilgrimage was a pilgrimage within a pilgrimage. It was the drawing of a picture on earth of a journey in heaven. As a day is to a year, and as a year to man's life, so is man's life to that which we do not know, the course of our life beyond Time's blank horizon. If I have often stopped to tell of a little day, or a little hour in the day, it is because I sought there a picture of Eternity, of the whole significance of the pilgrimage. I suppose I did not know that when I first left England to go to Russia I was turning my face toward Jerusalem. Yet it was so. For I should never have gone direct from London to the Holy Land. If I had attempted such a journey I should probably have failed to reach the great Shrine, for it is only a certain sort of people travelling in a certain sort of way who find admittance easily. By the Russian peasant I was enabled to go. It is strange to think that even when I was journeying northward to Archangel I was winding my way Jerusalem-ward in the sacred labyrinth. And I could not have gone straight southward with the pilgrims without wandering in contrary directions first of all, for it was necessary to come into sympathy and union with the peasant soul. There is a peasant deep down in my soul, or a peasant soul deep down in me, as well as an exterior, sensitive, cultured soul. I had to discover that peasant, to realise myself as one of the poor in spirit to whom is the kingdom. Christ preached His gospel to the peasant. His is a peasant's gospel, it seems to me, such a gospel as the peasants of Russia would take to themselves to-day if Jesus came preaching to them in the way He did to the common _people_ of the Jews. The cultured would disdain it, until a new St. Paul interpreted it for them in terms that they could understand, so giving it a "vogue". Both the peasants and the cultured would be Christians, but with this difference, that in one case the seed would be growing on the surface, and in the other from the depths. The peasant, of course, has no _surface_; he is the good black earth all ready for the seed. There is a way for the cultured: it is to discover the peasant down beneath their culture, the original elemental soil down under the artificial surface, and to allow the sweetness and richness of that soil to give expression on that surface. True culture is thus achieved; that which is not only on the surface but of the depths. Thereby might every one discover not only the peasant but the pilgrim soul within; each man living on the world might realise himself as on the way to Jerusalem. Such realisation would be the redemption of the present culture of the West. For workers of every kind--not only artists, musicians, novelists, but the handicraftsmen, the shapers of useful things, of churches and houses and laws, even the labourers in the road and the garden--would be living in the strength of a promise and the light of a vision. * * * * * The pilgrimage was a carrying of the cross, but it was also a happy wayfaring. It was a hard journey but not comfortless. Many of the pilgrims walked thousands of miles in Russia before finally embarking on the pilgrim boat. They walked solitarily, not in great bands, and they were poor. From village to village, from the Far North, Central Russia and the East, they tramped their way to Odessa and Batoum, and they depended all the way on other men's hospitality. As Jeremy said, "They had no money: instead of which they found other men's charity." They lived night by night in hundreds of peasant homes, and prayed day by day in hundreds of little churches. Not only did they find their daily bread "for the love of God," but in many cases they were furnished even to Jerusalem itself with passage money for the boat journey, and bread to keep the body alive. Such pilgrims often were illiterate, and it was astonishing how they remembered all the folk they had to pray for at Jerusalem; for every poor peasant who could not leave his native village, but gave threepence or four-pence to the wanderer, asked to be remembered in the land "where God walked". Perhaps there were aids to remembrance. Many people in the villages, wanting to be sure that their prayers and wants would be remembered, wrote their names on slips of paper and thrust them into the pilgrim's hand. Thus in the hostelry at Jerusalem an old wanderer came to me one morning with a sheaf of dirty papers on which were written names, and I read them out for him aloud, thus:-- Maria for health. Katerina for health. Rheumatic Gregory for health. Ivan for the peace of soul of his mother. For the peace of soul of Prascovia. And so on; and I sorted them into separate bundles--those who wished prayers for health, and those who wanted peace of soul to the dead. I, for my part, have walked many a thousand versts from village to village, and have been glad to live the peasant-pilgrim's life. Tramping was hard for me also, as also far from comfortless. I saw sights which amply repaid me, if I wanted repayment, for every verst I tramped. Often, and shamefully, have I looked back and sighed for the town that I had left--its friends, its comforts and its pleasures; but I also found other men's hospitality and the warmth of the stranger's love. Very sweet it was to sit in the strange man's home, to play with his children on the floor, to eat and drink with him, to be blessed by him and by his wife, and sleep at last under the cottage ikons. And though peasants knew the way was hard, "How fortunate you are!" they said. I was more fortunate than they knew, for, being the voice of those who were without voice, I had a life by the way in communion with every common sight and sound. I lived in communion with sunny and rainy days, with the form of mountain and valley, with the cornfield and the forest and the meadow. Not only was man hospitable to the tramp, but Nature also. The stars spoke of my pilgrimage, the sea murmured to me; wild fruit was my food. I slept with the bare world as my house, the sky as my roof, and God as host. I saw strange happenings in obscure little villages. Wherever I went I saw little pictures, and not only great pageants; I knelt in little wooden churches as well as in the great cathedrals. And I brought all that I met and all that I had experienced to Jerusalem, so that when the chorus of thanksgiving went up in the monastery on the day when we arrived, all my world was singing in it. Sometimes I met pilgrims, especially at monasteries, and sometimes sojourned with one along the road, but it was not until we reached the pilgrim-boat that we found ourselves many and together. For the greater part of the pilgrim life is necessarily in solitude. A great number of pilgrims starting together and marching along the road is almost unthinkable. The true desire to start takes one by oneself. The pilgrim life is born like a river, far away apart, up in the mountains. It is only when it is reaching its goal that it joins itself to others. When we reached the port of embarkation we were a great band of pilgrims, but the paths by which we had come together were many and diverse, ramifying all over Russia. We thought, but for the haunting fear of storms, that when we reached the boat the arduous part of our journey would have been accomplished. We should cease our plodding over earth, and should rest on the sea in the sun. We would sing hymns together. Hymns are, of course, principally designed for pilgrims, for man as a pilgrim, who needs to console himself with music on the road. We would talk among ourselves of our life on the way; the days would go past in pleasant converse and the nights in happy slumber. But that was a mistake. The sea journey was worse than any of our tramping; it was the very crown of our suffering. There were 560 of us packed into the holds of that hulk, the _Lazarus_, on which we sailed, and there were besides, many Turks, Arabs, and Syrians; of cattle, two score cows and a show bull with two mouths; of beasts, a cage of apes; and, as if to complete pandemonium in storm, there lay bound in his bed on the open deck a raving madman. We were a fortnight on the sea, wandering irrelevantly from port to port of the Levant, discharging a cargo of sugar; and all the while the poor beggar-pilgrims lived on the crusts of which they had sackfuls collected in Russia, crusts of black bread all gone green with mould. I looked at the piles of them heaped on the deck to air in pleasant weather, and was amazed that men could live simply on decay. We had two storms, in one of which our masts were broken down and we were told we should go to the bottom. The peasants rolled over one another in the hold like corpses, and clutched at one another like madmen. In despair some offered all their money, all that they had, to a priest as a votive offering to St. Nicholas, that the storm might abate. The state of the ship I should not dare to depict--the filth, the stench, the vermin. For nearly a thousand passengers there were three lavatories without bolts! Fitly was the boat named _Lazarus_--Lazarus all sores. What the poor simple peasant men and women suffered none can tell. They had not the thought to take care of themselves as I had, and indeed they would have scorned to save themselves. "It is necessary to suffer," they said. It was a hard and terrible way, and yet on the last day of the voyage, in the sight of the Holy Land, our hearts all leapt within us with grateful joy. We felt it was worth it, every whit. When I think of this journey as of that of Christian in the _Pilgrims Progress_, I call this ship and the journey on it the Valley of the Shadow of Death, full of foul pits and hobgoblins; something which must be passed through if Jerusalem is to be attained; the dread gulf which lies between earthly and heavenly life. It was necessary to pass through it, and what was on the other side was infinitely worth the struggle. There is a story in Dostoievsky of a Russian free-thinker whose penance beyond this world was to walk a quadrillion versts. When he finished this walk and saw the Heavenly City at the end of it he fell down and cried out, "It is worth it, every inch; not only would I walk a quadrillion of versts, but a quadrillion of quadrillions raised to the quadrillionth power." II At last we arrived at Jerusalem. The onlookers saw a long, jaded-looking flock of poor people toiling up the hilly road from Jaffa, wearing Russian winter garb under the straight-beating sun of the desert, dusty, road-worn, and beaten. We went along the middle of the roadway like a procession, observed of all observers; in one sense scarcely worth looking at, yet in another the most significant spectacle of the day or of the time. We were--religious Europe just arrived at the Heavenly City. Certainly it would have been difficult to know the happiness and exaltation of our hearts; perhaps to do that it would have been necessary to step into line and follow us to the Cathedral and the Sepulchre; perhaps even necessary to anticipate our coming, and join us long before, on the way in Russia. But we went forward unconscious of our own significance, indifferent to the gaze of the curious. There was one thought in our minds: that we had actually attained unto Jerusalem and were walking the last few miles to the Holy of Holies. We passed in through the gate of the Russian settlement, and in a moment were at the monastery doors. How gladly we threw off our packs on the green grass sward and hurried into church to the Thanksgiving Service, buying sheaves of little candles at the door and pressing in to light them before the sacred ikons. When the priest was given the great Bible to read, it lay on the bare heads of pilgrims; so close did the eager ones press together to share in the bearing that the Holy Book needed no other support. We sang the _Mnogia Lieta_ with a deep harmonious chorus; we prostrated ourselves and prayed and crossed. I stood in the midst and sang or knelt with the rest, timid as a novice, made gentle by the time, and I learned to cross myself in a new way. One by one the peasants advanced and kissed the gold cross in the hands of the priest, and among them I went up and was blessed as they were. And we were all in rapture. Standing at the threshold afterwards, smiling peasants with wet shining eyes confessed to one another their unworthiness and their happiness; and a girl all in laughing tears fell down at our feet, kissing our dusty boots, and asking our forgiveness that she had been permitted to see Jerusalem. We were taken to the refectory and seated at many tables to a peasant dinner: cabbage soup and porridge, bread and _kvass_, just as they are served in Russia itself. We passed to the hostelry and were given, at the rate of three farthings a day, beds and benches that we might occupy as long as we wished to stay in Jerusalem. The first night we were all to get as rested as possible, the next we were to spend in the Sepulchre itself. I slept in a room with four hundred peasants, on a wooden shelf covered with old pallets of straw. The shelves were hard and dirty; there was no relaxation of our involuntary asceticism, but we slept well. There was music in our ears. We had attained to Jerusalem, and our dreams were with the angels. Jerusalem the earthly had not forced itself upon our minds; we held the symbolism of the journey lightly, and the mind read a mystery in delicate emotions. The time was to come when some of us would be discontented with Jerusalem, as some of the disciples who fell away were discontented with the poor and humble Jesus; but as yet even to these all the material outward appearance of Jerusalem was a rumour. We knew not what we should see when we stepped out on the morrow; perhaps pearly gates, streets of gold, angels with harps. Jerusalem the earthly was unproved. We had as yet only toiled up the steep Jaffa way, and the road to heaven itself might be not unlike that road. To-morrow ... who could say what to-morrow would unfold? For those of us who could see with the eyes of the heart there could be no disappointment. But for all, this night of golden dreams was a respite, and Jerusalem the symbol and Jerusalem the symbolised were one. Happy, happy pilgrims! Next day we went to the strange and ugly church erected over the Sepulchre of Jesus, the "Church of the Life-giving Grave"; and we kissed the stone of anointing--the stone on which the body of Jesus lay whilst it was being wrapped in fair linen and anointed with oil. We knelt before the ark-like inner temple which is built over _the hollow in the rock_. We were received into that temple, and one by one crept along the passage-way to the Holy of Holies, the inmost shrine of Christendom. Only music could tell what the peasant realised in that chamber as he knelt where the sacred Body lay, and kissed the hollow in the stone. Then we spent a whole night in the Sepulchre and entered into the mystery of death--saw our own death as in a picture before us, our abiding in the grave until the resurrection. In the great dark church the solemn service went forward. On the throne of the altar at Golgotha near by, the candles gleamed. Night grew quiet all around, and the Syrian stars looked over us, so that centuries and ages passed away. III We went through the life of Jesus in symbolical procession, journeyed to Bethlehem and kissed the manger where the baby Jesus was laid, that first cradle as opposed to the second, the hollow in the rock. We came as the Kings, saw the shepherds and their flocks, saw the star stop over the house of Mary, and went in to do homage, bringing thither the gifts of our hearts--gold, frankincense, and myrrh. We tramped to the river Jordan, and all in our death shrouds at Bethabara, waded into the stream and were baptized. In symbolic act the priest baptizing us was veritably John, but in second symbolism it was Jesus. As we stepped down into the water it was John, but when we stepped up again it was Jesus receiving us into light. We made a picture of the past, but we had also in our hearts a presentment of the far future. As we stood there on the banks all in our white robes it seemed like a rehearsal of the final resurrection morning. These shrouds in which the pilgrims are baptized they preserve to their death day, in order that they may be buried in them. They believe that on the Last Day not only will their bodies of this day be raised up, but the Jordan-washed garments will be restored as well. We followed the course of the river down to the Dead Sea, the lowest place on earth, and thence walked across the wilderness to the Mountain of Temptation, where in innumerable caves had lived thousands of hermits and saints. In a great caravan we journeyed to the Lake of Galilee, where the Twelve were called. We camped upon the mountain where the five thousand had been fed, and scattered bread there. We dwelt in the little town of Nazareth and saw the well where Mary had drawn water. We heard of all the dearnesses which the priests and monks had imagined as likely in the boyhood of Jesus. We stood and wondered at the place where Mary and Joseph are supposed to have stopped and missed their twelve-year-old son who had gone to the Temple to teach. We stood where Jesus had conversed with the woman of Samaria. We visited the cottage where the water was changed into wine. At Bethany we prayed at Lazarus' grave. We lived with the life of Jesus as the story has been told. It was a second pilgrimage, an underlining of the essentials of the first. We finished the first pilgrimage at the Church of the Tomb on the day after our arrival in Jerusalem; we should finish the second on the last day of Holy Week, at the triumphant Easter morning. On the Friday before Palm Sunday we went out to Bethany and slept in the monastery which is built "where Martha served." Next day we returned to Jerusalem with olive branches, palms and wild flowers, scattering blossoms as we walked. On Saturday evening and in the morning of Palm Sunday we filled the churches with our branches. Two aged pilgrims who had died were buried on Palm Sunday. They lay in open coffins in church dressed in the shrouds they had worn at Jordan, covered with olive branches and little blue wild flowers (Jacob's ladder), which the pilgrims had picked for them at Bethany. On their faces was perfect peace. The pilgrims thought them happy to die in the Holy Land and be buried there. The crown of the pilgrimage was Holy Week. By Palm Sunday all the pilgrims were back in Jerusalem from their little pilgrimages to Nazareth, Jericho, and Jordan. The hostelries were crowded. Fully five hundred men and women slept in the hall in which I was accommodated. All night long the sound of prayer and hymn never died away. At dawn each day a beggar pilgrim sanctified our benches with incense which he burned in an old tin can. By day we visited the shrines of Jerusalem, the Virgin's tomb, the Mount of Olives, the Praetorium, Pilate's house, the dungeon where Jesus was put in the stocks. We saw the washing of the feet on Holy Thursday; we walked down the steep and narrow way where Christ carried the cross and stumbled, kissed the place where Saint Veronica held out the cloth which took the miraculous likeness. We examined our souls before Good Friday; we went to the special yearly Holy Communion now invested with a strange and awful solemnity. There was the prostration before the Cross at Golgotha on Good Friday, the receiving of the Sacred Fire, symbol of the Resurrection, on Holy Saturday, and then the night of the year and the Great Morning. It seemed when we all kissed one another on Easter Morning that we had outlived everything--our own life, our own death; we were in heaven. In symbolic act we had attained unto bliss. The procession had marched round the church to the supreme emotional moment. We had all stood on the highest holy place on earth and looked out for a moment upon Paradise. We had caught the gleam of the Sun of another universe. What happens in the pilgrim's soul on Easter Night is something which you and I and all of us know; if not in our own minds and in the domain of letters and words, at least in the heart where music speaks. To those who have not themselves attained unto Jerusalem and the "highest of all earthly" it is a promise, and to those who have been it is a memory and a possession. The Greek monks say that at the sepulchre a fire bursts out of its own account each Easter Eve, and there is at least a truth of symbolism in their miracle. An old bishop and saint was once asked to give sight to a blind woman. He had performed no miracles in his life, yet he promised to pray for her. And whilst he knelt in church praying, the candles which were unlit burst of themselves into flame. The woman at that moment also received her sight and went home praising God. It is something like that which happens when the pilgrim kneels on Easter Night. Candles unlit in the temple of his soul burst into flame, and by their light new pictures are seen. The part of him that was blind and craved sight gains open eyes at that moment, and that which seemed impossible is accomplished. IV And I, to use the metaphor of the unvisited island, had in a dream crossed the ocean, had become, through the fulfilling of a rite, more bound to the life which is beyond. Henceforth I have a more credible promise and a more substantial hope. But what then? The journey is ended, the gleam of the vision fades, and we all return to the life we came from. We descend from what the pilgrims call the highest holy place on earth and get back to the ordinary level of life. How can we go back and live the dull round again? Shall we not be as Lazarus is depicted in Browning's story of him, spoiled for earth, having seen heaven? The Russian at home calls the returned pilgrim _polu-svatoe_, a half-saint: does that perhaps mean that life is spoilt for him? Some hundreds of aged pilgrims die every year in Lent; they fall dead on the long tramps in Galilee on the way to Nazareth. Many pass peacefully away in Jerusalem itself without even seeing Easter there. They are accounted happy. To be buried at Jerusalem is considered an especially sweet thing, and it is indeed very good for these aged ones that the symbol and that which it symbolised should coincide, and that for them the journey to Jerusalem the earthly should be so obviously and materially a big step towards Jerusalem the golden. It would have been sad in a way for such old folk to return once more across the ocean to the old, somewhat irrelevant life of Mother Russia. But what of the young who must of necessity go back? Once Easter was over it was marvellous how eager we were to get on the first boat and go home again. What were we going to do when we got there, seeing that we had been to Jerusalem? We carry our vision back into daily life, or rather, we carry the memory of it in our hearts until a day of fulfilment. All true visions are promises, and that which we had was but a glimpse of a Jerusalem we shall one day live in altogether. The peasants took many pictures of the sacred places of Jerusalem, and Jerusalem ikons, back with them to their little houses in Russia, there to put them in the East corners of their rooms. They will henceforth light lamps and candles before these pictures. The candle before the picture is, as we know, man's life being lived in front of the vision of Jerusalem; man's ordinary daily life in the presence of the heavenly city. We realise life itself as the pilgrimage of pilgrimages. Life contains many pilgrimages to Jerusalem, just as it contains many flowerings of spring to summer, just as it contains many feasts of Communion and not merely one. Some of the pilgrims actually go as many as ten times to that Jerusalem in Palestine. But there are Jerusalems in other places if they only knew, and pilgrimages in other modes. It is possible to go back and live the pilgrimage in another way, and to find another Jerusalem. Life has its depths: we will go down into them. We may forget the vision there, but as a true pilgrim once said, "We shall always live again to see our golden hour of victory." That is the true pilgrim's faith. He will reach Jerusalem again and again. He may forget, but he will always remember again; he will always rise again to the light of memory. Deep in the depths of this dark universe our little daily sun is shining, but up above there is another Sun. At times throughout our life we rise to the surface, and for a minute catch a glimpse of that Sun's light: at each of these times we shall have attained unto Jerusalem and have completed a pilgrimage within the pilgrimage. There is light on the faces of those living heroically: it is the light of the vision of Jerusalem. VII THE MESSAGE FROM THE HERMIT The question remains, "Who is the tramp?" Who is the walking person seen from the vantage ground of these pages? He is necessarily a masked figure; he wears the disguise of one who has escaped, and also of one who is a conspirator. He is not the dilettante literary person gone tramping, nor the pauper vagabond who writes sonnets, though either of these rôles may be part of his disguise. He is not merely something negligible or accidental or ornamental, he is something real and true, the product of his time, at once a phenomenon and a portent. He is the walking hermit, the world-forsaker, but he is above all things a rebel and a prophet, and he stands in very distinct relation to the life of his time. The great fact of the human world to-day is the tremendous commercial machine which is grinding out at a marvellous acceleration the smaller and meaner sort of man, the middle class, the average man, "the damned, compact, liberal majority," to use the words of Ibsen, and the world daily becomes "more _Chinese_". The rocks are fraying one another down to desert sand, and mankind becomes a new Sahara. But over and against the commercial machine stand the rebels, the defiers of it, those who wish to limit its power, to redeem some of the slaves, and to rebuild the temples which it has broken down. Commercialism is at present the great enemy of the individual man. One already reads in leading articles such phrases as "our commercial, national, and imperial welfare"--commercial first, national second, imperial third, and spiritual nowhere. Commercialism has already subdued the Church of Christ in Western Europe, it has disorganised the forces of art, and it tends to deny the living sources of religion, art, and life. It remains for the rebel to assert that even though the name and idea of Christianity be sold--as was its Founder--for silver, though it be rendered an impotent and useless word, yet there is in mankind a religion which is independent of all names and all words, a spring of living water that may be subterraneanised for a while, but can never be altogether dammed and stopped; that there is an art which shall blossom through all ages, either in the secret places of the world or in the open, in the place of honour, as long as man lives upon the world. And he does more than assert, than merely wind upon his horn outside the gates of the enchanted city, he is a builder, collector, saver. He wishes to find the few who, in this fearful commercial submersion, ought to be living the spiritual life, and showing forth in blossom the highest significance of the Adam tree. He himself lives the life which more must of necessity live, if only as a matter of salt to save the body politic. It has been urged, "You are unpracticable; you want a world of tramps--how are you going to live?" But we no more want a world of tramps than the promiser of new life wants a world of promisers: we want a world that will take the life promised. As I have said, we want first of all the few, the hermits, saints, the altogether lovely men and women, the blossoming of the race. It is necessary that these be found or that they find themselves, and that they take their true orbits and live their true lives; for all the rest of ordinary humanity is waiting to live its life in relation to these. The few must live their lives out to the full in order that all others may live their lives completely; for the temple of humanity has not only the broad floor, but the Cross glittering above the pinnacle. The night is dark, but there is plenty of hope for the future; the very extremity of our calamity is something that bids us hope. Fifty years ago nobody would listen to a gospel of rebellion, and such a great man as Carlyle was actually preaching that to labour is to pray. To-day men are ready to lay down their working tools and listen to any insurrectionist, so aware has mankind become of an impending spiritual bankruptcy. Never in any preceding generation has the young man standing on the threshold of life felt more unsettled. His unsettlement has frequently turned to frenzy and anarchy in individual cases. Never has he cast his eyes about more desperately for a way of redemption or a spiritual leader. For him, as for all of us, the one requirement is to find out what is the _first_ thing to do; not the nearest, but the _first_, the most essential; the one after which all other things naturally take their places. It is not to wreck the great machine, for that would be to rush to the other extreme of ruin and disorder. It is not even, as I think, to build a new machine, for that would be to enter into a wasteful competition wherein we should spend without profit and with much loss of brotherly love, all our patience and our new desires. The one way and the first way is to use and subordinate the present machine, to limit it to its true domain, and let it be our true and vital servant. But how? By finding the few who can live the life of communion, the few who can show forth the true significance of the race. By saving our most precious thoughts and ideals, and adding them to the similar thoughts and ideals of others, by putting the instruments of education in their proper places, by separating and saving in the world of literature and art the expressions of beauty which are valuable to the coming race, as distinguished from those that are merely sold for a price. By the making solitary, which is making sacred. For instance, I would have the famous and wonderful pictures now foiling and dwarfing one another in our vulgar galleries, distributed over the Western world. I wish their enfranchisement. Each great picture should be given a room to itself, like the Sistine Madonna, not only a room but a temple like that of the Iverskaya at Moscow, not only a temple but a fair populous province. The great pictures should be objects of pilgrimages, and their temples places of prayer. In the galleries, as is obvious, the pictures are at their smallest, their glory pressed back into themselves or overlapped or smudged by the confusing glory of others. Out in the wide world, enshrined in temples, these pictures would become living hearts, they would have arms dealing out blessings, they would outgrow again till their influence was as wide as the little kingdoms in which they were enshrined. Pictures would again work miracles. What is more, great pictures would again be painted. This illustration is valuable allegorically. Great pictures are very like great souls, very like great and beautiful ideas. What is true for pictures is true for men. The men who feel in themselves the instinct for the new life must take steps to make space for themselves and to make temples. Where they find the beautiful, the real, they must take it to themselves and protect it from enemies, they must at once begin to build walls of defence. So great is their responsibility and so delicate their charge that they must challenge no one, and invite no discussion and no hostility. They must have and hold their own beautiful life as they would a fair young bride. Where they have visions they must build temples, as the Russian mouzhiks build churches and put up crosses. Of course I do not mean material temples, but temples not made by hands, temples of spirit, temples of remembrance. Where they read in books sacred pages they must make these pages sacred, sacred for them. Where they find men noble they must have reference to the noble part of them and deny the other. They have to win back the beautiful churches and cathedrals. Often it is said nowadays, "Such and such a church is wonderful and its service lifts one to heaven, but the clergyman and his sermon are impossible." But though a clergyman can condition his congregation it is much more true that the congregation can condition the clergyman. It is written, "Where two or three are gathered together in My Name, there am I in the midst of them." When they in the pews are those in white robes, then He in the pulpit is the Christ Himself. In literature we have to differentiate what is purely a commercial product like the yellowback novel, what is educational like the classic, and what is of the new. With the commercial we have of course no traffic; the classic is a place for those still learning what has already been said, a place for orientisation, for finding out where one stands. In this category are the Shakespearean performances at the theatre. In any case the classic is necessarily subordinate to the new literature, the literature of pioneering and discovery, the literature of ourselves. It is the school which prepares for the stepping forth on the untrodden ways. This fencing off, differentiation and allocation, these defences of the beautiful and new, and of the temples enshrining them, shall be like the walls round a new sanctuary. We shall thereby protect ourselves from the encroaching commercial machine, its dwarfing ethics, mean postulates, and accurst conventions, and we shall rear within the walls all the beautiful that the outside world says does not exist. We shall find a whole new world of those who despise the honours and prizes of the commercial machine, and who care not for the shows, diversions, pleasures, and gambles provided for commercial slaves. But it will not cause those of that world to falter if the great multitude of their fellow-men scoff at them or think that they miss life. Our work is then to separate off and consecrate the beautiful, to bring the beautiful together and organise it, not renouncing the machine, but only taking from it the service necessary for our physical needs, in no case being ruled or guided by it or its exigencies. When we have accomplished that, a miracle is promised. The outside world will take shape against our walls and receive its life through our gates--it will come into relation to us even to the ends of the earth. The new heart means the salvation of all. With that we necessarily return to ourselves, the out-flung units of modern life, tramps so called, rebels, hermits, the portents of the new era, the first signs of spring after dark winter; some of us, the purely lyrical, spring flowers; others the prophetic and dynamic, spring winds--who blowing, shall blow upon winter, as Nietzsche says, "with a thawing wind." We are many: I speak for thousands who are voiceless. But we are feeble, for we know not one another: we shall know. A new summer is coming and a new adventure; and summer, as all know, is the year itself, the other seasons being purely subordinate. We are as yet but February heralds. Nevertheless we ask, standing without the gates of the sleeping city of winter, "Who of ye within the city are stepping forth unto the new adventure?" Strange powers are to them; the mysterious spells of the earth, the renewal of inspiration at the life source, the essence of new summer colours, the idea of new summer shapes. To the young men and women of to-day there is a chance to be as beautiful as it is possible to be upon this little earth, a chance to find all the significance of life and beauty that is possible for man to know, a chance to be of the same substance as the fire of stars, a chance of perfection. It is the voice of the hermit crying from the wilderness: "I have come back from God with a message and a blessing--come out ye young men and maidens, for a new season is at hand." THE END A TRAMP'S SKETCHES BY STEPHEN GRAHAM SOME PRESS OPINIONS. _DAILY TELEGRAPH_.--"A deeply interesting volume that will stimulate in many readers a desire for that fuller work on his trampings which Mr. Graham promises.... He is gifted with rare ability to write of that which he has experienced. It may safely be said that few readers would wish, after taking up this volume and reading one of the sketches at random, to put it aside without having read the rest.... It is always something pertinent, fresh, and interesting that the writer has to tell us." _DAILY NEWS_.--"Mr. Graham has given us in this robust book a classic of educated yet wild vagabondage." _ACADEMY_.--"To have read _A Tramp's Sketches_ is to have been lifted into a higher and rarer atmosphere.... A book that, if we mistake not, is destined to endure." _ENGLISH REVIEW_.--"A delightful book, redolent of the open air, of the night, of the great silences of expanse, and yet full of incident, of _aperçus_ into Russian conditions and the minds of peasants, revealing a real spiritual and material sympathy, both with the 'black earth' and the monks of monasteries, whose hospitality he enjoyed, and with his fellow-comrades of the road. It is life that interests the author. Here we can get it, and it is like splashing about in a clear pool on a warm summer's day, spontaneous in inspiration, mature in philosophic contemplation. This sort of book gives a man honest pleasure. More, it sets his heart beating in unison with the author, in harmony with the awe and beauty and simplicity of Nature." _QUEEN_.--"The whole book is full of beautiful things.... Mr. Graham may feel sure that we look forward eagerly to his next book, in which he promises to tell the full story of his pilgrimage to Jerusalem." _LITERARY WORLD_.--"A book to read, to cherish, and to turn to again and again for the renewal of the moods of exaltation which it distils like dew upon a hillside." _T.P.'S WEEKLY_.--"A charming book of travel and philosophy. This tramp is a stylist, and if you have a friend who can appreciate really intimate and beautiful writing, buy it, and read it carefully word by word yourself. The pages are cut, and by this means you have a fund for reverie and talk that is not chatter. In an age of 'topics' and 'masterpieces' this quiet volume is the more delightful." _GLOBE_.--"Of the true vagabond spirit Mr. Graham possesses a very abundant share, and it is this sheer delight in tramping for tramping's sake--the only real joy of living--that, visible in every word he writes, makes his book so fascinating to read." _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_. WITH THE RUSSIAN PILGRIMS TO JERUSALEM With 38 Illustrations from Photographs by the Author, and a Map. 8vo. 
40966	----	Transcriber's notes Variable spelling has been retained. Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently corrected. A list of other corrections can be found at the end of the book. Footnotes were sequentially numbered and placed at the end of the text. In the original, the "The Gospel Narratives" are printed side by side across the page spread. In this e-book version they are presented individually. The Index was copied from Volume II. Mark up: _italics_ THE TRIAL OF JESUS [Illustration: JESUS BOUND (MUNKACSY)] THE TRIAL OF JESUS FROM A LAWYER'S STANDPOINT BY WALTER M. CHANDLER OF THE NEW YORK BAR VOLUME I THE HEBREW TRIAL THE EMPIRE PUBLISHING CO. 60 WALL STREET, NEW YORK CITY 1908 Copyright, 1908, by WALTER M. CHANDLER _All rights reserved_ TO MY MOTHER WITH SENTIMENTS OF LOVE AND VENERATION WHICH NO WORDS CAN EXPRESS LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE JESUS BOUND (Munkacsy) _Frontispiece_ ST. MATTHEW (Rembrandt) 2 ST. MARK AND ST. PAUL (Dürer) 28 ST. JOHN AND ST. PETER (Dürer) 52 MOSES AND THE LAW (Michael Angelo) 72 THE LAST SUPPER (da Vinci) 174 JESUS IN GETHSEMANE (Hoffman) 240 THE BETRAYING KISS (Scheffer) 282 THE ARREST OF JESUS (Hoffman) 284 CONTENTS OF VOLUME ONE PAGE PREFACE TO VOLUME ONE xiii THE GOSPEL NARRATIVES xxx PART I _THE RECORD OF FACT_ AUTHENTICITY OF THE NEW TESTAMENT NARRATIVES, JUDICIALLY CONSIDERED 3 CREDIBILITY OF THE GOSPEL WRITERS, LEGALLY TESTED 9 PART II _HEBREW CRIMINAL LAW_ CHAPTER I. THE MOSAIC CODE AND THE TALMUD 73 II. HEBREW CRIMES AND PUNISHMENTS 91 III. HEBREW COURTS AND JUDGES 102 IV. HEBREW WITNESSES AND EVIDENCE 127 V. MODE OF TRIAL AND EXECUTION IN HEBREW CAPITAL CASES 153 PART III _THE BRIEF_ WHETHER OR NOT THE GREAT SANHEDRIN EXISTED AT THE TIME OF CHRIST 175 CONCERNING THE JURISDICTION OF THE GREAT SANHEDRIN, WITH REFERENCE TO ROMAN AUTHORITY, TO TRY CAPITAL OFFENSES AT THE DATE OF THE CRUCIFIXION 181 CONCERNING THE JURISDICTION OF THE GREAT SANHEDRIN, UNDER HEBREW LAW, TO TRY THE PARTICULAR OFFENSE WITH WHICH JESUS WAS CHARGED 183 WHETHER OR NOT THERE WAS A REGULAR LEGAL TRIAL OF JESUS BEFORE THE GREAT SANHEDRIN 183 WHETHER OR NOT THE RULES OF CRIMINAL PROCEDURE PRESCRIBED IN THE MISHNA WERE IN EXISTENCE AND ACTIVELY IN FORCE IN JUDEA AT THE TIME OF THE TRIAL OF JESUS 186 THE NATURE OF THE CHARGE BROUGHT AGAINST JESUS AT THE TRIAL BEFORE THE GREAT SANHEDRIN; AND HIS GUILT OR INNOCENCE WITH REFERENCE THERETO 187 POINT I: CONCERNING THE LEGALITY OF THE ARREST OF JESUS IN GETHSEMANE 219 POINT II: CONCERNING THE LEGALITY OF THE PRIVATE EXAMINATION OF JESUS BY ANNAS (OR CAIAPHAS) BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF THE REGULAR TRIAL 238 POINT III: CONCERNING THE LEGALITY OF THE INDICTMENT AGAINST JESUS 248 POINT IV: CONCERNING THE LEGALITY OF TRYING JESUS AT NIGHT 255 POINT V: CONCERNING THE LEGALITY OF TRYING JESUS BEFORE THE MORNING SACRIFICE HAD BEEN OFFERED 260 POINT VI: CONCERNING THE LEGALITY OF TRYING JESUS ON THE EVE OF A JEWISH SABBATH AND AT THE BEGINNING OF THE CELEBRATION OF THE PASSOVER FEAST 263 POINT VII: CONCERNING THE LEGALITY OF CONCLUDING THE TRIAL OF JESUS WITHIN ONE DAY 267 POINT VIII: CONCERNING THE LEGALITY OF CONVICTING JESUS UPON HIS UNCORROBORATED CONFESSION 271 POINT IX: CONCERNING THE LEGALITY OF A UNANIMOUS VERDICT AGAINST JESUS 279 POINT X: CONCERNING CERTAIN IRREGULARITIES OF FORM IN TRYING AND CONDEMNING JESUS 287 POINT XI: CONCERNING THE LEGAL DISQUALIFICATIONS OF MEMBERS OF THE GREAT SANHEDRIN, TO TRY JESUS 295 POINT XII: CONCERNING THE LEGALITY OF THE REFUSAL OF THE GREAT SANHEDRIN TO CONSIDER THE MERITS OF THE DEFENSE OF JESUS 309 PREFACE TO VOLUME ONE Many remarkable trials have characterized the judicial history of mankind. The trial of Socrates before the dicastery of Athens, charged with corrupting Athenian youth, with blaspheming the Olympic gods, and with seeking to destroy the constitution of the Attic Republic, is still a sublime and thrilling chapter in the history of a wonderful people, among the ruins and wrecks of whose genius the modern world still wanders to contemplate, admire, and study the pride of every master and the perfection of every model. The trial and execution of Charles the First of England sealed with royal blood a new covenant of British freedom, and erected upon the highway of national progress an enduring landmark to civil liberty. The entire civilized world stood aghast at the solemn and awful spectacle of the deliberate beheading of a king. And yet, to-day, the sober, serious judgment of mankind stamps the act with approval, and deems it a legitimate and righteous step in the heroic march of a brave and splendid people toward a complete realization of the inalienable rights of man. The philosopher of history declares these condemnatory and executory proceedings against a Stuart king worthy of all the epoch making movements that have glorified the centuries of English constitutional growth, and have given to mankind the imperishable parchments of Magna Charta, the Bill of Rights, the Petition of Rights, and Habeas Corpus. The trial of Warren Hastings in the hall of William Rufus has been immortalized by Lord Macaulay. This trial is a virtual reproduction in English history of the ancient Roman trial of Verres. England is substituted for Rome; Sicily becomes India; Hastings takes the place of Verres; and Burke is the orator instead of Cicero. The indictments are identical: Maladministration in the government of a province. In the impeachment of Hastings, England served notice upon her colonial governors and made proclamation to the world that English conquest was not intended to despoil and enslave, but was designed to carry to the inhabitants of distant lands her language, her literature, and her laws. This message to humanity was framed but not inspired by England. It was prompted by the success of the American Revolution, in which Washington and his Continentals had established the immortal principle, that the consent of the governed is the true source of all just powers of government. The trial of Aaron Burr, omitting Arnold's treason, is the blackest chapter in the annals of our republic. Burr was the most extraordinary man of the first half century of American national history. His powerful and fascinating personality conquered men and enslaved women. He was the finest scholar of the Revolution excepting Thomas Jefferson. He was the greatest orator of the Revolution excepting Patrick Henry. His farewell address to the United States Senate caused his inveterate enemies to weep. His arraignment at the bar of public justice on the charge of high treason--that he had sought to destroy the Country of Washington, the Republic of Jefferson, which is to-day the Union of Lincoln--was the sad and melancholy close of a long and lofty life. The trial of Alfred Dreyfus is still fresh in the minds and memories of men. Troubled political seas still surge and roll in France because of the hatred, prejudice, and passion that envelope the mysterious _bordereau_. The French Republic is still rent by two contending factions: Dreyfus and anti-Dreyfus. His friends still say that Dreyfus was a Prometheus who was chained to an ocean-girt rock while the vulture of exile preyed upon his heart. His enemies still assert that he was a Judas who betrayed not God or Christ, but France and the Fatherland. His banishment to the Island of the Devil; his wife's deathless devotion; the implacable hatred of his enemies; the undying loyalty of friends; and his own sufferings and woes are the warp and woof of the most splendid and pathetic epoch of a century. Other trials--of Mary Stuart, the beautiful and brilliant Scottish queen; of Robert Emmet, the grand and gifted Irish patriot martyr--thrilled the world in their day. But these trials, one and all, were tame and commonplace, compared with the trial and crucifixion of the Galilean peasant, Jesus of Nazareth. These were earthly trials, on earthly issues, before earthly courts. The trial of the Nazarene was before the high tribunals of both Heaven and earth; before the Great Sanhedrin, whose judges were the master-spirits of a divinely commissioned race; before the court of the Roman Empire that controlled the legal and political rights of men throughout the known world, from Scotland to Judea and from Dacia to Abyssinia. The trial of Jesus was twofold: Hebrew and Roman; or Ecclesiastical and Civil. The Hebrew trial took place before the Great Sanhedrin, consisting of seventy-one members. The Roman trial was held before Pontius Pilate, Roman governor of Judea, and afterwards before Herod, Tetrarch of Galilee. These trials all made one, were links in a chain, and took place within a space of time variously estimated from ten to twenty hours. The general order of events may be thus briefly described: (1) About eleven o'clock on the evening of April 6th, A.D. 30, Jesus and eleven of the Apostles left the scene of the Last Supper, which had been celebrated (probably in the home of Mark) on the outskirts of Jerusalem, to go to the Garden of Gethsemane. (2) Jesus was arrested about midnight in Gethsemane by a band of Temple officers and Roman soldiers guided by Judas. (3) He was first taken to Annas, and was afterwards sent by Annas to Caiaphas. A private preliminary examination of Jesus was then had before one of these church dignitaries. St. John describes this examination, but does not tell us clearly whether it was Annas or Caiaphas who conducted it. (4) After His preliminary examination, Jesus was arraigned about two o'clock in the morning before the Sanhedrin, which had convened in the palace of Caiaphas, and was formally tried and condemned to death on the charge of blasphemy against Jehovah. (5) After a temporary adjournment of the first session, the Sanhedrin reassembled at the break of day to retry Jesus, and to determine how He should be brought before Pilate. (6) In the early morning of April 7th, Jesus was led before Pontius Pilate, who was then stopping in the palace of Herod on the hill of Zion, his customary residence when he came up from Cæsarea to Jerusalem to attend the Jewish national festivals. A brief trial of Jesus by Pilate, on the charge of high treason against Cæsar, was then had in front of and within the palace of Herod. The result was an acquittal of the prisoner by the Roman procurator, who expressed his verdict in these words: "I find in him no fault at all." (7) Instead of releasing Jesus after having found Him not guilty, Pilate, being intimidated by the rabble, sent the prisoner away to Herod, Tetrarch of Galilee, who was then in attendance upon the Passover Feast, and was at that moment residing in the ancient palace of the Asmoneans in the immediate neighborhood of the residence of Pilate. A brief, informal hearing was had before Herod, who, having mocked and brutalized the prisoner, sent Him back to the Roman governor. (8) After the return of Jesus from the Court of Herod, Pilate assembled the priests and elders, announced to them that Herod had found no fault with the prisoner in their midst, reminded them that he himself had acquitted Him, and offered to scourge and then release Him. This compromise and subterfuge were scornfully rejected by the Jews who had demanded the crucifixion of Jesus. Pilate, after much vacillation, finally yielded to the demands of the mob and ordered the prisoner to be crucified. From this brief outline of the proceedings against Jesus, the reader will readily perceive that there were two distinct trials: a Hebrew and a Roman. He will notice further that each trial was marked by three distinct features or appearances. The Hebrew trial was characterized by: (1) The appearance before Annas. (2) The trial at the night session of the Sanhedrin. (3) The examination at the morning sitting of the same court. The Roman trial was marked by: (1) The appearance of Jesus before Pilate. (2) His arraignment before Herod. (3) His reappearance before Pilate. The first volume of this work has been devoted to the Hebrew trial of Jesus, and a distinctively Hebrew impress has been given to all its pages. The second volume has been devoted to the Roman trial, and a distinctively Roman impress has been given it. Each exhibits a distinct view of the subject. Taken together, they comprehend the most important and famous judicial transaction in history. It is not the purpose of the author of these volumes to usurp the functions or the privileges of the ecclesiastic. To priests and preachers have been left the discussion and solution of theological problems: the divinity of Jesus, the immortality of the soul and kindred religious dogmas. "The Trial of Jesus from a _Lawyer's_ Standpoint" is the expanded title of this work. A strict adherence to a secular discussion of the theme proclaimed has been studiously observed in the preparation of these pages. The legal rights of the _man_ Jesus at the bar of _human_ justice under Jewish and Roman laws have marked the limitations of the argument. Any digression from this plan has been temporary and necessary. A thorough understanding of any case, judicially considered, involves a complete analysis of the cardinal legal elements of the case: the element called Fact and the element called Law. Whether in ancient or modern times, in a Jewish or Gentile court, of civil or criminal jurisdiction, these elements have always entered into the legal conception of a case. Whether the advocate is preparing a pleading at his desk, is summing up before the jury, or addressing himself to the court, these elements are working forever in his brain. He is constantly asking himself these questions: What are the facts of this case? What is the law applicable to the facts? Do the facts and law meet and harmonize judicially? Do they blend in legal unison according to the latest decision of the court of last resort? If so, a case is made; otherwise, not. Now many sermons might be differently preached; many books might be differently written. But an intelligent discussion of the trial and crucifixion of Jesus from a lawyer's point of view must be had upon the basis of an analytical review of the agreement or nonagreement of law and fact in the case sought to be made against the Christ. The first question that naturally suggests itself to the inquiring mind, in investigating this theme, is this: Upon what facts was the complaint against Jesus based? A second question then logically follows: What were the rules and regulations of Hebrew and Roman law directly applicable to those facts in the trials of Jesus before the Sanhedrin and before Pilate? It is respectfully submitted that no clear and comprehensive treatment of the subject can be had without proper answers to these questions. Having learned the facts of any case, and having determined what rules of law are applicable to them in regard to the controversy in hand, a third step in the proceedings, in all matters of review on appeal, is this: To analyze the record from the viewpoint of the juristic agreement or nonagreement of law and fact; and to determine by a process of judicial dissection and reformation the presence or absence of essential legal elements in the proceedings, with a view to affirmance in case of absence, or reversal of the verdict in the event of the discovery of the presence of error. In obedience to this natural intellectual tendency and to the usual mode of legal procedure in reviewing and revising matters on appeal, the contents of Volume I have been divided into three parts, corresponding, in a general way, to the successive steps heretofore mentioned. In Part I, the Record of Fact in the trial of Jesus has been authenticated; not, indeed, according to the strict provisions of modern statutes which regulate the authentication of legal documents, but in the popular sense of the word "authentication." Nevertheless, the authenticity of the Gospel narratives, which form the record of fact in the trial of Jesus, and the credibility of the Evangelists who wrote and published these narratives, have been subjected to the rigorous tests of rules of evidence laid down by Greenleaf and by Starkie. Such an authentication has been deemed necessary in a treatise of this kind. Two main methods may be employed in investigating and proving the alleged occurrences of Sacred History: (1) The method which is based upon the evidence of spiritual consciousness and experience, derived from religious conversion and from communion with God; (2) the method that rests upon the application of historic facts and legal rules to the testimony of those who have asserted the existence of such occurrences. It has been contended by many that the first of these methods is the supreme test, and the only proper one, in solving religious problems and in reaching full and final assurance of the existence of spiritual truths. It is confidently asserted by such persons that the true Christian who has accepted Jesus as his personal Redeemer and has thereby found peace with God, needs no assurance from Matthew that the Christ was the Heaven-begotten and Virgin-born. Such a Christian, it is said, has positive proof from within that Jesus was divine. It is further contended that all forms of religious truth are susceptible of the same kind of proof. It is argued that from despairing hope, born of the longing and the tears of a mother who, grief-stricken and broken-hearted, kneels in prayer beside the coffin of her firstborn, springs stronger evidence of a future life and of an everlasting reunion with loved ones, than comes from all the assurances of immortality handed down by saints and sages. The advocates of this theory contend that the fact of the Resurrection of Jesus should be proved mainly by the method of spiritual consciousness and experience, and only incidentally by the historical testimony of the sacred writers. They boldly maintain that the Resurrection was a spiritual fact born of a spiritual truth; and that within the soul of each true believer is the image of the risen Jesus, reflected from Heaven in as perfect form as that seen by Paul while journeying to Damascus. It would be decidedly ungenerous and unjust to deny the force of the contention that spiritual consciousness and religious experience are convincing forms of proof. To do so would be to offer gratuitous insult to the intelligence and sincerity of millions of consecrated men and women who have repeatedly proclaimed and are still proclaiming that the Spirit of God and Christ within them attests the reality of religion. But on the other hand the doctrine of religions consciousness, as a mode of proof, certainly has its limitations. Spiritual proofs are obviously the very best means of establishing purely spiritual truths. But not many truths of religion are purely spiritual. The most of them are encased within historic facts which may themselves be separately considered as historic truths. In a sense, all spiritual truth is born of historic truth; that is, historic truths, in the order of our acquisition of a knowledge of them, antedate and create spiritual truths. The religious consciousness of the Resurrection of Jesus would never have been born in our hearts if we had never read the historical records of the physical Resurrection. Nor could we have ever had a religious experience of the divinity of Jesus if we had never read the historical accounts of His miracles, of His Virgin birth, His fulfillment of prophecy, and His Resurrection from the dead, unless Jesus had personally communicated to us evidences of His divinity. These separate and historic facts, of which spiritual truths are born, cannot be proved by religious consciousness and experience. The distinctions herein suggested are very aptly and beautifully expressed by Professor Inge in his Bampton Lectures on Christian Mysticism, in which he says: "The inner light can only testify to spiritual truths. It always speaks in the present tense; it cannot guarantee any historical event, past or future. It cannot guarantee either the Gospel history or a future judgment. It can tell us that Christ is risen, and He is alive for evermore, but not that He rose again the third day." From the foregoing, then, it is clear that in dealing with the historical facts and circumstances of the trial and crucifixion of Jesus, we cannot remotely employ the method of proof which is based upon religious consciousness and experience, since these events are matters of the past and not of the present. We have been compelled, therefore, to resort to the legal and historical method of proof; since we could not assume the correctness of the record, as such an assumption would have been lacking in legal requirement and judicial fitness. It has also been thought not to be within the scope of this treatise, or consistent with the purpose of the author of these volumes, to enter into a discussion of the question of inspiration in the matter of the origin of the New Testament Gospels, as the record of fact in the trial of Jesus. As secular historians, rather than as inspired writers, must the Evangelists be regarded in this connection; since the title of this work suggests and demands a strictly legal treatment of the theme proclaimed. The author would respectfully suggest, however, that the day is past for complete reliance upon the theory of inspiration and a total rejection of all analysis and investigation. That the Scriptures are sacred and inspired, and neither need nor permit questions involving doubt and speculation as to origin and authenticity will no longer meet the challenge or dissipate the fears of the intellectual leaders of the human race. The Christianity of the future must be a religion of reason as well as of faith, else it cannot and will not endure the shocks of time, or survive the onward march of the soul. If the teachings of the Nazarene are a faithful portrayal and a truthful expression of all the verities of Heaven and earth, then Christianity has nothing to fear from the discoveries of Science, from Roman catacombs, Arabian hieroglyphics, the sands of Egypt, or the ruins of Nineveh and Babylon. Science is the High Priestess of Nature and Nature's oracles, and no single revelation of Science can disprove or contradict the simplest truth of Nature's God. If, on the other hand, Christianity be fundamentally and essentially false, ignorance and bigotry will not preserve and perpetuate it; all the prayers of the faithful, all the martyrdom of the centuries, will not suffice to save it from death and annihilation. But the Christian need have no fear of the results of scientific investigation or historic revelation. Assyriology, archæology, and paleontology, interpreted and applied by the finest scholarship and the most superb intellects of earth, have spent all their stupendous and concentrated forces in the direction of the discovery of natural and historic facts that would confirm or destroy the Christian theory of things. And yet not one natural or historic fact has been discovered that seriously disturbs the testimony of the Evangelists or impairs the evidence of Christianity. A few unlettered fisherman, casting nets for a livelihood in the waters of Gennesaret, framed a message to humanity based upon the life and martyrdom of a Galilean peasant, their spiritual Lord and Master, and proclaimed it to the world; and all the succeeding centuries of scientific research and skeptical criticism have not shaken mankind's confidence in its truthfulness and its potency. If eighteen hundred years of scientific investigation have resulted only in proof and vindication of the historic asseverations of the Sacred Scriptures, and further investigation gives promise of still further proof and vindication, tending to remove all doubts and destroy all fears, nothing but rank stupidity and crass ignorance will place obstacles in the way of ultimate analysis and complete revelation. In Part II of this volume, following the plan heretofore suggested, the element of Law has been considered. Hebrew criminal jurisprudence, based upon the Mosaic Code and upon the Talmud, has been outlined and discussed. A more exhaustive treatment has been given than the subject would seem to justify, but the writer is convinced that the Criminal Code of the Jews must be of surpassing interest to the general reader, regardless of whether certain peculiar rules therein contained have reference to the trial of Jesus or not. The bulk of this Code has been inserted in this work because it is felt that a comprehensive view of any system enables the student of a particular trial under that system to grasp more fully and to appreciate more keenly the merits of the proceedings. In Part III the legal aspects of the trial of Jesus have been reviewed. The elements of Law and Fact have been combined in the form of a "Brief," in which "Points" have been made and errors have been discussed. During the past decade, the author of this work has delivered occasionally, in the United States and in the Dominion of Canada, a lecture upon the subject, "The Trial of Jesus from a Lawyer's Standpoint." Numerous requests have been made, from time to time, for the lecture in printed form. To supply this demand is the purpose of the publication of these volumes. The voluminous treatment given has been in response to the demands of those who have asked for a topical treatment of the subject. Many auditors in his lecture audiences have asked for special treatment, from a lawyer's standpoint, of the New Testament Gospels. Many have requested an exhaustive handling of Hebrew criminal law. Others have asked for the insertion in this work of the Apocryphal Acts of Pilate. And still others have expressed a desire to have Græco-Roman Paganism dealt with in its relationship to the trial of Jesus. In obedience to these various demands, certain chapters have been incorporated in the general work that may not seem to the average reader to have any direct bearing upon the subject treated. It is felt, however, that in every case at least a partial relevancy exists, and that in a large majority of cases the relevancy is perfect. The writer wishes, at this time and place, to acknowledge his indebtedness and to express his thanks, for valuable assistance rendered, to all those authors mentioned under the title "Bibliography" at the end of Volume II. WALTER M. CHANDLER. NEW YORK CITY, July 1, 1908. THE GOSPEL NARRATIVES MATTHEW xxvi. 47-68; xxvii. 1-26 And while he yet spake, lo, Judas, one of the twelve, came, and with him a great multitude with swords and staves, from the chief priests and elders of the people.... Then came they, and laid hands on Jesus, and took him.... And they that had laid hold on Jesus led him away to Caiaphas the high priest, where the scribes and the elders were assembled.... Now the chief priests, and elders, and all the council, sought false witness against Jesus, to put him to death; But found none: yea, though many false witnesses came, yet found they none. At the last came two false witnesses, And said, This fellow said, I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to build it in three days. And the high priest arose, and said unto him, Answerest thou nothing? what is it which these witness against thee? But Jesus held his peace. And the high priest answered and said unto him, I adjure thee by the living God, that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God. Jesus saith unto him, Thou has said: nevertheless I say unto you, Hereafter shall ye see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven. Then the high priest rent his clothes, saying, He hath spoken blasphemy; what further need have we of witnesses? behold, now ye have heard his blasphemy. What think ye? They answered and said, He is guilty of death. Then did they spit in his face, and buffeted him; and others smote him with the palms of their hands, Saying, Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, Who is he that smote thee? When the morning was come, all the chief priests and elders of the people took counsel against Jesus to put him to death: And when they had bound him, they led him away, and delivered him to Pontius Pilate the governor.... And Jesus stood before the governor: and the governor asked him, saying, Art thou the King of the Jews? And Jesus said unto him, Thou sayest. And when he was accused of the chief priests and elders, he answered nothing. Then said Pilate unto him, Hearest thou not how many things they witness against thee? And he answered him to never a word; insomuch that the governor marvelled greatly. Now at the feast the governor was wont to release unto the people a prisoner, whom they would. And they had then a notable prisoner, called Barabbas. Therefore when they were gathered together, Pilate said unto them, Whom will ye that I release unto you? Barabbas, or Jesus which is called Christ? For he knew that for envy they had delivered him. When he was set down on the judgement seat, his wife sent unto him, saying, Have thou nothing to do with that just man: for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him. But the chief priests and elders persuaded the multitude that they should ask Barabbas, and destroy Jesus. The governor answered and said unto them, Whether of the twain will ye that I release unto you? They said, Barabbas. Pilate saith unto them, What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ? They all say unto him, Let him be crucified. And the governor said, Why, what evil hath he done? But they cried out the more, saying, Let him be crucified. When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it. Then answered all the people, and said, His blood be on us, and on our children. Then released he Barabbas unto them: and when he had scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified. MARK xiv. 43-65; xv. 1-15. And immediately, while he yet spake, cometh Judas, one of the twelve, and with him a great multitude with swords and staves, from the chief priests and the scribes and the elders. And he that betrayed him had given them a token, saying, Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is he; take him, and lead him away safely. And as soon as he was come, he goeth straightway to him, and saith, Master, Master; and kissed him. And they laid hands on him, and took him. And one of them that stood by drew a sword, and smote a servant of the high priest, and cut off his ear. And Jesus answered and said unto them, Are ye come out, as against a thief, with swords and staves to take me? I was daily with you in the temple teaching, and ye took me not; but the scriptures must be fulfilled. And they all forsook him, and fled. And there followed him a certain young man, having a linen cloth cast about his naked body; and the young man laid hold on him: And he left the linen cloth, and fled from them naked. And they led Jesus away to the high priest: and with him were assembled all the chief priests and the elders and the scribes.... And the chief priests and all the council sought for witness against Jesus to put him to death; and found none. For many bare false witness against him, but their witness agreed not together. And there arose certain, and bare false witness against him, saying, We heard him say, I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and within three days I will build another made without hands. But neither so did their witness agree together. And the high priest stood up in the midst, and asked Jesus, saying, Answerest thou nothing? what is it which these witness against thee? But he held his peace, and answered nothing. Again the high priest asked him, and said unto him, Art thou the Christ, the Son of the Blessed? And Jesus said, I am: and ye shall see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven. Then the high priest rent his clothes, and saith, What need we any further witnesses? Ye have heard the blasphemy: what think ye? And they all condemned him to be guilty of death. And some began to spit on him, and to cover his face, and to buffet him, and to say unto him, Prophesy: and the servants did strike him with the palms of their hands. And straightway in the morning the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the whole council, and bound Jesus, and carried him away, and delivered him to Pilate. And Pilate asked him, Art thou the King of the Jews? And he answering said unto him, Thou sayest it. And the chief priests accused him of many things: but he answered nothing. And Pilate asked him again, saying, Answerest thou nothing? behold how many things they witness against thee. But Jesus yet answered nothing; so that Pilate marvelled. Now at that feast he released unto them one prisoner, whomsoever they desired. And there was one named Barabbas, which lay bound with them that had made insurrection with him, who had committed murder in the insurrection. And the multitude crying aloud began to desire him to do as he had ever done unto them. But Pilate answered them, saying, Will ye that I release unto you the King of the Jews? For he knew that the chief priests had delivered him for envy. But the chief priests moved the people, that he should rather release Barabbas unto them. And Pilate answered and said again unto them, What will ye then that I shall do unto him whom ye call the King of the Jews? And they cried out again, Crucify him. Then Pilate said unto them, Why, what evil hath he done? And they cried out the more exceedingly, Crucify him. And so Pilate, willing to content the people, released Barabbas unto them, and delivered Jesus, when he had scourged him, to be crucified. LUKE xxii. 47-71; xxiii. 1-24. And while he yet spake, behold a multitude, and he that was called Judas, one of the twelve, went before them, and drew near unto Jesus to kiss him. But Jesus said unto him, Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss? When they which were about him saw what would follow, they said unto him, Lord, shall we smite with the sword? And one of them smote the servant of the high priest, and cut off his right ear. And Jesus answered and said, Suffer ye thus far. And he touched his ear, and healed him. Then Jesus said unto the chief priests, and captains of the temple, and the elders, which were come to him, Be ye come out, as against a thief, with swords and staves? When I was daily with you in the temple, ye stretched forth no hands against me; but this is your hour, and the power of darkness. Then took they him, and led him, and brought him into the high priest's house. And Peter followed afar off.... And as soon as it was day, the elders of the people and the chief priests and the scribes came together, and led him into their council, saying, Art thou the Christ? tell us. And he said unto them, If I tell you, ye will not believe: And if I also ask you, ye will not answer me, nor let me go. Hereafter shall the Son of man sit on the right hand of the power of God. Then said they all, Art thou then the Son of God? And he said unto them, Ye say that I am. And they said, What need we any further witness? for we ourselves have heard of his own mouth. And the whole multitude of them arose, and led him unto Pilate. And they began to accuse him, saying, We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying that he himself is Christ a King. And Pilate asked him, saying, Art thou the King of the Jews? And he answered him and said, Thou sayest it. Then said Pilate to the chief priests and to the people, I find no fault in this man. And they were the more fierce, saying, He stirreth up the people, teaching throughout all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this place. When Pilate heard of Galilee, he asked whether the man were a Galilæan. And as soon as he knew that he belonged unto Herod's jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod, who himself also was at Jerusalem at that time. And when Herod saw Jesus, he was exceeding glad: for he was desirous to see him of a long season, because he had heard many things of him; and he hoped to have seen some miracle done by him. Then he questioned with him in many words; but he answered him nothing. And the chief priests and scribes stood and vehemently accused him. And Herod with his men of war set him at nought, and mocked him, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate. And the same day Pilate and Herod were made friends together: for before they were at enmity between themselves. And Pilate, when he had called together the chief priests and the rulers and the people, Said unto them, Ye have brought this man unto me, as one that perverteth the people: and, behold, I, having examined him before you, have found no fault in this man touching those things whereof ye accuse him: No, nor yet Herod: for I sent you to him; and, lo, nothing worthy of death is done unto him. I will therefore chastise him, and release him.... And they cried out all at once, saying, Away with this man, and release unto us Barabbas.... Pilate therefore, willing to release Jesus, spake again to them. But they cried, saying, Crucify him, crucify him. And he said unto them the third time, Why, what evil hath he done? I have found no cause of death in him: I will therefore chastise him, and let him go. And they were instant with loud voices, requiring that he might be crucified. And the voices of them and of the chief priests prevailed. And Pilate gave sentence that it should be as they required. JOHN xviii. 3-38; xix. 1-16. Judas then, having received a band of men and officers from the chief priests and Pharisees, cometh thither with lanterns and torches and weapons.... Then the band and the captain and officers of the Jews took Jesus, and bound him, And led him away to Annas first; for he was father in law to Caiaphas, which was the high priest that same year.... The high priest then asked Jesus of his disciples, and of his doctrine. Jesus answered him, I spake openly to the world; I ever taught in the synagogue, and in the temple, whither the Jews always resort; and in secret have I said nothing. Why askest thou me? ask them which heard me, what I have said unto them: behold, they know what I said. And when he had thus spoken, one of the officers which stood by struck Jesus with the palm of his hand, saying, Answerest thou the high priest so? Jesus answered him, If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil: but if well, why smitest thou me? Now Annas had sent him bound unto Caiaphas the high priest.... Then led they Jesus from Caiaphas unto the hall of judgment: and it was early; and they themselves went not into the judgment hall, lest they should be defiled; but that they might eat the passover. Pilate then went out unto them, and said, What accusation bring ye against this man? They answered and said unto him, If he were not a malefactor, we would not have delivered him up unto thee. Then said Pilate unto them, Take ye him, and judge him according to your law. The Jews therefore said unto him, It is not lawful for us to put any man to death.... Then Pilate entered into the judgment hall again, and called Jesus, and said unto him, Art thou the King of the Jews? Jesus answered him, Sayest thou this thing of thyself, or did others tell it thee of me? Pilate answered, Am I a Jew? Thine own nation and the chief priests have delivered thee unto me: what hast thou done? Jesus answered, My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence. Pilate therefore said unto him, Art thou a king then? Jesus answered, Thou sayest that I am a king. To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth. Everyone that is of the truth heareth my voice. Pilate saith unto him, What is truth? And when he had said this, he went out again unto the Jews, and saith unto them, I find in him no fault at all. Then Pilate therefore took Jesus, and scourged him. And the soldiers platted a crown of thorns, and put it on his head, and they put on him a purple robe, And said, Hail, King of the Jews! and they smote him with their hands. Pilate therefore went forth again, and saith unto them, Behold, I bring him forth to you, that ye may know that I find no fault in him.... The Jews answered him, We have a law, and by our law he ought to die, because he made himself the Son of God. When Pilate therefore heard that saying, he was the more afraid; And went again into the judgment hall, and saith unto Jesus, Whence art thou? But Jesus gave him no answer.... And from thenceforth Pilate sought to release him: but the Jews cried out, saying, If thou let this man go, thou art not Cæsar's friend: whosoever maketh himself a king speaketh against Cæsar. When Pilate therefore heard that saying, he brought Jesus forth, and sat down in the judgment seat in a place that is called the Pavement, but in the Hebrew, Gabbatha. And it was the preparation of the passover, and about the sixth hour: and he saith unto the Jews, Behold your King! But they cried out, Away with him, away with him, crucify him. Pilate saith unto them, Shall I crucify your King? The chief priests answered, We have no king but Cæsar. Then delivered he him therefore unto them to be crucified. And they took Jesus, and led him away. PART I _THE RECORD OF FACT_ [Illustration: ST. MATTHEW (REMBRANDT)] CHAPTER I THE RECORD OF FACT The Gospels of the New Testament form the record of fact in the trial of Jesus. There is not a line of authentic history in the literature of the world, sacred or profane, dealing originally and authoritatively with the facts and circumstances of the trial and crucifixion of the Christ, excepting these Gospels. A line from Philo--a dubious passage from Josephus--a mere mention by Tacitus--a few scattering fragments from the Talmud--all else is darkness, save the light that streams down through the centuries from Calvary and the Cross through the books of the Evangelists. In dealing with the record of fact contained in the Gospels, in the trial of Jesus two questions naturally suggest themselves: (1) Are the Gospel narratives, such as we have them to-day, identical with those that were given to the world by the Evangelists in Apostolic times? That is, have these biographies of the Christ by the Evangelical writers been handed down to us through all the ages substantially uncorrupted and unimpaired? (2) Are the Gospel writers--Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John--credible witnesses of the facts and circumstances recorded by them in the Gospel histories? That is, did they tell the truth when they wrote and published these narratives to the world? Satisfactory affirmative answers to these questions will establish and authenticate a perfect record of fact. The pages of Part I of this volume will be devoted to giving affirmative and satisfactory answers to these questions. And, in accomplishing this purpose, academic reasoning and metaphysical speculation will be rejected. Well-established rules of evidence, as employed in modern courts of law, will be rigorously applied. So-called "Higher Criticism" has no place in a treatise of this kind, since the critical niceties and dialectic quibbles of men like Strauss, Renan, and Baur would not be seriously considered in a modern judicial proceeding. Reasonable probability, and not mathematical certainty, is the legal test of adequacy in weighing human testimony with a view to a judicial determination. The reader may ask: Why should not a Christian writer, in a Christian country, assume, without argument, that the testimony of Christian sacred writers is true? The answer is that such conduct would convert a purely legal treatise into a religious one, and substitute faith for logic. The writer of these volumes, as a Christian, believes that the Gospels relate the truth. As a lawyer, he is compelled to respect the opinions of a large proportion of mankind who differ with him, and to employ judicial methods in treating a legal theme. The two questions above mentioned involve two distinct principles or features in the Law of Evidence: (1) Admissibility or relevancy of evidence; (2) Credibility of witnesses who have rendered testimony. All the pages of Part I will be devoted to a consideration of these features in their relationship to the testimony of the Evangelists. The first question that naturally arises is this: Is there a well-established rule of the modern Law of Evidence under which the Gospels could be introduced as evidence in a modern judicial proceeding? Suppose that the question of the Resurrection of Jesus--that is, the fact of the truthfulness or falsity of the Resurrection--should become a material fact in issue in a suit in a modern court of law; could the testimony of the Evangelists relating to the Resurrection be introduced in evidence? It would probably be objected that their testimony was hearsay; that they had not been properly subjected to the cardinal tests of truth: an oath, a cross-examination, and personal demeanor while testifying. These objections might prevail if another rule of law could not be successfully invoked. Such a rule exists, and with it we have now to deal. The author can conceive of no more satisfactory way of establishing the principle of the admissibility of the Gospels in evidence under modern law than by quoting at length from the celebrated treatise on the "Testimony of the Evangelists," by Mr. Simon Greenleaf, the greatest of all writers on the Law of Evidence. The opinion of Greenleaf on a subject of this kind is somewhat in the nature of a decision of a court of last resort, and his authority in matters of this import is unquestioned in every land where English law is practiced. _The London Law Magazine_, a few years ago, paid him the following splendid tribute: "It is no mean honor to America that her schools of jurisprudence have produced two of the first writers and best esteemed legal authorities of this century--the great and good man, Judge Story, and his worthy and eminent associate, Professor Greenleaf. Upon the existing Law of Evidence (by Greenleaf) more light has shone from the New World than from all the lawyers who adorn the courts of Europe." Concerning the authenticity of the Sacred Scriptures and their admissibility in evidence, Greenleaf has thus written: That the books of the Old Testament, as we now have them, are genuine; that they existed in the time of our Saviour, and were commonly received and referred to among the Jews as the sacred books of their religion; and that the text of the Four Evangelists has been handed down to us in the state in which it was originally written, that is, without having been materially corrupted or falsified, either by heretics or Christians, are facts which we are entitled to assume as true, until the contrary is shown. The genuineness of these writings really admits of as little doubt, and is susceptible of as ready proof, as that of any ancient writings whatever. The rule of municipal law on this subject is familiar, and applies with equal force to all ancient writings, whether documentary or otherwise; and as it comes first in order, in the prosecution of these inquiries, it may, for the sake of mere convenience, be designated as our first rule. _Every document, apparently ancient, coming from the proper repository or custody, and bearing on its face no evident marks of forgery, the law presumes to be genuine, and devolves on the opposing party the burden of proving it to be otherwise._ An ancient document, offered in evidence in our courts, is said to come from the proper repository, when it is found in the place where, and under the care of persons with whom, such writings might naturally and reasonably be expected to be found; for it is this custody which gives authenticity to documents found within it. If they come from such a place, and bear no evident marks of forgery, the law presumes that they are genuine, and they are permitted to be read in evidence, unless the opposing party is able successfully to impeach them. The burden of showing them to be false and unworthy of credit is devolved on the party who makes that objection. The presumption of law is the judgment of charity. It presumes that every man is innocent until he is proved guilty; that everything has been done fairly and legally until it is proved to have been otherwise; and that every document found in its proper repository, and not bearing marks of forgery, is genuine. Now this is precisely the case with the Sacred Writings. They have been used in the church from time immemorial, and are thus found in the place where alone they ought to be looked for. They come to us, and challenge our reception of them as genuine writings, precisely as Domesday Book, the Ancient Statutes of Wales, or any other of the ancient documents which have recently been published under the British Record Commission are received. They are found in familiar use in all the churches of Christendom, as the sacred books to which all denominations of Christians refer, as the standard of their faith. There is no pretense that they were engraven on plates of gold and discovered in a cave, nor that they were brought from heaven by angels; but they are received as the plain narratives and writings of the men whose names they respectively bear, made public at the time they were written; and though there are some slight discrepancies among the copies subsequently made, there is no pretense that the originals were anywhere corrupted. If it be objected that the originals are lost, and that copies alone are now produced, the principles of the municipal law here also afford a satisfactory answer. For the multiplication of copies was a public fact, in the faithfulness of which all the Christian community had an interest; and it is a rule of law that _In matters of public and general interest, all persons must be presumed to be conversant, on the principle that individuals are presumed to be conversant with their own affairs._ Therefore it is that, in such matters, the prevailing current of assertion is resorted to as evidence, for it is to this that every member of the community is supposed to be privy. The persons, moreover, who multiplied these copies may be regarded, in some manner, as the agents of the Christian public, for whose use and benefit the copies were made; and on the ground of the credit due to such agents, and of the public nature of the facts themselves, the copies thus made are entitled to an extraordinary degree of confidence, and, as in the case of official registers and other public books, it is not necessary that they should be confirmed and sanctioned by the ordinary tests of truth. If any ancient document concerning our public rights were lost, copies which had been as universally received and acted upon as the Four Gospels have been, would have been received in evidence in any of our courts of justice, without the slightest hesitation. The entire text of the Corpus Juris Civilis is received as authority in all the courts of continental Europe, upon much weaker evidence of its genuineness; for the integrity of the Sacred Text has been preserved by the jealousy of opposing sects, beyond any moral possibility of corruption; while that of the Roman Civil Law has been preserved by tacit consent, without the interest of any opposing school, to watch over and preserve it from alteration. These copies of the Holy Scriptures having thus been in familiar use in the churches from the time when the text was committed to writing; having been watched with vigilance by so many sects, opposed to each other in doctrine, yet all appealing to these Scriptures for the correctness of their faith; and having in all ages, down to this day, been respected as the authoritative source of all ecclesiastical power and government, and submitted to, and acted under in regard to so many claims of right, on the one hand, and so many obligations of duty, on the other; it is quite erroneous to suppose that the Christian is bound to offer any further proof of their genuineness or authenticity. It is for the objector to show them spurious; for on him, by the plainest rules of law, lies the burden of proof. If it were the case of a claim to a franchise, and a copy of an ancient deed or charter were produced in support of the title, under parallel circumstances on which to presume its genuineness, no lawyer, it is believed, would venture to deny either its admissibility in evidence or the satisfactory character of the proof. In a recent case in the House of Lords, precisely such a document, being an old manuscript copy, purporting to have been extracted from ancient Journals of the House, which were lost, and to have been made by an officer whose duty it was to prepare lists of the peers, was held admissible in a claim of peerage.[1] Having secured the Gospel writings to be admitted in evidence under the rule laid down by Mr. Greenleaf, we are now ready to consider more at length the question of the credibility of the witnesses. The reader should bear in mind that there is a very important difference between the admission of testimony in evidence and belief in its truthfulness by the court or jury. Evidence is frequently deemed relevant and admissible, and goes to the jury for what it is worth. They may or may not believe it. We are now ready to consider the credit that should be accorded the testimony of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John concerning the trial and crucifixion of Jesus. And at the outset it should be borne in mind that there is a legal presumption that they told the truth. This presumption operates in their favor from the very moment that their testimony is admitted in evidence. Here, again, the opinion of Greenleaf--with all the weight and authority that such an opinion carries--is directly in point. In the "Testimony of the Evangelists" he says: Proceeding further, to inquire whether the facts related by the Four Evangelists are proved by competent and satisfactory evidence, we are led, first, to consider on which side lies the burden of establishing the credibility of the witnesses. On this point the municipal law furnishes a rule which is of constant application in all trials by jury, and is indeed the dictate of that charity which thinketh no evil. _In the absence of circumstances which generate suspicion, every witness is to be presumed credible, until the contrary is shown, the burden of impeaching his credibility lying on the objector._ This rule serves to show the injustice with which the writers of the Gospels have ever been treated by infidels; an injustice silently acquiesced in even by Christians; in requiring the Christian affirmatively, and by positive evidence, _aliunde_ to establish the credibility of his witnesses above all others, before their testimony is entitled to be considered, and in permitting the testimony of a single profane writer, alone and uncorroborated, to outweigh that of any single Christian. This is not the course in courts of chancery, where the testimony of a single witness is never permitted to outweigh the oath even of the defendant himself, interested as he is in the case; but, on the contrary, if the plaintiff, after having required the oath of his adversary, cannot overthrow it by something more than the oath of one witness, however credible, it must stand as evidence against him. But the Christian writer seems, by the usual course of the argument, to have been deprived of the common presumption of charity in his favor; and reversing the ordinary rule of administering justice in human tribunals, his testimony is unjustly presumed to be false, until it is proved to be true. This treatment, moreover, has been applied to them all in a body; and without due regard to the fact, that, being independent historians, writing at different periods, they are entitled to the support of each other; they have been treated, in the argument, almost as if the New Testament were the entire production, at once, of a body of men, conspiring by a joint fabrication, to impose a false religion upon the world. It is time that this injustice should cease; that the testimony of the evangelists should be admitted to be true, until it can be disproved by those who would impugn it; that the silence of one sacred writer on any point should no more detract from his own veracity or that of other historians, that the like circumstance is permitted to do among profane writers; and that the Four Evangelists should be admitted in corroboration of each other, as readily as Josephus and Tacitus, or Polybius and Livy.[2] The reader will notice from the last extract that the eminent writer quoted has sought to establish the credibility of the Evangelists by a legal presumption in favor of their veracity. But it should be borne in mind that this presumption is a disputable one, and may be overturned by opposing evidence; that objections may be raised which will destroy the force of the presumption and shift the burden again to him who asserts the credibility of the witnesses. Now, let us suppose that such objections have been made, and that sufficient opposing evidence has been offered to accomplish this result; what has the Christian then to say in support of the credibility of the first historians of his faith? What proofs has he to offer, independent of legal presumption, that the first biographers of the Master were truthful men? Can he show that the application of legal tests to their credibility will save them in the eyes of a critical and unbelieving world? The writer believes that the Christian can do it, and will at once assume the task. In "Starkie on Evidence" we find elaborated a rule of municipal law, at once concise and comprehensive, which furnishes a complete test of the credibility of witnesses. The various elements of this rule are constantly operating in the mind of the successful cross-examiner in the course of any extensive cross-examination. _The credit due to the testimony of witnesses depends upon, firstly, their honesty; secondly, their ability; thirdly, their number and the consistency of their testimony; fourthly, the conformity of their testimony with experience; and fifthly, the coincidence of their testimony with collateral circumstances._[3] Let us apply these successive tests, in the order above enumerated, to the Evangelists. (1) In the first place, let us consider the question of their _honesty_. The meaning of the word "honesty," used in this connection, is peculiar. It relates rather to personal sincerity than to personal integrity, and suggests the idea of perjury rather than theft in criminal law. Were the witnesses honest? That is, were they sincere? Did they intend to tell the truth? That is, did they themselves believe what they testified? If so, they were honest witnesses, though their testimony was false, as a result of error in judgment or mistake of fact. In the sense, then, of _sincerity_ is the test of honesty to be applied to the Evangelists as witnesses of the facts which they relate in the New Testament narratives. And in making this test let us bear in mind the nature and scope of this work; that it is not a religious treatise, and that the question of inspiration must not be allowed to confuse a purely legal and historical discussion. As secular historians, and not as inspired writers, must the Evangelists be considered. And in testing their credibility, the customary standards employed in analyzing the motives and conduct of ordinary men in the usual experiences and everyday affairs of life must be applied. To regard them as strange or supernatural beings, subject to some awful influence, and acting under the guidance and protection of some god or hero, is decidedly foreign to the present purpose. It is felt that only two considerations are needed in applying the test of sincerity to the Evangelists: (1) Character; (2) Motive. And this for the reason that honest character and righteous motive are the legitimate parentage of perfect sincerity. Then, as a primary consideration, in discussing their sincerity, it may be reasonably contended that the Gospel writers were either good men or bad. A middle ground is not possible in their case, since the issues joined and the results attained were too terrible and stupendous to have been produced by negative or indifferent forces. Were they good men, then they believed what they taught and wrote, and were sincere, else they deliberately palmed off an imposture on the world, which is inconsistent with the hypothesis that they were good. Were they bad men, then their lives and teachings furnish a contradiction in principle and an inversion in the nature and order of cause and effect which history has not elsewhere recorded, either before or since; for, in their discourses and their writings, they portrayed the divinest character and proclaimed the sublimest truths known to the children of men. Every serious, thoughtful mind at once inquires: Could bad men, conspirators and hypocrites, have painted such a character--one whose perfect purity and sinless beauty mock and shame the mental and spiritual attributes of every false prophet and of all heathen gods? The Olympian Zeus, the sovereign creation of the superb Greek intellect, was a fierce and vindictive deity--at times a faithless spouse and a drunken debauchee. Mahomet, whom two hundred millions of the human race worship as the Inspired of Allah, was cruel and treacherous in warfare, and base and sensual in private life. The Great Spirit of the Indian granted immortality to dogs, but denied it to women. Other hideous and monstrous attributes deformed the images and blurred the characters of pagan prophets and heathen divinities. But Jesus of Nazareth was a pure and perfect being who claimed to be sinless,[4] and whose claims have been admitted by all the world, believers and unbelievers alike. The great truths taught by the gentle Nazarene and transmitted by the Evangelists have brought balm and healing to the nations, have proclaimed and established universal brotherhood among men. Is it probable that such a character was painted and such truths proclaimed by dishonest and insincere men? Can Vice be the mother of Virtue? "Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles?" If Jesus was not really the pure and holy being portrayed by the Gospels, then the Evangelists have created a sublime character in a superb fiction which surpasses anything to be found in profane literature, and that evil-minded men could neither have conceived nor executed. It is impossible to derive from these reflections any other conclusion than the absolute honesty and perfect sincerity of the Evangelists. Besides, the mere perusal of their writings leaves a deep impression that they were pure and pious men. Again, a second and more serious consideration than that of character, as affecting the sincerity of the Gospel writers, is the question of motive. If the Evangelists were insincere and did not believe their own story, what motive prompted them to tell it, to preach it and to die for it? It is not believed that all men are now or have ever been wholly selfish, but it is contended that desire for compensation is the main inducement to human action, mental and manual. Reward is the great golden key that opens the door of the Temple of Labor, and some form of recompense, here or hereafter, explains all the bustling activity of men. The Apostles themselves acted in obedience to this law, for we find them quarreling among themselves as to place and precedence in the New Kingdom. They even demanded of the Master the exact nature of their reward for labors performed and sacrifices endured. To which reply was made that they should sit on twelve thrones and judge the Twelve Tribes of Israel. Now let us apply this principle of expectation of reward to the conduct of the Evangelists in preaching and publishing the Gospel of the Nazarene, and let us note particularly the result as it affects the question of motive in human conduct. But first let us review, for a moment, the political and religious situation at the beginning of the Apostolic ministry. The Master and Savior of the first Christians had just perished as a malefactor on the cross. The religion which the Apostles began to preach was founded in the doctrine of repentance from sins, faith in the Crucified One, and belief in His resurrection from the dead. Christianity, of which these elements were the essentials, sought to destroy and supplant all other religions. No compromises were proposed, no treaties were concluded. The followers of the Nazarene raised a black flag against paganism and every heathen god. No quarter was asked and none was given. This strange faith not only defied all other religions, but mocked all earthly government not built upon it. The small, but devoted, band, thus arrayed against themselves in the very beginning all the opposing religious and secular forces of the earth. Judaism branded the new creed as a disobedient and rebellious daughter. Paganism denounced it as a sham and a fraud, because its doctrines were unknown to the Portico and the Academy, and because its teachings were ridiculed by both Stoics and Epicureans. The Roman State cast a jealous and watchful eye upon the haughty pretensions of a religious system that taught the impotence of kings and sought to degrade earthly royalty. In seeking, then, to establish the new faith and to inculcate its doctrines, what could and did the Evangelists expect but the bitter opposition which they met? Did they seriously hope to see the proud and haughty Sadducee, who despised the common people, or the kingly aristocracy of Rome, that vaunted a superhuman excellence, complacently accept a religion that taught the absolute equality and the universal brotherhood of men? Did they not expect what they actually received--bitter persecution, horrible torture, and cruel death? Then we are led to ask: Was this the recompense which they sought? Again, we pose the question: What was the motive of these men in thus acting, if they were dishonest and insincere? If they knew that they were preaching a falsehood, what reward did they expect? Was it of an earthly or a heavenly kind? It is unreasonable to suppose that they looked forward to earthly recompense when their teachings arrayed against them every spiritual and temporal potentate who had honors to grant or favors to confer. Were they looking for heavenly reward? It is ridiculous to imagine that they hoped to gain this by preaching a falsehood in this world. Nothing could be, therefore, more absurd than the proposition that a number of men banded themselves together, repudiated the ancient faith of their fathers, changed completely their mode of life, became austere in professing and practicing principles of virtue, spent their entire lives proclaiming certain truths to mankind, and then suffered the deaths of martyrs--all for the sake of a religion which they knew to be false. If they did not believe it to be false, they were sincere, and one element of their credibility is established. It is not a question at this time as to the absolute correctness of their statements. These statements might have been false, though their authors believed them to be true--it is a question of sincerity at this point; and the test of sincerity, as an element of credibility, rests upon the simple basis that men are more disposed to believe the statement of a witness if it is thought that the witness himself believes it. (2) In the second place, let us consider the _ability_ of the Evangelists as a test of their credibility as witnesses. The text writers on the Law of Evidence are generally agreed that the ability of a witness to speak truthfully and accurately depends upon two considerations: (1) His natural powers of observation, which enable him to clearly perceive, and his strength of memory, which enables him to fully retain the matters of fact to which his testimony relates; (2) his opportunities for observing the things about which he testifies. To what extent the Gospel writers possessed the first of these qualifications--that is, power of observation and strength of memory--we are not informed by either history or tradition. But we are certainly justified in assuming to be true what the law actually presumes: that they were at least men of sound mind and average intelligence. This presumption, it may be remarked, continues to exist in favor of the witness until an objector appears who proves the contrary by competent and satisfactory evidence. It is not believed that this proof has ever been or can ever be successfully established in the case of the Evangelists. Aside from this legal presumption in their favor, there are certain considerations which lead us to believe that they were well qualified to speak truthfully and authoritatively about the matters relating to Gospel history. In the first place, the writings themselves indicate extraordinary mental vigor, as well as cultivated intelligence. The Gospels of Luke and John, moreover, reveal that the elegance of style and lofty imagery which are the invariable characteristics of intellectual depth and culture. The "ignorant fishermen" idea is certainly not applicable to the Gospel writers. If they were ever very ignorant, at the time of the composition of the Evangelical writings they had outgrown the affliction. The fact that the Gospels were written in Greek by Hebrews indicates that they were not entirely illiterate. Again, the occupations of two of them are very suggestive. Matthew was a collector at the seat of customs,[5] and Luke was a physician.[6] Both these callings required more than ordinary knowledge of men, as well as accurate powers of observation, discrimination, and analysis. But it has been frequently urged that, regardless of their natural endowments, the Evangelists were biased in favor of Jesus and His teachings, and bitterly prejudiced against all opposing faiths. In other words, they were at the same moment both enthusiasts and fanatics. For this reason, it is contended, their testimony is unreliable. This is without doubt the weakest assault ever made upon the trustworthiness of the Gospel narratives. That the Gospel writers were neither fanatics nor enthusiasts is evident from the very tone and style of the Sacred Writings themselves. The language of fanaticism and enthusiasm is the language of rant and rage, of vituperation and of censure, on the one hand, and of eulogy and adulation on the other. The enthusiast knows no limit to the praise of those whose cause he advocates. The fanatic places no bounds to his denunciation of those whom he opposes. Now, the most remarkable characteristic of the New Testament histories is the spirit of quiet dignity and simple candor which everywhere pervades them. There is nowhere the slightest trace of bitterness or resentment. There is enthusiasm everywhere in the sense of religious fervor, but nowhere in the sense of unbecoming heat or impatient caviling. The three eventful years of the ministry of Jesus afforded many opportunities for the display of temper and for the use of invective in the Evangelical writings. The murder of the Baptist by Herod; his cunning designs against Jesus; the constant dogging of the footsteps of the Master by the spies of the Sanhedrin; and His crucifixion by the order of Pontius Pilate--what more could be desired to make the heart rage and the blood boil? But nowhere is there the slightest exhibition of violent feeling or extravagant emotion. A gentle forbearance, a mild equanimity, a becoming dignity, mark every thought and utterance. The character of Pilate, as portrayed in the New Testament, is a supreme illustration of the fairness and magnanimity of the Gospel writers. Philo and Josephus describe the Roman procurator as stubborn, cruel, and vindictive. The only kindly suggestion touching the character of Pilate that has come down from the ancient world, is that contained in the writings of men who, above all others, would have been justified in describing him as cowardly and craven. Instead of painting him as a monster, they have linked conscience to his character and stored mercy in his heart, by their accounts of his repeated attempts to release Jesus. Fanatics and enthusiasts would not have done this. Again, the absence of both bias and prejudice in the minds and hearts of the Evangelists is shown by the fact that they did not hesitate to record their own ludicrous foibles and blunders, and to proclaim them to the world. A disposition to do this is one of the surest indications of a truthful mind. It is in the nature of "a declaration against interest," in the phraseology of the law; and such declarations are believed because it has been universally observed that "men are not likely to invent anecdotes to their own discredit." "When we find them in any author," says Professor Fisher in his "Grounds of Theistic and Christian Belief," "a strong presumption is raised in favor of his general truthfulness." Many passages of New Testament Scriptures place Jesus and the Apostles in a most unfavorable light before the world. The denial of the Master by Peter[7] and His betrayal by Judas;[8] the flight of the Eleven from the Garden at the time of the arrest;[9] the ridiculous attempt of Peter to walk upon the sea and his failure because of lack of faith;[10] the frequent childish contentions among the disciples for place and precedence in the affections of Jesus and in the New Kingdom;[11] the embassy from John the Baptist to Jesus asking if He, Jesus, was the Messiah, after the latter had already visited the former, and had been baptized by him;[12] the belief of the family of Jesus that He was mad;[13] and the fact that His neighbors at Nazareth threatened to kill Him by hurling Him from a cliff[14]--these various recitals have furnished a handle to skeptical criticism in every age. They might as well have been omitted from the Gospel histories; and they would have been omitted by designing and untruthful men. Again, touching the question of bias and prejudice, it is worthy of observation that skeptics fail to apply the same rules of criticism to sacred that they employ in profane literature. It is contended by them that the Evangelists are unworthy of belief because their writings record the words and deeds of their own Lord and Master. It is asserted that this sacred and tender relationship warped and blinded their Judgment, and disqualified them to write truthfully the facts and circumstances connected with the life and ministry of the founder of their faith. But these same critics do not apply the same tests of credibility to secular writers sustaining similar relationships. The Commentaries of Cæsar and the Anabasis of Xenophon record the mighty deeds and brilliant achievements of their authors; but this fact does not destroy their reliability as historical records in the estimation of those who insist that the Gospel writers shall be rejected on grounds of bias and partiality. The Memorabilia of Xenophon, "Recollections of Socrates," is the tribute of an affectionate and admiring disciple; and yet, all the colleges and universities of the world employ this work as a text-book in teaching the life and style of conversation of the great Athenian philosopher. It is never argued that the intimate relationship existing between Xenophon and Socrates should affect the credibility of the author of the Memorabilia. The best biography in the English language is Boswell's "Life of Johnson." Boswell's admiration for Dr. Johnson was idolatrous. At times, his servile flattery of the great Englishman amounted to disgusting sycophancy. In spite of this, his work is a monumental contribution to historical literature. The "Encyclopedia Britannica" says that "Boswell has produced the best biography the world has yet seen"; but why not reject this book because of its author's spaniel-like devotion to the man whose life he has written? If Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John are to be repudiated on the ground of bias, why not repudiate Cæsar, Xenophon, and Boswell? It is respectfully submitted that there is no real difference in logic between the tests of credibility applicable to sacred, and those required in the case of profane writers. A just and exact criticism will apply the same rules to both. As to the second qualification above mentioned, under the second legal test of credibility laid down by Starkie, that is, the opportunity of observing facts and circumstances about which testimony is given, it may safely be said that the majority of the Evangelists possessed it in the highest degree. The most convincing testimony that can possibly be offered in a court of law is that of an eyewitness who has seen or heard what he testifies. Now, it is reasonably certain that all of the Gospel writers were eyewitnesses of most of the events recorded by them in the Gospel histories. Both Matthew and John were numbered among the Twelve who constantly attended the Master in all His wanderings, heard His discourses, witnessed the performance of His miracles, and proclaimed His faith after He was gone. It is very probable that Mark was another eyewitness of the events in the life and ministry of the Savior. It is now very generally agreed that the author of the Second Gospel was the young man who threw away his garment and fled at the time of the arrest in the Garden.[15] If Mark was actually present at midnight in Gethsemane peering through the shadows to see what would be done to the Nazarene by the mob, it is more than probable that he was also a witness of many other events in the life and ministry of the great Teacher. But, whether this be true or not, it is very well settled that the Second Gospel was dictated to Mark by Peter, who was as familiar with all the acts and words of Jesus as was Matthew or John. The Christian writers of antiquity unanimously testify that Mark wrote the Gospel ascribed to him, at the dictation of Peter. If their testimony is true, Peter is the real author of the Second Gospel. That the Gospel of Mark was written by an eyewitness is the opinion of Renan, the skeptic, who says: "In Mark, the facts are related with a clearness for which we seek in vain amongst the other Evangelists. He likes to report certain words of Jesus in Syro-Chaldean. He is full of minute observations, coming doubtless from an eye-witness. There is nothing to prevent our agreeing with Papias in regarding this eye-witness, who evidently had followed Jesus, who had loved Him and observed Him very closely, and who had preserved a lively image of Him, as the Apostle Peter himself."[16] The same writer declares Matthew to have been an eyewitness of the events described by him. He says: "On the whole, I admit as authentic the four canonical Gospels. All, in my opinion, date from the first century, and the authors are, generally speaking, those to whom they are attributed; but their historic value is diverse. Matthew evidently merits an unlimited confidence as to the discourses; they are the Logia, the identical notes taken from a clear and lively remembrance of the teachings of Jesus."[16] That Luke was an eyewitness of many of the things recorded by him, and that the others were related to him by eyewitnesses, is perfectly clear from the introductory verses of his Gospel. In addressing his royal patron, Theophilus, he assures him that those who communicated the information contained in the Gospel to him were eyewitnesses; and follows by saying that he himself had had "perfect understanding of all things from the very first."[17] The evident meaning of this is that, desiring full information for Theophilus, he had supplemented his own personal knowledge by additional facts secured from eyewitnesses to those things which, not being of the Twelve, he himself had not seen. St. John was peculiarly well qualified to record the sayings and doings of the Christ. He was called "the disciple whom Jesus loved." He was admitted into the presence of the Savior, at all times, on terms of the utmost intimacy and friendship. At the Last Supper, his head reposed confidingly and lovingly upon the bosom of the Master. Together with Peter and James, he witnessed the resurrection of Jairus' daughter; was present at the Transfiguration on the Mount, and at the agony of the Savior in the Garden. From the cross, Jesus placed upon him the tender and pathetic burden of caring for His mother; and, running ahead of Peter, he was the first among the Twelve to arrive at the open sepulcher. By means of a favorable acquaintanceship with the High Priest, he was enabled to gain access to the palace and to be present at the trial of Jesus, as well as to introduce Peter, his friend. It is thus clearly evident that the Evangelists were amply able, from any point of view, to truthfully and accurately record the events narrated in the Gospel histories. As eyewitnesses, being on the ground and having the situation well in hand, they were certainly better qualified to write truthful history of the events then occurring than historians and critics who lived centuries afterwards. But it is frequently contended that, if the Evangelists were eyewitnesses of the leading events which they recorded, they committed them to writing so long afterwards that they had forgotten them, or had confused them with various traditions that had in the meantime grown up. There may be some little truth in this contention, but not enough to destroy the credibility of the witnesses as to events such as the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus. These are not matters to be easily forgotten or confused with other things. The date of the composition and publication of the different Gospels is not known. But Professor Holtzmann, of Heidelberg (a man who cannot be said to be favorable to Christianity, since he was for several years the leader of the freethinkers in the Grand Duchy of Baden), after many years of careful study of the subject, declared that the Synoptic Gospels, the first three, were committed to writing between the years 60 and 80 of our era.[18] This was only from thirty to fifty years after the death of Jesus. Could men of average memory and intelligence who had been almost daily preaching the life and deeds of Jesus during these thirty or fifty years have forgotten them? The testimony of Principal Drummond, of Oxford, is very pertinent at this point. He says: "If we suppose that the Synoptic Gospels were written from forty to sixty years after the time of Christ, still they were based on earlier material, and even after forty years the memory of characteristic sayings may be perfectly clear.... I have not a particularly good memory, but I can recall many sayings that were uttered forty, or even fifty, years ago, and in some cases can vividly recollect the scene."[19] If the Evangelists were eyewitnesses, which the records seem clearly to indicate, they possessed one of the strongest tests of credibility. (3) In the third place, as to their _number_ and the _consistency_ of their testimony. The credibility of a witness is greatly strengthened if his testimony is corroborated by other witnesses who testify to substantially the same thing. The greater the number of supporting witnesses, fraud and collusion being barred, the greater the credibility of the witness corroborated. But corroboration implies the presence in evidence of due and reasonable consistency between the testimony of the witness testifying and that of those corroborating. A radical discrepancy on a material point not only fails to strengthen, but tends to destroy the credibility of one or both the witnesses. Now, the fierce fire of skeptical criticism during all the ages has been centered upon the so-called discrepancies of the Gospel narratives. It is asserted by many critics that these inconsistencies are so numerous and so palpable, that the Gospel records are worthless, even as secular histories. The authors of these writings, according to the skeptics, mutually destroy each other. [Illustration: ST. MARK AND ST. PAUL (DÜRER)] In considering this phase of the credibility of the Gospel writers, it must again be remembered that the question of inspiration has no place in this discussion; and that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John must be regarded simply as secular historians. The reader is urged to consider the biographers of the Christ as he would consider ordinary witnesses in a court of law; to apply to them the same tests of credibility; to sift and weigh their testimony in the same manner; and to subject them to the same rules of cross-examination. If this is done, it is felt that the result will be entirely favorable to the veracity and integrity of the sacred writers. In considering the subject of discrepancies it should be constantly kept in mind that contradictions in testimony do not necessarily mean that there has been falsehood or bad faith on the part of the witnesses. Every lawyer of experience and every adult citizen of average intelligence knows that this is true. Men of unquestioned veracity and incorruptible integrity are frequently arrayed against each other in both civil and criminal trials, and the record reveals irreconcilable contradictions in their testimony. Not only do prosecutions for perjury not follow, but, in many instances, the witnesses are not even suspected of bad faith or an intention to falsify. Defects in sight, hearing, or memory; superior advantage in the matter of observation; or a sudden change in the position of one or both the parties, causing distraction of attention, at the time of the occurrence of the events involved in litigation--all or any of these conditions, as well as many others, may create discrepancies and contradictions where there is a total absence of any intention to misrepresent. A thorough appreciation of this fact will greatly aid in a clear understanding of this phase of the discussion. Again, an investigation of the charge of discrepancy against the Gospel writers shows that the critics and skeptics have classified mere _omissions_ as contradictions. Nothing could be more absurd than to consider an omission a contradiction, unless the requirements of the case show that the facts and circumstances omitted were essential to be stated, or that the omission was evidently intended to mislead or deceive. Any other contention would turn historical literature topsy-turvy and load it down with contradictions. Dion Cassius, Tacitus, and Suetonius have all written elaborately of the reign of Tiberius. Many things are mentioned by each that are not recorded by the other two. Are we to reject all three as unreliable historians because of this fact? Abbott, Hazlitt, Bourrienne, and Walter Scott have written biographies of Napoleon Bonaparte. No one of them has recited all the facts recorded by the others. Are these omissions to destroy the merits of all these writers and cause them to be suspected and rejected? Grafton's Chronicles rank high in English historical literature. They comprise the reign of King John; and yet make no mention of the granting of Magna Charta. This is as if the life of Jefferson had been written without mention of the Declaration of Independence; or a biography of Lincoln without calling attention to the Emancipation Proclamation. Notwithstanding this strange omission, Englishmen still preserve Grafton's Chronicles as valuable records among their archives. And the same spirit of generous criticism is everywhere displayed in matters of profane literature. The opponents of Christianity are never embarrassed in excusing or explaining away omissions or contradictions, provided the writer is a layman and his subject secular. But let the theme be a sacred one, and the author an ecclesiastic--preacher, priest, or prophet--and immediately incredulity rises to high tide, engulfs the reason, and destroys all dispassionate criticism. Could it be forgotten for a moment that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were biographers of the Christ, a sacred person, no difficulties would arise in the matter of inconsistencies, no objections would be made to their credibility. The slight discrepancies that undoubtedly exist would pass unnoticed, or be forever buried under the weight of an overwhelming conviction that they are, in the main, accurate and truthful. But the Evangelists were guided by inspiration, the skeptics say; and discrepancies are inconsistent with the theory of inspiration. God would not have inspired them to write contradictory stories. But the assumption is false that they claimed to be guided by inspiration; for, as Marcus Dods truthfully says, "none of our Gospels pretends to be infallible or even _inspired_. Only one of them tells us how its writer obtained his information, and that was by careful inquiry at the proper sources."[20] But whether the Gospel writers were inspired or not is immaterial so far as the purpose of this chapter is concerned. The rules of evidence testing their credibility would be the same in either case. A more pertinent observation upon the Gospel discrepancies has not been made than that by Paley in his "Evidences of Christianity," where he says: I know not a more rash or more unphilosophical conduct of the understanding than to reject the substance of a story by reason of some diversity in the circumstances with which it is related. The usual character of human testimony is substantial truth under circumstantial variety. This is what the daily experience of courts of justice teaches. When accounts of a transaction come from the mouths of different witnesses it is seldom that it is not possible to pick out apparent or real inconsistencies between them. These inconsistencies are studiously displayed by an adverse pleader, but oftentimes with little impression upon the minds of the judges. On the contrary, a close and minute agreement induces the suspicion of confederacy and fraud. When written histories touch upon the same scenes of action, the comparison almost always affords ground for a like reflection. Numerous, and sometimes important, variations present themselves; not seldom, also, absolute and final contradictions; yet neither one nor the other are deemed sufficient to shake the credibility of the main fact. The embassy of the Jews to deprecate the execution of Claudian's order to place his statue in their temple, Philo places in the harvest, Josephus in seed-time; both contemporary writers. No reader is led by this inconsistency to doubt whether such an embassy was sent, or whether such an order was given. Our own history supplies examples of the same kind. In the account of the Marquis of Argyll's death, in the reign of Charles II, we have very remarkable contradiction. Lord Clarendon relates that he was condemned to be hanged, which was performed the same day; on the contrary, Burnet, Woodrow, Heath, Echard, concur in stating that he was condemned upon the Saturday and executed upon a Monday. Was any reader of English history ever skeptic enough to raise from hence a question, whether the Marquis of Argyll was executed or not? Yet this ought to be left in uncertainty, according to the principles upon which the Christian history has sometimes been attacked.[21] The reader should most carefully consider the useful as well as the damaging effect of Gospel inconsistencies in the matter of the credibility of the Evangelists. A certain class of persons have imagined the Gospel writers to be common conspirators who met together at the same time and place to devise ways and means of publishing a false report to the world. This is a silly supposition, since it is positively known that the authors of the Evangelical narratives wrote and published them at different times and places. Moreover, the style and contents of the books themselves negative the idea of a concerted purpose to deceive. And, besides, the very inconsistencies themselves show that there was no "confederacy and fraud"; since intelligent conspirators would have fabricated exactly the same story in substantially the same language. Furthermore, a just and impartial criticism will consider not only the discrepant but also the corroborative elements in the New Testament histories. It should not be forgotten that the authors of the Gospels were independent historians who wrote at different times and places. Then, in all matters of fact in which there is a common agreement, they may be said to fully corroborate each other. And it may be contended without fear of successful contradiction that, when so considered, there will be found numerous cases of corroboration where there is one of discord or inconsistency. The corroborative elements or features in the Evangelical narratives may be classified under three headings: (1) Instances in which certain historical events related by one of the Gospel writers are also told by one or more of the others. These are cases of ordinary corroboration. (2) Instances in which the recital of a certain fact by one of the Evangelists would be obscure or meaningless unless explained or supplemented by another. These may be regarded as examples of internal confirmation. (3) Instances in which the fact related by one Evangelist must be true from the nature of the case, regardless of what the others have said. This is the simple confirmation of logic or reason. A few illustrations will serve to make clear this classification. Under the first heading of "ordinary corroboration" may be mentioned the accounts of the miracle of feeding the five thousand. All the Evangelists tell us of this event, and each records the fact that the fragments taken up were _twelve baskets full_.[22] Under the second heading of "internal confirmation" the following instances may be cited: Matt. xxvi. 67, 68: "And others smote him with the palms of their hands, saying, Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, Who is he that smote thee?" A caviling criticism would demand: Why ask of the Christ to _prophesy_ to those in His presence? And the obscurity would be damaging, were it not for an additional sentence in Luke, who records the same circumstance. "_And when they had blindfolded him_, they struck him on the face, and asked him, saying, Prophesy, Who is it that smote thee?"[23] The fact that Jesus was blindfolded, which is told by Luke, explains the use of the word "prophesy" by Matthew, which would otherwise be absurd. Again, Matt. xiii. 2: "And great multitudes were gathered together with him, so that he went into the ship, and sat." Here, the definite article points to a particular ship which Matthew fails to mention. But Mark comes to his aid and clearly explains the statement: "And he spake to his disciples, that a small vessel should wait upon him because of the multitude, lest they should throng him." These two passages taken together identify the ship. Again, John vi. 5: "When Jesus lifted up his eyes, and saw a great company come to him, he saith unto Philip, Whence shall we buy bread that these may eat?" This is one of the only two places in the Gospel where Jesus addressed this Apostle. But why ask Philip instead of one of the others? Two other passages, one from John and one from Luke, furnish an explanation. In John i. 44 we read that "Philip was of Bethsaida." In Luke ix. 10 we learn that the scene of the event, the miracle of feeding the five thousand, was "a desert place belonging to the city called Bethsaida." The reason, then, for addressing Philip, instead of one of the other Apostles, is clear. Bethsaida was the home of Philip; and he would naturally, therefore, be more familiar with the location of the bread shops than the others. In John vi., where the question is asked, neither the place of the feeding nor the apostle questioned is even remotely connected with the city of Bethsaida; and in Luke the account of the miracle says nothing of Philip or the question put to him. But when the passages are connected the striking coincidence appears, and the explanation is complete. Again, John xviii. 10: "Then Simon Peter, having a sword, drew it and smote the high priest's servant, and cut off his right ear. The servant's name was Malchus." It has been objected that there is nowhere an account of the arrest or punishment of Peter for this assault and resistance to armed authority; and that, therefore, there was no such occurrence. A passage from Luke explains the failure to arrest. "And Jesus answered and said, Suffer ye thus far, and he touched his ear and healed him."[24] The healing of the ear explains why no arrest followed; for, if charges had been made, there would have been no evidence of the gravity of the offense. Indeed, witnesses against Peter would have been completely confounded and humiliated by the result of the miracle; and might have been driven from court as malicious accusers. Then, the failure to arrest is a silent corroboration of the statement that the event occurred and that the miracle was performed. Under the third heading, of the "confirmation of logic or reason," a single instance will suffice. John xx. 4: "And the other disciple did outrun Peter and came first to the sepulchre." The "other disciple" was St. John, who is generally conceded to have been the youngest of the Apostles. And St. Peter, we may judge from John xxi. 18, was already past the meridian of life. What could be more natural than that the younger man should outrun the older and arrive first at the sepulcher? What better proof could be expected of the fact of the existence of that sweetness and modesty in youth which respects old age, and that endeared John to Jesus above all others, than we have here, where the younger man awaits the arrival of the older before beginning to explore the deserted tomb? Examples similar to these might be multiplied at length, since the Gospel histories are filled with them; but those above mentioned are deemed sufficient to illustrate the theory of corroboration. The instances of internal confirmation in the New Testament narratives are especially convincing. They are arguments and proofs in the nature of undesigned coincidences which, from the very nature of the case, shut out all possibility of collusion or fraud. In most cases they are expressed in a single phrase and represent an isolated thought corroborative of some other elsewhere expressed. Though small, detached, and fragmentary, like particles of dynamite, they operate with resistless force when collected and combined. Once more attention is called to the fact that these discrepancies negative completely the idea that the Gospel writers were conspirators, bent upon the common purpose of deceiving mankind by publishing a false history to the world. Nothing could be more absurd than to suppose that men conspiring to perpetrate a fraud, would neglect a fundamental principle underlying all successful conspiracy; that is, the creation and maintenance of a due and reasonable consistency between the words and deeds of the conspirators in formulating plans for carrying out the common purpose. Then, if there was no previous concert, the fact that four men, writing at different times and places, concurred in framing substantially the same history, is one of the strongest proofs of the credibility of the writers and the truthfulness of their narratives. And on this point the testimony of a very great writer may be quoted: that "in a number of concurrent testimonies, where there has been no previous concert, there is a probability distinct from that which may be termed the sum of the probabilities resulting from the testimonies of the witnesses; a probability which would remain, even though the witnesses were of such a character as to merit no faith at all. This probability arises from the concurrence itself. That such a concurrence should spring from chance is as one to infinite; that is, in other words, morally impossible. If, therefore, concert be excluded, there remains no cause but the reality of the fact."[25] Apply the theory of probability, arising from concurrent testimonies, where there has been no previous concert, to the case of the Evangelists, and we are at once convinced that they were truthful and that their histories are true. (4) Let us now consider the _conformity of the testimony of the Evangelists with human experience_. This is the fourth legal test of the credibility of witnesses prescribed by Starkie. The conformity of testimony with experience is one of the most potent and universally applied tests of the credibility of witnesses. And it may be remarked that its application is not confined to judicial proceedings or to courts of law. It requires no professional attainments to make it effective. The blacksmith and carpenter, as well as the judge and jury, employ it in every mental operation where the statements of others are submitted to analysis and investigation. A new theory being proposed, the correctness of which is questioned, the test of experience is at once applied. If it is not in harmony with what we have seen and heard and felt, we usually reject it; or, at least, doubt it. If an explorer should return from the Arctic regions and tell us that he had seen oranges, such as we import from Florida, growing on trees near the North Pole, we would not believe him. Neither would we credit the statement of a traveler from South America that he had seen Polar bears browsing on the banks of the Amazon. These representations would be utterly inconsistent with what we know to be the essential conditions of orange culture, and with the well-known habits and climatic nature of the Polar bear. An ancient document, purporting to date from the time of Washington and the Revolution, and containing recitals about railways, telegraphs, telephones, and electric lights, would be recognized at once as spurious, because our own experience as well as facts of history would tell us that there were no such things in the days of Washington and the American Revolution. These are simple illustrations of the application of the test of experience in the mental processes of weighing and sifting the testimony of others. Now, no serious objection to the credibility of the Gospel writers has been made under the test of the conformity of their statements with experience, except in the matter of miracles. It is generally admitted, even by skeptics, that the facts stated in the New Testament narratives might have happened in the due course of nature and in harmony with human experience, except where miracles are related. A few skeptics have declared that a miracle is an impossibility and that the Evangelists were either deceivers or deceived when they wrote their accounts of the miraculous performances of the Christ; and that, whether deceivers or deceived, they are unworthy of belief. The great antagonist of the theory of miracles among those who assert their impossibility is Spinoza, who has thus written: "A miracle, whether contrary to or above nature, is a sheer absurdity. Nothing happens in nature which does not follow from its laws; these laws extend to all which enters the Divine mind; and, lastly, nature proceeds in a fixed and changeless course--whence it follows that the word 'miracle' can only be understood in relation to the opinions of mankind, and signifies nothing more than an event, a phenomenon, the cause of which cannot be explained by another familiar instance.... I might say, indeed, that a miracle was _that_, the cause of which cannot be explained by our _natural understanding from the known principles of natural things_." The radical antagonism of Spinoza to the doctrine of miracles, as taught in the New Testament scriptures, was the legitimate offspring of his peculiar philosophy. He was a pantheist and identified God with nature. He did not believe in a personal God, separate from and superior to nature. He repudiated the theory of a spiritual kingdom having a spiritual sovereign to whom earth and nature are subject and obedient. Therefore, every manifestation of power which he could not identify with a natural force he believed was unreal, if not actually deceptive and fraudulent; since he could not imagine anything superior to nature that could have created the phenomenon. His denial of miracles was, then, really nothing less than a denial of the existence of a personal God who spoke the earth into being in the very beginning; and has since, with a watchful paternal eye, followed its movements and controlled its destiny. The question of miracles is really a matter of faith and not a problem of science. It is impossible to either prove or disprove the nature of a miracle by physical demonstration. In other words, it is impossible to analyze a miracle from the standpoint of chemistry or physics. The performance of a miracle, nevertheless, may be proved by ordinary human testimony, as any other event may be proved. We may testify to the fact without being able to understand or to demonstrate the cause. Those who believe that there are distinct spiritual as well as physical forces in the universe; that there is somewhere an omniscient and omnipotent Spiritual Being who has but to will the creation of a planet or the destruction of matter in order to accomplish the result desired, can easily believe in the exercise of miraculous power. Those who believe the Bible account of the creation, that God said in the beginning, "Let there be light: and there was light"--such persons find no difficulty in believing that Jesus converted water into wine or caused the lame to walk, if they believe that He was this same God "manifest in the flesh." A divinity who, in the morning of creation, spoke something out of nothing, would certainly not be impotent to restore life to Lazarus or sight to the blind Bartimeus. The trouble with the philosophy of Spinoza is that his own high priestess--Nature--seems to be constantly working miracles under his own definition; and miracles, too, that very closely resemble the wonders said to have been wrought by the Christ. Milk is taken into the stomach, subjected to various processes of digestion, is then thrown into the blood and finally becomes flesh and bone. The ultimate step in this process of transformation is unknown and, perhaps, unknowable to scientists. No deeper mystery is suggested by the New Testament scriptures. The conversion of water into wine is no stranger, no more incomprehensible than the transformation of milk into flesh and bone. It may be admitted that the chemical elements are the same throughout in one process and different in the other. Nevertheless, the results of both are perfectly described by Spinoza's definition, "that a miracle was _that_, the cause of which cannot be explained by our _natural understanding from the known principles of natural things_." It may be truthfully remarked that nature is everywhere and at all times working wonders in harmony with and parallel to the miracles wrought by the spiritual forces of the universe. God's sovereign miracle may be described as the changing of a man, with all his sins and imperfections, into a winged spirit, thus fitting him to leave the coarse and vulgar earth for life among the stars. Nature, in her feeble way, tries to imitate the wonder by transforming the caterpillar into a butterfly, thus fitting it to leave the dunghill for life among the flowers. Spinoza insists that miracles are impossible because "nature proceeds in a fixed and changeless course." But is this really true? Are the laws of nature invariably uniform? Does not nature seem at times tired of uniformity and resolved to rise to liberty by the creation of what we call a miracle, or more vulgarly, a "freak"? Moving in what Spinoza is pleased to call a "fixed and changeless course," nature ordinarily provides a chicken with two legs and a snake with one head. But what about chickens with three legs and snakes with two heads, such as are frequently seen? Was nature moving in a fixed and changeless course when these things were created? Could Spinoza have explained such phenomena by his "natural understanding from the known principles of natural things"? Would he have contented himself with calling them natural "accidents" or "freaks"? Nevertheless, they are miracles under his definition; and the entire subject must be discussed and debated with reference to some standard or definition of a miracle. If nature occasionally, in moments of sportiveness or digression, upsets her own laws and creates what we call "freaks," why is it unreasonable to suppose that the great God who created nature should not, at times, temporarily suspend the laws which He has made for the government of the universe, or even devote them to strange and novel purposes in the creation of those noble phenomena which we call miracles? Other skeptics, like Renan, do not deny the possibility of miracles, but simply content themselves with asserting that there is no sufficient proof that such things ever happened. They thus repudiate the testimony of the Evangelists in this regard. "It is not," says Renan, "then, in the name of this or that philosophy, but in the name of universal experience, that we banish miracle from history. We do not say that miracles are impossible. We do say that up to this time a miracle has never been proved." Then the Breton biographer and philosopher gives us his idea of the tests that should be made in order to furnish adequate proof that a miracle has been performed. "If to-morrow," he says, "a thaumaturgus presents himself with credentials sufficiently important to be discussed and announces himself as able, say, to raise the dead, what would be done? A commission composed of physiologists, physicists, chemists, persons accustomed to historical criticism would be named. This commission would choose a corpse, would assure itself that the death was real, would select a room in which the experiment should be made, would arrange the whole system of precautions, so as to leave no chance of doubt. If, under such conditions, the resurrection were effected, a probability almost equal to certainty would be established. As, however, it ought to be possible always to repeat an experiment--to do over again that which has been done once; and as, in the order of miracle, there can be no question of ease or difficulty, the thaumaturgus would be invited to reproduce his marvelous act under other circumstances, upon other corpses, in another place. If the miracle should succeed each time, two things would be proved: first, that supernatural events happen in the world; second, that the power of producing them belongs or is delegated in certain persons. But who does not see that no miracle ever took place under these conditions? But that always hitherto the thaumaturgus has chosen the subject of the experiment, chosen the spot, chosen the public?"[26] This is an extract from the celebrated "Life of Jesus" by Renan, and is intended to demolish the Gospel account of the miracles of the Christ. It is not too much to say that the great skeptic has failed to exhibit his usual fairness in argument. He has indirectly compared Jesus to a thaumaturgus, and has inferentially stated that in the performance of His miracles He "chose the subject of his experiment, chose the spot, chose the public." Every student of New Testament history knows that this is not true of the facts and circumstances surrounding the performance of miracles by Christ. It is true that vulgar curiosity and caviling incredulity were not gratified by the presence of specially summoned "physiologists, physicists, and chemists." But it is equally true that such persons were not prevented from being present; that there was no attempt at secrecy or concealment; and that no subject of experiment, particular spot, or special audience was ever chosen. The New Testament miracles were wrought, as a general thing, under the open sky, in the street, by the wayside, on the mountain slope, and in the presence of many people, both friends and enemies of Jesus. There was no searching or advertising for subjects for experiment. Far from choosing the subject, the spot, and the public, Jesus exercised His miraculous powers upon those who came voluntarily to Him suffering with some dreadful malady and asking to be cured. In some instances, the case of affliction was of long standing and well known to the community. The healing was done publicly and witnessed by many people. Renan suggests that the thaumaturgus mentioned in his illustration would be required to repeat his performance in the matter of raising the dead before he would be fully believed. This reminds us that Jesus wrought many miracles. More than forty are recorded in the Gospel narratives; and in the closing verse of St. John, there is a strong intimation that He performed many that were never recorded. These, it is respectfully submitted, were amply sufficient to demonstrate His miraculous powers. Whatever form infidelity may assume in its antagonism to the doctrine of miracles, it will be found that the central idea is that such things are not founded in experience; and that this test of credibility fails in the case of the Gospel writers, because they knowingly recorded impossible events. It would be idle to attempt to depreciate the value of this particular test; but it must be observed that nothing is more fallacious, unless properly defined and limited. It must be remembered that the experience of one man, nation, or generation is not necessarily that of another man, nation, or generation. The exact mechanical processes employed by the Egyptians in raising the pyramids are as much a mystery to modern scientists as a Marconigram would be to a savage of New Guinea. The Orient and the Occident present to each other almost miraculous forms of diversity in manners, habits, and customs, in modes of thought and life. "The Frenchman says, 'I am the best dyer in Europe: nobody can equal me, and nobody can surpass Lyons.' Yet in Cashmere, where the girls make shawls worth $30,000, they will show him three hundred distinct colors, which he not only cannot make, but cannot even distinguish." Sir Walter Scott, in his "Tales of the Crusaders," thrillingly describes a meeting between the Turkish Saladin and the English Richard Coeur-de-Lion. Saladin asked Richard to give him an exhibition of his marvelous strength. The Norman monarch picked up an iron bar from the floor of the tent and severed it. The Mahometan crusader was amazed. Richard then asked him what he could do. Saladin replied that he could not pull iron apart like that, but that he could do something equally as wonderful. Thereupon, he took an eider-down pillow from the sofa, and drew his keen, Damascus-tempered blade across it, which caused it to fall into two pieces. Richard cried in astonishment: "This is the black art; it is magic; it is the devil: you cannot cut that which has no resistance!" Here Occidental strength and Oriental magic met and wrought seeming miracles in the presence of each other. In his great lecture on "The Lost Arts," Wendell Phillips says that one George Thompson told him that he saw a man in Calcutta throw a handful of floss silk into the air, and that a Hindoo severed it into pieces with his saber. A Western swordsman could not do this. Objectors to miracles frequently ask why they are not performed to-day, why we never see them. To which reply may be made that, under Spinoza's definition, miracles are being wrought every day not only by nature, but by man. Why call Edison "the magician" and "the wizard," unless the public believes this? But is it any argument against the miracles of Jesus that similar ones are not seen to-day? Have things not been done in the past that will never be repeated? We have referred to the pyramids of Egypt and to the lost art involved in their construction. A further illustration may be found in the origin of man. One of two theories is undoubtedly true: that the first man and woman came into the world without being born; or that man and woman are the products of evolution from lower orders of animals. No other theories have ever been advanced as to the origin of the human race. Now, it is certain that modern generations have never experienced either of these things, for all the human beings of to-day were undoubtedly born of other human beings, and it is certain that the process of evolution stopped long ago, since men and women were as perfect physically and mentally four thousand years ago as they are to-day. In other words, the processes which originated man are things of the past, since we have no Garden of Eden experiences to-day, nor is there any universal metamorphosis of monkeys going on. Therefore, to argue that the miracles of Jesus did not happen, because we do not see such things to-day, is to deny the undoubted occurrences of history and developments of human life, because such occurrences and developments are no longer familiar to us and our generation. To denounce everything as false that we have not individually seen, heard, and felt, would be to limit most painfully the range of the mental vision. The intellectual horizon would not be greatly extended should we join with our own the experience of others that we have seen and known. Much information is reported by telegraphic despatch and many things are told us by travelers that we should accept as true; although such matters may have no relation to what we have ever seen or heard. Else, we should be as foolish as the king of Siam who rejected the story of the Dutch ambassador, that in Holland water was frequently frozen into a solid mass. In the warm climate of the East Indian tropics the king had never seen water so congealed and, therefore, he refused to believe that such a thing had ever happened anywhere. Experience is a most logical and reasonable test if it is sufficiently extended to touch all the material phases of the subject under investigation. It is a most dangerous one if we insist upon judging the material and spiritual universe, with its infinite variety of forms and changes, by the limited experience of a simple and isolated life, or by the particular standards of any one age or race. A progressive civilization, under such an application of the test, would be impossible, since each generation of men would have to begin _de novo_, and be restricted to the results of its own experience. The enforcement of such a doctrine would prevent, furthermore, the acceptance of the truths of nature discovered by inventive genius or developed by physical or chemical research, until such truths had become matters of universal experience. Every man would then be in the position of the incredulous citizen who, having been told that a message had been sent by wire from Baltimore to Washington announcing the nomination of James K. Polk for the presidency, refused to believe in telegraphic messages until he could be at both ends of the line at once. The art of telegraphy was a reality, nevertheless, in spite of his incredulity and inexperience. The American savages who first beheld the ships of Columbus are said to have regarded them as huge birds from heaven and to have refused to believe that they were boats, because, in their experience, they had never seen such immense canoes with wings. Herodotus tells us of some daring sailors who crept along the coast of Africa beyond the limits usually visited at that time. They came back home with a wonderful account of their trip and told the story that they had actually reached a country where their shadows fell toward the south at midday. They were not believed, and their report was rejected with scorn and incredulity by the inhabitants of the Mediterranean coasts, because their only experience was that a man's shadow always pointed toward the north; and they did not believe it possible that shadows could be cast otherwise. But the report of the sailors was true, nevertheless.[27] These simple illustrations teach us that beings other than ourselves have had experiences which are not only different from any that we have ever had, but are also either temporarily or permanently beyond our comprehension. And the moral of this truth, when applied to the statements of the Evangelists regarding miracles, is that the fortunate subjects and witnesses of the miraculous powers of Jesus might have had experiences which we have never had and that we cannot now clearly comprehend. (5) In the fifth and last place, as to the _coincidence of their testimony with collateral circumstances_. This is the chief test of credibility in all those cases where the witness, whose testimony has been reduced to writing, is dead, absent, or insane. Under such circumstances it is impossible to apply what may be termed personal tests on cross-examination; that is, to develop the impeaching or corroborating features of bias, prejudice, and personal demeanor to the same extent as when the witness is still living and testifies orally. When a written narrative is all that we have, its reliability can only be ascertained by a close inspection of its parts, comparing them with each other, and then with collateral and contemporaneous facts and circumstances. The value of this test cannot be over-estimated, and Greenleaf has stated very fully and concisely the basis upon which it rests. "Every event," he says, "which actually transpires, has its appropriate relation and place in the vast complication of circumstances of which the affairs of men consist; it owes its origin to the events which have preceded it, is intimately connected with all others which occur at the same time and place, and often with those of remote regions, and in its turn gives birth to numberless others which succeed. In all this almost inconceivable contexture and seeming discord, there is perfect harmony; and while the fact which really happened tallies exactly with every other contemporaneous incident related to it in the remotest degree, it is not possible for the wit of man to invent a story, which, if closely compared with the actual occurrences of the same time and place, may not be shown to be false."[28] [Illustration: ST. JOHN AND ST. PETER (DÜRER)] This principle offers a wide field to the skill of the cross-examiner, and enables him frequently to elicit truth or establish falsehood when all other tests have failed. It is a principle also perfectly well known to the perjurer and to the suborner of witnesses. Multiplicity of details is studiously avoided by the false witness, who dreads particularity and feels that safety lies in confining his testimony as nearly as possible to a single fact, whose attendant facts and circumstances are few and simple. When the witness is too ignorant to understand the principle and appreciate the danger, his attorney, if he consents to dishonor his profession and pollute the waters of justice with corrupt testimony, may be depended upon to administer proper warning. The witness will be told to know as few things and to remember as little as possible concerning matters about which he has not been previously instructed. The result will be that his testimony, especially in matters in which he is compelled by the court to testify, will be hesitating, restrained, unequal, and unnatural. He will be served at every turn by a most convenient memory which will enable him to forget many important and to remember many unimportant facts and circumstances. He will betray a painful hesitancy in the matter of committing himself upon any particular point upon which he has not been already drilled. The truthful witness, on the other hand, is usually candid, ingenuous, and copious in his statements. He shows a willingness to answer all questions, even those involving the minutest details, and seems totally indifferent to the question of verification or contradiction. The texture of his testimony is, therefore, equal, natural, and unrestrained. Now these latter characteristics mark every page of the New Testament histories. The Gospel writers wrote with the utmost freedom, and recorded in detail and with the utmost particularity, the manners, customs, habits, and historic facts contemporaneous with their lives. The naturalness and ingenuousness of their writings are simply marvelous. There is nowhere any evidence of an attempt to conceal, patch up, or reconcile. No introductory exclamations or subsequent explanations which usually characterize false testimony appear anywhere in their writings. They were seemingly absolutely indifferent to whether they were believed or not. Their narratives seem to say: These are records of truth; and if the world rejects them it rejects the facts of history. Such candor and assurance are always overwhelmingly impressive; and in every forum of debate are regarded as unmistakable signs of truth. The Evangelists, it must be assumed, were fully aware of the danger of too great particularity in the matter of false testimony, and would have hesitated to commit themselves on so many points if their statements had been untrue. We have already noted the opinion of Professor Holtzmann, of Heidelberg, that the Synoptic Gospels were committed to writing between the years 60 and 80 of our era. At that time it is certain that there were still living many persons who were familiar with the events in the life and teachings of the Savior, as well as with the numerous other facts and circumstances related by the sacred writers. St. Paul, in I Cor. xv. 6, speaks of five hundred brethren to whom the risen Jesus appeared at one time; and he adds, "_of whom the greater part remain unto this present, but some are fallen asleep_." And it must be remembered that this particular group of two hundred and fifty or more were certainly not the only persons then living who had a distinct remembrance of the Master, His teachings, and His miracles. Many who had been healed by Him, children who had sat upon His knee and been blessed by Him, and many members of the Pharisaic party and of the Sadducean aristocracy who had persecuted Him and had then slain Him, were doubtless still living and had a lively recollection of the events of the ministry of the Nazarene. Such persons were in a position to disprove from their personal knowledge false statements made by the Evangelists. A consciousness of this fact would have been, within itself, a strong inducement to tell the truth. But not only are the Gospels not contradicted by contemporaneous writers; they are also not impeached or disproved by later scientific research and historical investigation. And at this point we come to make a direct application of the test of the coincidence of their testimony with collateral and contemporaneous history. For this purpose, as a matter of illustration, only facts in profane history corroborative of the circumstances attending the trial and crucifixion of the Master will be cited. In the first place, the Evangelists tell us that Pontius Pilate sat in judgment on the Christ. Both Josephus and Tacitus tell us that Pilate was governor of Judea at that time.[29] In John xviii. 31 we read: "Then said Pilate unto them, Take ye him, and judge him according to your law. The Jews therefore said unto him, _It is not lawful for us to put any man to death._" From many profane historians, ancient and modern, we learn that the power of life and death had been taken from the Jews and vested in the Roman governor.[30] In John xix. 16, 17 occurs this passage: "And they took Jesus, and led him away; and he, _bearing his cross_, went forth." This corroborative sentence is found in Plutarch: "Every kind of wickedness produces its own particular torment; just as every malefactor, when he is brought forth to execution, _carries his own cross_."[31] In Matthew xxvii. 26 we read: "When he had scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified." That scourging was a preliminary to crucifixion among the Romans is attested by many ancient writers, among whom may be mentioned Josephus and Livy. The following passages are taken from Josephus: Whom, having _first scourged with whips_, he crucified.[32] Being _beaten_, they were crucified opposite to the citadel.[33] He was burned alive, _having been first beaten_.[34] From Livy, a single sentence will suffice: All were led out, _beaten with rods_, and beheaded.[35] In John xix. 19, 20 we read: "And Pilate wrote a title and put it on the cross; and it was written in Hebrew, and Greek, and Latin." That it was a custom among the Romans to affix the accusation against the criminal to the instrument of his punishment appears from several ancient writers, among them Suetonius and Dion Cassius. In Suetonius occurs this sentence: "He exposed the father of the family to the dogs, with this _title_, 'A gladiator, impious in speech.'"[36] And in Dion Cassius occurs the following: "Having led him through the midst of the court or assembly, _with a writing signifying the cause of his death, and afterwards crucifying him_."[37] And finally, we read in John xix. 32: "Then came the soldiers and _brake the legs_ of the first, and of the other which was crucified with him." By an edict of Constantine, the punishment of crucifixion was abolished. Speaking in commendation of this edict, a celebrated heathen writer mentions the circumstances of _breaking the legs_. "He was pious to such a degree," says this writer, "that he was the first to set aside that very ancient punishment, the cross, with the _breaking of legs_."[38] If we leave the narrow circle of facts attendant upon the trial and crucifixion of Jesus with its corroborative features of contemporary history, and consider the Gospel narratives as a whole, we shall find that they are confirmed and corroborated by the facts and teachings of universal history and experience. An examination of these narratives will also reveal a divine element in them which furnishes conclusive proof of their truthfulness and reliability. A discussion of the divine or spiritual element in the Gospel histories would be foreign to the purpose of this treatise. The closing pages of Part I will be devoted to a consideration of the human element in the New Testament narratives. This will be nothing more than an elaboration of the fifth legal test of credibility mentioned by Starkie. By the human or historical element of credibility in the Gospel histories is meant that likeness or resemblance in matters of representation of fact to other matters of representation of fact which we find recorded in secular histories of standard authority whose statements we are accustomed to accept as true. The relations of historic facts to each other, and the connections and coincidences of things known or believed to be true with still others sought to be proved, form a fundamental ground of belief, and are, therefore, reliable modes of proof. The most casual perusal of the New Testament narratives suggests certain striking resemblances between the events therein narrated and well-known historical occurrences related by secular historians whose statements are implicitly believed. Let us draw a few parallels and call attention to a few of these resemblances. Describing the anguish of the Savior in the Garden, St. Luke says: "And being in an agony, He prayed more earnestly: And his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground."[39] This strange phenomenon of the "bloody sweat" has been of such rare occurrence in the history of the world that its happening in Gethsemane has been frequently denied. The account of it has been ascribed to the overwrought imagination of the third Evangelist in recording the errors of tradition. And yet similar cases are well authenticated in the works of secular writers. Tissot reports a case of "a sailor who was so alarmed by a storm, that through fear he fell down, and his face sweated blood which, during the whole continuance of the storm, returned like ordinary sweat, as fast as it was wiped away."[40] Schenck cites the case of "a nun who fell into the hands of soldiers; and, on seeing herself encompassed with swords and daggers threatening instant death, was so terrified and agitated that she discharged blood from every part of her body, and died of hemorrhage in the sight of her assailants."[41] Writing of the death of Charles IX of France, Voltaire says: "The disease which carried him off is very uncommon; his blood flowed from all his pores. This malady, of which there are some examples, is the result either of excessive fear, furious passion, or of a violent and melancholic temperament."[42] The same event is thus graphically described by the old French historian, De Mezeray: "After the vigor of his youth and the energy of his courage had long struggled against his disease, he was at length reduced by it to his bed at the castle of Vincennes, about the 8th of May, 1574. During the last two weeks of his life his constitution made strange efforts. He was affected with spasms and convulsions of extreme violence. He tossed and agitated himself continually and his blood gushed from all the outlets of his body, even from the pores of his skin, so that on one occasion he was found bathed in a bloody sweat."[43] If the sailor, the nun, and the king of France were afflicted with the "bloody sweat," why should it seem incredible that the man Jesus, the carpenter of Nazareth, should have been similarly afflicted? If Tissot, Schenck, and Voltaire are to be believed, why should we refuse to believe St. Luke? If St. Luke told the truth in this regard, why should we doubt his statements concerning other matters relating to the life, death, and resurrection of the Son of God? Does not Voltaire, the most brilliant and powerful skeptic that ever lived, corroborate in this particular the biographer of the Christ? Let us pass to another instance of resemblance and corroboration. While describing the crucifixion, St. John wrote the following: "But one of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came there out _blood and water_."[44] Early skeptical criticism denied the account of the flowing of blood and water from the side of the Savior because, in the first place, the other Evangelists did not mention the circumstance; and, in the second place, it was an unscientific fact stated. But modern medical science has very cleverly demonstrated that Jesus, according to the Gospel accounts, died of rupture of the heart. About the middle of the last century, a celebrated English physician and surgeon, Dr. Stroud, wrote a treatise entitled, "Physical Cause of the Death of Christ." In this book, he proved very clearly that cardiac rupture was the immediate cause of the death of Jesus on the cross. Many arguments were adduced to establish this fact. Among others, it was urged that the shortness of time during which the sufferer remained upon the cross and His loud cry just before "He gave up the ghost," tended to prove that a broken heart was the cause of the death of the Man of Sorrows. But the strongest proof, according to the author of this work, was the fact that blood and water flowed from the dead man when a spear was thrust into His side. This, says Dr. Stroud, has happened frequently when the heart was suddenly and violently perforated after death from cardiac rupture. Within a few hours after death from this cause, he says, the blood frequently separates into its constituent parts or essential elements: _crassamentum_, a soft clotted substance of deep-red color, and _serum_, a pale, watery liquid--popularly called blood and water, which will flow out separately, if the pericardium and heart be violently torn or punctured. In this treatise numerous medical authorities are cited and the finished work is indorsed by several of the most famous physicians and surgeons of England. It is very probable that St. John did not know the physical cause of the strange flow of blood and water from the side of Jesus. It seems that he was afraid that he would not be believed; for, in the following verse, he was careful to tell the world that he himself had personally seen it. "And he that _saw it_ bare record, and his record is true: And he knoweth that he saith true that ye might believe."[45] Here again modern medical science has corroborated, in the matter of the flowing of blood and water from the side of Jesus, the simple narrative of the gentle and loving Evangelist. Still another illustration of resemblance, coincidence, and corroboration is furnished by the incident of the arrest of Jesus in the Garden. St. John says: "As soon, then, as he had said unto them, I am he, they went backward and fell to the ground."[46] This is only one of several cases mentioned in history where ordinary men have been dazed and paralyzed in the presence of illustrious men against whom they were designing evil. When a Gallic trooper was sent by Sulla to Minturnæ to put Marius to death, the old Roman lion, his great eyes flashing fire, arose and advanced toward the slave, who fled in utter terror from the place, exclaiming, "I cannot kill Caius Marius!"[47] Again, we learn from St. Matthew that at the moment of the arrest in the Garden, "all the disciples forsook him and fled." This is no isolated case of cowardice and desertion. It is merely an illustration of a universal truth: that the multitude will follow blindly and adore insanely the hero or prophet in his hour of triumph and coronation, but will desert and destroy him at the moment of his humiliation and crucifixion. Note the burning of Savonarola. The patriot-priest of the Florentine Republic believed himself inspired of God; his heroic life and martyr death seemed to justify his claim. From the pulpit of St. Mark's he became the herald and evangel of the Reformation, and his devoted followers hung upon his words as if inspiration clothed them with messages from the skies. And yet when a wicked Inquisition had nailed him to the cross and fagots were flaming about him, this same multitude who adored him, now reviled him and jeered and mocked his martyrdom. Note the career of Napoleon. When the sun of Austerlitz rose upon the world the whole French nation grew delirious with love and homage for their emperor, who was once a subaltern of Corsica. But when the Allies entered Paris after the battle of Leipsic, this same French nation repudiated their imperial idol, cast down his images, canceled his decrees, and united with all Europe in demanding his eternal banishment from France. The voyage to Elba followed. But the historic melodrama of popular fidelity and fickleness was not yet completely played. When this same Napoleon, a few months later, escaped from his islet prison in the Mediterranean and landed on the shores of France, this same French nation again grew delirious, welcomed the royal exile with open arms, showered him with his eagles, and almost smothered him with kisses. A hundred days passed. On the frightful field of Waterloo, "Chance and Fate combined to wreck the fortunes of their former king." Again the fickle French multitude heaped execrations upon their fallen monarch, declared the Napoleonic dynasty at an end and welcomed with acclamations of joy the return of the exiled Bourbon Louis XVIII. And when the Evangelist wrote these words: "All the disciples forsook him and fled," he simply gave expression to a form of truth which all history reflects and corroborates. Again, the parallels and resemblances of sacred and profane history do not seem to stop with mere narratives of facts. Secular history seems to have produced at times characters in the exact likeness of those in sacred history. The resemblance is often so striking as to create astonishment. For instance, who was St. Peter but Marshal Ney by anticipation? Peter was the leader of the Apostolic Twelve; Ney was the chief of the Twelve Marshals of Napoleon. Peter was impulsive and impetuous; so was Ney. Peter was the first to speak and act in all the emergencies of the Apostolic ministry; Ney, so Dumas tells us, was always impatient to open the battle and lead the first charge. Peter was probably the last to leave the garden in which the great tragedy of his Master had begun; Ney was the last to leave the horrors of a Russian winter in which the beginning of the end of the career of his monarch was plainly seen. Peter denied Jesus; Ney repudiated Napoleon, and even offered to bring him, at the time of his escape from Elba, in a cage to Louis XVIII. Peter was afterwards crucified for his devotion to Jesus whom he had denied; Ney was afterwards shot for loyalty to Napoleon whom he had once repudiated. The examples heretofore given involve the idea of comparison and are based upon resemblance. These illustrations could be greatly extended, but it is believed that enough has been said in this connection. However, in closing this brief discussion of the human element in the sacred writings as evidenced by the coincidences and resemblances of their narratives to those of profane history, slight mention may be made of another test of truth which may be applied to the histories of the Evangelists. This test is not derived from a comparison which is focused upon any particular group of historic facts. It springs from an instantaneously recognized and inseparable connection between the statements made by the Gospel writers and the experience of the human race. A single illustration will suffice to elucidate this point. When Jesus was nailed upon the cross, the sad and pathetic spectacle was presented of the absence of the Apostolic band, with the exception of St. John, who was the only Apostle present at the crucifixion. The male members of the following of the Nazarene did not sustain and soothe their Master in the supreme moment of His anguish. But the women of His company were with Him to the end. Mary, his mother, Mary Magdalene, Mary, the wife of Cleophas, Salome, the mother of St. John the Evangelist, and others, doubtless among "the women that followed him from Galilee," ministered to His sufferings and consoled Him with their presence. They were the last to cling to His cross and the first to greet Him on the morning of the third day; for when the resurrection morn dawned upon the world, these same women were seen hastening toward the sepulcher bearing spices--fragrant offerings of deathless love. What a contrast between the loyalty and devotion of the women and the fickle, faltering adherence of the men who attended the footsteps of the Man of Sorrows in His last days! One of His Apostles denied Him, another betrayed Him, and all, excepting one, deserted Him in His death struggle. His countrymen crucified Him ignominiously. But "not one woman mentioned in the New Testament ever lifted her voice against the Son of God." This revelation from the sacred pages of the devotion of woman is reflected in universal history and experience. It is needless to give examples. Suffice it to say that when Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John tell us of this devotion, we simply answer: yes, this has been ever true in all countries and in every age. We have learned it not only from history but from our own experience in all the affairs of life, extending from the cradle to the grave. The night of sorrow never grows so dark that a mother's love will not irradiate the gloom. The criminal guilt of a wayward son can never become so black that her arms will not be found about him. If we pass from loving loyalty to the individual, to patriotic devotion to the causes of the nations, woman's fidelity is still undying. The women of France are said to have paid the German war debt. The message of the Spartan mother to her soldier son is too well known to be repeated. When the legions of Scipio engirdled the walls of Carthage and desperation seized the inhabitants of the Punic city, Carthaginian women cut their long black hair to furnish bowstrings to the Carthaginian archers. Illustrations might be multiplied; but these will suffice to show that Mary and Martha and Salome, the women of the Gospels, are simply types of the consecrated women of the world. When we come to summarize, we are led to declare that if the Gospel historians be not worthy of belief we are without foundation for rational faith in the secular annals of the human race. No other literature bears historic scrutiny so well as the New Testament biographies. Not by a single chain, but by three great chains can we link our Bible of to-day with the Apostolic Bible. The great manuscripts: the Vatican, the Alexandrian, and the Sinaitic, dating from the middle of the fourth and fifth centuries, must have been copies of originals, or at least of first copies. The Bible is complete in these manuscripts to-day. The Versions, translations of the original Scriptures from the language in which they were first written into other languages, form a perfect connection between the days of the Apostles and our own. The Vulgate, the celebrated Latin version of St. Jerome, was completed A.D. 385. In making this translation the great scholar has himself said that he used "ancient (Greek) copies." Manuscripts that were ancient, A.D. 385, must have been the original writings, or, at least, first copies. The Vulgate, then, is alone a perfect historic connection between the Bible that we read to-day and that studied by the first Christians. Again, the Writings of the Church Fathers furnish a chain, without a single missing link, between the Bible of this generation and that of the first generation of the followers of the Christ. It has been truthfully said that if all the Bibles in the world were destroyed an almost perfect Bible could be reconstructed from quotations from these writings, so numerous and so exact are they. Beginning with Barnabas and Clement, companions of St. Paul, and coming down through the ages, there is not a single generation in which some prince or potentate of the Church has not left convincing evidence in writing that the Books of the Old and New Testament which we read to-day are identical with those read by the first propagators of our faith. The chain of proof forged from the Writings of the early Fathers is made up of a hundred links, each perfect within itself and yet relinked and welded with a hundred others that make each and all doubly strong. If these various testimonies, the Manuscripts, the Versions, and the Writings of the Church Fathers, be taken, not singly, but collectively, in support and corroboration of each other, we have, then, not merely a chain but rather a huge spiritual cable of many wires, stretching across the great sea of time and linking our Bible of to-day inseparably with that of the Apostolic Age. If it be objected that these various writings might have been and probably were corrupted in coming down to us through the centuries, reply may be made that the facts of history repel such suggestions. As Mr. Greenleaf has suggested, the jealousy of opposing sects preserved them from forgery and mutilation. Besides these sects, it may be added, there were, even in the earliest times, open and avowed infidels who assaulted the cardinal tenets of the Christian faith and made the Gospel histories the targets for their attacks. They, too, would have detected and denounced any attempt from any source to corrupt these writings. Another and final, and probably the most cogent reason for the remarkable preservation of the books of the Bible, is the reverential care bestowed upon them by their custodians in every age. It is difficult for the modern world to fully appreciate the meaning and extent of this reverence and care. Before the age of printing, it must be remembered, the masses of the people could not and did not possess Bibles. In the Middle Ages it required a small fortune to own a single copy. The extreme scarcity enhanced not only the commercial value but added to the awful sanctity that attached to the precious volume; on the principle that the person of a king becomes more sacred and mysterious when least seen in public. Synagogues and monasteries were, for many centuries, the sole repositories of the Holy Books, and the deliberate mutilation of any portion of the Bible would have been regarded like the blaspheming of the Deity or the desecration of a shrine. These considerations alone are sufficient reason why the Holy Scriptures have come down to us uncorrupted and unimpaired. These various considerations are the logical basis of that rule of law laid down by Mr. Greenleaf, under which the Gospel histories would be admitted into a modern court of law in a modern judicial proceeding. Under legal tests laid down by Starkie, we have seen that the Evangelists should be believed, because: (1) They were honest and sincere, that is, they believed that they were telling the truth; (2) they were undoubtedly men of good intelligence and were eyewitnesses of the facts narrated by them in the New Testament histories; (3) they were independent historians, who wrote at different times and places and, in all essential details, fully corroborate each other; (4) excepting in the matter of miracles, which skepticism has never been able to fully disprove, their testimony is in full conformity with human experience; (5) their testimony coincides fully and accurately with all the collateral, social, historical, and religious circumstances of their time, as well as with the teachings and experience of universal history in every age. Having received from antiquity an uncorrupted message, born of truth, we have, it is believed, a perfect record of fact with which to discuss the trial of Jesus. PART II _HEBREW CRIMINAL LAW_ [Illustration: MOSES AND THE LAW (MICHAEL ANGELO)] CHAPTER I HEBREW CRIMINAL LAW--MOSAIC AND TALMUDIC The Pentateuch and the Talmud form the double basis of Hebrew jurisprudence. "The wisdom of the lawgiver," says Bacon, "consists not only in a platform of justice, but in the application thereof." The Mosaic Code, embodied in the Pentateuch, furnished to the children of Israel the necessary platform of justice; ancient tradition and Rabbinic interpretation contained in the Talmud, supplied needed rules of practical application. Employing classic terminology, it may be said that the ordinances of Moses were the substantive and the provisions of the Talmud were the adjective laws of the ancient Hebrews. These terms are not strictly accurate, however, since many absolute rights are declared and defined in the Talmud as well as in the Pentateuch. Another definition, following the classification of Roman legists, describes Mosaic injunction as the _lex scripta_ and Talmudic provision as the _lex non scripta_ of the Commonwealth of Israel. In other words, the Pentateuch was the foundation, the cornerstone; the Talmud was the superstructure, the gilded dome of the great temple of Hebrew justice. Bible students throughout the world are familiar with the provisions of the Mosaic Code; but the contents of the Talmud are known to few, even among scholars and literary men. The most appalling ignorance has existed in every age among the Gentile uninitiated as to the nature and identity of this gigantic literary compilation. Henricus Segnensis, a pious monk of the Middle Ages, having heard and read many things about the despised heretical Talmud, conceived it to be a person and, in a transport of religious frenzy, declared that he would sooner or later have _him, the Talmud_, put to death by the hangman![48] For the benefit of the average reader as well as to illuminate the general subject, a short description of the Talmud will be given. _Definition._--Many attempts have been made to define the Talmud, but all definition of this monumental literary production is necessarily inaccurate and incomplete because of the vastness and peculiarity of the matter treated. To describe it as an encyclopedia of the life and literature, law and religion, art and science of the Hebrew people during a thousand years would convey only an approximately correct idea of its true meaning, for it is even more than the foregoing descriptive terms would indicate. Emanuel Deutsch in his brilliant essay on the Talmud defines it as "a Corpus Juris, an encyclopedia of law, civil and penal, ecclesiastical and international, human and divine. It is a microcosm, embracing, even as does the Bible, heaven and earth. It is as if all the prose and poetry, the science, the faith and speculation of the Old World were, though only in faint reflections, bound up in it _in nuce_." Benny describes it as "the Talmud--that much maligned and even more misunderstood compilation of the rabbins; that digest of what Carlyle would term _allerlei-wissenschaften_; which is at once the compendium of their literature, the storehouse of their tradition, the exponent of their faith, the record of their acquirements, the handbook of their ceremonials and the summary of their legal code, civil and penal." To speak of the Talmud as a book would be inaccurate. It is a small library, or collection of books. "Modern editions of the Talmud, including the most important commentaries, consist of about 3,000 folio sheets, or 12,000 folio pages of closely printed matter, generally divided into twelve or twenty volumes. One page of Talmudic Hebrew intelligibly translated into English would cover three pages; the translation of the whole Talmud with its commentaries would accordingly make a library of 400 volumes, each numbering 360 octavo pages."[49] It would be well to bear in mind that the contents of the Talmud were not proclaimed to the world by any executive, legislative, or judicial body; that they were not the result of any resolution or mandate of any congregation, college, or Sanhedrin; that they were not, in any case, formal or statutory. They were simply a great mass of traditionary matter and commentary transmitted orally through many centuries before being finally reduced to writing. Rabbinism claims for these traditions a remote antiquity, declaring them to be coeval with the proclamation of the Decalogue. Many learned doctors among the Jews ascribe this antiquity to the whole mass of traditional laws. Others maintain that only the principles upon which Rabbinic interpretation and discussion are based, can be traced back so far. But it is certain that distinct traditions are to be found at a very early period in the history of the children of Israel, and that on their return from Babylonian captivity these traditions were delivered to them by Ezra and his coadjutors of the Great Assembly. This development of Hebrew jurisprudence along lines of written and oral law, Pentateuch and Talmud, Mosaic ordinance and time-honored tradition, seems to have followed in obedience to a general principle of juristic growth. _Lex scripta_ and _lex non scripta_ are classical Roman terms of universal application in systems of enlightened jurisprudence. A charter, a parchment, a marble column, a table of stone, a sacred book, containing written maxims defining legal rights and wrongs are the beginnings of all civilized schemes of justice. Around these written, fundamental laws grow and cluster the race traditions of a people which attach themselves to and become inseparable from the prime organic structure. These oral traditions are the natural and necessary products of a nation's growth and progress. The laws of the Medes and Persians, at once unalterable and irrevocable, represent a strange and painful anomaly in the jurisprudence of mankind. No written constitution, incapable of amendment and subject to strict construction, can long survive the growth and expansion of a great and progressive people. The ever-changing, perpetually evolving forms of social, commercial, political, and religious life of a restless, marching, ambitious race, necessitate corresponding changes and evolutions in laws and constitutions. These necessary legal supplements are as varied in origin as are the nations that produce them. Magna Charta, wrung from John at Runnymede, became the written basis of English law and freedom, and around it grew up those customs and traditions that--born on the shores of the German Ocean, transplanted to the Isles of Britain, nurtured and developed through a thousand years of judicial interpretation and application--became the great basic structure of the Common Law of England. What the Mosaic Code was to the ancient Hebrews, what Magna Charta is to Englishmen, the Koran is to Mahometans: the written charter of their faith and law. Surrounding the Koran are many volumes of tradition, made up of the sayings of Mahomet, which are regarded as equally sacred and authoritative as the Koran itself. These volumes of Mahometan tradition are called the Sonna and correspond to the Talmud of the Hebrews. An analysis of any great system of jurisprudence will reveal the same natural arrangement of written and oral law as that represented by the Pentateuch and the Talmud of the Jews. The word "Talmud" has various meanings, as it appears in Hebrew traditional literature. It is an old scholastic term, and "is a noun formed from the verb 'limmed'='to teach.' It therefore means, primarily, 'teaching,' although it denotes also 'learning'; it is employed in this latter sense with special reference to the Torah, the terms 'Talmud' and 'Torah' being usually combined to indicate the study of the Law, both in its wider and its more restricted sense."[50] It is thus frequently used in the sense of the word "exegesis," meaning Biblical exposition or interpretation. But with the etymological and restricted, we are not so much interested as with the popular and general signification of the term "Talmud." Popularly used, it means simply a small collection of books represented by two distinct editions handed down to posterity by the Palestinian and Babylonian schools during the early centuries of the Christian era. _Divisions of the Talmud._--The Talmud is divided into two component parts: the Mishna, which may be described as the _text_; and the Gemara, which may be termed the _commentary_.[51] The Mishna, meaning tradition, is almost wholly law. It was, indeed, of old, translated as the Second or Oral Law--the [Greek: deuterôsis]--to distinguish it from the Written Law delivered by God to Moses. The relationship between the Mishna, meaning oral law, and the Gemara, meaning commentary, may be illustrated by a bill introduced into Congress and the debates which follow. In a general way, the bill corresponds to the Mishna, and the debates to the Gemara. The distinction, however, is that the law resulting from the passage of the bill is the effect and culmination of the debate; while the Mishna was already law when the Gemara or commentary was made. As we have seen above, Hebrew jurisprudence in its principles and in the manner of their interpretation was chiefly transmitted by the living voice of tradition. These laws were easily and safely handed down from father to son through successive generations as long as Jewish nationality continued and the Temple at Jerusalem still stood. But, with the destruction of the Temple and the banishment of the Jews from Palestine (A.D. 70), the danger became imminent that in the loss of their nationality would also be buried the remembrance of their laws. Moved with pity and compassion for the sad condition of his people, Judah the Holy, called Rabbi for preëminence, resolved to collect and perpetuate for them in writing their time-honored traditions. His work received the name Mishna, the same which we have discussed above. But it must not be imagined that this work was the sudden or exclusive effort of Rabbi Judah. His achievement was merely the sum total and culmination of the labors of a long line of celebrated Hebrew sages. "The Oral Law had been recognized by Ezra; had become important in the days of the Maccabees; had been supported by Pharisaism; narrowed by the school of Shammai, codified by the school of Hillel, systematized by R. Akiba, placed on a logical basis by R. Ishmael, exegetically amplified by R. Eliezer, and constantly enriched by successive rabbis and their schools. Rabbi Judah put the coping-stone to the immense structure."[52] Emanuel Deutsch gives the following subdivisions of the Mishna: The Mishna is divided into six sections. These are subdivided again into 11, 12, 7, 9 (or 10), 11, and 12 chapters, respectively, which are further broken up into 524 paragraphs. We shall briefly describe their contents: Section I. Seeds: of Agrarian Laws, commencing with a chapter on Prayers. In this section, the various tithes and donations due to the Priests, the Levites, and the poor, from the products of the lands, and further the Sabbatical year and the prohibited mixtures in plants, animals, garments, are treated of. Section II. Feasts: of Sabbaths, Feast, and Fast days, the work prohibited, the ceremonies ordained, the sacrifices to be offered, on them. Special chapters are devoted to the Feast of the Exodus from Egypt, to the New Year's Day, to the Day of Atonement (one of the most impressive portions of the whole book), to the Feast of Tabernacles and to that of Haman. Section III. Women: of betrothal, marriage, divorce, etc., also of vows. Section IV. Damages: including a great part of the civil and criminal law. It treats of the law of trover, of buying and selling, and the ordinary monetary transactions. Further, of the greatest crime known to the law, viz., idolatry. Next of witnesses, of oaths, of legal punishments, and of the Sanhedrin itself. This section concludes with the so-called "Sentences of the Fathers," containing some of the sublimest ethical dicta known in the history of religious philosophy. Section V. Sacred Things: of sacrifices, the first-born, etc.; also of the measurements of the Temple (Middoth). Section VI. Purifications: of the various levitical and other hygienic laws, of impure things and persons, their purification, etc.[53] _Recensions._--The Talmud exists in two recensions: the Jerusalem and the Babylonian. These two editions represent a double Gemara; the first (Jerusalem) being an expression of the schools in Palestine and redacted at Tiberias about 390 A.D.; the second (Babylonian) being an expression of the schools in Babylonia and redacted about 365-427 A.D. The Mishna, having been formed into a code, became in its turn what the Pentateuch had been before it, a basis of discussion and development. The Gemara of the Jerusalem Talmud embodies the critical discussions and disquisitions on the Mishna by hundreds of learned doctors who lived in Palestine, chiefly in Galilee, from the end of the second till about the middle of the fifth century of the Christian era. The Gemara of the Babylonian Talmud embodies the criticisms and dissertations on the same Mishna of numerous learned doctors living in various places in Babylonia, but chiefly those of the two great schools of Sura and Pumbaditha.[54] The Babylonian Talmud is written in "West Aramæan," is the product of six or seven generations of constant development, and is about four times as large as that of the Jerusalem Talmud, which is written in "East Aramæan."[55] It should be kept clearly before the mind that the only difference between these two recensions is in the matter of commentary. The two sets of doctors whose different commentaries distinguish the two Talmuds dealt with the same Mishna as a basis of criticism. But decided differences are noticeable in the subject matter and style of the two Gemaras represented by the two recensions of the Talmud. The discussions and commentaries in the Jerusalem Talmud are simple, brief, and pointed; while those of the Babylonian Talmud are generally subtle, abstruse, and prolix. The dissertations in the Jerusalem Talmud are filled to overflowing with archæology, geography, and history, while the Babylonian Talmud is more marked by legal and religious development. But the reader should not form a wrong impression of the contents of the Talmud. They are a blending of the oral law of the Mishna and the notes and comments of the sages. The characteristics of both the editions are legal and religious, but a multitude of references are made in each to things that have no connection with either religion or law. "The Talmud does, indeed, offer us a perfect picture of the cosmopolitanism and luxury of those final days of Rome, such as but few classical or postclassical writings contain. We find mention made of Spanish fish, of Cretan apples, Bithynian cheese, Egyptian lentils and beans, Greek and Egyptian pumpkins, Italian wine, Median beer, Egyptian Zyphus; garments imported from Pelusium and India, shirts from Cilicia, and veils from Arabia. To the Arabic, Persian, and Indian materials contained, in addition to these, in the Gemara, a bare allusion may suffice. So much we venture to predict, that when once archæological and linguistic science shall turn to this field, they will not leave it again soon." _Relation of Talmud to Mishna._--The relation of the Talmud, used in the popular sense, to the Mishna, raises the question of the relation of the whole to one of its parts. The varying meanings of Mishna, Gemara, and Talmud very easily confuse the ordinary reader. If these terms are considered separately in the order in which they appear in the preceding sentence, simple mathematical addition will greatly aid in elucidating matters. The Mishna is a vast mass of tradition or oral law which was finally reduced to writing about the close of the second century of the Christian era. The Gemara is the Rabbinical exposition of the meaning of the Mishna. The Talmud is the sum of the Mishna plus the Gemara. In other words, the Talmud is the elaboration or amplification of the Mishna by manifold commentaries, designated as the Gemara. It frequently happens that the Talmud and the Mishna appear in the same sentence as terms designating entirely different things. This association in a different sense inevitably breeds confusion, unless we pause to consider that the Mishna has a separate existence from the Talmud and a distinct recension of its own. In this state it is simply a naked code of laws. But when the Gemara has been added to it the Talmud is the result, which, in its turn, becomes a distinct entity and may be referred to as such in the same sentence with the Mishna. _Relation of Talmud to Pentateuch._--As before suggested, the Pentateuch, or Mosaic Code, was the Written Law and the very foundation of ancient Hebrew jurisprudence. The Talmud, composed of the Mishna, i.e., Tradition, and the Gemara, i.e., Commentary, was the Oral Law, connected with, derived from, and built upon the Written Law. It must be remembered that the commonwealth of the Jews was a pure theocracy and that all law as well as all religion emanated directly or indirectly from Jehovah. This was as true of Talmudic tradition as of Mosaic ordinance. Hillel, who interpreted tradition, was as much inspired of God as was Moses when he received the Written Law on Sinai. Emanuel Deutsch is of the opinion that from the very beginning of the Mosaic law there must have existed a number of corollary laws which were used to interpret and explain the written rules; that, besides, there were certain enactments of the primitive Council of the Desert, and certain verdicts issued by the later "judges within the gates"--all of which entered into the general body of the Oral Law and were transmitted side by side with the Written Law through the ages.[56] The fourth book of Ezra, as well as other Apocryphal writings, together with Philo and certain of the Church Fathers, tells us of great numbers of books that were given to Moses at the same time that he received the Pentateuch. These writings are doubtless the source of the popular belief among the Jews that the traditional laws of the Mishna had existed from time immemorial and were of divine origin. "Jewish tradition traces the bulk of the oral injunctions, through a chain of distinctly named authorities, to 'Sinai itself.' It mentions in detail how Moses communicated those minutiæ of his legislation, in which he had been instructed during the mysterious forty days and nights on the Mount, to the chosen guides of the people, in such a manner that they should forever remain engraven on the tablets of their hearts."[57] This direct descent of the Oral Law from the Sacred Mount itself would indicate an independent character and authority. Nevertheless, Talmudic interpretation of tradition professed to remain always subject to the Mosaic Code; to be built upon, and to derive its highest inspiration from it. But, as a matter of fact, while claiming theoretically to be subordinate to it, the Talmud finally superseded and virtually displaced the Pentateuch as a legal and administrative code. This was the inevitable consequence and effect of the laws of growth and progress in national existence. Altered conditions of life, at home and in exile, necessitated new rules of action in the government of the Jewish commonwealth. The Mosaic Code was found inadequate to the ever-changing exigencies of Hebrew life. As a matter of fact, Moses laid down only general principles for the guidance of Hebrew judges. He furnished the body of the law, but a system of legal procedure was wholly wanting. The Talmud supplied the deficiency and completed a perfect whole. While yet in the Wilderness, Moses commanded the Israelites to establish courts and appoint judges for the administration of justice as soon as they were settled in Palestine.[58] This clearly indicates that the great lawgiver did not intend his ordinances and injunctions to be final and exclusive. Having furnished a foundation for the scheme, he anticipated that the piety, judgment, and learning of subsequent ages would do the rest. His expectations were fulfilled in the development of the traditions afterwards embodied in the Mishna, which is the principal component part of the Talmud. As before suggested, with the growth in population and the ever-increasing complications in social, political, and religious life, and with the general advance in Hebrew civilization, Mosaic injunction began to prove entirely inadequate to the national wants. In the time intervening between the destruction of the first and second Temples, a number of Mosaic laws had become utter anachronisms; others were perfectly impracticable, and several were no longer even understood. The exigencies of an altered mode of life and the changed conditions and circumstances of the people rendered imperative the enactment of new laws unknown to the Pentateuch. But the divine origin of the Hebrew system of law was never for a moment forgotten, whatever the change and wherever made. The Rabbins never formally repealed or abolished any Mosaic enactment. They simply declared that it had fallen into desuetude. And, in devising new laws rendered necessary by changed conditions of life they invariably invoked some principle or interpretation of the Written Law. In the declining years of Jewish nationality, many characteristic laws of the Pentateuch had become obsolete. The ordinance which determined the punishment of a stubborn and rebellious son; the enactment which commanded the destruction of a city given to idolatry; and, above all, the _lex talionis_ had become purely matters of legend. On the other hand, many new laws appear in the Talmud of which no trace whatever can be discovered in the Pentateuch. "The Pharisees," says Josephus, "have imposed upon the people many laws taken from the tradition of the Fathers, which are not written in the law of Moses."[59] The most significant of these is the one providing for Antecedent Warning in criminal prosecutions, the meaning and purpose of which will be fully discussed in another chapter. _Vicissitudes of the Talmud._--An old Latin adage runs: "Habent sua fata libelli."[60] (Even books are victims of fate). This saying is peculiarly applicable to the Talmud, which has had, in a general way, the same fateful history as the race that created it. Proscription, exile, imprisonment, confiscation, and burning was its lot throughout the Middle Ages. During a thousand years, popes and kings vied with each other in pronouncing edicts and hurling anathemas against it. During the latter half of the sixteenth century it was burned not fewer than six different times by royal or papal decree. Whole wagonloads were consigned to the flames at a single burning. In 1286, in a letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, Honorius IV described the Talmud as a "damnable book" (liber damnabilis), and vehemently urged that nobody in England be permitted to read it, since "all other evils flow out of it."[61] On New Year's day, 1553, numerous copies of the Talmud were burned at Rome in compliance with a decree of the Inquisition. And, as late as 1757, in Poland, Bishop Dembowski, at the instigation of the Frankists, convened a public assembly at Kamenetz-Podolsk, which decreed that all copies of the Talmud found in the bishopric should be confiscated and burned by the hangman.[62] Of the two recensions, the Babylonian Talmud bore the brunt of persecution during all the ages. This resulted from the fact that the Jerusalem Talmud was little read after the closing of the Jewish academies in Palestine, while the Babylonian Talmud was the popular edition of eminent Jewish scholars throughout the world. It is needless to say that the treatment accorded the venerable literary compilation was due to bitter prejudice and crass ignorance. This is well illustrated by the circumstance that when, in 1307, Clement V was asked to issue a bull against the Talmud, he declined to do so, until he had learned something about it. To his amazement and chagrin, he could find no one who could throw any light upon the subject. Those who wished it condemned and burned were totally ignorant of its meaning and contents. The surprise and disgust of Clement were so great that he resolved to found three chairs in Hebrew, Arabic, and Chaldee, the three tongues nearest the idiom of the Talmud. He designated the Universities of Paris, Salamanca, Bologna, and Oxford as places where these languages should be taught, and expressed the hope that, in time, one of these universities might be able to produce a translation of "this mysterious book."[63] It may be added that these plans of the Pope were never consummated. _The Message and Mission of the Talmud._--To appreciate the message and mission of the Talmud, its contents must be viewed and contemplated in the light of both literature and history. As a literary production it is a masterpiece--strange, weird, and unique--but a masterpiece, nevertheless. It is a sort of spiritual and intellectual cosmos in which the brain growth and soul burst of a great race found expression during a thousand years. As an encyclopedia of faith and scholarship it reveals the noblest thoughts and highest aspirations of a divinely commissioned race. Whatever the master spirits of Judaism in Palestine and Babylon esteemed worthy of thought and devotion was devoted to its pages. It thus became a great twin messenger, with the Bible, of Hebrew civilization to all the races of mankind and to all the centuries yet to come. To Hebrews it is still the great storehouse of information touching the legal, political, and religious traditions of their fathers in many lands and ages. To the Biblical critic of any faith it is an invaluable help to Bible exegesis. And to all the world who care for the sacred and the solemn it is a priceless literary treasure. As an historical factor the Talmud has only remotely affected the great currents of Gentile history. But to Judaism it has been the cementing bond in every time of persecution and threatened dissolution. It was carried from Babylon to Egypt, northern Africa, Spain, Italy, France, Germany, and Poland. And when threatened with national and race destruction, the children of Abraham in every land bowed themselves above its sacred pages and caught therefrom inspiration to renewed life and higher effort. The Hebrews of every age have held the Talmud in extravagant reverence as the greatest sacred heirloom of their race. Their supreme affection for it has placed it above even the Bible. It is an adage with them that, "The Bible is salt, the Mischna pepper, the Gemara balmy spice," and Rabbi Solomon ben Joseph sings: "The Kabbala and Talmud hoar Than all the Prophets prize I more; For water is all Bible lore, But Mischna is pure wine." More than any other human agency has the Talmud been instrumental in creating that strangest of all political phenomena--a nation without a country, a race without a fatherland. CHAPTER II HEBREW CRIMINAL LAW--CRIMES AND PUNISHMENTS Capital crimes, under Hebrew law, were classified by Maimonides according to their respective penalties. His arrangement will be followed in this chapter.[64] Hebrew jurisprudence provided four methods of capital punishment: (1) Beheading; (2) Strangling; (3) Burning; (4) Stoning. Crucifixion was unknown to Hebrew law. This cruel and loathsome form of punishment will be fully discussed in the second volume of this work. Thirty-six capital crimes are mentioned by the Pentateuch and the Talmud. _Beheading_ was the punishment for only two crimes: (1) Murder. (2) Communal apostasy from Judaism to idolatry. _Strangling_ was prescribed for six offenses: (1) Adultery. (2) Kidnaping. (3) False prophecy. (4) Bruising a parent. (5) Prophesying in the name of heathen deities. (6) Maladministration (the "Rebellious Elder"). _Burning_ was the death penalty for ten forms of incest--criminal commerce: (1) With one's own daughter. (2) With one's own son's daughter. (3) With one's own daughter's daughter. (4) With one's own stepdaughter. (5) With one's own stepson's daughter. (6) With one's own stepdaughter's daughter. (7) With one's own mother-in-law. (8) With one's own mother-in-law's mother. (9) With one's own father-in-law's mother. (10) With a priest's daughter.[65] _Stoning_ was the penalty for eighteen capital offenses: (1) Magic. (2) Idolatry. (3) Blasphemy. (4) Pythonism. (5) Pederasty. (6) Necromancy. (7) Cursing a parent. (8) Violating the Sabbath. (9) Bestiality, practiced by a man. (10) Bestiality, practiced by a woman. (11) Sacrificing one's own children to Moloch. (12) Instigating individuals to embrace idolatry. (13) Instigating communities to embrace idolatry. (14) Criminal conversation with one's own mother. (15) Criminal conversation with a betrothed virgin. (16) Criminal conversation with one's own stepmother. (17) Criminal conversation with one's own daughter-in-law. (18) Violation of filial duty (making the "Prodigal Son").[66] The crime of _false swearing_ requires special notice. This offense could not be classified under any of the above subdivisions because of its peculiar nature. The Mosaic Code ordains in Deut. xix. 16-21: "If a false witness rise up against any man to testify against him that which is wrong ... and, behold, if the witness be a false witness, and hath testified falsely against his brother; then shall ye do unto him, as he had thought to have done unto his brother ... and thine eye shall not pity, but life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot." Talmudic construction of this law awarded the same kind of death to him who had sworn falsely against his brother that would have been meted out to the alleged criminal, if the testimony of the false swearer had been true. _Imprisonment_, as a method of punishment, was unknown to the Mosaic Code. Leviticus xxiv. 12 and Numbers xv. 34 seem to indicate the contrary; but the imprisonment therein mentioned undoubtedly refers to the mere detention of the prisoner until sentence could be pronounced against him. Imprisonment as a form of punishment was a creation of the Talmudists who legalized its application among the Hebrews. According to Mendelsohn, five different classes of offenders were punished by _imprisonment_: (1) Homicides; whose crime could not be legally punished with death, because some condition or other, necessary to produce a legal conviction, had not been complied with. (2) Instigators to or procurers of murder; such, for instance, as had the deed committed by the hands of a hireling. (3) Accessories to loss of life, as, for instance, when several persons had clubbed one to death, and the court could not determine the one who gave the death blow. (4) Persons who having been twice duly condemned to and punished with flagellation for as many transgressions of one and the same negative precept, committed it a third time. (5) Incorrigible offenders, who, on each of three occasions, had failed to acknowledge as many warnings antecedent to the commission of one and the same crime, the original penalty for which was excision.[67] _Flagellation_ is the only corporal punishment mentioned by the Pentateuch. The number of stripes administered were not to exceed forty and were to be imposed in the presence of the judges.[68] Wherever the Mosaic Code forbade an act, or, in the language of the sages, said "Thou shalt not," and prescribed no other punishment or alternative, a Court of Three might impose stripes as the penalty for wrongdoing. Mendelsohn gives the following classification: Flagellation is the penalty of three classes of offenses: (1) The violation of a negative precept, deadly in the sight of heaven. (2) The violation of any negative precept, when accomplished by means of a positive act. (3) The violation of any one of the prohibitive ordinances punishable, according to the Mosaic law with _excision_, to which, however, no capital punishment at the instance of a human tribunal is attached.[69] The Mishna enumerates fifty offenses punishable by stripes, but this enumeration is evidently incomplete. Maimonides gives a full classification of all the offenses punishable by flagellation, the number of which he estimates to be two hundred and seven. The last three in his list are cases in which the king takes too many wives, accumulates too much silver or gold, or collects too many horses.[70] _Slavery_ was the penalty for _theft_ under ancient Hebrew law. This is the only case where the Mosaic law imposed slavery upon the culprit as a punishment for his crime; and a loss of liberty followed only where the thief was unable to make the prescribed restitution. Exodus xxii. 1-3 says: If a man shall steal an ox, or a sheep, and kill it, or sell it, he shall restore five oxen for an ox, and four sheep for a sheep ... if he have nothing, then he shall be sold for his theft. Penal servitude, or slavery, was imposed only on men, never on women. Slavery, as a penalty for theft, was limited to a period of six years in obedience to the Mosaic ordinance laid down in Exodus xxi. 2. If thou buy a Hebrew servant, six years he shall serve: and in the seventh, he shall go free for nothing. It should be remarked, in this connection, that slavery, as a punishment for crime, carried with it none of the odium and hardship usually borne by the slave. The humanity of Hebrew law provided that the culprit, thief though he was, should not be degraded or humiliated. He could be compelled to do work for his master, such as he had been accustomed to do while free, but was relieved by the law from all degrading employment, such as "attending the master to the bath, fastening or unfastening his sandals, washing his feet, or any other labor usually performed by the regular slave." Hebrew law required such kindly treatment of the convict thief by his master that this maxim was the result: "He who buys a Hebrew slave, buys himself a master." _Internment_ in a city of refuge was the punishment for accidental homicide. Mischance or misadventure, resulting in the slaying of a fellow-man, was not, properly speaking, a crime; nor was exile in a city of refuge considered by the Talmudists a form of punishment. But they are so classified by most writers on Hebrew criminal law. Among nearly all ancient nations there was a place of refuge for the unfortunate and downtrodden of the earth; debtors, slaves, criminals, and political offenders; some sacred spot--an altar, a grave, or a sanctuary dedicated and devoted to some divinity who threw about the hallowed place divine protection and inviolability. Such was at Athens the Temple of Theseus, the sanctuary of slaves. It will be remembered that the orator Demosthenes took refuge in the Temple of Poseidon as a sanctuary, when pursued by emissaries of Antipater and the Macedonians.[71] Among the ancient Hebrews, there were six cities of refuge; three on either side of the Jordan. They were so located as to be nearly opposite each other. Bezer in Reuben was opposite Hebron in Judah; Schechem in Ephraim was opposite to Ramoth in Gad; and Golan in Manasseh was opposite to Kedesh in Naphtali.[72] Highways in excellent condition led from one to the other. Signposts were placed at regular intervals to indicate the way to the nearest city of refuge. These cities were designated by the law as asylums or sanctuaries for the protection of innocent slayers of their fellow-men from the "avenger of blood." Among nearly all primitive peoples of crude political development, such as the early Germans, the ancient Greeks and Slavs, certain North American savage tribes and the modern Arabs, Corsicans and Sicilians, the right of private vengeance was and is taught and tolerated. Upon the "next of kin," the "avenger of blood," devolved the duty of hunting down and slaying the guilty man. Cities of refuge were provided by Mosaic law for such an emergency among the Hebrews. This provision of the Mosaic Code doubtless sprang from a personal experience of its founder. Bible students will remember that Moses slew an Egyptian and was compelled to flee in consequence.[73] Remembering his dire distress on this occasion, the great lawgiver was naturally disposed to provide sanctuaries for others similarly distressed. But the popular notion of the rights of sanctuary under the Mosaic law is far from right. That a common murderer could, by precipitate flight, reach one of the designated places and be safe from his pursuers and the vengeance of the law, is thought by many. The observation of Benny on this point is apt and lucid: Internment in one of the cities of refuge was not the scampering process depicted in the popular engraving: a man in the last stage of exhaustion at the gate of an Eastern town; his pursuers close upon him, arrows fixed and bows drawn; his arms stretched imploringly towards a fair Jewish damsel, with a pitcher gracefully poised upon her head. This may be extremely picturesque, but it is miserably unlike the custom in vogue among the later Hebrews. Internment in a city of refuge was a sober and judicial proceeding. He who claimed the privilege was tried before the Sanhedrin like any ordinary criminal. He was required to undergo examination; to confront witnesses, to produce evidence, precisely as in the case of other offenders. He had to prove that the homicide was purely accidental; that he had borne no malice against his neighbor; that he had not lain in wait for him to slay him. Only when the judges were convinced that the crime was homicide by misadventure was the culprit adjudged to be interned in one of the sheltering cities. There was no scurrying in the matter; no abrupt flight; no hot pursuit, and no appeal for shelter. As soon as judgment was pronounced the criminal was conducted to one of the appointed places. He was accompanied the whole distance by two talmide-chachamin-disciples of the Rabbins. The avengers of the blood dared not interfere with the offender on the way. To slay him would have been murder, punishable with death. _Execution of Capital Sentences._ (1) _Beheading._--The Hebrews considered beheading the most awful and ignominious of all forms of punishment. It was the penalty for deliberate murder and for communal apostasy from Judaism to idolatry, the most heinous offenses against the Hebrew theocracy. Beheading was accomplished by fastening the culprit securely to a post and then severing his head from his body by a stroke with a sword.[74] (2) _Strangling._--The capital punishment of strangling was effected by burying the culprit to his waist in soft mud, and then tightening a cord _wrapped in a soft cloth_ around his neck, until suffocation ensued.[75] (3) _Burning._--The execution of criminals by burning was not done by consuming the living person with fire, as was practiced in the case of heretics by prelates in the Middle Ages and in the case of white captives by savages in colonial days in America. Indeed, the term "burning" seems to be a misnomer in this connection, for the culprit was not really burned to death. He was simply suffocated by strangling. As in the case of strangling, the condemned man was placed in a pit dug in the ground. Soft dirt was then thrown in and battered down, until nothing but his head and chest protruded. A cord, wrapped in a soft cloth, was then passed once around his neck. Two strong men came forward, grasped each an end, and drew the cord so hard that suffocation immediately followed. As the lower jaw dropped from insensibility and relaxation, a lighted wick was quickly thrown into his mouth. This constituted the burning.[76] There is authority for the statement that instead of a lighted wick, molten lead was poured down the culprit's throat.[77] (4) _Stoning._--Death by stoning was accomplished in the following manner: The culprit was taken to some lofty hill or eminence, made to undress completely, if a man, and was then precipitated violently to the ground beneath. The fall usually broke the neck or dislocated the spinal cord. If death did not follow instantaneously the witnesses hurled upon his prostrate body heavy stones until he was dead. If the first stone, so heavy as to require two persons to carry it, did not produce death, then bystanders threw stones upon him until death ensued. Here, again, "stoning" to death is not strictly accurate. Death usually resulted from the fall of the man from the platform, scaffold, hill, or other elevation from which he was hurled. It was really a process of neck-breaking, instead of stoning, as burning was a process of suffocation, instead of consuming with fire. These four methods of execution--beheading, strangling, burning, and stoning--were the only forms of capital punishment known to the ancient Hebrews. Crucifixion was never practiced by them; but a posthumous indignity, resembling crucifixion, was employed as an insult to the criminal, in the crimes of idolatry and blasphemy. In addition to being stoned to death, as a punishment for either of these crimes, the dead body of the culprit was then hanged in public view as a means of rendering the offense more hideous and the death more ignominious. This _hanging_ to a tree was in obedience to a Mosaic ordinance contained in Deut. xxi. 22. The corpse was not permitted, however, to remain hanging during the night. The burial of the dead body of the criminal immediately followed execution, but interment could not take place in the family burial ground. Near each town in ancient Palestine were two cemeteries; in one of them were buried those criminals who had been executed by beheading or strangling; in the other were interred those who had been put to death by stoning or burning. The bodies were required to remain, thus buried, until the flesh had completely decayed and fallen from the bone. The relatives were then permitted to dig up the skeletons and place them in the family sepulchers. CHAPTER III HEBREW CRIMINAL LAW--COURTS AND JUDGES The Hebrew tribunals were three in kind: the Great Sanhedrin; the Minor Sanhedrin; and the Lower Tribunal, or the Court of Three. The Great Sanhedrin, or Grand Council, was the high court of justice and the supreme tribunal of the Jews. It sat at Jerusalem. It numbered seventy-one members. Its powers were legislative, executive, and judicial. It exercised all the functions of education, of government, and of religion. It was the national parliament of the Hebrew Theocracy, the human administrator of the divine will. It was the most august tribunal that ever interpreted or administered religion to man. _The Name._--The word "Sanhedrin" is derived from the Greek ([Greek: synedrion]) and denotes a legislative assembly or an ecclesiastical council deliberating in a sitting posture. It suggests also the gravity and solemnity of an Oriental synod, transacting business of great importance. The etymology of the word indicates that it was first used in the later years of Jewish nationality. Several other names are also found in history to designate the Great Sanhedrin of the Jews. The Council of Ancients is a familiar designation of early Jewish writers. It is called Gerusia, or Senate, in the second book of Maccabees.[78] Concilium, or Grand Council, is the name found in the Vulgate.[79] The Talmud designates it sometimes as the Tribunal of the Maccabees, but usually terms it Sanhedrin, the name most frequently employed in the Greek text of the Gospels, in the writings of the Rabbins, and in the works of Josephus.[80] _Origin of the Great Sanhedrin._--The historians are at loggerheads as to the origin of the Great Sanhedrin. Many contend that it was established in the Wilderness by Moses, who acted under divine commission recorded in Numbers xi. 16, 17: "Gather unto me seventy of the elders of Israel, whom thou knowest to be the elders of the people, and officers of them; and bring them unto the tabernacle of the congregation, that they may stand with thee; and I will take of the Spirit that is upon thee and will put it upon them; and they shall bear the burden of the people with thee, that thou bearest it not alone." Over the seventy elders, Moses is said to have presided, making seventy-one, the historic number of the Great Sanhedrin. Several Christian historians, among them Grotius and Selden, have entertained this view; others equally celebrated have maintained contrary opinions. These latter contend that the council of seventy ordained by Moses existed only a short time, having been established to assist the great lawgiver in the administration of justice; and that, upon the entrance of the children of Israel into the Promised Land, it disappeared altogether. The writers who hold this view contend that if the great assembly organized in the Wilderness was perpetuated side by side with the royal power, throughout the ages, as the Rabbis maintained, some mention of this fact would, in reason, have been made by the Bible, Josephus, or Philo. The pages of Jewish history disclose the greatest diversity of opinion as to the origin of the Great Sanhedrin. The Maccabean era is thought by some to be the time of its first appearance. Others contend that the reign of John Hyrcanus, and still others that the days of Judas Maccabeus, marked its birth and beginning. Raphall, having studied with care its origin and progress, wrote: "We have thus traced the existence of a council of Zekenim or Elders founded by Moses, existing in the days of Ezekiel, restored under the name of Sabay Yehoudai, or Elders of the Jews, under Persian dominion; Gerusia, under the supremacy of the Greeks; and Sanhedrin under the Asmonean kings and under the Romans."[81] Brushing aside mere theory and speculation, one historical fact is clear and uncontradicted, that the first Sanhedrin Council clothed with the general judicial and religious attributes of the Great Sanhedrin of the times of Jesus, was established at Jerusalem between 170 and 106 B.C. _Organization of the Great Sanhedrin._--The seventy-one members composing the Great Sanhedrin were divided into three chambers: The chamber of priests; The chamber of scribes; The chamber of elders. The first of these orders represented the religious or sacerdotal; the second, the literary or legal; the third, the patriarchal, the democratic or popular element of the Hebrew population. Thus the principal Estates of the Commonwealth of Israel were present, by representation, in the great court and parliament of the nation. Matthew refers to these three orders and identifies the tribunal that passed judgment upon Christ: "From that time forth, began Jesus to shew unto his disciples, how that he must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed and raised again the third day."[82] Theoretically, under the Hebrew constitution, the "seventy-one" of the three chambers were to be equally divided: Twenty-three in the chamber of priests, Twenty-three in the chamber of scribes, Twenty-three in the chamber of elders. A total of sixty-nine, together with the two presiding officers, would constitute the requisite number, seventy-one. But, practically, this arrangement was rarely ever observed. The theocratic structure of the government of Israel and the pious regard of the people for the guardians of the Temple, gave the priestly element a predominating influence from time to time. The scribes, too, were a most vigorous and aggressive sect and frequently encroached upon the rights and privileges of the other orders. Abarbanel, one of the greatest of the Hebrew writers, has offered this explanation: "The priests and scribes naturally predominated in the Sanhedrin because, not having like the other Israelites received lands to cultivate and improve, they had abundant time to consecrate to the study of law and justice, and thus became better qualified to act as judges."[83] _Qualifications of Members of the Great Sanhedrin._--The following qualifications were requisite to entitle an applicant to membership in the Great Sanhedrin: (1) _He must have been a Hebrew and a lineal descendant of Hebrew parents._[84] (2) _He must have been "learned in the law"; both written and unwritten._ His legal attainment must have included an intimate acquaintance with all the enactments of the Mosaic Code, with traditional practices, with the precepts and precedents of the colleges, with the adjudications of former courts and the opinions of former judges. He must have been familiar not only with the laws then actively in force, but also with those that had become obsolete.[85] (3) _He must have had judicial experience; that is, he must have already filled three offices of gradually increasing dignity, beginning with one of the local courts, and passing successively through two magistracies at Jerusalem._[86] (4) _He must have been thoroughly proficient in scientific knowledge._ The ancient Sanhedrists were required to be especially well grounded in astronomy and medicine. They were also expected to be familiar with the arts of the necromancer.[87] We are also led to believe from the revelations of the Talmud that the judges of Israel were well versed in the principles of physiology and chemistry, as far as these sciences were developed and understood in those days. History records that Rabbi Ismael and his disciples once engaged in experimental dissection in order to learn the anatomy of the human frame. On one occasion a deceitful witness tried to impose upon a Hebrew court by representing spermatic fluid to be the albumen of an egg. Baba bar Boutah was enabled, from his knowledge of the elements of chemistry, to demonstrate the fact of fraud in the testimony of the witness. Eighty disciples of the famous Academy of Hillel are said to have been acquainted with every branch of science known in those days.[88] (5) _He must have been an accomplished linguist; that is, he must have been thoroughly familiar with the languages of the surrounding nations._ Interpreters were not allowed in Hebrew courts. A knowledge of several languages was, therefore, indispensable to the candidate who sought membership in the Great Sanhedrin. "In the case of a foreigner being called as a witness before a tribunal, it was absolutely necessary that two members should understand the language in which the stranger's evidence was given; that two others should speak to him; while another was required to be both able to understand and to converse with the witness. A majority of three judges could always be obtained on any doubtful point in the interpretation of the testimony submitted to the court. At Bither there were three Rabbins acquainted with every language then known, while at Jabneh there were said to be four similarly endowed with the gift of 'all the tongues.'"[89] (6) _He must have been modest, popular, of good appearance, and free from haughtiness._[90] The Hebrew mind conceived modesty to be the natural result of that learning, dignity, and piety which every judge was supposed to possess. The qualification of "popularity" did not convey the notion of electioneering, hobnobbing and familiarity. It meant simply that the reputation of the applicant for judicial honors was so far above reproach that his countrymen could and would willingly commit all their interests of life, liberty, and property to his keeping. By "good appearance" was meant that freedom from physical blemishes and defects, and that possession of physical endowments that would inspire respect and reverence in the beholder. The haughty judge was supposed to be lacking in the elements of piety and humility which qualified him for communion with God. Haughtiness, therefore, disqualified for admission to the Great Sanhedrin. (7) _He must have been pious, strong, and courageous._[91] Piety was the preëminent qualification of a judge of Israel. Impiety was the negation of everything Israelitish. Strength and courage are attributes that all judges in all ages and among all races have been supposed to possess in order to be just and righteous in their judgments. _Disqualifications._--Disqualifications of applicants for membership in the Great Sanhedrin are not less interesting than qualifications. They are in the main mere negatives of affirmatives which have already been given, and would seem, therefore, to be superfluous. But they are strongly accentuated in Hebrew law, and are therefore repeated here. (1) _A man was disqualified to act as judge who had not, or had never had, any regular trade, occupation, or profession by which he gained his livelihood._ The reason for this disqualification was based upon a stringent maxim of the Rabbins: "He who neglects to teach his son a trade, is as though he taught him to steal!" A man who did not work and had never labored in the sweat of his brow for an honest livelihood, was not qualified, reasoned the Hebrew people, to give proper consideration or extend due sympathy to the cause of litigants whose differences arose out of the struggles of everyday life. (2) _In trials where the death penalty might be inflicted, an aged man, a person who had never had any children of his own, and a bastard were disqualified to act as judge._ A person of advanced years was disqualified because according to the Rabbins old age is frequently marked by bad temper; and "because his years and infirmities were likely to render him harsh, perhaps obstinate and unyielding." On the other hand, youth was also a disqualification to sit in the Sanhedrin. According to the Rabbis, twenty-five years was the age which entitled a person to be called a Man;[92] but no one was eligible to a seat in the Sanhedrin until he had reached the age of forty years.[93] The ancient Hebrews regarded that period as the beginning of discretion and understanding. A person without children was not supposed to possess those tender paternal feelings "which should warm him on behalf of the son of Israel who was in peril of his life." The stain of birth and the degradation in character of a bastard were wholly inconsistent with the high ideals of the qualifications of a Hebrew judge. (3) _Gamblers, dice players, bettors on pigeon matches, usurers, and slave dealers were disqualified to act as judges._ The Hebrews regarded gambling, dice playing, betting on pigeon matches, and other such practices as forms of thievery; and thieves were not eligible to sit as judges in their courts. No man who was in the habit of lending money in an usurious manner could be a judge. It was immaterial whether the money was lent to a countryman or a stranger. Slave dealers were disqualified to act as judges because they were regarded as inhuman and unsympathetic. (4) _No man was qualified to be a judge who had dealt in the fruits of the seventh year._ Such a person was deemed lacking in conscience and unfitted to perform judicial functions. (5) _No man who was concerned or interested in a matter to be adjudicated was qualified to sit in judgment thereon._ This is a universal disqualification of judges under all enlightened systems of justice. The weakness and selfishness of human nature are such that few men are qualified to judge impartially where their own interests are involved. (6) _All relatives of the accused man, of whatever degree of consanguinity, were disqualified from sitting in judgment on his case._ This is only a variation of the disqualification of interest. (7) _No person who would be benefited, as heir, or otherwise, by the death or condemnation of an accused man, was qualified to be his judge._ This, too, is a variation of the disqualification of interest. (8) _The king could not be a member of the Sanhedrin._ Royalty disqualified from holding the place of judge because of the high station of the king and because his exercising judicial functions might hamper the administration of justice. And, finally, in closing the enumeration of disqualifications, it may be added that an election to a seat obtained by fraud or any unfair means was null and void. No respect was shown for the piety or learning of such a judge; his judicial mantle was spat upon with scorn, and his fellow judges fled from him as from a plague or pest. Hebrew contempt for such a judge was expressed in the maxim: "The robe of the unfairly elected judge is to be respected not more than the blanket of an ass." _Officers of the Great Sanhedrin._--Two presiding officers directed the proceedings of the Great Sanhedrin. One of these, styled _prince_ (nasi), was the chief and the president of the court. The other, known as the _father of the Tribunal_ (ab-beth-din), was the vice-president. There has been much discussion among the historians as to the particular chamber from which the president was chosen. Some have contended that the presidency of the Sanhedrin belonged by right to the high priest. But the facts of history do not sustain this contention. Aaron was high priest at the time when Moses was president of the first Sanhedrin in the Wilderness; and, besides, the list of presidents preserved by the Talmud reveals the names of many who did not belong to the priesthood. Maimonides has made the following very apt observation on the subject: "Whoever surpassed his colleagues in wisdom was made by them chief of the Sanhedrin."[94] According to most Jewish writers, there were two scribes or secretaries of the Sanhedrin. But several others contend that there were three. Benny says: "Three scribes were present; one was seated on the right, one on the left, the third in the center of the hall. The first recorded the names of the judges who voted for the acquittal of the accused, and the arguments upon which the acquittal was grounded. The second noted the names of such as decided to condemn the prisoner and the reasons upon which the conviction was based. The third kept an account of both the preceding so as to be able at any time to supply omissions or check inaccuracies in the memoranda of his brother reporters."[95] In addition to these officers, there were still others who executed sentences and attended to all the police work of legal procedure. They were called _shoterim_.[96] There was no such officer as a public prosecutor or State's attorney known to the laws of the ancient Hebrews. The witnesses to the crime were the only prosecutors recognized by Hebrew criminal jurisprudence; and in capital cases they were the legal executioners as well. There was also no such body as the modern Grand Jury known to ancient Hebrew criminal law. And no similar body of committee of the Sanhedrin performed the accusatory functions of the modern Grand Jury. The witnesses were the only accusers, and their testimony was both the indictment and the evidence. Until they testified, the man suspected was deemed not only innocent but unaccused. The profession of the law, in the modern sense of the term, was no part of the judicial system of the ancient Hebrews. There were no advocates as we know them. There were, indeed, men learned in the law--Pharisees and Sadducees--who knew all the law. There were doctors of the law: men whom Jesus confounded when a youth in the Temple at the age of twelve.[97] But there were no lawyers in the modern sense: professional characters who accept fees and prosecute cases. The judges and disciples performed all the duties of the modern attorney and counselor-at-law. The prophets were the sole orators of Hebrew life, but they were never allowed to appear as defendants of accused persons. Indeed, they themselves were at times compelled to play the role of defendants. Jeremiah is an illustrious example.[98] Both Keim[99] and Geikie[100] speak of a Baal Rib, a counsel appointed to see that everything possible was done to secure the rights of an accused person at a Hebrew criminal trial. But these statements are not in accord with standard works on ancient Hebrew jurisprudence. Indeed, Friedlieb emphatically denies that there was any such person as a Baal Rib or Dominus Litis among the ancient Hebrews.[101] It seems that in the closing years of Jewish nationality, specially retained advocates were known, for St. Luke tells us that the Jews employed Tertullus, a certain orator, to prosecute St. Paul.[102] But this was certainly an exceptional case. It is historically certain that in the early ages of the Jewish Commonwealth litigants pleaded their own causes. This we learn from the case of the two women who appeared before King Solomon, and laid before him their respective claims to a child.[103] _Compensation of Officers._--The judges of Israel were originally not paid anything for their services. The honor of the office itself was considered sufficient emolument for labors performed. Indeed, the office of teacher and judge in Israel was so highly prized that the struggles and sacrifices of a lifetime were not considered too great to pay for a place in the Great Sanhedrin. Such high station was regarded as a sacred sphere into which the idea of material gain should not enter. The regular court days were, therefore, spent by the judge on the bench, without any expectation of reward for his services. The other days of the week he spent in earning a livelihood. But in later years of the national life a change seems to have taken place. The ancient rule was so far modified that when the services of the judge were required on days when he was engaged in his private pursuits, custom and the law gave him the right to claim a substitute during the time he was occupied on the bench; or, in default of a substitute, to claim remuneration for the time which he had lost. Another modification was that if his legal duties required his entire time, the judge in Israel was entitled to support from the communal treasury, and was even permitted to accept fees from litigants. This practice was discouraged, however, by the Rabbis, who looked with disfavor upon the appointment of judges who were not entirely able to support themselves. The secretaries and other officers of subordinate dignity were paid for their services.[104] _Sessions of the Courts._--In the early days of the Hebrew Commonwealth the laws provided for no regular court days. The Sanhedrin convened as occasion required, to transact such business and dispose of such cases as came before it. But this practice was oftentimes found to be expensive and annoying to litigants who came into Jerusalem from the country and found no courts in session. To accommodate the country folk, the farmers, and shepherds, Ezra and his coadjutors of the Great Assembly designated Mondays and Thursdays as regular court days. This enactment was not prohibitive, however. Court might be held on any day of the week that necessity required. The reason assigned by the Rabbins for the selection of Mondays and Thursdays as court days was that on those days people from the country usually congregated in populous places, in their houses of worship, to hear the law read and interpreted. While in attendance upon these sacred services, it was thought that the time was both convenient and propitious for the settlement of their legal difficulties.[105] The authorities are divided as to the exact official hours of the day for holding court. "The Sanhedrin sat from the close of the morning sacrifice to the time of the evening sacrifice," is the language of the Jerusalem Talmud.[106] Mendelsohn says: "The official hours for holding court were between the morning service and noon; but a suit entered upon during the legal hours could be carried on until evening, and civil cases could be continued even after nightfall."[107] But in no case of a criminal nature could the court continue its session during the night.[108] The Minor Sanhedrins in the provinces, as well as the local Courts of Three, usually held their sessions in the most public place, that is, at the city gate. The two Minor Sanhedrins of Jerusalem held their sessions at the entrance to the Temple-mound and to the woman's department respectively. The Great Sanhedrin convened in an apartment of the national temple at Jerusalem, known as the _Lishkath haggazith_. This apartment was the celebrated "Hall of Hewn Stones."[109] _Recruitments._--The young Hebrew disciple who possessed the necessary mental, spiritual, and personal qualifications for judicial honors was styled Haber, which means associate, fellow.[110] Such a disciple was first solemnly ordained and received the title of Zaken (elder) or Rabbi. This title rendered him eligible to membership in the different courts. But that he might acquire necessary experience for membership in the Great Sanhedrin and became a sage worthy of Israel, he was required to begin at the lowest rung of the judicial ladder and work gradually to the top. He was first appointed by the Great Sanhedrin to a place in one of the local courts, consisting of three members; he then served as a member of one of the provincial Sanhedrins; was then promoted to the first, and afterwards to the second Minor Sanhedrin at Jerusalem; and was elevated finally to the Great Sanhedrin itself.[111] After this manner, all the courts of the ancient Hebrews were recruited and replenished from time to time; the young aspirant to judicial favors beginning in the local Court of Three and rising by successive steps to the Great Sanhedrin at Jerusalem. The exact method of filling vacancies and thus replenishing the membership of the Great Sanhedrin is not certainly known.[112] The following extract from the Talmud, however, is thought to be authoritative: In front of them (the judges of the Great Sanhedrin) sat three rows of learned disciples; each of them had his own special place. Should it be necessary to promote one of them to the office of judge, one of those in the foremost row was selected. His place was then supplied by one in the second row, while one from the third was in turn advanced to the second. This being done, someone was then chosen from the congregation to supply the vacancy thus created in the third row. But the person so appointed did not step directly into the place occupied by the one last promoted from the third row, but into the place that beseemed one who was only newly admitted.[113] _Quorum of the Great Sanhedrin._--Twenty-three members constituted a quorum of the Great Sanhedrin. This was the full number of the membership of a Minor Sanhedrin. _Number of Votes Required to Convict._--"In criminal trials a majority of one vote is sufficient for an acquittal; but for a condemnation a majority of two is necessary," is the language of the Mishna.[114] The full membership of the Great Sanhedrin was seventy-one. A condemnation by thirty-five acquitted the accused; a condemnation by thirty-six also acquitted. At least thirty-seven votes were needed to convict. If a bare quorum was present, at least thirteen votes were necessary to condemn. A very peculiar rule of Hebrew law provided that "a simultaneous and unanimous verdict of guilty rendered on the day of trial, had the effect of an acquittal."[115] Such a verdict was considered to be lacking in the element of mercy, and was thought to result more from conspiracy and mob violence than from mature judicial deliberation. _Jurisdiction of the Great Sanhedrin._--The jurisdiction of the Great Sanhedrin is briefly and concisely stated in the Mishna: _The judgement of the seventy-one is besought when the affair concerns a whole tribe or is regarding a false prophet or the high-priest; when it is a question whether war shall be declared or not; when it has for its object the enlargement of Jerusalem or its suburbs; whether tribunals of twenty-three shall be instituted in the provinces, or to declare that a town has become defiled, and to place it under ban of excommunication.[116]_ Edward Gibbon has also defined the jurisdiction of the same court as follows: _With regard to civil objects, it was the supreme court of appeal; with regard to criminal matters, a tribunal constituted for the trial of all offences that were committed by men in any public station, or that affected the peace and majesty of the people. Its most frequent and serious occupation was the exercise of judicial power. As a council of state and as a court of justice, it possessed many prerogatives. Every power was derived from its authority, every law was ratified by its sanction._ The Great Sanhedrin possessed all the powers and attributes of a national parliament and a supreme court of judicature. It corresponded to the Areopagus of Athens and to the senate of Rome. It took cognizance of the misconduct of priests and kings. Josephus tells us that Herod the Great was arraigned as a criminal before its judges, and that King Hyrcanus himself obeyed its mandates and decrees. _Appeals._--Appeals were allowed from a Minor Sanhedrin to the Great Sanhedrin. But there was no appeal from a mandate, judgment, or decree of the Great Sanhedrin. "Its authority was supreme in all matters; civil and political, social, religious, and criminal." It is believed that enough has been said touching the character, organization, and jurisdiction of the supreme tribunal of the ancient Hebrews to satisfy the average reader. Indeed, it may be that this limit has been exceeded. The remainder of this chapter will be devoted to a short review of the Minor Sanhedrins and the Courts of Three. _Minor Sanhedrins._--There was no fixed number of Minor Sanhedrins for the administration of Justice in the Hebrew Commonwealth. Wherever and whenever, in any town or city inhabited by at least one hundred and twenty families, the people desired a Sanhedrin of three-and-twenty members, such a tribunal was established. For this purpose, an application was made to the Great Sanhedrin at Jerusalem, which dispatched a mandate to the town ordering the residents to assemble and to nominate from among themselves persons qualified to act as judges. The electors were expected to bear in mind the qualifications that would fit a judge for membership in the Great Sanhedrin, to which all local judges might eventually be elevated. Accordingly, only "good men and true" were chosen at the town mass meeting. Immediately upon receipt of the return to the mandate, an authorization was sent back from Jerusalem to the town or city which confirmed the election and constituted the judges selected a Sanhedrin of three-and-twenty members.[117] _Jurisdiction of the Minor Sanhedrins._--The jurisdiction of the Minor Sanhedrins extended to nearly all criminal cases involving imprisonment or seclusion for life, internment in a city of refuge, and capital punishment. Adultery, seduction, blasphemy, incest, manslaughter, and murder belonged to these different classes. This court condemned an ox to be butchered that had gored a man to death. The condemnation proceedings were something in the nature of a trial of the beast; and the owner was severely fined where the evidence proved that he knew the vicious disposition and habits of the animal. The deliberations at the trial of the bull were most careful and solemn, since the value of a human life was involved in the proceedings and had to be estimated in the judgment. Besides jurisdiction in criminal matters, the Sanhedrins of three-and-twenty members performed certain civil functions. They were the tax boards of the various provinces. They constituted the regular agencies of government for the distribution of public charity. The management and administration of public elementary schools were under their control. The legal standards of weights and measures were inspected by them and received their seals. Sanitary regulations, repairing the defenses of walled cities, and maintaining the public highways in good condition, were among the duties of the Minor Sanhedrins. The qualifications of judges of these courts were the same as those required for membership in the Great Sanhedrin. This was true because the judges of the provincial courts might be promoted to the supreme tribunal at Jerusalem. The Minor Sanhedrins might be very aptly described as the _nisi prius_ courts of the Commonwealth of Israel. It was in these courts of three-and-twenty members that the bulk of Hebrew litigation was disposed of. It seems that, though equal in number, they were not all regarded as equal in learning or authority. It is distinctly stated that appeals could be taken from one Minor Sanhedrin to another "deemed of superior authority."[118] The difference was probably due to the fact that in the larger towns were located colleges and schools, some of whose professors were doubtless either advisers or members of the local Sanhedrin. At any rate, when a difficult question, civil or criminal, could not be determined, for want of an authoritative and registered decision, by an ordinary Sanhedrin of three-and-twenty judges, the matter was referred to the nearest neighboring Sanhedrin thought to be of greater repute. If no authentic tradition offering a solution of the litigated question was in the possession of the Sanhedrin to which appeal had been taken, the matter was then referred to the first Minor Sanhedrin in Jerusalem which sat in the Har-habaith. If the judges of this court were themselves without precedent touching upon the litigated proposition, it was still further referred to the second Minor Sanhedrin of Jerusalem, located in the Azarah. If, again, this Court was without the necessary tradition that would enable it to decide the question, the matter was finally brought before the Great Sanhedrin. If this august tribunal was without precedent and tradition that would enable its members to dispose of the question according to adjudicated cases, they then decided, nevertheless, in accordance with the sentiments and principles of natural justice. It should be remembered that of the Minor Sanhedrins to which every town of one hundred and twenty families was entitled, two sat at Jerusalem. It was left optional with a litigant from the provinces to appeal to the local Sanhedrin or to one of the Minor Sanhedrins in Jerusalem. Local bias or prejudice was thus avoided. _Lower Tribunals._--The lowest order of Hebrew tribunal was the Court of Three, composed of judges selected by the litigants themselves. The plaintiff chose one member, the defendant selected another, and these two chose a third. A majority opinion decided all questions. In the later years of Jewish nationality, it was thought best to have at least one authorized jurist (mumcha) in the Court of Three. This particular judge was probably an appointee of the Great Sanhedrin from among the young disciples (Zaken or Rabbis). This appointment was doubtless intended to give repute to the local court and experience to the legal aspirant, as well as to furnish a possible recruit to the Great Sanhedrin.[119] These courts corresponded very nearly to the modern courts of Justices of the Peace. Their jurisdiction extended to civil matters of small importance and to petty criminal offenses. They were not permanent, being more in the nature of referees or arbitrators, and sat only when occasion required. Their sessions were public and were held in the open air under trees, or at the city gate. Thus much for the judicial system of courts and judges among the ancient Hebrews. It was simple in the extreme, democratic to the core, and seems to have been thoroughly reliable and effective. It was founded upon universal suffrage, subject only to the general supervision and occasional appointments of the Great Sanhedrin. The judges were ever in touch with the sympathies and the best interests of the people. _Peculiarities of the Hebrew System._--Certain very striking peculiarities marked the Hebrew system: (1) There were no lawyers or advocates. These judicial disputants have been known to every other system of enlightened jurisprudence. But there were no Ciceros, Erskines, Choates among the ancient Hebrews. The judges were the defenders as well as the judges of the accused. It may be easily read between the lines that the framers and builders of the Hebrew judicial system regarded paid advocates as an abomination and a nuisance. King Ferdinand, of Spain, seems to have had the Hebrew notion when, more than a thousand years after Jerusalem fell, he sent out colonists to the West Indies, with special instructions "that no lawyers should be carried along, lest lawsuits should become ordinary occurrences in the New World."[120] Ferdinand evidently agreed with Plato that lawyers are the plague of the community.[121] (2) There was no secret body, with the accusatory functions of the modern Grand Jury, connected with the ancient Hebrew judicial system. The witnesses were the accusers, and their testimony constituted both the indictment and the evidence. (3) There were no public prosecutors or State's attorneys known to the Hebrew system. Here, again, the witnesses were the informants, prosecutors, and, in capital cases, executioners of the accused. (4) No court, among the ancient Hebrews, could consist of a single judge. Three was the number of the lowest court; three-and-twenty, of the next highest; and seventy-one, of the Great Sanhedrin at Jerusalem. A single intelligence acting judicially would have been regarded as a usurpation of divine prerogative. The basis of this peculiar Hebrew notion is a single sentence from the Pirke Aboth, iv. 8: "Be not a sole judge, for there is no sole judge but One."[122] CHAPTER IV HEBREW CRIMINAL LAW--WITNESSES AND EVIDENCE _Competency.--The qualifications of a competent witness, under Hebrew law, were almost identical with those of a qualified judge, mentioned in a previous chapter. Self-evidently, all persons who were not incompetent, were competent._ _Incompetency.--The following persons were incompetent to be witnesses: Gentiles, women,[123] minors, slaves,[124] idiots and lunatics, deaf mutes, blind men, gamblers, usurers, illiterate or immodest persons, persons who had been convicted of irreligion or immorality, relatives by affinity or consanguinity, and all persons directly interested in the case._ The witness must have been a Hebrew, though the Talmud mentions cases in which certain facts were allowed to stand proved upon statements "made innocently" by a Gentile; that is, not as a witness in court. Women were not permitted to be witnesses ordinarily, because of the "levity and boldness of the sex."[125] In capital cases, they were not allowed to testify against the accused, because the law required the witnesses to become the executioners of the condemned man, and it was not deemed proper to impose this solemn and awful duty upon the weaker sex. Puberty or adolescence marked the age which qualified a person to be a witness in criminal cases; that is, the thirteenth year must have been passed. Immoral and irreligious persons were incompetent to testify. Such men were termed "wicked" in reference to the law as laid down in Exodus xxiii. 1: "Thou shalt not raise a false report: put not thine hand with the wicked to be an unrighteous witness." Under the stigma of the immoral and irreligious came dicers, usurers, pigeon fliers, and those who traded in the fruits of the Sabbatical year. Maimonides also mentions as incompetent "men who showed lack of self-respect by eating on the street, walking about naked at their work, or living openly on the charity of Gentiles."[126] Publicans--tax-gatherers--were usually classed with heathens and sinners as being among the immoral and irreligious. This class of persons were suspected by the Jews, not only because they were regarded as the official representatives of the Roman oppressors of Judea, but also because extortion and cruelty were frequently practiced by them. Theocritus being asked which was the most cruel of all beasts, replied: "Among the beasts of the wilderness, the bear and the lion are the most cruel, but among the beasts of the city, the Publican and the Parasite."[127] The doctrine of interest as a disqualification to testify was carried to the limit of declaring a person incompetent to be a witness when he was the citizen of a town where claim of title to the public bath house or the square was made, until he had first divested himself of all share in the title to the litigated property.[128] _Number Required to Convict.--Under Hebrew law, both Mosaic and Talmudic, at least two witnesses were required to convict an accused person. The prosecuting witness being included, three were necessary._ Concerning capital punishment, the Mosaic ordinance, referring to this rule, runs thus: At the mouth of _two_ witnesses, or _three_ witnesses, shall he that is worthy of death be put to death; but at the mouth of _one_ witness he shall not be put to death.[129] Whoso killeth any person, the murderer shall be put to death by the mouth of witnesses; but _one_ witness shall not testify against any person to cause him to die.[130] From the Talmud we learn that this Mosaic provision was maintained with scrupulous fidelity in the administration of justice throughout all the years of Jewish nationality. It was a requirement of prudence and safety which commends itself to every logician and legist. It is not necessary to be a criminal lawyer of large experience to know that the blackest falsehood can almost always secure at least one champion. Pliny, the historian, knew this when he wrote: "_Nullum tam impudens mendacium est quod teste careat._"[131] The requirement of two witnesses was not, however, peculiar to the jurisprudence of the Hebrews. Nearly every ancient code contained a similar enactment. It was especially prominent in Roman law.[132] But it can scarcely be found to-day in any modern legislation. In prosecutions for the crimes of treason and perjury under the Common Law of England, two witnesses were required; in almost all other cases, one positive witness was sufficient.[133] The American Constitution requires two witnesses to the same overt act, to convict of treason.[134] And the penal laws of the majority of the American States have provisions requiring at least two witnesses, or one witness corroborated by circumstantial evidence, to establish guilt in the prosecution of certain crimes; notably, the sexual crimes of rape and seduction, the crime of perjury, as well as all crimes where it is sought to convict upon the testimony of an accomplice. More than one hundred years ago, Montesquieu boasted of such a requirement in French law and declared that those laws which condemn a man to death on the testimony of a single witness are fatal to liberty.[135] The reason of the rule proclaimed by the great French writer is the same as that put forth by the ancient Rabbins. It was assumed that the defendant in a criminal case would plead not guilty and deny the facts of the crime. His plea and denial would simply counterbalance and destroy the testimony of a single witness swearing for the commonwealth. The testimony of a third witness was, therefore, indispensable to a decision. It may be objected that this rule was absurd, since a conviction was impossible unless the State could produce more witnesses than the accused. But we shall learn later that the doctrine of sifting testimony and weighing the credibility of witnesses did not obtain so strictly among the ancient Hebrew judges as it does in cases of modern trial by jury under English and American law. _Agreement of Witnesses.--The witnesses were required to agree in all essential details; else, their testimony was invalid and had to be rejected._ The Talmudic provision is: "If one witness contradicts another, the testimony is not accepted."[136] The illustration of the rule given by Maimonides, in his commentary on this provision, is: "For instance, if one witness were to testify to having seen an Israelite in the act of worshiping the sun, and another to having seen the same man worshiping the moon, yet, although each of the two facts proves clearly that the man had committed the horrible crime of idolatry, the discrepancy in the statements of the witnesses invalidates their testimony and the accused is free."[137] This rule of strict agreement, it is supposed, extended, at first, only to criminal cases, but it was undoubtedly afterwards applied to civil causes as well. An eminent contributor to the "Jewish Encyclopedia" says: In civil cases, however, it is not necessary that the two witnesses should agree very closely as to the time and place. Thus, if of two witnesses to a loan one should say, "A lent B a jar of oil," the other, "He lent him a jar of wine"; or, if one should say, "I was present when the money was paid at Jerusalem," the other, "I saw it paid at Hebron"; or, if one should say, "I saw it paid in the month of Nisan," the other, "I saw it paid in Iyyar," their testimony would be void. But if one says he saw it paid in the upper and the other in the lower story; or if he says on the first of the month and the other on the second of the month, such evidence is within the limit of fair mistake and the testimony stands. Even less does a disagreement as to circumstances other than time and place affect the testimony; for instance, if one say the money is black from usage, the other that it was new, this would be regarded as an immaterial circumstance, and the testimony would stand. Where the two witnesses vary only in the matter of quantity, the lesser quantity is sufficiently proved.[138] One of the strangest provisions of Hebrew law was the requirement that the testimony of each witness to the transaction should cover the entire case. This was a Talmudic rule resulting from Rabbinic construction of the Mosaic ordinance, requiring at least two witnesses to establish a crime. The doctors of the law construed the rule to mean that the testimony of each witness was to be complete within itself and to extend to the whole case. Hebrew law did not permit the use of circumstantial evidence in criminal prosecutions. Only eyewitnesses of the crime were competent. Under English and American law a crime may be proven by any number of witnesses, each of whom testifies to a separate fact which constitutes a link in the chain of circumstantial evidence. But this method of proof was forbidden by both the Pentateuch and the Talmud. Under Hebrew law the capital crime of kidnaping was made up of the two elements of Abduction and Selling. The testimony of two witnesses--one to the fact of Abduction, the other to the fact of Selling--was insufficient to convict. Each had to testify to the facts of both Abduction and Selling. This Talmudic rule of criminal procedure was undoubtedly based upon a supreme regard for the sanctity of human life and upon the fact that the Hebrews rejected circumstantial evidence altogether in proving crime. The extreme of the rule is declared by Mendelsohn when he says: "And even where there appeared a legal number of duly qualified witnesses, the testimony was insufficient to convict, unless they agreed not only with regard to the prisoner's offense, but also with regard to the mode of committing it. Rabbinic law does not subject a person to capital, nor even to corporal punishment, unless all witnesses charge him with one and the same criminal act, their statements fully agreeing in the main circumstances, and declaring that they saw one another, while seeing him engaged in the crime."[139] _No Oath Required.--An oath, in the modern sense, was never administered to a Hebrew witness._ Testimony was given under the sanction of the Ninth Commandment: "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor." This solemn prohibition of bearing false witness was regarded by both Moses and the Talmudists as a sufficient safeguard against perjury. It was a settled maxim of Talmudic law that: "Whosoever will not tell the truth without an oath, would not scruple to assert falsehood with an oath." The doctrine was carried still further by some of the Jewish philosophers who declared that swearing was injurious in itself; and that he who consents to swear should _ipso facto_ be suspected of lacking credibility.[140] In the place of an oath, the following solemn warning or adjuration was administered to each witness in the presence of the entire court: Forget not, O witness, that it is one thing to give evidence in a trial as to money and another in a trial for life. In a money suit, if thy witness-bearing shall do wrong, money may repair that wrong. But in this trial for life, if thou sinnest, the blood of the accused and the blood of his seed to the end of time shall be imputed unto thee.... Therefore was Adam created one man and alone, to teach thee that if any witness shall destroy one soul out of Israel, he is held by the Scripture to be as if he had destroyed the world; and he who saves one such soul to be as if he had saved the world.... For a man from one signet ring may strike off many impressions, and all of them shall be exactly alike. But He, the King of the kings of kings, He the Holy and the Blessed, has struck off from His type of the first man the forms of all men that shall live, yet so that no one human being is wholly alike to any other. Wherefore let us think and believe that the whole world is created for a man such as he whose life hangs on thy words. But these ideas must not deter thee from testifying to what thou actually knowest. Scripture declares: "The witness who hath seen or known, and doth not tell, shall bear his iniquity." Nor must ye scruple about becoming the instrument of the alleged criminal's death. Remember the Scriptural maxim: "In the destruction of the wicked, there is joy."[141] It will be observed that the two elements of this preliminary caution were, first, a solemn warning against injustice to the accused through false swearing and a reminder of the inevitable retribution of Heaven upon the perjured swearer and his remote descendants; second, a pointed admonition against timidity or fear in testifying. Bound by this tremendous sanction, the Hebrew witness was prepared to testify. The method was unique, but seems to have been thoroughly effective. Students of law will not be struck by its peculiarity. They are well aware that any plan or mode is legal and effective that binds the conscience of the witness. Even under modern codes that impose an oath, no fixed form is imperatively demanded. In King _v._ Morgan, I Leach C. L. 54, a Mahometan was sworn upon the Koran; in Omychund _v._ Baker, I Atk. 21, a Gentoo was sworn by touching the foot of a Brahmin; in Reg. _v._ Entrehman, I Car. & M. 248, a Chinese witness took an oath by kneeling down and breaking a saucer, the oath being administered through an interpreter in these words: "You shall tell the truth, the whole truth; the saucer is cracked, and if you do not tell the truth, your soul will be cracked like the saucer." _Examination of Witnesses._--As an act of caution against the admission of irrelevant testimony, and as a means of placing before the entire court, in the first instance, only such evidence as was deemed strictly legal, a preliminary examination of witnesses was conducted in private by a special committee of the Sanhedrin appointed for that purpose. All irrelevant testimony developed at this private examination was immediately declared inadmissible and was cast aside. The necessary result of this most sensible proceeding was the discovery, in advance, of discrepancies in the statements of witnesses and the eradication of all illegal testimony. The full court sitting in regular session were not, therefore, exposed to the danger of being prejudiced by the recital of facts that had no legal connection with the case. Modern jurists might easily learn something from the ancient Hebrews in this regard. Every sensible lawyer is perfectly well aware of the absurdity and injustice of the modern method of criminal procedure in allowing skilled and designing attorneys to propose certain kinds of irrelevant testimony in the presence of the jury, knowing very well that it will be overruled by the court. These attorneys frequently deliberately draw out such testimony from the witness with the expectation and understanding that it will be ordered stricken out. The rule of practice that allows incompetent testimony to be temporarily introduced upon a promise that a foundation will be laid or relevancy shown, is abortive instead of productive of justice. The mere clerical act of striking out incompetent testimony does not, as a matter of fact, remove the impression of prejudice from the brain of the judge or juror. The ancient Sanhedrists were men of brilliant education and superior natural endowments. They were trained in powers of logical analysis, and yet they were unwilling to trust themselves with the possession of prejudicial facts arising from incompetent testimony. It is respectfully submitted that the modern average juror, whose mind is usually undisciplined in logic and legal matters, is not able to sift and disentangle the relevant from the irrelevant in the record of a civil or criminal trial of two or more weeks' duration. Theoretically, he is; but practically, he is not. Every impression, good or bad, legal or illegal, received at the trial, affects his judgment and enters into the general summary of the case in reaching a verdict. _Separation of Witnesses.--The witnesses were required to give their testimony separately and always in the presence of the accused._ Daniel said to the people concerning the two old men who testified against Susanna: "_Separate_ them, and I will examine them."[142] By this was meant that witnesses could not be examined until they had been separated in conformity with law. Under modern practice in most jurisdictions, witnesses may be separated and examined one at a time out of the presence of each other. The rule of separation is, however, generally optional with the litigant and discretionary with the court; the ruling of the court being usually reversed only in case of abuse of discretion. But among the Hebrews the requirement was mandatory and imperative. It had to be observed in every case. _Mode of Examination of Witnesses._--The mode employed by the Hebrew judges in examining witnesses is without a precedent or parallel in the jurisprudence of the world. Two distinct sets of questions constituted the examination. The first set consisted of a series of interrogations relating to the _time_ and _place_ of the alleged crime. These questions were prescribed by law and could not be varied in the slightest. The technical name applied to the first set of questions was Hakiroth. The second set was termed Bedikoth[143] and included all interrogations touching the investigation of relevant circumstances and corroborative facts surrounding the case. The following seven questions, constituting the Hakiroth, the first set of questions, were propounded to each witness: "Was it during a year of jubilee? Was it in an ordinary year? In what month? On what day of the month? At what hour? In what place? Do you identify this person?"[144] These seven questions were framed and applied in conformity with a fundamental principle of the Hebrew law of evidence that the testimony of any witness, if false, should admit of being impeached and overthrown by proof of an _alibi_ against the witness. It seems, indeed, that proof of an _alibi_ against the witness was the only method of impeachment known to Hebrew law. It may be readily seen that the only statements capable of being thus contradicted were confined to those relating to the details of _time_ and _place_. To illustrate: Suppose that two witnesses had testified that the alleged crime was committed in a certain town at a certain hour; suppose that it subsequently appeared in evidence that, at the stated time, one or both these witnesses were in a neighboring town. In such a case, the witness or witnesses stood impeached, their testimony was overthrown and they, themselves, became subject to the pains and penalties of perjury. The failure of any witness to answer satisfactorily any of the seven questions above mentioned entitled the accused to immediate acquittal. Any material disagreement between two or more witnesses required by the law in answer to any one of these questions, likewise entitled the prisoner to immediate discharge. These seven questions seem to have been framed not so much to develop truthful testimony and to promote the ends of justice from the standpoint of the State as to enable the defendant to attack and destroy the testimony of hostile witnesses. The rule and the reason thereof are thus clearly and succinctly stated by Mendelsohn: The several particulars referring to time and place must be furnished with the greatest possible precision and certainty, and that by the whole party of witnesses. The slightest disagreement on the part of the witnesses in regard to any one of these particulars invalidates the entire testimony. Even where a number of witnesses greater than that required by law, as three, appear, and two agree on every point, but the third differs from them as to more than one day, or more than one hour in the day, the whole testimony is invalidated. For time and place are the only points which affect the person of the witness himself; he not being able to be at more than one spot at any one time; time and place are, accordingly, the only grounds on which the witness may be confuted and duly punished. The second set of questions, termed the Bedikoth, embraced all matters not brought out by the Hakiroth, such as would form the basis of legitimate modern direct or cross examination. The following kinds of evidence, however, were not admissible under either set of questions: Evidence of character, good or bad; previous convictions of the accused; and evidence as to the prisoner's antecedents. Such matters were not relevant, under Hebrew law, and could not be urged against the prisoner.[145] _False Witnesses.--Hebrew law provided that false witnesses should suffer the penalty provided for the commission of the crime which they sought by their testimony to fix upon the accused._ The Scriptural authority for this rule is the following: "And the judges shall make diligent inquisition; and, behold, if the witness be a false witness and hath testified falsely against his brother, then shall ye do unto him as he had thought to do unto his brother. ... And thine eye shall not pity, but life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot."[146] "And they arose against the two elders, for Daniel had convicted them of false witness, by their own mouth; and according to the law of Moses, they did unto them in such a sort as they maliciously intended to do their neighbor; and they put them to death."[147] _The Accused as Witness.--The accused was never compelled, under Hebrew law, to testify against himself; but was permitted and encouraged to offer testimony in his own behalf. His confession of guilt was accepted in evidence and considered in connection with other facts of the case, but was never permitted, standing alone, to form the basis of a conviction._ The following is the commentary of Maimonides on this rule of law: We have it as a fundamental principle of our jurisprudence that no one can bring an accusation against himself. Should a man make a confession of guilt before a legally constituted tribunal, such confession is not to be used against him, unless properly attested by two other witnesses. It is, however, well to remark that the death sentence issued against Achan was an exceptional case, brought about by the nature of the circumstances attending it, for our law never condemns on the single confession of an accused party.[148] It is needless to suggest that the accused was never put under oath. His position in this regard was exactly the same as that of any other Hebrew witness. A special reason assigned for not swearing the accused is that offered in the celebrated maxim: "In most men religion is silent when interest speaks." Again, the inducement to perjury was so great that it was thought imprudent to allow the accused to confess under the solemnity of an oath. The principle of law which rejects a bare confession of guilt as a basis of criminal conviction is one of the most merciful and benign known to jurisprudence. It is intended to protect the commonwealth against perjury and deception on the part of the accused. It is also intended to protect the prisoner against ignorance and rashness. It is a well-known fact that the masses of mankind are ignorant of law, both civil and criminal. Not one in a thousand in the most enlightened commonwealths can define successfully the elements of the crimes of the state of which he is a citizen. By refusing to allow an uncorroborated confession to be made the basis of a conviction, the State simply throws the mantle of charity and protection around the ignorance of the prisoner who confesses. It is also well known that men will frequently confess guilt when they are not guilty; sometimes, when they are even ignorant of the facts constituting the offense. This is one of the strangest things known to psychology and mental philosophy.[149] It is derived from the well-known and universally recognized weakness of the human will when confronted with a charge that threatens to blight and destroy life and character at a single blow. A celebrated modern writer, while discussing this rule of Hebrew law, wrote the following observations upon the origin and motive of confession of guilt under criminal charges: The confession of the accused made no exception to the rule, showing how a confession could be made the result of weakness, or folly, or of interest--yes, even of interest. Some homicide on one occasion confessed himself to be guilty of robbery or arson in order to obtain proof of his innocence of some greater crime which he had committed at the same time; a husband persisted in declaring himself guilty of outrage upon a woman, really committed by some unknown person, in order that, by being sentenced on this account, he might prove his marital efficiency, which had been disputed by his wife, who was contemplating steps to annul her marriage. Some weak-minded people, unable to support the torture of a harassing examination, and eager to regain their liberty, make a full confession, accusing themselves in order not to be indicted, like those persons who, crossing a river on a plank bridge, throw themselves, through nervousness, into the rushing water, in order not to fall in. Fools, from want of responsibility, or through a boastful nature, accept, affirm, or confess everything of which they know nothing.[150] The reasons above stated lie at the foundation of all modern provisions framed for the protection of the accused against precipitate self-condemnation. But, strange to say, these reasons were not urged by the framers or interpreters of Hebrew law. The explanation offered by the Talmud was simply this: "He is his own kin"; and, as we have seen, relatives were never permitted to be witnesses. A modern Jewish writer has assigned the following reason for the rule forbidding a confession to form the basis of a conviction: that, if the prisoner were innocent, he should not be permitted to incriminate himself by a false confession; if he were guilty, he was a wicked person, and, therefore, incompetent to testify under Hebrew law.[151] This rule was not enforced, however, against the defendant when testifying in his own behalf; an additional proof of the merciful regard of Hebrew law for the unfortunate position of a human being charged with crime. His testimony, though self-serving, was given due weight when urged in his own defense. Little attention was paid to it when he testified against himself. _Relevancy of Hebrew Evidence.--Hearsay evidence was irrelevant under Hebrew law._ "Hearsay evidence was barred equally in civil as in criminal cases, no matter how strongly the witness might believe in what he heard and however worthy and numerous were his informants."[152] _Circumstantial evidence was irrelevant under Hebrew law._ "The sages had very little more confidence in circumstantial evidence given for the purpose of 'taking money out of' the defendant's pocket, than in that given for the purpose of inflicting the penalty of death or stripes. Ket. ii. 10 has been cited, according to which a witness may testify that, when a boy, he saw a woman walk about in maidenly attire; the object being to prove that she married as a maiden, not as a widow, and is therefore entitled to a greater sum for her jointure. In discussing this clause, the Talmud remarks that this is only arguing from the majority of cases; for though in most cases those wearing maidens' attire are not widows, occasionally they are; and money ought not to be taken out of a man's pocket on reasoning from the greater number of cases. In fact, circumstantial evidence was generally rejected."[153] There were occasional exceptions to the rule in the administration of Hebrew civil law, but none in criminal law. In criminal cases no Hebrew prisoner could be convicted upon circumstantial evidence. Every link in the chain of testimony had to be forged by the direct evidence of at least two competent witnesses; else the accused was acquitted and discharged. _Written, or documentary evidence, was not relevant, under Hebrew law, in criminal prosecution._ The reason of this rule was derived from a literal interpretation of the Mosaic ordinance: "Whoso killeth any person, the murderer shall be put to death by the _mouth of witnesses_."[154] The expression, "mouth of witnesses," was construed by the interpreters of the law to require oral testimony and to exclude writing in all criminal prosecutions. _Kinds of Oral Testimony._--Hebrew oral testimony is divided by the Mishna into three leading classes:[155] (1) Vain testimony. (2) Standing testimony. (3) Adequate testimony. "Vain testimony" seems to have been wholly immaterial and irrelevant. It was not even conditionally admitted, but was instantly and permanently rejected. The New Testament seems to indicate that such testimony was rendered against Jesus by the "many false witnesses" who first came, and that testimony was rejected. "Standing testimony" seems to have been conditionally admitted and to have been allowed to remain in evidence until it was properly confirmed by and joined to other evidence which the law required. It was not valid, however, until so connected and confirmed. We must remember that at least two witnesses, agreeing in all essential details, were needed, under Hebrew law, to convict a prisoner. It is evident then that the testimony of the first witness against the accused was necessarily regarded as "standing testimony," until the second or confirming witness, which the law required, had testified. This testimony is also referred to in the New Testament when it is said that: "At the last, came two false witnesses, And said, This fellow said, I am able to destroy the temple of God and to build it in three days."[156] The testimony of the first of these witnesses was doubtless allowed to stand until it was shown that the second witness did not render testimony in agreement with it. Contradictory testimony was thrown out under Hebrew criminal procedure; and this was done regardless of the number of witnesses who testified against the accused. It seems that a rigid application of the principle of exclusion based upon contradictory statements would have shut out the testimony of any number of agreeing witnesses, if said testimony had been contradicted in a radical and material way by even a single witness. The sifting of evidence and the weighing of the credibility of witnesses, which is the peculiar prerogative of the modern jury, were no part of the duties of the ancient Sanhedrists. The testimony of all the witnesses against the accused had to agree in all material respects, else it was wholly rejected. Now it necessarily follows that all testimony against a prisoner was of the "standing" or provisional kind until the last witness had testified, and it was found that the evidence in its entirety was in legal agreement. Mark, using the almost exact technical expression of the law, tells us, concerning the false testimony against Jesus, that "their witness agreed not together."[157] This disagreement caused the "standing testimony" of the first witness to fall and the charge of threatening or attempting to destroy the Temple was abandoned, as we shall see in a later part of this work. "Adequate testimony," under Hebrew criminal procedure, was evidence that was competent, material, and in legal agreement. When two or more witnesses, being the entire number, against the accused agreed in all essential details, their testimony was considered adequate, and if the judges believed it to be true they based a conviction upon it. _Antecedent Warning._--It is deemed appropriate in this chapter to call attention to and briefly discuss a very striking peculiarity of the law of evidence under Hebrew criminal procedure. In the chapter on Mosaic and Talmudic law, reference was made to the celebrated proviso, called "Antecedent Warning." This proviso was unknown to the Mosaic Code, being a creation of Talmudic law, and is without a parallel in the jurisprudence of the world. Briefly stated, Antecedent Warning, under Hebrew law, meant simply this: That no person charged with crime involving life and death, or even corporal punishment, could be convicted, unless it was shown by competent testimony that immediately before the commission of the crime the offender was warned that what he was about to do was a crime, and that a certain penalty was attached thereto. The warning was not effective if any time elapsed between the admonition and the commission of the offense. Furthermore, the warning was of no force unless it was shown that the alleged criminal had duly acknowledged it and had expressed a willingness to suffer corporal punishment or to die for the act. It must have been shown that, having received the warning, the would-be offender turned to his monitor and said, "I am very well aware of the nature of the act I am about to commit, of the rules of law applicable thereto, and of the inevitable consequences of my misdeed"--else the court could not consider the condition complied with. This peculiar proviso seems to have been intended to serve three distinct purposes: (1) To protect the would-be offender against his own ignorance and rashness and to prevent the commission of crime by a timely warning; (2) to aid in establishing guilty intention, that is, criminal intent, at the trial of the prisoner, after the commission of the offense; (3) to enable the judges to determine the exact penalty to assess. The first two purposes are self-evident. The third merits a brief consideration. To complete the warning, it was essential that the offender be told the exact penalty attached to the crime which he was about to commit; whether the punishment was capital or corporal, and the exact kind, if capital; that is, whether beheading, burning, stoning, or strangling. Now, it often happened that two crimes were committed by the same person in one day; the penalty for one of which being flagellation and the other death. And it sometimes happened that two different crimes were the result of one criminal transaction. In such a case, the nature of the Antecedent Warning would guide the judges in decreeing punishment. To illustrate: The Mosaic Code forbids the killing of either a cow or a ewe "and her young both in one day";[158] and a violation of this prohibition, according to Rabbinic law, entails the punishment of flagellation. Another Mosaic ordinance imposes the penalty of death on the Jewish idolater.[159] Now, it might have happened that the last two offenses mentioned were committed by the same person at the same time, as when an Israelite slaughtered a ewe and her young and sacrificed them as an offering to an idol. The question would at once arise: Which penalty should be assessed, death for idolatry, or flagellation for killing the ewe and her young both on the same day? Here, the nature of the Warning would determine. If the prisoner had been told that flagellation would be the punishment, then stripes were administered. If he had been warned that death was the penalty, then capital punishment was meted out to him. If the caution had included both death and flagellation, then death would have been administered, because of the enormity of the crime of idolatry and for the reason that all lesser punishments are merged in death. Another illustration of the third purpose above mentioned, that is, to enable the judges to determine the exact punishment to administer, is this: The ancient Nazarites made solemn vows of abstemiousness.[160] And when any Israelite took the Nazarite vow and violated it, he subjected himself to the penalty of flagellation if he drank a certain measure (¼ log) of wine. If he drank several such measures in succession, the question would arise how he was to be punished. Again, the antecedent caution would decide. If the testimony showed that he had received due warning before each drink, then he was punished for each drink separately. If he had been admonished only once, he was punished only once for the whole debauch.[161] The enforcement of this proviso established a rule of criminal procedure peculiar to the Hebrews, and recognized by no other nation. Such a requirement seems to be utterly subversive of the celebrated maxim that has found place in every other enlightened system of law: _Ignorantia juris, quod quisque tenetur scire, neminem excusat_. Among modern civilized nations, ignorance or mistake of fact in criminal law, as well as ignorance or mistake of the meaning and effect of civil or private law, has sometimes been permitted to operate as an excuse in favor of the victim of the ignorance or mistake; but ignorance of the criminal or public law has never been permitted to be pleaded as a defense to an indictment for crime. Such a plea would threaten the very existence of the state by rendering the proof of crime and the conviction of criminals impossible. Other reasons besides those assigned above have been advanced to explain the invention of such a proviso by the Talmudists. None of them is entirely satisfactory. Rabbinowicz has urged with great force that the enactment was the offspring of a constantly increasing tendency on the part of the framers of the Talmud to mitigate the rigors of the Mosaic Code, and to abolish altogether the punishment of death by making the conviction of criminals practically impossible.[162] But this view has been ably and probably successfully combated by Benny and others. To say the least, it was a senseless provision when viewed from the standpoint of the state in maintaining order and preserving the commonwealth. The Rabbins framed several exceptions to its operation which were doubtless designed to stay the progress of certain forms of crime and to preserve the state. The false witness was excluded from the benefit of this proviso, as were also the instigator to idolatry and the burglar. The false witness was denied the benefit because of the impossibility of foreseeing that he would swear falsely and of forewarning him; the idolater was excepted because of the heinousness of the crime of idolatry under a theocratic commonwealth; and the burglar was denied the benefit of the caution for the very peculiar reason that the "breaking in," while committing the crime of burglary, was sufficient warning.[163] Such a rule is utterly without foundation in logic or reason from the simple fact that crime in every age has been committed with every circumstance of caution and concealment that criminal ingenuity could devise; usually under the cover of night, often with a mask, frequently by the aid of accomplices to give notice of the appearance of the officers of the law, and nearly always with subsequent attempts to wipe out evidences of the commission of the offense. To require a preliminary caution, such as the Antecedent Warning of the Jews, was to handicap the state most seriously and to render almost impossible the apprehension and punishment of public malefactors. CHAPTER V HEBREW CRIMINAL LAW--MODE OF TRIAL AND EXECUTION IN CAPITAL CASES The administration of Hebrew criminal law was marked by lofty conception of right and wrong, and was pervaded by a noble sentiment of justice and humanity. From the framing of the Decalogue to the latest years of Jewish nationality, each succeeding generation witnessed some humane and merciful modification of existing rules. Talmudic interpretation invented a series or collection of sayings that gave form and character to the whole body of later Hebrew law. These maxims were intended to mitigate the rigors of the Mosaic Code and to establish safeguards against negligence or injustice to the defendant in criminal trials. Indeed, every possible precaution was taken to render impossible the wrongful conviction of an accused person. The student of Hebrew law is at times astonished by the excessive caution inculcated in criminal procedure. Certain cautionary rules are no less than pedantic, and may be justly and aptly styled Judaical. The judges leaned always to the side of the defendant and gave him the advantage of every possible doubt. They went a step farther and sought pretext after pretext that would result in an acquittal. A sense of awful responsibility weighed upon the hearts and consciences of the judges. The services of the synagogue were not conducted with deeper fervor or greater religious solemnity than were the proceedings of a capital trial in the great Judgment Hall of the Sanhedrin. Certain sacred maxims flamed forever like beacon lights along the pathway of the members of the court during the solemn deliberations. "A judge," says the Talmud, "should always consider that a sword threatens him from above, and destruction yawns at his feet." The ancient adage, "the pen of the law fears the thunder of Heaven," though of Chinese origin, is Hebraic in spirit. "Thou shalt do no unrighteousness in judgment" was the leading aphorism of Hebrew jurisprudence. Among the earliest traditions of the Fathers, we read this maxim: "When a judge decides not according to truth, he makes the majesty of God to depart from Israel. But if he judges according to the truth, were it only for one hour, it is as if he established the whole world, for it is in judgment that the divine presence in Israel has its habitation." Hebrew horror of capital punishment and dread of taking human life are well expressed in the celebrated maxim of the Mishna: "The Sanhedrin, which so often as once in seven years, condemns a man to death, is a slaughter-house."[164] And more striking and startling still is the terrible sentence of Rabbi Meir: "What doth God say (if one may speak of God after the manner of men) when a malefactor suffers the anguish due to his crime? He says, _My head and my limbs are pained_. And if he so speaks of the suffering even of the guilty, what must he utter when the righteous is condemned?" The whole spirit of Talmudic caution is well illustrated by the principal rule of the Pirke Aboth, which says: "Be cautious and slow in judgment, send forth many disciples, and _make a fence round the law_."[165] In addition to the maxims above mentioned, which were more religious than legal, four cardinal rules of criminal procedure--"strictness in the accusation, publicity in the discussion, full freedom granted to the accused, and assurance against all dangers or errors of testimony"[166]--molded the judgment and guided the consciences of Hebrew judges. These sayings of the Fathers and maxims of the law were the touchstones of all their judicial inquiries and meditations at the trial of capital cases. With prayer in their hearts and these maxims upon their lips, they applied themselves to the solemn duties of their office. A most interesting passage in the Mishna draws a striking contrast between capital trials and those involving questions of money only. The relevancy of the passage to this chapter is so great that it is deemed best to quote it entire: Money trials and trials for life have the same rule of inquiry and investigation. But they differ in procedure in the following points: The former require only three, the latter three-and-twenty judges. In the former it matters not on which side the judges speak who give the first opinions; in the latter, those who are in favor of acquittal must speak first. In the former, a majority of one is always enough; in the latter, a majority of one is enough to acquit, but it requires a majority of two to condemn. In the former, a decision may be quashed on review (for error), no matter which way it has gone; in the latter, a condemnation may be quashed, but not an acquittal. In the former, disciples of the law present in the court may speak (as assessors) on either side; in the latter, they may speak in favor of the accused, but not against him. In the former, a judge who has indicated his opinion, no matter on which side, may change his mind; in the latter, he who has given his voice for acquittal may not change. The former (money trials) are commenced only in the daytime, but may be concluded after nightfall; the latter (capital trials) are commenced only in the daytime, and must also be concluded during the day. The former may be concluded by acquittal or condemnation on the day on which they have begun; the latter may be concluded on that day if there is a sentence of acquittal, but must be postponed to a second day if there is to be a condemnation. And for this reason capital trials are not held on the day before a Sabbath or a feast day.[167] The principal features of a Hebrew capital trial before the Great Sanhedrin were: (1) The Morning Sacrifice; (2) the Assembling of the Judges in the Lishkath haggazith, or the Hall of Hewn Stones; (3) the Examination of Witnesses; (4) the Debates and Balloting of the Judges on the guilt or the innocence of the accused. These successive steps will be briefly considered in this chapter. _The Morning Sacrifice._--It is not positively known what legal connection, if any, the morning sacrifice had with the trial of a capital case before the Great Sanhedrin at Jerusalem. Several writers contend that there was no essential legal connection; that the sacrifice was offered at the break of day whether a capital case was to be tried or not; and that the court was not dependent upon this religious observance for jurisdiction in the trial of criminal cases. Other writers hold opposite views, and contend that the morning sacrifice was essential to give jurisdiction to the court. MM. Lémann consider it an error in the trial of Jesus that the morning sacrifice was not offered before the commencement of proceedings.[168] Certain passages from the Mishna very strongly support this second view: that the court could not legally convene until the morning sacrifice had been offered. "The Sanhedrin sat from the close of the morning sacrifice to the time of the evening sacrifice."[169] ... "Since the morning sacrifice was offered at the break of day, it was hardly possible for the Sanhedrin to assemble until an hour after that time."[170] These passages seem to indicate that the morning sacrifice was necessary before the court could legally convene. This question will be found more fully discussed under Point V of the Brief in this volume. The method of offering the morning sacrifice was as judicial in its precision as it was religious in its solemnity. _The Assembling of the Judges._--At the close of the morning sacrifice, the members of the court entered the judgment hall in solemn procession. They took their seats, "turbaned, on cushions or pillows, in oriental fashion, with crossed legs, and unshod feet, in a half-circle."[171] The high priest sat in the center with the other members of the court to the right and left of him. "His head was crowned with a turban of blue inwrought with gold. On his bosom hung the priestly breastplate, in which glittered twelve precious stones, emblems of the twelve tribes of Israel. A flowing robe of blue, gathered about his waist by a girdle of purple, scarlet, and gold embroidery, enveloped his person and set off the pure white linen of his capacious sleeves. The buttons of this costly robe were onyx stones. His slippered feet were half concealed beneath the long fringe of his pontifical vestments, which were curiously embroidered with pomegranates in gold and scarlet and crimson. No Roman Catholic pontiff ever wore robes more resplendent than those in which the high priest was attired on public and state occasions. Immediately before him sat the scribes or clerks of the court. The one on his left hand wrote down whatever testimony was adduced against the accused; what votes were cast for his condemnation. The one on the right transcribed what appeared in his favor."[172] According to most writers, including Dr. Lyman Abbott, only two scribes were present having seats at each end of the semicircle. According to Benny, however, "three scribes were present; one was seated on the right, one on the left, the third in the center of the hall. The first recorded the names of the judges who voted for the acquittal of the accused and the arguments upon which the acquittal was grounded. The second noted the names of such as decided to condemn the prisoner and the reasons upon which the conviction was based. The third kept an account of both the preceding, so as to be able at any time to supply omissions or check inaccuracies in the memoranda of his brother reporters." The prisoner was placed in front of the high priest, in a conspicuous position, where he could see all and could be seen by all. Thus organized and arranged, the Sanhedrin began the work of the day. _Examination of Witnesses._--The examination of witnesses, who were also accusers, marked the beginning of proceedings. It is doubtful if the indictment against criminals was in writing. The first witness who was to testify was led into an adjoining room and solemnly warned. He was asked questions similar to the following: Is it not probable that your belief in the prisoner's guilt is derived from hearsay or circumstantial evidence? In forming your opinions concerning the guilt of the accused, have you or not been influenced by the remarks of persons whom you regard as reputable and trustworthy? Are you aware that you will be submitted to a most searching examination? Are you acquainted with the penalty attached to the crime of perjury? After this preliminary warning, conveyed in these questions, had been given, the most learned and venerable of the judges administered to the witness the following impressive adjuration: Forget not, O witness, that it is one thing to give evidence in a trial as to money, and another in a trial for life. In a money suit, if thy witness-bearing shall do wrong, money may repair that wrong. But in this trial for life, if thou sinnest, the blood of the accused, and the blood of his seed to the end of time, shall be imputed unto thee.... Therefore was Adam created one man and alone, to teach thee that if any witness shall destroy one soul out of Israel, he is held by the Scripture to be as if he had destroyed the world; and he who saves one such soul to be as if he had saved the world.... For a man from one signet-ring may strike off many impressions, and all of them shall be exactly alike. But He, the King of the kings of kings, He the Holy and the Blessed, has struck off from His type of the first man the forms of all men that shall live; yet so, that no one human being is wholly alike to any other. Wherefore let us think and believe that the whole world is created for a man such as he whose life hangs on thy words. But these ideas must not deter you from testifying from what you actually know. Scripture declares: "The witness who hath seen or known, and doth not tell, shall bear his iniquity." Nor must ye scruple about becoming the instrument of the alleged criminal's death. Remember the Scriptural maxim: "In the destruction of the wicked, there is joy." At the close of this solemn exhortation, the examination of the witness commenced. The Hakiroth, seven questions prescribed by law, touching the identity of the prisoner and fixing the elements of time and place, were asked. They were as follows: Was it during a year of jubilee? Was it an ordinary year? In what month? On what day of the month? At what hour? In what place? Do you identify this person? These questions being satisfactorily answered, the next step was a rigid examination into the facts and circumstances attending the commission of the crime and the connection of the accused therewith. This process of examination and cross-examination was termed the Bedikoth and embraced all questions not included in the Hakiroth which tended to establish the guilt or innocence of the prisoner at the bar. When the witnesses for the Commonwealth of Israel had been examined, witnesses for the defendant were heard. The accused was also urged to say anything he wished in his own behalf. As we have before pointed out, the Hakiroth questions as to time and place could be rebutted only by establishing an alibi against the witnesses for the state. If such an alibi was proved, the defendant was acquitted and at once discharged. A contributor to the "Jewish Encyclopedia," discussing this point of procedure, says: "It has been shown under Alibi how a 'set' of witnesses may be convicted as 'plotters' by another set or sets proving an alibi on them. But the opposite party may prove an alibi on the convicting set or in some other way show that the facts testified to by the first set were impossible or untrue. Under such circumstances, a modern judge or jury would weigh the credibility of the witnesses and the probability of their stories and decide between them accordingly. The sages did not trust themselves or their successors with this discretion. If there were no indicia or fraud, they held that as some one was evidently lying they could not decide which of them it was, and that there was no evidence on the point."[173] The result was an acquittal. If material contradictions in the testimony of the witnesses were shown by the Bedikoth, the trial was at once terminated and the accused was free. The failure of any witness to answer satisfactorily any of the seven questions above mentioned entitled the accused to immediate acquittal. Any material disagreement between the two or more witnesses required by the law in answer to any of these questions likewise entitled the prisoner to an immediate discharge. If the prosecuting witnesses relied upon documentary, circumstantial or hearsay evidence to convict, their testimony was at once rejected and the defendant was released. But if the accused failed to establish an alibi against the prosecuting witnesses in the matter of the Hakiroth; and if the Bedikoth developed evidence fairly consistent and uncontradictory; and if the testimony of the witnesses was purely oral, that is, was not documentary, hearsay or circumstantial, then there was legally admissible evidence to lay before the Sanhedrin. The competent witnesses who could render relevant testimony were then led, one at a time, before the general body and required to testify. _The Debates and Balloting of the Judges._--All the evidence, pro and con, having been adduced, the tribunal began a full discussion of the case, preliminary to casting ballots. Arguments could be begun only on behalf of the accused. Nothing was permitted to be said against him until one of the judges had urged something in his behalf, and had said: "As I view the matter, and according to such and such evidence, it seems to me that the prisoner should be acquitted." The discussion became general for and against the accused. The entire record was then overhauled. Each item of evidence was carefully considered and subjected to the minutest criticism. Contradictions were noted and extenuating facts pleaded. If one of the disciples occupying one of the three rows of seats could offer any cogent or valid reason why the prisoner should not be convicted, he was invited to take his seat among the judges, and was regarded as a member of the court during the remainder of the day. If his argument resulted in the acquittal of the accused and saved a human life he was made a permanent member of the court. On the other hand, if one of the disciples had anything to say that would tend to injure the defendant he was not permitted to raise his voice. When the entire case had been exhaustively discussed, the argument was closed and the balloting on the guilt or innocence of the accused commenced. The scribes were in readiness to record the votes and note the reasons assigned therefor. The youngest members of the tribunal were required to vote first, in order that they might not be unduly influenced by the example of their seniors in age and authority. The high priest, who was generally president of the Sanhedrin, addressed a gentle admonition to the youngest member, who was never less than forty years of age, to render a free and untrammeled verdict, and not to be awed or influenced by the patriarchs of the court. This admonition was repeated in the case of each youthful member of the tribunal. When the balloting commenced, each judge arose in his place and voted; at the same time making a short speech explanatory of his ballot. To secure a conviction it was not necessary that the members of the Sanhedrin should be unanimous. Indeed a peculiar rule of Hebrew law provided that if the verdict was instantaneous and unanimous it was invalid and could not stand. If the prisoner had not a single friend in court, the element of mercy was wanting in the verdict, said the ancient Hebrews, and the proceedings were regarded in the light of conspiracy and mob violence. A majority vote of at least two members was necessary to convict. A majority vote of one in his favor would acquit. Any majority amounting to two or more that did not reach unanimity was sufficient to condemn. If the accused was tried before a Minor Sanhedrin of three-and-twenty members or before the Great Sanhedrin with a bare quorum (twenty-three members, the same number as the full membership of a Minor Sanhedrin), a vote of thirteen members was necessary, in either case, to convict. If eleven judges were for conviction and twelve for acquittal, the prisoner was discharged at once; a majority of one vote being sufficient for that purpose. If twelve were in favor of conviction and eleven for acquittal, the condemnation of the accused was impossible; a majority of at least two being required to condemn. According to some writers, an acquittal was the result in such a case. According to others, in such a contingency the following novel expedient was employed to reach a verdict: From the first row of disciples two additional judges were selected and added to the original twenty-three members. Balloting then commenced anew. If the vote resulted in a majority of at least two against the prisoner, he stood convicted. If not, two more disciples were added from the first row in front and this process of increasing by twos the number of the Sanhedrin was continued until the requisite majority was secured. If it happened that the constant additions finally raised the number to seventy-one, the membership of the Great Sanhedrin, the process of increasing by twos was discontinued, and final balloting then began. If thirty-six voted for conviction and thirty-five for acquittal, the whole case was reargued for a reasonable time until one of the thirty-six yielded and declared in favor of acquittal. In case the thirty-six members persevered in their determination to convict, the prisoner was discharged. At any stage of the trial, from the beginning with the three-and-twenty judges through all the successive additions of new members, a majority vote of one or more in favor of the accused would acquit; a majority of two or more, not amounting to unanimity, would convict. In case of an acquittal the prisoner was immediately released and the trial was closed. In the event of conviction sentence could not be pronounced until the next afternoon and the session of the court was accordingly adjourned until the following day. Upon adjournment the members of the Sanhedrin with measured step and solemn mien left the chamber in which the trial had been conducted. Outside the judgment hall, in the open street, the judges formed themselves into groups or knots of five or six to discuss the trial and to lament the awful misfortune impending over Jerusalem; for such was the Hebrew conception of the execution of a son of Israel. The nucleus of each group was formed of elders of the Sanhedrin; the younger members came up from behind, leaned over between the shoulders of the patriarchs, and listened attentively and devoutly to what they were saying about the case. Gradually the groups broke up and the judges linked arm in arm, by twos, walked slowly homeward, still discussing the facts and arguments adduced at the trial. Finally they parted and retired to their respective homes. No heavy food, like meat, and no intoxicating beverage, were taken for the remainder of the day or during the night. Nothing was done that would incapacitate them for correct thinking. At sunset they began to make calls upon each other for the purpose of examining more carefully and debating more fully the issues of the case. When these visits were concluded, in the early evening, each judge retired to the privacy of his own home to sleep, meditate, and pray. At the dawn of day, they arose and prepared to resume again the solemn responsibilities of their office. The morning sacrifice was offered and the judges again assembled at sunrise in the hall of justice. They reseated themselves in the form of a semicircle; the prisoner was again led to the bar of the court; the witnesses were again produced; and the scribes, bringing with them the minutes of the former meeting, again took seats in their accustomed places. The second part of the trial then began. It must be remembered that there were two trials of every Hebrew capital case. The second day was not a trial _de novo_; but was a proceeding in the nature of an appeal and was intended to accomplish a review of the proceedings of the previous day. Additional testimony, however, which had been discovered after the close of the first trial, might be introduced. But the record of facts seems not to have been considered so important as the question of the fixed opinions of the judges. Each member of the Sanhedrin was required, on the second day, to vote again and to declare anew his notions concerning the guilt or innocence of the accused. The statements of each judge were carefully noted by the scribes and compared with his statements at the previous day. If any judge voted for conviction at the second trial and founded his judgment on reasons and arguments radically different from those of the first day, his verdict was rejected. A member who had voted for acquittal on the first day was not permitted to change his vote for conviction on the second day. But one who had voted for condemnation at the first trial, might, by giving valid reasons, vote on the second day for acquittal.[174] A most striking peculiarity of Hebrew law is to be noted in their method of counting votes and arriving at sums total in favor of or against the accused. Certain peculiar rules were to be strictly applied in determining the ultimate result. When upon examination of the record it was discovered that two or more judges had advanced identical arguments, though each supported his contention by different Biblical citations, their collective opinions were regarded as the common expression of a single mind and all their votes were counted only as one. Father and son, teacher and pupil, being members of the same court, counted also as one, provided their votes and opinions were arrayed on the same side, but not when they were placed in antagonism.[175] When the balloting was complete the number for and against the prisoner was again announced. If a majority of at least two votes were registered against him he stood convicted a second time. But the humane and indulgent spirit of Hebrew law continued to operate and deferred immediate sentence. The judges continued to deliberate. No one thought of quitting the judgment hall on the second day of the trial. No one ate anything, no one drank anything on this second day; for the day that was to condemn an Israelite to death was to be a fast day for those who condemned him. It was to be a day of prayerful meditation. Ancient maxims of the Fathers, framed for the protection of the accused, were reconsidered. All the merciful tendencies of Talmudic interpretation were invoked and pleaded by the judges, the defenders of the accused. It was hoped that a few hours' time would discover facts favorable to the doomed man. New arguments, it was thought, might be offered and new witnesses might be forthcoming in his behalf. As they continued to deliberate, the fatal hour approached. There was to be no thirty or sixty days, as in America, between sentence and execution, during which time the condemned man could make peace with God. The moment that saw the judgment finally pronounced witnessed the beginning of its execution. Sunset, Nature's symbol of the extinguishment of the light of life, was the time fixed for both. The death march and the final circumstances attending the execution of a Hebrew prisoner are without parallel in the jurisprudence of the world. As the culprit was led away to his doom, a man, carrying in his hand a flag, was stationed at the entrance of the Sanhedrin Hall. A mounted officer of the court followed the procession at a convenient distance and kept his eyes constantly turned in the direction of the flag bearer on the hill. A herald, carrying aloft a staff from which fluttered a crimson banner, made proclamation to the gazing multitude along the way that a human being was about to be executed. He cried aloud: "AB is to be put to death on the testimony of CD and XY, on such and such a charge. If any man knows anything favorable to the accused, in the name of God let him come forth and speak, in order that the prisoner may be led back to the Sanhedrin Hall to be again confronted and tried by his judges." If any witness, friend or stranger, came forth to furnish new evidence in favor of the condemned man, the procession was halted and the accused was led back to the Sanhedrin Chamber. If any member of the court still sitting in the hall of judgment bethought himself of any new argument in behalf of the accused that had not been offered at the trial, he arose quickly in his place and stated it to his fellow-judges. The flag at the gate was then waved and the mounted messenger, chosen for such an emergency, saw it waving and galloped forward to stop the execution. The culprit himself could delay or prevent the accomplishment of the death sentence if he could give to the Rabbins who escorted him any valid reason why he should not be put to death. He was led back as often as he gave any good excuse, not exceeding five times, the number prescribed by law. If no new witnesses appeared and if the prisoner made no further plea for life, the procession proceeded to within a short distance of the place of execution. The convict was then exhorted to declare himself guilty of the crime of which he was charged and to make full confession of all his sins. He was told that a full confession would entitle him to a happy existence beyond this life, since the flood of death would wash away all stains of sin and cleanse the soul of all the iniquities of existence in this world. If the condemned man still refused to confess that he was guilty of the crime with which he was charged, he was then urged to say: "May my death prove an atonement for all my transgressions." He was then led to the ground of execution. The death draught, consisting of a mixture of frankincense and myrrh, poured into a cup of vinegar or light wine, was then given him. Stupefaction followed, rendering the culprit unconscious of his impending doom and insensible to the agonies of death. In Jerusalem, this benumbing and stupefying mixture was furnished by the Hebrew women, whose tender and merciful regard for the wretched and unfortunate of earth has in all ages been a striking characteristic of the sex. As soon as the draught had been administered the execution took place. The prisoner was either stoned, strangled, burned, or beheaded, according to the nature of his crime. In case of blasphemy or idolatry the dead body was afterwards hung upon a gallows until dusk. But ordinarily the corpse was immediately interred after execution. On the outskirts of every town there were two graveyards for criminals; in one of these those who had been burned or stoned were buried; in the other were interred those who had been hanged or beheaded. As soon as decomposition had taken place--that is, when the flesh had decayed and fallen from the bones--the relatives were allowed to remove the skeleton and to deposit it in the family burial ground. Soon after the execution the friends and relatives of the dead man made friendly calls upon the judges who had tried and sentenced him. These visits were intended to show that the visitors harbored no feelings of bitterness or revenge against those who, in condemning one of their loved ones to death, had only performed the high and righteous duties of just and honorable judges of Israel. PART III _THE BRIEF_ [Illustration: THE LAST SUPPER (DA VINCI)] THE BRIEF A number of difficult and confusing questions present themselves at the very beginning of any extensive and impartial investigation of the trial of Jesus. Did the Great Sanhedrin exist at the time of Christ? If it existed, was it still a legally constituted court, having jurisdiction to try capital offenses? Did it have jurisdiction of the particular offense with which Jesus was charged? If the Great Sanhedrin was actually in existence, had criminal jurisdiction in capital cases, and was judicially empowered to try the offense with which Jesus was charged, did it actually try Him? Were the rules of criminal procedure, prescribed in the Mishna and cited in this Brief, in existence and actively in force in Judea at the time of the trial of Jesus? What was the nature of the charge brought against the Christ? Was He guilty as charged? Were forms of law duly observed in the trial of the accusation against Him? Answers to these questions, which will be considered in the Brief in the order above enumerated, will cover the legal aspects of the Hebrew trial of Jesus. _Did the Great Sanhedrin exist at the time of Christ?_ The answer to this question is of prime importance, since the existence of a court having jurisdiction of the person and subject matter of the suit is a fundamental consideration in all litigation. It is generally supposed that the Hebrew trial of Jesus took place before the Great Sanhedrin in Jerusalem. But many able writers, both Jewish and Gentile, deny that this court had any existence at the time of Christ. In the "Martyrdom of Jesus," Rabbi Wise says: "But this body did positively not exist at the time when Jesus was crucified, having been dissolved 30 A.C. In nowise, then, any passages of the Gospels must be understood to refer to the Great Sanhedrin." Many Jewish and several eminent Gentile authors agree with this contention, which is founded upon a passage in Josephus in which it is declared that King Herod had all the members of the Sanhedrin put to death.[176] It is contended by these writers that the supreme tribunal of the Jews was then abolished and was not restored until subsequent to the crucifixion. Opposed to this assertion, however, is the weight of both reason and authority. Schürer is of the opinion that Josephus did not mean literally "all" ([Greek: pantas]) when he wrote that Herod had destroyed all the members of the Great Sanhedrin; since in the following book he relates that the same king caused to be put to death the forty-five most prominent members of the party of Antigonus, who must themselves have been members of this court; and forty-five are twenty-six fewer than seventy-one, the full membership of the Great Sanhedrin.[177] The same author asserts the existence and discusses the jurisdiction of this court in the following language: "As regards the area over which the jurisdiction of the Great Sanhedrin extended, it has already been remarked above that its civil authority was restricted, in the time of Christ, to the eleven toparchies of Judea proper. And, accordingly, for this reason it had no judicial authority over Jesus Christ so long as He remained in Galilee. It was only as soon as He entered Judea that He came directly under its jurisdiction."[178] Again, Salvador, who may be justly styled the Jewish Blackstone, wrote concerning the condemnation of Jesus: "The _senate_ declared that Jesus, son of Joseph, born at Bethlehem, had profaned the name of God in usurping it for himself, a simple citizen. The capital sentence was then pronounced." Now, the word "senate" is properly applied nowhere in literature to any other Hebrew court than the Great Sanhedrin. This High Court of the Jews has been frequently compared to the senate of Rome, to the Areopagus of the Greek and to the parliament of England. It should be noted in this connection that the great Jewish writer not only styled the body that tried Jesus "senate" (Great Sanhedrin) but stated that it pronounced a capital sentence, thus declaring that the supreme tribunal of the Jews not only existed at the time of Jesus but had the right to decree capital punishment. Edersheim, discussing the alleged abolition of the Sanhedrin by Herod, says: "The Sanhedrin did exist during his reign, though it must have been shorn of all real power, and its activity confined to ecclesiastical or semi-ecclesiastical causes. We can well believe that neither Herod nor the procurators would wish to _abolish_ the Sanhedrin, but would leave to them the administration of justice, especially in all that might in any way be connected with purely religious questions. In short, the Sanhedrin would be accorded full jurisdiction in inferior and in religious matters; with the greatest show, but with the least amount of real rule or of supreme authority."[179] This is a powerful voice in favor of the existence of the supreme tribunal of the Jews at the time of Christ; for Edersheim's "Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah" is the best and most reliable biography of the Savior in any language. Keim bases his advocacy of the existence of the Sanhedrin at the time of Christ on New Testament authority. "Not only," he says, "does the New Testament speak of Synedria in the time of Jesus and the Apostles, but Jesus Himself, in a well-established utterance, mentions the Synedrion (Sanhedrin) as the highest legally constituted tribunal and as having the right to pass the sentence of death."[180] The strongest passage in the New Testament supporting the contention of the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of the crucifixion is contained in Acts v. 21: "But the high priest came, and they that were with him, and called the _council_ together, and all the _senate_ of the children of Israel, and sent to the prison to have them brought." Here, the use of the words "high priest," "council," and "senate" in the same connection, strongly suggests, almost accurately describes, the president and members of the Great Sanhedrin; and besides, the words, "sent to the prison to have them brought," indicate that this body was exercising judicial functions. Again, the utterance of Jesus above referred to by Keim is found in two passages of Matthew. The first is in Chap. xvi. 21: "From that time forth began Jesus to shew unto His disciples, how that He must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the _elders_ and _chief priests_ and _scribes_, and be killed and be raised again the third day." The second is in Chap. xx. 18: "Behold, we go up to Jerusalem; and the Son of man shall be betrayed unto the chief priests and unto the scribes, and they shall condemn him to death." The "elders" and "chief priests" and "scribes" were the characteristic constituent elements of the Great Sanhedrin; and the prophecy, "they shall condemn him to death," ascribed to them the highest judicial prerogative, the right of passing the death sentence. In his brilliant essay on the Talmud, Emanuel Deutsch emphatically says: "Whenever the New Testament mentions the 'Priests, the Elders, and the Scribes' together, it means the Great Sanhedrin."[181] It is impossible to refrain from contrasting this statement of a most eminent and learned Jewish writer with that of Rabbi Wise, also very scholarly and pious, "In no wise, then, any passages of the Gospels must be considered to refer to the Great Sanhedrin." Suffice it to say that the weight of authority is with Emanuel Deutsch. And that which seems to conclusively disprove the whole theory of the nonexistence of the Great Sanhedrin at the date of the crucifixion, is the fact that Josephus--whose account of the alleged killing of all the members of the Sanhedrin by Herod is the very basis of the theory--in a subsequent chapter, relating to a subsequent event, describes the summoning of Hyrcanus, former king and high priest, before the Sanhedrin to be tried by them. As a result of the trial, Hyrcanus was put to death.[182] Such a personage could have been tried and condemned only by the Great Sanhedrin, which was in existence subsequent to the alleged destruction of all its members by Herod. It is believed that enough has been said to show that the contention that the Great Sanhedrin did not exist at the time of Christ is not well founded. As a matter of reason, the mere destruction of the members of the court by Herod did not, of necessity, abolish the court itself. From what we know of the character and policy of Herod, he simply had the members of an old and unfriendly aristocracy put to death in order that he might make room in the court for an entirely new body friendly to him and devoted to his interests. Again, it is entirely improbable that the Roman masters, of whom Herod was but a subject prince and tool, would have permitted the destruction of the most important local institution of a conquered state. The policy of the Romans in this regard is well known. Whenever it was consistent with the dignity and safety of the Roman empire, local institutions were allowed to remain intact and undisturbed. We are not aware of any good historical reason why the Great Sanhedrin, the national parliament, and the supreme tribunal of the Jews, should have been abolished thirty years before Christ, as Rabbi Wise and other eminent scholars and theologians have contended. After all, it seems to be more a matter of dogma than of history. The majority of Jewish writers rest their case upon Josephus, with their peculiar construction of the passage; the majority of Christian writers quite naturally prefer the New Testament. But the line is not closely drawn. Dr. Geikie, the eminent Gentile author, supports the Jewish opinion, without reference, however, to the passage in Josephus. On the other hand, Salvador, Edersheim, and Deutsch, all writers of Jewish blood, support the Christian contention. The assertion of Graetz that Jesus was arraigned before one of the Minor Sanhedrins,[183] of which there were two in Jerusalem, is not to be taken seriously, since these minor courts had no jurisdiction of the crime with which Jesus was charged.[184] It is very evident from the weight of authority that Jesus was tried before the Great Sanhedrin, and that this court had authority to pass sentence of death. Upon this theory, the author will proceed in framing the Brief. _Did the Great Sanhedrin have jurisdiction to try capital offenses at the time of the crucifixion?_ This question, involving great difficulty and much confusion in discussing the trial of Jesus, arises from the divergent opinions of Bible scholars as to the exact legal and political status of the Jews at the time of Christ. Many concede the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at this time, but insist that it had been shorn of its most important judicial attributes; that the right to try capital cases had been wholly taken from it; and that it retained the legal right to try only petty crimes and religious offenses not involving the death penalty. The Jews contend, and indeed the Talmud states that "forty years before the destruction of the Temple the judgment of capital causes was taken away from Israel." The great weight of authority, however, is registered against this view. The New Testament teachings on the subject have just been discussed in the beginning of the Brief. The opinion generally held by Bible scholars is that the Great Sanhedrin continued to exist after the Roman conquest of Judea and after the time of Herod; that its legislative, executive, and judicial powers remained substantially unimpaired in local matters pertaining to the internal affairs of the Jews; and that the Roman representatives intervened only when Roman interests required and the sovereignty of the Roman State demanded. The question of sovereignty presented itself, indeed, whenever the question of life and death arose; and Rome reserved to herself, in such cases, the prerogative of final judicial determination. Both Renan and Salvador hold the view that the Sanhedrin had the right of initiative, the _cognitio causæ_; that is, the right to try the case. In the event of the acquittal of the accused the matter was finally ended without Roman interference, but in case of conviction the Roman legate or procurator certainly might review and probably was required to review the matter, and either affirm or reverse the sentence. This is the prevalent opinion among the best writers; and is plausible because it is at once consistent with the idea of the maintenance of Roman sovereignty and of the preservation of the local government of the Jews. However, many able writers, among them Rosadi and Dupin, assert that the Jews had lost the right, by virtue of Roman conquest, even to try capital cases. And it must be admitted that the logic of law is in their favor, though the facts of history and the weight of authority are against them. _Did the Great Sanhedrin have jurisdiction of the particular offense with which Jesus was charged?_ Admitting the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, and its right to initiate and try proceedings in capital cases with reference to Roman authority, had it jurisdiction, under Hebrew law, of the special accusation against Christ? On this point there is little difference of opinion. Jesus was brought before the Sanhedrin on the charges of sedition and blasphemy, both of which crimes came within the cognizance of the supreme tribunal of the Jews.[185] _Was there a regular legal trial of Jesus before the Great Sanhedrin?_ Admitting that this court was in existence at the time of Christ, that it had competence, with reference to Roman authority, to try capital cases, and that it had jurisdiction under Hebrew law of the crime with which Jesus was charged, did it actually conduct a regular, formal trial of the Christ? Many able critics give a negative answer to this inquiry. Jost, one of the greatest and most impartial of Jewish historians, designates the crucifixion of Jesus "a private murder (Privat-Mord) committed by burning enemies, not the sentence of a regularly constituted Sanhedrin."[186] Edersheim supports this view as to the nature of the trial.[187] A certain class of writers base their objection to a regular trial on the ground of the nonexistence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ. If this court did not exist, they say, there could not have been any regular judicial proceeding, since this body was the only Hebrew tribunal that had jurisdiction to try the offense with which Jesus was charged. Others, who hold similar views, maintain that the errors were so numerous and the proceedings so flagrant, according to the Gospel account, that there could have been no trial at all, and that it was simply the action of a mob. These writers contend that the members of the Sanhedrin acted more like a vigilance committee than a regularly organized tribunal. Of this opinion is Dr. Cunningham Geikie. Still another class of critics insist that the Hebrew judges exercised only accusatory functions, and that the examination of Jesus at night was merely preparatory to charges to be presented to Pilate. Others still apparently reverse the order, and insist that the Hebrew trial was the only one; that the duty of Pilate was merely to review, sanction, and countersign the verdict of the Sanhedrin. Of this class is Renan, who says: "The course which the priests had resolved to pursue in regard to Jesus was quite in conformity with the established law. The plan of the enemies of Jesus was to convict him, by the testimony of witnesses and by his own avowals, of blasphemy and of outrage against the Mosaic religion, to condemn him to death according to law, and then to get the condemnation sanctioned by Pilate."[188] Salvador and Stapfer agree with Renan that the Hebrew trial was regular and that the proceedings were legal. On the other hand, Rosadi, Dupin, Keim and many others denounce the proceedings in the trial of Jesus as outrageously illegal. As to the number of trials, the authorities above cited seem to be exceptions to the rule. By far the greater number contend that there were two distinct trials: a Hebrew and a Roman, separate and yet dependent. The opinion of this class of writers is most clearly expressed by Innes, who says: "Whether it was legitimate or not for the Jews to condemn for a capital crime on this occasion, they did so. Whether it was legitimate or not for Pilate to try over again an accused whom they had condemned, on this occasion, he did so. There were certainly two trials."[189] This is the view of the writer of these pages; and he has, accordingly, divided the general subject into two trials, devoting a volume of the work to each. It may be answered, then, that there was a regular trial of Jesus before the Great Sanhedrin. The relation of this trial to the Roman proceeding will be more fully discussed in the second volume of this treatise. _Were the rules of criminal procedure prescribed in the Mishna and cited in this Brief, in existence and actively in force in Judea at the time of the trial of Jesus?_ This question has been answered in the negative by several writers of repute. Others have answered that the matter is in doubt. But it is very generally agreed that an affirmative answer is the proper one. Out of this question, two others arise: (1) Were the rules of criminal law, herein cited, obsolete at the time of the crucifixion? (2) Were they the legal developments of an age subsequent to that great event? In either case, their citation, in this connection, is without reason or justification. It is a sufficient answer to the first of these questions that none of the standard works on Hebrew criminal law classes any of the rules herein stated as obsolete at the time of Christ. In support of a negative answer to this question, it may be urged that all of the aforesaid rules were the essential elements of an enlightened and humane criminal procedure in capital cases at the date of the crucifixion. The answer to the second question above suggested is a more serious matter. It is historically true that the Mishna was not reduced to writing until two hundred years after the beginning of our era. The Jerusalem Talmud was not redacted until 390 A.D.; and the Babylonian Talmud, about 365-427 A.D. The question at once arises: Were the rules of criminal procedure, which we have herein invoked in the discussion of this case, the growth of the periods intervening between the crucifixion of Jesus and these dates? Two valid reasons give a negative answer to this question. In the first place, the criminal rules applied in the Brief are in nearly every case traceable to Mosaic provisions which were framed more than a thousand years before the trial of Jesus. In the second place, they could not have been the developments of a time subsequent to the crucifixion, because less than forty years, a single generation, intervened between that event and the fall of Jerusalem, which was followed by the destruction of Jewish nationality and the dispersion of the Jews. This short interval was a period of national decay and disintegration of the Jewish people and could not have been, under Roman domination, a formative period in legal matters. After the fall of Jerusalem, the additions and developments in Hebrew law were more a matter of commentary than of organic formation--more of Gemara than of Mosaic or Mishnic growth. The decided weight of authority, then, as well as the greater reason, is in favor of the proposition that the Hebrew criminal law had reached its full development and was still in active force at the time of which we write. _What was the nature of the charge brought against Christ at the trial before the Sanhedrin? Was He guilty as charged?_ The questions preceding these were secondary, though important. If the Great Sanhedrin did not exist at the time of Christ, we are forced to believe and admit that the men who arrested and examined Jesus at night were nothing more than an irresponsible rabble, acting without judicial authority or legal excuse. If it was without criminal jurisdiction, though in existence, we have erroneously spoken of a Hebrew trial. If the rules of criminal procedure which we have invoked were not in existence at the time of the crucifixion, we have proceeded upon a false hypothesis. Fortunately, the weight of authority, in every case, is so overwhelmingly in our favor, and our contention is, in each case, so well founded in reason, that we feel justified in now proceeding to a discussion of the real merits of the case, involved in answers to the questions: What was the nature of the charge or charges brought against Jesus at the Hebrew trial? Was He guilty as charged? The accusations against Christ were numerous, both in and out of court; and it will help to simplify matters and to arrive at a clear understanding, if, in the very beginning, the distinction be made and held in mind between _judicial_ and _extra-judicial_ charges. By judicial charges are meant those made at the time of the examination of Jesus by the Sanhedrin, assembled at night in the palace of Caiaphas. By extra-judicial charges are meant those made out of court at divers times and places in Jerusalem, Galilee, and elsewhere by the accusers of the Christ, and especially by the spies who dogged His footsteps during the last days of His ministry on earth. Ordinarily, it would be proper, in a work of this kind, to consider only charges made after the trial of the accused had begun, and jeopardy had attached. All others are extra-judicial and are entitled to only passing notice. It would be proper to omit them altogether, if they did not serve to throw much light upon the specific charges at the trial. An excellent summary of the extra-judicial charges brought against Jesus at various times in His career, is given in Abbott's "Jesus of Nazareth," p. 448: "It was charged that He was a preacher of turbulence and faction; that He flattered the poor and inveighed against the rich; that He denounced whole cities, as Capernaum, Bethsaida, Chorazin; that He gathered about Him a rabble of publicans, harlots, and drunkards, under a mere pretense of reforming them; that He subverted the laws and institutions of the Mosaic commonwealth, and substituted an unauthorized legislation of His own; that He disregarded not only all distinctions of society, but even those of religion, and commended the idolatrous Samaritan as of greater worth than the holy priest and pious Levite; that, though He pretended to work miracles, He had invariably refused to perform them in the presence and at the request of the Rabbis of the Church; that He had contemned the solemn sanctions of their holy religion, had sat down to eat with publicans and sinners with unwashen hands, had disregarded the obligations of the Sabbath, had attended the Jewish feasts with great irregularity or not at all, had declared that God could be worshiped in any other place as well as in His Holy Temple, had openly and violently interfered with its sacred services by driving away the cattle gathered there for sacrifice." These different charges were doubtless present in the minds and hearts of the members of the Sanhedrin at the time of the trial, and probably influenced their conduct and entered into their verdict. But only one or two of these accusations can be said to have any direct connection with the record in this case, and, consequently, can be only indirectly considered in discussing its merits. We come now to examine the actual charges made at the night trial before the Sanhedrin. The subsequent charges before Pilate have no place in this volume. A review of the proceedings at the time of the examination in the palace of Caiaphas reveals two distinct charges: one preferred by witnesses who had been summoned by the Sanhedrin, the other preferred by Caiaphas himself. First, according to Matthew, "At the last came two false witnesses, and said, This fellow said, I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to build it in three days."[190] The same testimony is thus reported by Mark: "And there arose certain, and bare false witness against him, saying, We heard him say, I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and within three days, I will build another made without hands."[191] Luke and John do not discuss the night trial before the Sanhedrin, and therefore make no reference to the charges brought forward by the false witnesses. The second accusation made against Jesus is that by Caiaphas himself, who embodies his charge in the form of an oath or adjuration which he administered to the accused: "I adjure thee by the living God that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God." Then came the confession and condemnation. "Jesus said unto him, Thou hast said: nevertheless I say unto you, Hereafter shall ye see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven. Then the high priest rent his clothes, saying, He hath spoken _blasphemy_; what further need have we of witnesses? behold, now ye have heard his blasphemy. What think ye? They answered and said, He is guilty of death."[192] These few words of Scripture are the essential parts of the record of fact of the most awful trial in the history of the universe. An analysis of the evidence shows the existence of two distinct charges: that preferred by the false witnesses, accusing Jesus of sedition; and that of blasphemy made by Caiaphas himself. Concerning the testimony adduced in support of the first charge, Mark says: "For many bare false witness against him, but their witness agreed not together."[193] Now, we have seen that the concurrent testimony of at least two witnesses, agreeing in all essential details, was necessary to sustain a conviction under Hebrew law. If one witness against the accused contradicted any other witness against the accused, all were rejected. Under this rule of law, when "their witness agreed not together," according to Mark, the charge of sedition was abandoned, and the accusation of blasphemy then followed, which resulted in a confession and condemnation. Later on, in another place, we shall discuss the illegality of a double accusation, in the same breath and at the same trial. But at this point we have no further interest in the abandoned charge, except to say that the false witnesses, in their ignorance and blindness, failed to grasp the Master's allegorical language in reference to the destruction of the Temple. Their worldly-mindedness and purely physical conception of things centered their thoughts upon the Temple at Jerusalem, and gave a purely temporal and material interpretation to His words. "Forty and six years was this temple in building, and wilt thou rear it again in three days?"[194] This question asked by the original auditors, shows a total misconception of the true meaning of the language of Jesus. The spiritual allusion to the resurrection of His own body seems never to have penetrated their thoughts. Then, again, their general statement was, in effect, an absolute misrepresentation. By perverting His language, He was made to utter a deliberate threat against a national institution, around which clustered all the power, sanctity, and glory of the Hebrew people. He was made to threaten the destruction of the Temple at Jerusalem. But it is most reasonable to infer from the entire evidence as contained in the Sacred Writings that the words imputed to Jesus by the false witnesses were not those which He actually used. In reality, He did not say: "I _can destroy_," or "I _will destroy_"; but, simply, "_Destroy_." "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up."[195] This is evidently a purely hypothetical expression and is equivalent to "_Supposing you destroy this temple_." St. John, in whose presence, it seems, this language was used, correctly interprets the Savior's meaning when he says: "He spake of the temple of his body."[196] The evidence of the false witnesses was so contradictory that even wicked judges were forced to reject it and to conduct the prosecution on another charge. We come now to consider more closely the real accusation upon which Jesus was condemned to death. At first glance, there seems to be no difficulty in determining what this accusation was, since the Gospel record specifically mentions the crime of blasphemy. It was for this offense that Caiaphas pronounced judgment against Jesus with the unanimous approval of his fellow-judges. "Then the high priest rent his clothes and saith, What need we any further witnesses? ye have heard the _blasphemy_: what think ye? and they all condemned him to be guilty of death." But what had they heard that constituted blasphemy? Nothing more than His own confession that He was "the Christ, the Son of God." This seems simple enough upon its face; but a vast mass of acrimonious discussion has resulted from these few passages of the Scripture. The main difficulty turns upon the meaning of the word "blasphemy," as used by the high priest in passing condemnation upon Jesus. The facts adduced at the trial, or rather the facts suggested by the oath or adjuration addressed to Jesus, as to whether or not He was "Christ, the Son of God," did not, in the opinion of many, constitute blasphemy under the definition of that term given in the Mosaic Code and interpreted by the Rabbinic writers whose opinions have been embodied in commentaries upon the Mishna. Eminent Jewish writers have ridiculed the idea of attempting to make a case of blasphemy out of a mere claim of being a "Son of God." Rabbi Wise, in "The Martyrdom of Jesus," has very tersely stated the Jewish position on the subject. "Had Jesus maintained," he says, "before a body of Jewish lawyers to be the Son of God, they could not have found him guilty of blasphemy, because every Israelite had a perfect right to call himself a son of God, the law (Deut. xiv. 1) stating in unmistakable words, 'Ye are sons of the Lord, your God.' When Rabbi Judah advanced the opinion, 'If ye conduct yourselves like the sons of God, ye are; if not, not,' there was Rabbi Mair on hand to contradict him: 'In this or in that case, ye are the sons of the Lord your God.' No law, no precedent, and no fictitious case in the Bible or the rabbinical literature can be cited to make of this expression a case of blasphemy. The blasphemy law is in Leviticus (xxiv. 15-20), which ordains, 'If any man shall curse his God (i.e., by whatever name he may call his God), he shall bear his sin,' but the law has nothing to do with it, dictates no punishment, takes no cognizance thereof. 'But he who shall curse the name of Jehovah, he shall surely be put to death,' be the curser native or alien. Another blasphemy law exists not in the Pentateuch. The ancient Hebrews expounded this law, that none is guilty of blasphemy in the first degree, unless he curses God himself by the name of Jehovah; or, as Maimonides maintains, by the name Adonai. The penalty of death is only threatened in the first degree. The Mishna states expressly as the general law, 'The blasphemer is not guilty, unless he (in cursing the Deity) has mentioned the name itself' (of Jehovah or Adonai), so that there can be no doubt whatever that such was the law in Israel. It is clear that the statements made by Mark, in the name of Jesus, had nothing in the world to do with the blasphemy laws of the Jews."[197] Rabbi Wise was concededly an able and accomplished theologian; and in a general way the above extract states the truth. But it does not state the whole truth, and in one or two places is certainly erroneous. Leviticus xxiv. 15-20 is undoubtedly the blasphemy statute of the Mosaic Code. But Mr. Wise was assuredly wrong when he stated that "another blasphemy Law exists not in the Pentateuch." For, if this were a correct statement, other eminent Jewish authorities, as well as many Gentile authors, would be all at sea. Besides, the New Testament use of the word "blasphemy," in many places, would only serve to illustrate the dense ignorance of the Jews of the time of Jesus as to the meaning of the term, if the author of "The Martyrdom of Jesus" were right. In this connection, let us now consider another Jewish authority, as able and even more famous than the one just cited. In Salvador's celebrated treatise entitled "Histoire des Institutions de Moïse," he devotes a chapter to the question of the judgment and condemnation of Jesus. Touching the nature of the charge against Christ and the real cause of His conviction, he says: "But Jesus, in presenting new theories and in giving new forms to those already promulgated, speaks of himself as God; his disciples repeat it; and the subsequent events prove in the most satisfactory manner that they thus understood him. This was _shocking blasphemy_ in the eyes of the citizens: the law commands them to follow Jehovah alone, the only true God; not to believe in gods of flesh and bones, resembling men or women; neither to spare or listen to a prophet who, even doing miracles, should proclaim a new god, a god neither they nor their fathers had known. The question already raised among the people was this: Has Jesus become God? But the Senate having adjudged that Jesus, son of Joseph, born in Bethlehem, had profaned the name of God by usurping it to himself, a mere citizen, applied to him the law in the 13th Chapter of Deuteronomy and the 20th verse in Chapter 18, according to which every prophet, even he who works miracles, must be punished when he speaks of a god unknown to the Jews and their fathers: the capital sentence was pronounced." Here we have the doctors divided; Wise saying that "another blasphemy law exists not in the Pentateuch," and Salvador contending that Jesus was legally convicted of blasphemy under the Mosaic Law as it was laid down, not in Leviticus xxiv. 15-20, but in Deuteronomy xiii. The law in Deuteronomy is peculiarly impressive in its relationship to the charges against Jesus. "If there arise among you a prophet, or a dreamer of dreams, and giveth thee a sign or a wonder, And the sign or the wonder come to pass, whereof he spake unto thee, saying, Let us go after other gods, which thou hast not known, and let us serve them; Thou shalt not hearken unto the words of that prophet, or that dreamer of dreams: for the Lord your God proveth you, to know whether ye love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul. Ye shall walk after the Lord your God, and fear Him, and keep His commandments, and obey His voice, and ye shall serve Him, and cleave unto Him. And that prophet, or that dreamer of dreams, shall be put to death; because he hath spoken to turn you away from the Lord your God, which brought you out of the land of Egypt and redeemed you out of the house of bondage, to thrust thee out of the way which the Lord thy God commanded thee to walk in."[198] The position of Rabbi Wise cannot be defended by trying to identify this passage with the one in Leviticus. The law in Deuteronomy has reference to that form of blasphemy which is nearly identical with idolatry, that is, seducing the people from their allegiance to Jehovah, and inducing them to go off after strange gods. The law in Leviticus applies peculiarly to profane epithets and to curses hurled at Jehovah Himself. Again, Rabbi Wise ridicules the notion that Caiaphas and the Sanhedrists attempted to twist the use of the words "Son of God" into a crime. He is right when, quoting Deuteronomy xiv. 1, he says that "every Israelite had a perfect right to call himself a son of God." But here again the eminent theologian has stopped short of the entire truth. It is not at all probable that he would have contended that "every Israelite had a perfect right to call himself the son of God" in the sense of being equal with God Himself. Should reply be made that such would be an unwarranted construction of Christ's confession that he was "the Christ, the Son of God," then the opinion of Salvador would be again invoked. In a note to the "Jugement de Jesus," he says: "I repeat that the expression 'Son of God' includes here the idea of God Himself." We are not in a position, nearly two thousand years after the event occurred, to tell exactly what was in the mind of Caiaphas at the time. But, in view of the condemnation which he passed, and of the language which he used in passing it, we are certainly justified in supposing that he deliberately and designedly connected the two titles--"the Christ" and "the Son of God"--to see if Jesus would assume responsibility for both, or if He would content himself with the simple appellation, "son of God," to which every pious Israelite was entitled. The reply of Jesus, "Thou hast said," meaning "I am" the Christ, the Son of God, was an affirmation of His identity with the Father. The condemnation for blasphemy immediately followed. Such a sentence would have been inconsistent with any other theory than the assumption that Jesus had claimed equality with God, or had arrogated to Himself power and authority which belonged alone to Jehovah. This definition of blasphemy is certainly different from that laid down in Leviticus xxiv. 15-20. As a matter of history, it is really true that both the Old and New Testaments reveal not only the existence of more than one blasphemy statute in the Mosaic Code, but also more than one conception and definition of blasphemy at different periods in the development of the Hebrew people. In II Samuel xii. 14 the word "blaspheme" is used in the sense "to despise Judaism." In I Macc. ii. 6 blasphemy means "idolatry." In Job ii. 5; II Kings xix. 4-6; Hosea vii. 16, the term indicates "reproach," "derision." Not only might God be blasphemed, but the king also, as his representative. The indictment against Naboth was: "Thou didst blaspheme God and the king."[199] The people of Jehovah and his Holy Land might also become victims of blasphemy.[200] The New Testament writers frequently charge the Jews with blaspheming Jesus, when they use insulting language toward Him, or deny to Him the credit that is His due.[201] In Revelation, St. John tells that he "saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy. And he opened his mouth in blasphemy against God, to blaspheme his name, and his tabernacles, and them that dwell in heaven."[202] This beast was the symbolical Antichrist, and his blasphemy was simply the treasonable opposition of the antichristian world to God and His kingdom. A comprehensive meaning of "blasphemy," in the various senses above suggested, is conveyed by the definition of the term "treason" under the governments of Gentile commonwealths. A single statute, 25 Edw. iii. c. 2, defines seven different ways of committing treason against the king of England.[203] The _lex Julia majestatis_, promulgated by Augustus Cæsar, was a single statute which comprehended all the ancient laws that had previously been enacted to punish transgressors against the Roman State.[204] There was no particular statute, as Rabbi Wise would have us believe, among the ancient Hebrews, that defined all forms of blasphemy against Jehovah. But a very clear notion of the various phases of blasphemy may be had if we will keep in mind the various definitions of treason under modern law. It should not be forgotten that the ancient Hebrew Commonwealth was a pure theocracy; that Jehovah was king; that priests, prophets, and people were merely the subjects and servants of this king; that its government and its institutions were the products of his brain; and that the destinies of the people of Israel, the "chosen seed," were absolutely in his keeping and subject to his divine direction and control. It should also be remembered that the God of Israel was a most jealous God; that the greatest irritant of His wrath was any encroachment upon His rights as ruler of men and creator of the universe; that for the protection of His sovereignty, He had proclaimed to His people through His servant Moses the most stringent statutes against any profanation of His name or disloyalty to His person. The Decalogue was the great charter of Jehovah for the government of His children. The first three commandments were special statutes intended to excite their gratitude and insure their attachment. He reminds them of the circumstances of their deliverance, and warns them, under severe penalty, against going off after strange gods. But, not content with these, He had still other statutes proclaimed, furnishing safeguards against idolatry and insuring loyalty to His person.[205] At the time of the establishment of the Hebrew theocracy, idolatry was everywhere to be found. Not only were the neighboring peoples worshipers of idols, but the Israelites themselves were prone to idolatry and to running off after strange gods. The worship of the Golden Calf is a familiar illustration of this truth. Thus the Commonwealth of Jehovah was threatened not only with idolatrous invasion from without but with idolatrous insurrection from within. Hence the severity of the measures adopted for the protection of His kingdom, His person, and His name, not only against idolaters but against necromancers, witches, sorcerers, and all persons who pretended to supernatural powers that did not proceed directly from Jehovah Himself. The enforcement of and obedience to these various statutes required an acknowledgment of the power and authority of Jehovah in every case where prophecies were foretold, wonders worked, and supernatural powers of any kind exhibited. And throughout the Sacred Scriptures, in both the Old and New Testaments, we find traces of the operation of this law. Sometimes it is an instance of obedience, as when Pharaoh wanted to credit Joseph with the power of interpreting dreams. "And Joseph answered Pharaoh, saying, It is not in _me_: God shall give Pharaoh an answer of peace."[206] At other times, it is an act of disobedience. To satisfy the thirsty multitude Moses smote the rock and brought forth water at Meribah. But instead of giving the Lord credit for the act, Moses claimed it for Aaron and himself, saying, "Hear now, ye rebels: must _we_ fetch you water out of this rock?" Whereupon Jehovah grew very angry and said to Moses and Aaron: "Because ye believe me not, to sanctify _me_ in the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore ye shall not bring this congregation into the land which I have given them."[207] As punishment for this blasphemous conduct, neither Moses nor Aaron was permitted to enter the Promised Land.[208] And that this omission to give due acknowledgment to the Lord for the miraculous flow of water was treasonable or blasphemous under the wider interpretation of the term, cannot be doubted. From the foregoing remarks it is clear that blasphemy among the ancient Hebrews was subject to a twofold classification: (1) A verbal renunciation and profane speaking of the name of Jehovah. To this kind of blasphemy the provision in Leviticus xxiv. 15-20 was applicable. This was blasphemy in its generally accepted but narrower and more restricted sense. This kind of blasphemy indicated a most depraved and malignant state of mind, and to secure a conviction it was necessary to show that the word "Jehovah" or "Adonai" had been pronounced. (2) "Every word or act, directly in derogation of the sovereignty of Jehovah, such as speaking in the name of another god, or omitting, on any occasion that required it, to give to Jehovah the honor due to His own name."[209] This form of blasphemy was nearly the same as treason under modern governments, and included all offenses that threatened the usurpation of the throne of Jehovah, the destruction of His institutions, and that withheld from Him due acknowledgment of His authority and authorship in all matters of miracle and prophecy. Returning to the trial in the palace of Caiaphas, let us again consider the question: Was Jesus guilty of blasphemy under any of the definitions above given? Had He ever cursed the name of Jehovah and thereby brought Himself within the condemnation of the law, as laid down in Leviticus xxiv. 15-20? Certainly not. Every word uttered by Him at the trial, as well as every other expression elsewhere uttered at any time or place, was said with reverence and awe and love in praise and glorification of the name and person of Jehovah. Rabbi Wise ridicules the notion that Jesus was ever tried upon the charge of blasphemy, because it is not recorded anywhere that He ever used any but tender and affectionate language in speaking of the Heavenly Father. Had Jesus blasphemed, in the sense of "despising Judaism," and thereby brought Himself within the purview of the rule as exemplified in II Sam. xii. 14? Certainly not. There is no record anywhere that He despised Judaism. Jesus revered both the Law and the Prophets. He claimed that He came to fulfill, not to destroy them.[210] He frequently denounced Pharisaic formalism and hypocrisy, but at the same time He was a most loyal Jew and a devoted son of Israel. Had He blasphemed by working wonders in His own name, and omitting to give Jehovah credit for them; and did He thereby bring Himself within the condemnation of the rule exemplified by Moses and Aaron in the matter of striking water from the rock at Meribah? We are forced to answer this question in the affirmative. If we regard Jesus as a mere man, a plain citizen, like Moses, the New Testament discloses many infractions of the Law in His prophecies and miracles. It is true that in John v. 19 it is said, "Verily, verily, I say unto you, The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do." Here He affirmed that the power was from God and not from Himself. Again, having raised Lazarus from the dead, Jesus said, "Father, I thank thee that thou hast heard me,"[211] thus acknowledging the intervention of Jehovah in the performance of the miracle. In several other places He gave the Father credit for the act of the Son. But these were exceptions, isolated cases. The law required an express acknowledgment in every case of prophesy or miracle working. "Thus saith the Lord" was either the prologue or epilogue of every wonder-working performance. In all the miracles wrought by him in Egypt Moses had given due credit to Jehovah. But this was not enough. He was made an example for all time when he failed to make acknowledgment in the matter of striking the water from the rock. Now Jesus worked many miracles in no other name than His own, and in so doing brought Himself within the operation of the rule and of the precedent established in the case of Moses and Aaron. The curing of the bloody issue,[212] the stilling of the tempest,[213] the chasing of the devils into the sea,[214] the raising of Jairus' daughter,[215] and of the son of the widow of Nain[216] from the dead, were done without any mention of the power and guidance of Jehovah. But these transgressions were extra-judicial offenses and have been discussed merely as an introduction throwing light upon the specific charge at the trial, that Jesus had claimed to be "the Christ, the Son of God." The question of the high priest is meaningless, unless interpreted in the light of knowledge which we know the members of the Sanhedrin had regarding the wonder-working performances of the Christ. The failure of Jesus to acknowledge the power of Jehovah in working miracles might be interpreted as a tacit avowal that He Himself was Jehovah, and that therefore no acknowledgments were necessary. The silence itself was a proclamation of the divinity that was in Him, which placed Him above a law intended to govern the conduct of men like Moses and Aaron. We are now prepared to consider the final question: Had Jesus blasphemed, when He confessed to the high priest that He was "the Christ, the Son of God"? Had He blasphemed in that wider sense which Salvador has interpreted as being the Jewish notion of blasphemy at the time of Christ; that is, by claiming at once the attributes of the Messiah and the Son of God? Had He asserted an equality with God which looked to a usurpation of His power and the destruction of His throne; that is, did the confession of Jesus that He was "Christ, the Son of God," suggest a rivalry between Him and Jehovah which might result in the dethronement of the latter and the substitution of the former as the Lord and King and Ruler of Israel? Regarding Jesus as a mere man, a plain citizen, an affirmative answer to any one of these questions would convict Him of blasphemy, according to the Jewish interpretation of that term at the time of Christ; for the Hebrew Jehovah had repeatedly proclaimed that He was a jealous God, and that He would brook neither rivals nor associates in the government of His kingdom. That Jesus had more than once identified Himself with Jehovah, and had claimed divine attributes and powers; and that the Jews regarded all these pretenses as blasphemous, is evident, and can be ascertained from more than one passage of New Testament Scripture. On one occasion the Savior said to one sick of palsy: "Son, be of good cheer; thy sins be forgiven thee. And, behold, certain of the Scribes said within themselves, This _man_ blasphemeth."[217] According to Luke, they said: "Who is this man which speaketh blasphemies? Who can forgive sins but God alone?"[218] Here, according to the Scribes and Pharisees, Jesus had blasphemed by claiming the power which alone belonged to Jehovah, that of forgiving sins; or, at least, by exercising a supernatural power without acknowledging the authorship and guidance of the Almighty. It should be remembered that in this instance of alleged blasphemy Jesus had not remotely cursed or profaned the name of Jehovah; but, according to Jewish notions of the times, had exercised a prerogative, that of forgiving sins, which belonged solely to Jehovah, without giving credit. Again, we read this passage in the New Testament: "Therefore Jews sought the more to kill him, because he not only had broken the Sabbath, but said also that God was his father, making himself equal with God."[219] Here we see that the Jews of the days of Jesus, as well as Salvador in our own day, construed the claims of Jesus to be "the Christ, the Son of God," as an assertion of equality with Jehovah. Again, on another occasion, Jesus said emphatically: "I and my Father are one. Then the Jews took up stones again to stone him. Jesus answered them, Many good works have I shewed you from my Father; for which of those works do ye stone me? The Jews answered him, saying, For a good work, we stone thee not; but for blasphemy; and because that thou, being a man, makest thyself God."[220] Even before this bold declaration of His identity with Jehovah, He had intimated that He was of Heavenly origin and had enjoyed a divine preëxistence. He had declared that He was the "Bread which came down from Heaven,"[221] and that "Before Abraham was, I am."[222] The Jews regarded His statement that He had lived before Abraham as blasphemy, and "took up stones to cast at him," this being the usual punishment for blasphemous conduct. We have said enough to emphasize the point that there was another kind of blasphemy known to the Jews of the days of Jesus than that prescribed in Leviticus; and that the confession of being "Christ, the Son of God," as the Jews and Caiaphas interpreted the term, brought Jesus within the meaning of blasphemy, in its wider signification--that of assuming equality with God. The numerous illustrations above furnished were given to provide means of clear interpretation of the term blasphemy, as used in the condemnatory sentence of the high priest. For it is clearly evident that he and the other judges must have had many charges against Jesus in mind other than those that appear in the record of the trial. But we repeat, these extra-judicial charges must be considered only for purposes of correct interpretation and as a means of throwing light upon the actual proceedings in the night trial before the Sanhedrin. We further repeat that the New Testament furnishes abundant evidence that Jesus the man, the Jewish citizen, had, at divers times and places, committed blasphemy against Jehovah, under a strict interpretation of the law of God. Mr. Simon Greenleaf, the great Christian writer on the Law of Evidence and the Harmony of the Gospels, has thus tersely and admirably summarized the matter from the lawyer's point of view: "If we regard Jesus simply as a Jewish citizen, and with no higher character, this conviction seems substantially right in point of law, though the trial were not legal in all its forms. For, whether the accusation were founded on the first or the second command in the Decalogue, or on the law laid down in the thirteenth chapter of Deuteronomy, or on that in the eighteenth chapter and the twentieth verse, he had violated them all by assuming to himself powers belonging alone to Jehovah. It is not easy to perceive on what ground his conduct could have been defended before any tribunal, unless upon that of his superhuman character. No lawyer, it is conceived, would think of placing his defense upon any other basis."[223] But, at this point, the reader would do well to discriminate very carefully between certain matters touching the most vital features of the controversy. Certain well-defined distinctions must be observed, else an erroneous conclusion will inevitably follow. In the first place, proper limitations must be applied to the person and character of Jesus before it can be truthfully said that His conviction by the Sanhedrin was "substantially right in point of law." It must be remembered that, in this connection, Jesus is regarded merely as a man, "a Jewish citizen," to use Greenleaf's phrase. His divine character, as the only-begotten Son of God, as the Second Person of the Trinity, as the Savior of the human race, is not considered. But the reader may object, and with reason, that this is begging the question; and is therefore an inexcusable evasion; since the real issue before the Sanhedrin was this: Is Jesus God? And to strike the Godhead of Jesus from the discussion is to destroy the real issue, and to place the judgment of the Sanhedrin upon an irrelevant and immaterial basis. There is much truth in this contention, since it is clearly evident that if Jesus was actually God, "manifest in the flesh," He was not guilty; if He was not God, He was guilty. Fortunately for the purposes of this treatise, the legality or the illegality of the proceedings in the trial of Christ is not so much related to the question of substance as to that of form. Whether Jesus were God or not is a question involving His divinity, and is a problem peculiarly within the domain of the theologian. Whether legal rules were duly observed in the trial of Christ, were He man or God, is a question involving His civil rights, and belongs to the domain of the lawyer. Unless this distinction be recognized and held in mind, the treatment of this theme from a legal standpoint has no justification. This contention is all the more certainly true, since proof of the divinity of Jesus, a spiritual problem, would rest more upon the basis of religious consciousness and experience, than upon historical facts and logical inferences. The author of these volumes believes that Jesus was divine, and that if He was not divine, Divinity has not touched this globe. The writer bases his conviction of this fact upon the perfect purity, beauty, and sinlessness of Jesus; upon the overwhelming historical evidence of His resurrection from the dead, which event "may unhesitatingly be pronounced that best established in history";[224] as well as upon the evident impress of a divine hand upon genuine Christian civilization in every age. But the historic proofs of the divinity of Christ that have come down to us through twenty centuries were not before the Sanhedrin. A charitable Christian criticism will be slow in passing unmerciful judgment upon the members of that court for denying the claims of Jesus to identify with God, when His own disciples evidently failed to recognize them. The incidents of the Last Supper clearly prove that those who had been intimately associated with Him during three eventful years did not, at the close of His ministry, fully comprehend His character and appreciate His message and His mission.[225] Were comparative strangers to Him and His teachings expected to be more keenly discerning? After John had baptized Jesus in the Jordan and the Spirit of God, in the form of a dove, had descended upon Him, the Baptist seems to have had some doubts of the Messiahship of Christ and sent an embassy to Him to ask, "Art thou he that should come, or do we look for another?"[226] If the Forerunner of the Messiah did not know, are we justified in demanding perfect prescience and absolute infallibility of Caiaphas? The most perfect proof of the divinity of Jesus is the fact of His resurrection from the dead, attested by Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Peter, James, and Paul. And yet, although He had frequently foretold to them that He would rise again, Jesus had to personally appear before them and submit to physical tests before they would believe that His prophecies had been fulfilled.[227] And it must be remembered that the great proof of His divinity, His resurrection from the dead, was not before Caiaphas and his colleagues at the time of the trial. The preceding suggestions and observations have not been made in order to excuse or palliate the conduct of the members of the Sanhedrin for their illegal conduct of the proceedings against Jesus. Under Point XI of the Brief we shall prove by Jewish testimony alone the utterly wicked and worthless character of these judges. Under Point XII we shall elaborate the proofs in favor of the Messiahship of Jesus and of His divine Sonship of the Father, as far as the scope of this work will permit. We have suggested above the perplexity of the members of the Sanhedrin and of the disciples of Jesus, concerning the divinity of the Nazarene, to illustrate to the reader how futile would be the task of attempting in a treatise of this kind to settle the question of the identity of Jesus with God, and thereby fix upon His judges in the palace of Caiaphas the odium of an unrighteous judgment. The question, after all, is one to be settled in the forum of conscience, illuminated by the light of history, and not at the bar of legal justice. But whether Jesus were man or God, or man-God, we are justified in passing upon the question of the violation of forms of law which He was entitled to have observed in the trial of His claims. And at this point we return to a consideration of the phrase, "substantially right in point of law." This language is not intended to convey the notion that Jesus was legally convicted. It means simply that the claim of equality with God by a plain Jewish citizen was, under Hebrew law, blasphemy; the crime which Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin believed that Jesus had confessed, and for which they condemned Him. Another distinction that must be made is that relating to the kind of law that is meant, when it is said that the conviction of Jesus was "substantially right in point of law." Ancient Hebrew law is meant, and as that law was interpreted from the standpoint of ancient Judaism. The policy and precepts of the New Dispensation inaugurated by Jesus can hardly be considered, in a legal sense, to have been binding upon Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin, since the very claims of Jesus to Messiahship and identity with God were to be tested by the provisions of the Mosaic Code and in the light of Hebrew prophecy. The Pentateuch, the Prophets, and the Talmud were the legal guides, then, of the judges of Israel in judicial proceedings at this time, and furnished rules for determining the genuineness of His pretensions. Mr. Greenleaf, the author of the phrase, "substantially right in point of law," asserts that the trial was not legal in all its forms, but he fails to enumerate the errors. The purpose of the Brief in this work is to name and discuss the errors and irregularities of the Hebrew trial, that is, the trial before the Sanhedrin. But the question may be asked: Why be guilty of the inconsistency of discussing illegalities, when admission has already been made that the decision was "substantially right in point of law"? The answer is that a distinction must be made between that which is popularly and historically known or believed to be true, and that which has not been or cannot be proved in a court of law. Every lawyer is familiar with this distinction. The court may know that the accused is guilty, the jury may know it, the attorneys may be perfectly sure of it, but if the verdict of guilt returned by the jury into court is not based upon testimony that came from the witness stand from witnesses who were under oath, and that had submitted to cross-examination, such verdict would hardly be sustained on appeal. In other words, the lives and liberties of alleged criminals must not be endangered by extra-judicial and incompetent testimony. A legal verdict can be rendered only when a regular trial has been had before a competent court, having jurisdiction of the crime charged, and after all legal rules have been observed which the constitution and the laws have provided as safeguards for the protection of the rights of both the people and the prisoner. However heinous the offense committed, no man is, legally speaking, a criminal, until he has been legally tried and declared a criminal. The presumption of innocence, a substantial legal right, is thrown around him from the very beginning, and continues in his favor until it is overthrown by competent and satisfactory evidence. Unless such evidence is furnished, under legal forms, no man, however morally guilty, can be denominated a criminal, in a juristic sense, in the face of the perpetual continuance of this presumption of innocence. If these rules and principles be applied to the trial of Jesus, either before the Sanhedrin or before Pilate, it can be easily demonstrated that while He might have been abstractly and historically guilty of the crime of blasphemy, in the wider acceptation of that term, He was not remotely a criminal, because He was never legally tried and convicted. In other words, his condemnation was not based upon a legal procedure that was in harmony with either the Mosaic Code or the Mishna. The pages of human history present no stronger case of judicial murder than the trial and crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth, for the simple reason that all forms of law were outraged and trampled under foot in the proceedings instituted against Him. The errors were so numerous and the proceedings so flagrant that many have doubted the existence of a trial. Others have sought to attack the authenticity of the Gospel narratives and the veracity of the Gospel writers by pointing to the number of errors committed as evidence that no such proceedings ever took place. As Renan would say, this is a species of "naïve impudence," to assert that a trial was not had, because numerous errors are alleged; as if a Hebrew court could not either intentionally or unintentionally commit blunders and many of them. Every lawyer of extensive practice anywhere knows from experience that judges of great ability and exalted character conduct lengthy trials, in both civil and criminal cases, with the most painstaking care, and are aided by eminent counsel and good and honest jurors; the whole purpose of the proceedings being to reach a just and righteous verdict; and yet, on appeal, it is frequently held that not one but many errors have been committed. At this point, a few preliminary observations are necessary as a means of introduction to the discussion of errors. Certain elementary principles should be clearly understood at the outset. In the first place, an analysis of the word "case," used in a juristic sense, shows the existence of two cardinal judicial elements: the element called Fact, and the element called Law. And whether the advocate is preparing a pleading at his desk, is making a speech to the jury, or addressing himself to the court, these elements are ever present in his mind. He is continually asking these questions: What are the facts of this case? What is the law applicable to these facts? Do the facts and law meet, harmonize, blend, according to the latest decision of the court of last resort? If so, a case is made; otherwise, not. It is impossible to frame any legal argument upon any other basis than that of the agreement or nonagreement of law and fact, in a juristic sense; and upon this plan errors will be discussed and the Brief will be framed. In the second place, it must not be forgotten that, in matters of review on appeal, errors will not be presumed; that is, errors will not be considered that do not appeal affirmatively upon the record. The law will rather presume and the court will assume that what should have been done, has been done. In conformity with this principle, only such errors will be discussed in these pages that affirmatively appear in the New Testament Gospels which form the record in this case. By "affirmatively appear" is meant that the error is clearly apparent or may be reasonably inferred. In Part II of the preceding pages of this volume, Hebrew criminal law, which was actively in force at the time of Christ, was outlined and discussed. In Part I the Record of Fact was reviewed in the light of judicial rules. It is the present purpose, in Part III, to enumerate, in the form of a Brief, the errors committed by the Hebrew judges of Jesus, as the result of their failure to make the facts of their trial conform with the legal rules by which they were bound in all criminal proceedings where human life was at stake. The plan proposed is to announce successive errors in brief statements which will be designated "Points," in imitation of the New York method on appeal. Following the statement of error will be given a short synopsis of the law applicable to the point suggested. Then, finally, will follow the fact and argument necessary to elaboration and proof. Accordingly, in pursuance of this method, let us consider the points in order. POINT I THE ARREST OF JESUS WAS ILLEGAL LAW "Now the Jewish law prohibited _all proceedings by night_."--DUPIN, "Jesus Devant Caïphe et Pilate." "The testimony of an accomplice is not permissible by Rabbinic law both _propter affectum_ and _propter delictum_, and no man's _life_, nor his _liberty_, nor his _reputation_ can be endangered by the malice of one who has confessed himself a criminal."--MENDELSOHN, "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," n. 274. "Thou shalt not go up and down as a talebearer among thy people: neither shalt thou stand against the blood of thy neighbor. Thou shalt not hate thy brother in thine heart: Thou shalt not avenge or bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."--LEVITICUS xix. 17, 18. FACT AND ARGUMENT The Bible record discloses three distinct elements of illegality in the arrest of Jesus: (1) The arrest took place at night in violation of Hebrew law; (2) it was effected through the agency of a traitor and informer, in violation of a provision in the Mosaic Code and of a Rabbinic rule based thereon; (3) it was not the result of a legal mandate from a court whose intentions were to conduct a legal trial for the purpose of reaching a righteous judgment. These elements of illegality will be apparent when the facts of the arrest are briefly stated. It was the 14th Nisan, according to the Jewish calendar; or April 6th, A.D. 30, according to our calendar. The Paschal Feast was at hand. The eyes of all Israel were centered upon the Metropolis of Judaism. From Judea, from Samaria, from Galilee and Perea, from all parts of the world where Jews were resident, pilgrims came streaming into the Holy City to be present at the great national festival. It was to be an occasion of prayer and thanksgiving, of sweet memories and happy reunions. Then and there offerings would be made and purifications obtained. In the great Temple, with its gorgeous ritual, Judaism was to offer its soul to Jehovah. The national and religious feelings of a divinely commissioned race were to be deeply stirred by memories that reminded them of the first, and by hopes that looked forward to the final great deliverance. It was probably in the home of Mark, on the outskirts of Jerusalem, that Jesus gathered with the Twelve, on the evening of this day, to eat the Paschal lamb. In the Upper Room, the sacred feast was spread and the little band were gathered. Only the genius of a da Vinci could do justice to that scene. There was Peter, hot-headed, impetuous, bravado-like. There was John, as gentle, pure-minded, and loving as a woman. There was Judas, mercenary, low-browed, and craven-hearted. There were others who, with Peter and John, were to have temples dedicated in their names. In their midst was the Master of them all, "God manifest in the flesh," who "with His pierced hands was to lift empires off their hinges, and turn the stream of centuries from its channel." No moment of history was so fraught with tragic interest for the human race. There the seal of the New Covenant was affixed, the bond of the new human spiritual alliance was made. The great law of love was proclaimed which was to regenerate and sanctify the world. "These things I command you, that ye love one another. And I have declared unto them thy name, and will declare it; that the love wherewith thou hast loved me, may be in them, and I in them." Thus the great law of love was to be the binding tie, not only among the little brotherhood there assembled but was to be the cementing bond between the regenerate of earth, the Mediator, and the great Father of love, Himself. There, too, was given the great example of humility which was to characterize true Christian piety throughout the ages. The pages of history record no other spectacle so thrilling and sublime, and at the same time tender and pathetic, as that afforded by the Paschal Meal, when Jesus, the Savior of men, the Son of God, the Maker of all the shining worlds, sank upon His knees to wash the feet of ignorant, simple-minded Galilean fishermen, in order that future ages might have at once a lesson and an example of that genuine humility which is the very life and soul of true religion. During the evening, a bitter anxiety, an awful melancholy, seized the devoted band, whose number, thirteen, even to-day inspires superstitious dread. In the midst of the apprehension the heart of the Master was so deeply wrung with agony that He turned to those about Him and said: "Verily, verily, I say unto you that one of you shall betray me." This prediction only intensified the sadness that had already begun to fall over the Sacred Meal and the loving disciples began to ask: "Lord, is it I?" Even the betrayer himself joined with the others, and, with inconceivable heartlessness and effrontery, asked: "Lord, is it I?" At the moment of greatest dread and consternation, Peter, bolder than the rest, leaned across the table and whispered to John, who was resting upon the bosom of Jesus, and suggested that he ask the Master who it was. Accordingly, John whispered and asked the Savior: "Lord, who is it?" "Jesus answered, He it is, to whom I shall give a sop, when I have dipped it. And when he had dipped the sop, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon. And after the sop Satan entered into him. Then said Jesus unto him, That thou doest, do quickly." Judas then arose from the feast and vanished from the room. When he was gone, the Master began to deliver to His "little children,"[228] to those who had loved and followed Him, those farewell words which St. John alone records, and that are so "rarely mixed of sadness and joys, and studded with mysteries as with emeralds." There, too, doubts and fears began to burst from the hearts and lips of the members of the little company. The knowledge that the gentle Jesus, whose ministry had thrilled and glorified their simple peasant lives, and promised to them crowns of glory in the world to come, was about to leave them, and in a most tragic way, filled them with solicitude and dread. Their anxiety manifested itself by frequent questioning which excites our wonder that men who had been with Him so long in the Apostolic ministry should have been so simple-minded and incredulous. "They said, therefore, What is this that he saith, A little while? We cannot tell what he saith." This verse is a simple illustration of the continued misapprehension, on this night, upon the part of the Apostles, of everything said by the Master. Peter was anxious to know why he could not follow the Lord. Thomas wanted to know the exact way, evidently failing to comprehend the figurative language of the Christ. Judas Lebbæus also had his doubts. He became muddled by mixing the purely spiritual with the physical powers of sight. "Lord, how is it," he asked, "that thou wilt manifest thyself to us and not to the world?" Philip of Bethsaida desired to see the Father. "Lord, show us the Father," he said, "and it sufficeth us." Philip seems to have been so dense that he had no appreciation of the spiritual attributes and invisible existence of the Father. It was thus that several hours were spent in celebrating the great Feast; in drinking wine; in eating the Paschal lamb, the unleavened bread, and the bitter herbs; in singing hymns, offering prayers, and performing the sacred rites; in delivering discourses which in every age have been the most precious treasures of Christians, and in expressing doubts and fears that have excited the astonishment and even the ridicule of the exacting and supercilious of all the centuries. At the approach of midnight, Jesus and the Eleven left the Upper Chamber of the little house and stepped out into the moonlight of a solemn Passover night. They began to wend their way toward the Kedron that separated them from the olive orchard on the Mount. Less than an hour's journey brought them to the Garden of Gethsemane. The word "Gethsemane" means "oil press." And this place doubtless derived its name from the fact that in it was located an oil press which was used to crush olives that grew abundantly on the trees that crowned the slopes. Whether it was a public garden or belonged to some friend of Jesus, we do not know, but certain it is that it was a holy place, a sanctuary of prayer, where the Man of Sorrows frequently retired to pray and commune with His Heavenly Father. At the gateway Jesus left eight of the Apostles and took with Him the other three: Peter, James, and John. These men seem to have been the best beloved of the Master. They were with Him at the raising of Jairus' daughter, at the Transfiguration on the Mount, and were now selected to be nearest Him in the hour of His agony. Proceeding with them a short distance, He suddenly stopped and exclaimed: "My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me." Then, withdrawing Himself from them a stone's cast, He sank upon His knees and prayed; and in the agony of prayer great drops of sweat resembling blood rolled from His face and fell upon the ground. Rising from prayer, He returned to His disciples to find them asleep. Sorrow had overcame them and they were mercifully spared the tortures of the place and hour. Three times did He go away to pray, and as many times, upon His return, they were found asleep. The last time He came He said to them: "Rise, let us be going; behold he is at hand that doth betray me." At this moment were heard the noise and tramp of an advancing multitude. "Judas then, having received a band of men and officers from the chief priests and Pharisees, cometh thither with lanterns and torches and weapons." This midnight mob, led by Judas, was made up of Roman soldiers, the Temple guard, and stragglers from along the way. It is probable that the traitor walked ahead of the mob by several paces. "And forthwith he came to Jesus, and said, Hail, master, and kissed him and Jesus said unto him, Friend, wherefore art thou come? Then came they and laid hands on Jesus and took him." But the arrest was not accomplished without incidents of pathos and of passion. "Whom seek ye?" asked the Master. "Jesus of Nazareth," they answered. "I am he," replied the Savior. Then, dazed and bewildered, they fell backward upon the ground. "Then asked he them again, whom seek ye? and they said, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus answered, I have told you that I am he: if, therefore, ye seek me, let these go their way." John says that this intercession for the disciples was to the end that prophecy might be fulfilled.[229] Doubtless so; but this was not all. Nowhere in sacred literature do we find such pointed testimony to the courage and manliness of Jesus. His tender solicitude for the members of the little band, for those who had quit their homes and callings to link their destinies with His, was here superbly illustrated. He knew that He was going to immediate condemnation and then to death, but He ardently desired that they should be spared to live. And for them He threw Himself into the breach. The furious and the passionate, as well as the tender and pathetic, mark the arrest in the garden. "Then Simon Peter having a sword drew it, and smote the high priest's servant, and cut off his right ear. The servant's name was Malchus." This was bloody proof of that fidelity which Peter loudly proclaimed at the banquet board, but which was soon to be swallowed up in craven flight and pusillanimous denial. "Then the band and the captain and officers of the Jews took Jesus, and bound him." At this point the arrest was complete, and we now return to the discussion of the illegalities connected with it. It was a well-established and inflexible rule of Hebrew law that proceedings in capital trials could not be had at night. This provision did not apply simply to the proceedings of the trial after the prisoner had been arraigned and the examination had been begun. We have it upon the authority of Dupin that it applied to the entire proceedings, from the arrest to the execution. The great French advocate explicitly states that the arrest was illegal because it was made at night.[230] Deference to this rule seems to have been shown in the arrest of Peter and John on another occasion. "And they laid hands upon them and put them in hold unto the next day: for it was now _eventide_."[231] That Jesus was arrested at night is clearly evident from the fact that those who captured Him bore "_lanterns_ and _torches_ and _weapons_." The employment of Judas by the Sanhedrin authorities constitutes the second element of illegality in the arrest. This wretched creature had been numbered among the Twelve, had been blessed and honored, not merely with discipleship but with apostleship, had himself been sent on holy missions by the Master, had been given the power to cast out devils, had been appointed by his Lord the keeper of the moneys of the Apostolic company, and, if Edersheim is to be believed, had occupied the seat of honor by the Master at the Last Supper.[232] This craven and cowardly Apostate was employed by the Sanhedrin Council to betray the Christ. It is clearly evident from the Scriptures that the arrest of Jesus would not have taken place on the occasion of the Passover, and therefore probably not at all, if Judas had not deserted and betrayed Him. The Savior had appeared and preached daily in the Temple, and every opportunity was offered to effect a legal arrest on legal charges with a view to a legal determination. But the enemies of Jesus did not want this. They were waiting to effect His capture in some out-of-the-way place, at the dead of night, when His friends could not defend Him and their murderous proceedings would not reach the eye and ear of the public. This could not be accomplished as long as His intimates were faithful to Him. It was, then, a joyful surprise to the members of the Sanhedrin when they learned that Judas was willing to betray his Master. "And when they heard it, they were glad, and promised to give him money." In modern jurisdictions, accomplice testimony has been and is allowed. The judicial authorities, however, have always regarded it with distrust, and we might say with deep-seated suspicion. At the common law in England a conviction for crime might rest upon the uncorroborated testimony of an accomplice, after the jury had been warned that such testimony was to be closely scrutinized. In the American States the testimony of an accomplice is admissible, but must be corroborated in order to sustain a conviction. This is the general rule. The weakness of such evidence is shown by the nature of the corroboration required by several states. In some of them the corroborating testimony must not only tend to prove the commission of the crime but must also tend to connect the defendant with such commission. Another evidence of the untrustworthiness of such testimony is that in several states an accomplice is not permitted to corroborate another accomplice, so as to satisfy the statutes.[233] The admission of such testimony seems to rest, in great measure, upon the supreme necessity of the preservation of the state, which is only possible when the punishment of crime is possible; and in very many instances it would be impossible to punish crime if guilty confederates were not allowed and even encouraged to give state's evidence. But notwithstanding this supreme consideration of the necessity of the preservation of the state, the ancient Hebrews forbade the use of accomplice testimony, as we have seen from the extract from "The Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," by Mendelsohn, cited on page 219. The arrest of Jesus was ordered upon the supposition that He was a criminal; this same supposition would have made Judas, who had aided, encouraged, and abetted Jesus in the propagation of His faith, an accomplice. If Judas was not an accomplice, Jesus was innocent, and His arrest was an outrage, and therefore illegal. The Hebrew law against accomplice testimony must have been derived, in part at least, from the following rule laid down in Leviticus xix. 16-18: "Thou shalt not go up and down as a talebearer among thy people: neither shall thou stand against the blood of thy neighbor. Thou shalt not hate thy brother in thine heart: Thou shalt not avenge, or bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." It may be objected that this is only a moral injunction and not a legal rule; to which reply must be made that there was no difference between morality and law among the ancient Hebrews. Their religion was founded upon law, and their law upon religion. The two ideas of morality and law were inseparable. The ancient Hebrew religion was founded upon a contract of the strictest legal kind. The Abrahamic covenant, when properly interpreted, meant simply that Jehovah had agreed with the children of Israel that if they would obey the law as He gave it, they would be rewarded by Him. The force of this contention will be readily perceived when it is reflected that the Decalogue is nothing but ten moral injunctions, which are nevertheless said to be the law which God gave to Moses. Every provision in the rule laid down in Leviticus is, moreover, directly applicable to the character and conduct of Judas, and seems to have been intended as a prophetic warning to him. Let us consider the different elements of this rule in order. "Thou shalt not go up and down as a talebearer among thy people." Was not Judas a talebearer among his people? Did he not go to the chief priests to betray his Master unto them? Was he not a "talebearer" if he did nothing more than communicate to the chief priests the whereabouts of the Savior, that Gethsemane was His accustomed place of prayer and that He might be found and arrested there at midnight? Are we not justified in supposing that Judas told the enemies of Jesus much more than this? Is it not reasonable to infer that the blood-money was paid to secure more evidence than that which would merely lead to the arrest of the Nazarene? Is it not probable that Judas detailed to the chief priests many events in the ministry of Jesus which, it is known, He communicated only to the Twelve? If he did these things, was he not a "talebearer" within the meaning of the rule? "Neither shalt thou stand against the blood of thy neighbor." Did not Judas stand against the blood of his nearest and dearest neighbor when he consented to be the chief instrument of an arrest which he knew would result in death? "Thou shalt not hate thy brother in thy heart." Is it possible to suppose that anything less than hatred could have induced Judas to betray the Christ? This question is important, for it involves a consideration of the real character of the betrayer and the main motive for the betrayal. Judas was from Kerioth in Judea and was the only Judean among the Twelve. Why Judas was selected as a member of the Apostolic company is too deep a mystery to be solved by the author of these pages. Besides, the consideration of the elements of predestination in his case is foreign to the purpose of this work. His character as a purely human agency is sufficient to answer the present design. Judas had undoubtedly demonstrated business capacity in some way before his appointment to the treasury portfolio of the little band. It cannot be doubted that greed was his besetting sin. This trait, coupled with political ambition, undoubtedly accounts for his downfall and destruction. He was one of those simple-minded, short-sighted individuals of his day who believed that a political upheaval was at hand which would result in the restoration of the independence of Israel as a separate kingdom. He believed that this result would be brought about through the agency of a temporal Messiah, an earthly deliverer of almost divine qualities. He thought at first that he saw in Jesus the person of the Messiah, and in the Apostolic band the nucleus of a revolution. He was gratified beyond measure at his appointment to the treasury position, for he felt sure that from it promotion was in sight. He was perfectly contented to carry for a while the "little bag," provided there was reasonable assurance that later on he would be permitted to carry a larger one. As the months and years rolled by, heavy scales began to fall from his stupid eyes and he began to be deceived not by but in Jesus. We are justified in believing that Judas never even remotely appreciated the spiritual grandeur of the Christ. He probably had intellect and soul enough to be charmed and fascinated by the lofty bearing and eloquent discourse of Jesus, but after all he perceived only the necessary qualifications of a great republican leader and successful revolutionist. And after a while he doubtless began to tire of all this when he saw that the revolution was not progressing and that there was no possibility of actual and solid results. It is probable that disaffection and treachery were born and began to grow in his mind and heart at Capernaum, when Jesus was deserted by many of His followers and was forced to effect a realignment along spiritual lines. Judas was not equal to the spiritual test, and it was doubtless then that the disintegration of his moral nature began, which stopped only with betrayal, infamy, and death. But by what process, we may ask, was the mercenary disposition of Judas converted into hatred against Jesus? The process was that of disappointment. When Judas became convinced that all the years of his connection with the Apostolic company had been lost, his will became embittered and his resentment was aroused. In the denseness of his ignorance and in the baseness of his soul he probably thought that Jesus had deceived His followers as to His true mission and he felt enraged because he had been duped. He had looked forward to worldly promotion and success. He had fondly hoped that the eloquence of Jesus would finally call around Him an invincible host of enthusiastic adherents who would raise the standard of revolt, drive the Romans from Judea, and establish the long-looked-for kingdom of the Jews. He had noted with deep disappointment and unutterable chagrin the failure of Jesus to proclaim Himself king when, at Bethphage, the multitude had greeted His entrance into Jerusalem with Hosannas and acclamations. And now, at the Last Supper, he became convinced from the conduct and discourses of the Master that his worst fears were true, that Jesus was sincere in His resolution to offer Himself as a sacrifice for the sake of a principle which he, Judas, did not approve because he could not understand. In other words, he witnessed in the resolve of Jesus to die at once the shipwreck of his hopes, and he made haste to vent his wrath upon the author of his disappointment. The writer agrees with Renan that the thirty pieces of silver were not the real or leading inducement to this black and monumental betrayal. Having taken the fatal step, by leaving the Upper Room in the home of Mark, to deliver his Lord and Master into the hands of enemies, a bitter hatred was formed at once against the innocent victim of his foul designs, on the well-known principle of human nature that we hate those who have induced us to do that which causes us to despise and hate ourselves. "Thou shalt not avenge or bear any grudge against the children of thy people." Where, in the annals of the universe, do we find another such case of vengeance and grudge as this of Judas against Jesus? "But thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." This commandment of the Mosaic law was also the great commandment of the Master of Galilee, and in violating it by consenting to betray and sacrifice Jesus, Judas assaulted and destroyed in his own soul the cardinal principle of the two great religious dispensations of his race. And yet this informer, conspirator, and malefactor was employed by the chief priests in effecting the arrest of Jesus. Was not a fundamental rule of Mosaic law violated? Will it be urged that the rule operated against Judas but not against the chief priests? If so, it must be remembered that no wicked instrument could be used in promoting Hebrew justice. Officers of the law were not permitted to require a citizen to do an act which was forbidden by law. If Jesus was innocent, then the arrest was illegal. If He was guilty, then Judas, his Apostle and fellow-worker, was an accomplice; and no accomplice could be utilized in furtherance of justice, under Hebrew law, either in the matter of arrest or in the establishment of guilt as a witness at the trial. According to the Talmud, there was at least one seeming exception to this rule. Renan describes it with peculiar clearness and succinctness. "The procedure," he says, "against the 'corrupter' (mesith), who sought to attaint the purity of religion, is explained in the Talmud, with details, the naïve impudence of which provokes a smile. A judicial ambush is therein erected into an essential part of the examination of criminals. When a man was accused of being a 'corrupter,' two witnesses were suborned who were concealed behind a partition. It was arranged to bring the accused into a contiguous room, where he could be heard by these two witnesses without his perceiving them. Two candles were lighted near him, in order that it might be satisfactorily proved that the witnesses 'saw him.' (In criminal matters, eyewitnesses alone were admitted. Mishna, Sanhedrin VI, 5.) He was then made to repeat his blasphemy; next urged to retract it. If he persisted, the witnesses who had heard him conducted him to the Tribunal and he was stoned to death. The Talmud adds that this was the manner in which they treated Jesus; that he was condemned on the faith of two witnesses who had been suborned, and that the crime of 'corruption' is, moreover, the only one for which the witnesses are thus prepared."[234] Most Gentile writers ridicule this statement of the Talmud, and maintain that it was a Rabbinic invention of post-Apostolic days, and was intended to offer an excuse for the outrageous proceedings against the Christ. Schürer dismisses the whole proposition with contempt. Many Jewish scholars also refuse it the sanction of their authority. But even if it was a Talmudic rule of law in force at the time of Christ, its constitutionality, so to speak, might be questioned, in the first place; since it was, in spirit at least, repugnant to and subversive of the Mosaic provision in Leviticus cited above. It must not be forgotten that the Mosaic Code was the constitution, the fundamental law of Judaism, by which every Rabbinic interpretation and every legal innovation was to be tested. Again, such a law would have been no protection to the chief priests and to Judas against the operation of this Mosaic injunction. If such a rule of procedure could be justified upon any ground, it would require disinterested men acting from honorable motives, in promoting the maintenance of law and order. Officers of the law have sometimes, as pretended accomplices, acted in concert with criminals in order to secure and furnish evidence against them. But they were officers of the law, and the courts have held that their evidence was not accomplice testimony requiring corroboration. It is very clear that Judas was not such a disinterested witness, acting in the interest of public justice. He was a fugitive from the Last Supper of his Master, a talebearer within the meaning of the provision in Leviticus; and his employment by the Sanhedrin was a violation of a fundamental provision in the Mosaic Code. The third illegality in the arrest of Jesus was that His capture was not the result of a legal mandate from a court whose intentions were to conduct a legal trial for the purpose of reaching a righteous judgment. "This arrest," says Rosadi, "effected in the night between Thursday and Friday, the last day of the life of Jesus, on Nisan 14, according to the Hebrew calendar, was the execution of an illegal and factious resolution of the Sanhedrin. There was no idea of apprehending a citizen in order to try him upon a charge which after sincere and regular judgment might be found just or unfounded; the intention was simply to seize a man and do away with him. The arrest was not a preventive measure such as might lawfully precede trial and condemnation; it was an executive act, accomplished in view of a sentence to be pronounced without legal justification." POINT II THE PRIVATE EXAMINATION OF JESUS BEFORE ANNAS (OR CAIAPHAS) WAS ILLEGAL LAW "Now the Jewish law prohibited _all proceedings by night_."--DUPIN, "Jesus Devant Caïphe et Pilate." "Be not a sole judge, for there is no sole judge but One."--MISHNA, Pirke Aboth IV. 8. "A principle perpetually reproduced in the Hebrew scriptures relates to the two conditions of _publicity_ and liberty. An accused man was never subjected to private or secret examination, lest, in his perplexity, he furnish damaging testimony against himself."--SALVADOR, "Institutions de Moïse," pp. 365, 366. FACT AND ARGUMENT The private examination before Annas (or Caiaphas) was illegal for the following reasons: (1) The examination was conducted at night in violation of Hebrew law; (2) no judge or magistrate, sitting alone, could interrogate an accused judicially or sit in judgment upon his legal rights; (3) private preliminary examinations of accused persons were not allowed by Hebrew law. The general order of events following the arrest in the garden was this: (1) Jesus was first taken to the house of Annas; (2) after a brief delay He was sent by Annas to Caiaphas, the high priest, in whose palace the Sanhedrin, or a part thereof, had already assembled; (3) He was then brought before this body, tried and condemned; (4) He remained, during the rest of the night, in the high priest's palace, exposed to the insults and outrages of His keepers; and was finally and formally sentenced to death by the Sanhedrin which reconvened at the break of day. That Jesus was privately examined before His regular trial by the Sanhedrin is quite clear. But whether this preliminary examination took place before Annas or Caiaphas is not certainly known. John alone records the private interrogation of Jesus and he alone refers to Annas in a way to connect him with it. This Evangelist mentions that they "led him away to Annas first."[235] Matthew says that after the arrest of Jesus, they "led him away to Caiaphas the high priest,"[236] without mentioning the name of Annas. Mark tells us that "they led Jesus away to the high priest";[237] but he does not mention either Annas or Caiaphas. Luke records that they "took him, and led him, and brought him into the high priest's house,"[238] without telling us the name of the high priest. "The high priest then asked Jesus of his disciples and of his doctrine."[239] This was the beginning of the examination. But who was the examiner--Annas or Caiaphas? At first view we are inclined to declare that Caiaphas is meant, because he was undoubtedly high priest in that year. But Annas is also designated as high priest by Luke in several places.[240] In Acts iv. 6 he mentions Caiaphas without an official title, but calls Annas high priest. It is therefore not known to whom John refers when he says that the "high priest asked Jesus of his disciples and of his doctrine." For a lengthy discussion of this point, the reader is referred to Andrews's "Life of Our Lord," pp. 505-510. But it is absolutely immaterial, from a legal point of view, whether it was Annas or Caiaphas who examined Jesus, as the proceedings would be illegal in either case. For whether it was the one or the other, neither had the right to sit alone as judge; neither had the right to conduct any judicial proceeding at night; neither had the right to institute a secret preliminary examination by day or night. Attention has been called to the matter as involving a question of historical rather than of legal consequence. A knowledge of the true facts of the case might, however, throw light upon the order and connection of the proceedings which followed the same night. For if the private examination recorded by John was had before Annas, it was doubtless separated by a certain interval of place and time from the later proceedings before Caiaphas. Then it is reasonable to suppose that the examination of witnesses, the confession and condemnation which took place at the regular trial before the Sanhedrin over which Caiaphas presided, happened later in the night, or even toward morning, and were of the nature of a regular public trial. If, on the other hand, Annas sent Jesus without delay to Caiaphas, who examined Him, it is reasonable to conclude that witnesses were at once produced, and that the adjuration and condemnation immediately followed. If such were the case, a considerable interval of time must have intervened between these proceedings and the meeting of the Sanhedrin which was had in the morning to confirm the judgment which had been pronounced at the night session. But these considerations are really foreign to the question of legal errors involved, which we come now to discuss. [Illustration: JESUS IN GETHSEMANE (HOFFMAN)] In the first place, the private examination of Jesus, whether by Annas or Caiaphas, took place at night; and we have learned from Dupin that _all proceedings at night in capital cases_ were forbidden. In the second place, no judge or magistrate, sitting alone, could interrogate an accused person judicially or sit in judgment upon his legal rights. We have seen in Part II of this volume that the Hebrew system of courts and judges provided no single magistrates who, sitting alone, could adjudicate causes. The lowest Hebrew court consisted of three judges, sometimes called the Court of Three. The next highest tribunal was the Minor Sanhedrin of three-and-twenty members. The supreme tribunal of the Jews was the Great Sanhedrin of seventy-one members. There was no such thing among the ancient Hebrews as a court with a single judge. "Be not a sole judge, for there is no sole judge but One," is one of the most famous aphorisms of the Pirke Aboth. The reason of this rule is founded not only in a religious exaction born of the jealousy of Jehovah, but in the principle of publicity which provides for the accused, in the very number of judges, a public hearing. The same principle is suggested by the number of witnesses required by both the Mishna and Mosaic Code for the conviction of a prisoner. At least "two or three witnesses" were required to appear publicly and give testimony against the accused, else a conviction could not follow. Again, preliminary examinations of accused persons were not allowed by Hebrew law. In the American states and in some other countries, a man suspected of crime and against whom an information or complaint has been lodged, is frequently taken before an examining magistrate to determine whether he should be discharged, admitted to bail, or sent to prison to await the action of a Grand Jury. At such hearing, the prisoner is usually notified that he is at liberty to make a statement regarding the charge against him; that he need not do so unless he desires; but that if he does, his testimony may be subsequently used against him at the regular trial of the case. But such proceedings, according to Salvador, were forbidden by ancient Hebrew law. The preliminary examination, therefore, by Annas or Caiaphas was illegal. The reason of the rule, as above stated, was to protect the prisoner against furnishing evidence that might be used against him at the regular trial of his case. The private examination of Jesus illustrates the justice of the rule and the necessity of its existence, for it was undoubtedly the purpose of Annas or Caiaphas to gather material in advance to lay before the regularly assembled Sanhedrin and thereby expedite the proceedings at the expense of justice. If it be contended that the leading of Jesus to Annas first, which St. John alone relates, was merely intended to give the aged Sanhedrist an opportunity to see the prisoner who had been causing such commotion in the land for several years; and that there was no examination of Jesus before Annas--the interrogation by the high priest concerning the disciples and the doctrine of Jesus being construed to refer to an examination by Caiaphas, and being identical with the night trial referred to by Matthew and Mark--reply may be made that, under any construction of the case, there was at least an illegal appearance before Annas, as mere vulgar curiosity to see a celebrated prisoner was no excuse for the violation of the spirit if not the letter of the law. It is inconceivable, however, to suppose that Annas did not actually interrogate Jesus concerning His disciples, His doctrine, and His personal pretensions. To suppose that he demanded to see Jesus for no other reason than to get an impression of His looks, is to insult common sense. If Annas examined the prisoner, though only slightly, concerning matters affecting the charges against Him that might endanger His life or liberty, he had violated a very important rule of Hebrew criminal procedure. The question of the amount of examination of the accused is immaterial. It is not known whether Annas at this time sat in the Great Sanhedrin as a judge. He had been deposed from the high priesthood nearly twenty years before by the procurator Valerius Gratus, for imposing and executing capital sentences. But he was, nevertheless, still all-powerful in the great Council of the Jews. Edersheim says that though "deprived of the Pontificate, he still continued to preside over the Sanhedrin."[241] Andrews is of the opinion that "he did in fact hold some high official position, and this probably in connection with the Sanhedrin, perhaps as occasional president."[242] Basing his criticism upon the words in Luke, "Annas and Caiaphus being the high priests,"[243] Dr. Plummer believes "that between them they discharged the duties, or that each of them in different senses was regarded high priest, Annas _de jure_, and Caiaphas _de facto_."[244] This is a mere supposition, however, since there is no historical evidence that Annas was restored to the pontificate after his deposition by Valerius Gratus, A.D. 14.[245] The phrase, "Annas and Caiaphas being high priests," refers to the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Cæsar, which was A.D. 26. After all, it is here again an historical more than a legal question, whether Annas was an official or not at the time of the appearance of Jesus before him. In either case his preliminary examination of the Christ was illegal. If he was a member of the Sanhedrin, the law forbade him to hold an informal preliminary examination at night. He certainly could not do this while sitting alone. If he was not a magistrate, as Dupin very properly contends, this fact only added to the seriousness of the illegality of subjecting a prisoner to the whimsical examination of a private citizen. Whether a member of the Sanhedrin or not, Annas was at the time of Christ and had been for many years its dominating spirit. He himself had been high priest. Caiaphas was his son-in-law, and was succeeded in the high priesthood by four sons of Annas. The writer does not believe that Annas had any legal connection with the Sanhedrin, but, like many American political bosses, exercised more authority than the man that held the office. He was simply the political tool of the Roman masters of Judea, and the members of the Sanhedrin were simply figureheads under his control. Again, the private examination of Jesus was marked by an act of brutality which Hebrew jurisprudence did not tolerate. This was not enumerated above as an error, because it was not probably a violation of any specific rule of law. But it was an outrage upon the Hebrew sense of justice and humanity which in its normal state was very pure and lofty. "The high priest then asked Jesus of his disciples and of his doctrine. Jesus answered him, I spake openly to the world; I ever taught in the Synagogue, and in the Temple, whither the Jews always resort; and in secret have I said nothing. Why askest thou me? ask them which heard me, what I have said unto them: behold, they know what I said." In this reply Jesus planted Himself squarely upon His legal rights as a Jewish citizen. "It was in every word the voice of pure Hebrew justice, founded upon the broad principle of their judicial procedure and recalling an unjust judge to the first duty of his great office." "And when he had thus spoken, one of the officers which stood by struck Jesus with the palm of his hand, saying, Answerest thou the high priest so?" Again the Nazarene appealed for protection to the procedure designed to safeguard the rights of the Hebrew prisoner. "Jesus answered him, If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil: but if well, why smitest thou me?"[246] We have seen that, under Hebrew law, the witnesses were the accusers, and their testimony was at once the indictment and the evidence. We have also seen that a Hebrew prisoner could not be compelled to testify against himself, and that his uncorroborated confession could not be made the basis of a conviction. "_Why askest thou me? ask them that heard me_, what I have said unto them." This was equivalent to asking: Do you demand that I incriminate myself when our law forbids such a thing? Why not call witnesses as the law requires? If I am an evil-doer, bear witness of the evil, that is, let witnesses testify to the wrongdoing, that I may be legally convicted. If I am not guilty of a crime, why am I thus maltreated? Is it possible to imagine a more pointed and pathetic appeal for justice and for the protection of the law against illegality and brutal treatment? This appeal for the production of legal testimony was not without its effect. Witnesses were soon forthcoming--not truthful witnesses, indeed--but witnesses nevertheless. And with the coming of these witnesses began the formal trial of the Christ, and a formal trial, under Hebrew law, could be commenced only by witnesses. POINT III THE INDICTMENT AGAINST JESUS WAS, IN FORM, ILLEGAL LAW "The entire criminal procedure of the Mosaic Code rests upon four rules: _certainty in the indictment_; publicity in the discussion; full freedom granted to the accused; and assurance against all dangers or errors of testimony."--SALVADOR, "Institutions de Moïse," p. 365. "_The Sanhedrin did not and could not originate charges_; it only investigated those brought before it."--EDERSHEIM, "Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah," vol. i. p. 309. "_The evidence of the leading witnesses constituted the charge._ There was no other charge: no more formal indictment. Until they spoke, and spoke in the public assembly, the prisoner was scarcely an accused man. When they spoke, and the evidence of the two agreed together, it formed the legal charge, libel, or indictment, as well as the evidence for its truth."--INNES, "The Trial of Jesus Christ," p. 41. "The only _prosecutors_ known to Talmudic criminal jurisprudence are the witnesses to the crime. Their duty is to bring the matter to the cognizance of the court, and to bear witness against the criminal. In capital cases, they are the legal executioners also. Of an official accuser or prosecutor there is nowhere any trace in the laws of the ancient Hebrews."--MENDELSOHN, "The Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," p. 110. FACT AND ARGUMENT The Gospel records disclose two distinct elements of illegality in the indictment against Jesus: (1) The accusation, at the trial, was twofold, vague, and indefinite, which Mosaic law forbade; (2) it was made, in part, by Caiaphas, the high priest, who was one of the judges of Jesus; while Hebrew law forbade any but leading witnesses to present the charge. A thorough understanding of Point III depends upon keeping clearly in mind certain well-defined elementary principles of law. In the first place, it should be remembered that in most modern jurisdictions an indictment is simply an accusation, carries with it no presumption of guilt, and has no evidentiary force. Its only function is to bring the charge against the prisoner before the court and jury, and to notify the accused of the nature of the accusation against him. But not so under the ancient Hebrew scheme of justice. Under that system there was no such body as the modern Grand Jury, and no committee of the Sanhedrin exercised similar accusatory functions. The leading witnesses, and they alone, presented charges. It follows then, of necessity, that the ancient Hebrew indictment, unlike the modern indictment, carried with it a certain presumption of guilt and had certain evidentiary force. This could not be otherwise, since the testimony of the leading witnesses was at once the indictment and the evidence offered to prove it. Again, in the very nature of things an indictment should, and under any enlightened system of jurisprudence, does clearly advise the accused of the exact nature of the charge against him. Under no other conditions would it be possible for a prisoner to prepare his defense. Most modern codes have sought to promote clearness and certainty in indictments by requiring the charging of only one crime in one indictment, and in language so clear and simple that the nature of the offense charged may be easily understood. Now Salvador says that "certainty in the indictment" was one of the cardinal rules upon which rested the entire criminal procedure of the Mosaic Code. Was this rule observed in framing the accusation against Jesus at the night trial before the Sanhedrin? If so, the Gospel records do not disclose the fact. It is very certain, indeed, that the learned of no age of the world since the crucifixion have been able to agree among themselves as to the exact nature of the indictment against the Christ. This subject was too exhaustively discussed in the beginning of the Brief to warrant lengthy treatment here. Suffice it to say that the record of the night trial before Caiaphas discloses two distinct charges: the charge of sedition--the threat to destroy a national institution and to seduce the people from their ancient allegiance, in the matter of the destruction of the Temple; and the charge of blasphemy preferred by Caiaphas himself in the adjuration which he administered to Jesus. When the false witnesses failed to agree, their contradictory testimony was rejected and the charge of sedition was abandoned. And before Jesus had time to answer the question concerning sedition, another distinct charge, that of blasphemy, was made in almost the same breath.[247] Did this procedure tend to promote "certainty in the indictment"? Did it not result in the complete destruction of all clearness and certainty? Are we not justified in supposing that the silence of Jesus in the presence of His accusers was at least partially attributable to His failure to comprehend the exact nature of the charges against Him? Again, the accusation was, in part, by Caiaphas, the high priest, who was also one of the judges of Jesus;[248] while Hebrew law forbade any but leading witnesses to present the charge. Edersheim tells us that "the Sanhedrin did not and could not originate charges; it only investigated those brought before it." If the Sanhedrin as a whole could not originate charges, because its members were judges, neither could any individual Sanhedrist do so. When the witnesses "agreed not together" in the matter of the charge of sedition, this accusation was abandoned. Caiaphas then deliberately assumed the rôle of accuser, in violation of the law, and charged Jesus, in the form of an adjuration, with blasphemy, in claiming to be "the Christ, the Son of God." Confession and condemnation then followed. Only leading witnesses could prefer criminal charges under Hebrew law. Caiaphas, being a judge, could not possibly be a witness; and could not, therefore, be an accuser. Therefore, the indictment against Jesus was illegally presented. The writer believes that the above is a correct interpretation of the nature and number of the charges brought against the Christ, and that the legal aspects of the case are as above stated. But candor and impartiality require consideration of another view. Several excellent writers have contended that there were, in fact, not two charges preferred against Jesus but only one under different forms. These writers contend that Caiaphas and his colleagues understood that Jesus claimed supernatural power and identity with God when He declared that He was _able_ to destroy the Temple and to build it again in three days,[249] and that the question of the high priest, "I adjure thee by the living God, that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God," flowed naturally from and had direct reference to the charge of being able to destroy the Temple. The advocates of this view appeal to the language of the original auditors to sustain their contention. "Forty-and-six years was this temple in building, and wilt thou rear it again in three days?" It is insisted that these words convey the idea that those who heard Jesus understood Him to mean that He had supernatural power. There is certainly much force in the contention but it fails to meet other difficulties. In the first place, it is not clear that a threat to destroy the Temple implied a claim to supernatural power; in which case there would be no connection between the first charge and that in which it was suggested that Jesus had claimed to be the Christ, the Son of God. In the second place, the contention that the two charges are substantially the same ignores the language of Mark, "But neither so did their witness agree together,"[250] which was certainly not injected by the author of the second Gospel as a matter of mere caprice or pastime. This language, legally interpreted, means that the testimony of the false witnesses, being contradictory, was thrown aside, and that the charge concerning the destruction of the Temple was abandoned. This is the opinion of Signor Rosadi and is very weighty. Those writers who maintain that there was only one charge, that of blasphemy, under different forms, rely upon the passage in Matthew, "I am _able_ to destroy the temple of God and to build it again in three days," and interpret it as a claim to supernatural power in the light of the language used by those who heard it: "Forty-and-six years was this temple in building, and wilt thou rear it again in three days?" Those who hold the opposite view, that there were two distinct charges, rely upon the passage in Mark, "I _will_ destroy this temple that is made with hands, and within three days I will build another made without hands," and interpret it in the light of a similar accusation against Stephen a few months afterwards: "For we have heard him say, that this Jesus of Nazareth _shall destroy this place_, and _shall change the customs_ which Moses delivered us."[251] This second interpretation, which we believe to be the better, establishes the existence at the trial of Christ of two distinct charges: that of sedition, based upon a threat to assault existing institutions; and that of blasphemy, founded upon the claim of equality with God. And, in the light of this interpretation, the illegality in the form of the indictment against Jesus has been urged. If the first construction be the true one, then the error alleged in Point III is not well founded, since the accusation was presented by witnesses, as the law required; unless it could be successfully urged that the witnesses, being _false_ witnesses, were no more competent to accuse a prisoner than to convict him upon their false testimony. In such a case the substance as well as the form of the indictment would be worthless, and the whole case would fall, through failure not only of competent testimony to convict but also of a legal indictment under which to prosecute. Neither the Mishna nor the Gemara mentions written indictments among the ancient Hebrews. "The Jewish Encyclopedia" says that accusations were probably in writing, but that it is not certain.[252] A passage in Salvador seems to indicate that they were in writing. "The papers in the case," he says, "were read, and the accusing witnesses were then called." "The papers" were probably none other than the indictment. But of this we are not sure, and cannot, therefore, predicate the allegation of an error upon it. From the whole context of the Scriptures, however, we are led to believe that only oral charges were preferred against Jesus. POINT IV THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE SANHEDRIN AGAINST JESUS WERE ILLEGAL BECAUSE THEY WERE CONDUCTED AT NIGHT LAW "Let a capital offence be tried during the day, but suspend it at night."--MISHNA, Sanhedrin IV. 1. "Criminal cases can be acted upon by the various courts during day time only, by the Lesser Synhedrions from the close of the morning service till noon, and by the Great Synhedrion till evening."--MENDELSOHN, "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," p. 112. "The reason why the trial of a capital offense could not be held at night is because, as oral tradition says, the examination of such a charge is like the diagnosing of a wound--in either case a more thorough and searching examination can be made by daylight."--MAIMONIDES, Sanhedrin III. FACT AND ARGUMENT HEBREW jurisprudence positively forbade the trial of a capital case at night. The infraction of this rule involves the question of jurisdiction. A court without jurisdiction can pronounce no valid verdict or judgment. A court has no jurisdiction if it convenes and acts at a time forbidden by law. One is naturally disposed to deride the reason assigned by Maimonides for the existence of the law against criminal proceedings at night. But it should not be forgotten that in the olden days surgery had no such aids as are at hand to-day. Modern surgical apparatus had not been invented and electric lights and the Roentgen Rays were unknown. In the light of this explanation of the great Jewish philosopher the curious inquirer after the real meaning of things naturally asks why the Areopagus of Athens always held its sessions in the night and in the dark.[253] We have seen that Jesus was arrested in Gethsemane about midnight and that His first ecclesiastical trial took place between two and three o'clock in the morning.[254] St. Luke tells us that there was a daybreak meeting,[255] which was evidently intended to give a semblance of legality and regularity to that rule of Hebrew law that required two trials of the case. The exact time of the beginning of the night session of the Sanhedrin is not known. It is generally supposed that the arrest took place in the garden between midnight and one o'clock. The journey to the house of Annas must have required some little time. Where this house was located nobody knows. According to one tradition Annas owned a house on the Mount of Olives close to the booths or bazaars under the "Two Cedars." Stapfer believes that Jesus was taken to that place. According to another tradition the house of Annas was located on the "Hill of Evil Counsel." Barclay believes that this was the place to which Jesus was conducted. But the tradition which is most generally accepted is that which places the palace of Annas on Mount Zion near the palace of Caiaphas. It is believed by many that these two men, who were related, Annas being the father-in-law of Caiaphas, occupied different apartments in the same place. But these questions are mere matters of conjecture and have no real bearing upon the present discussion, except to show, in a general way, the length of time probably required to conduct Jesus from Gethsemane to Annas; from Annas to Caiaphas, if the latter was the one who privately examined Jesus; and thence to the meeting of the Sanhedrin. It is reasonable to suppose that at least two hours were thus consumed, which would bring Jesus to the palace of Caiaphas between two and three o'clock, if the arrest in the garden took place between twelve and one o'clock. But here, again, a difference of one or two hours would not affect the merit of the proposition stated in Point IV. For it is beyond dispute that the first trial before the Sanhedrin was had at night, which was forbidden by law. The question has been frequently asked: Why did the Sanhedrin meet at night in violation of law? The answer to this is referable to the treachery of Judas, to the fact that he "sought opportunity to betray him unto them in the absence of the multitude," and to the thought of the Master: "But this is your hour, and the power of God." Luke tells us that the members of the Sanhedrin "feared the people."[256] Mark informs us that they had resolved not to attempt the arrest and execution of Jesus at the time of the Passover, "lest there be an uproar of the people."[257] Jesus had taught daily in the Temple, and had furnished ample opportunity for a legal arrest with a view to a legal trial. But His enemies did not desire this. "The chief priests and scribes sought how they might take him by craft, and put him to death."[258] The arrival of Judas from the scene of the Last Supper with a proposition of immediate betrayal of the Christ was a glad surprise to Caiaphas and his friends. Immediate and decisive action was necessary. Not only the arrest but the trial and execution of Jesus must be accomplished with secrecy and dispatch. The greatest festival of the Jews had just commenced. Pilgrims to the feast were arriving from all parts of the Jewish kingdom. The friends and followers of Jesus were among them. His enemies had witnessed the remarkable demonstration in His honor which marked His entrance into Jerusalem only a few days before. It is not strange, then, that they "feared the people" in the matter of the summary and illegal proceedings which they had resolved to institute against Him. They knew that the daylight trial, under proper legal forms, with the friends of Jesus as witnesses, would upset their plans by resulting in His acquittal. They resolved, therefore, to act at once, even at the expense of all forms of justice. And it will be seen that this determination to arrest and try Jesus at night, in violation of law, became the parent of nearly every legal outrage that was committed against Him. The selection of the midnight hour for such a purpose resulted not merely in a technical infraction of law, but rendered it impossible to do justice either formally or substantially under rules of Hebrew criminal procedure. POINT V THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE SANHEDRIN AGAINST JESUS WERE ILLEGAL BECAUSE THE COURT CONVENED BEFORE THE OFFERING OF THE MORNING SACRIFICE LAW "The Sanhedrin sat from the close of the morning sacrifice to the time of the evening sacrifice."--TALMUD, Jerus., Sanhedrin I. fol. 19. "No session of the court could take place before the offering of the morning sacrifice."--MM. LÉMANN, "Jesus Before the Sanhedrin," p. 109. "Since the morning sacrifice was offered at the dawn of day, it was hardly possible for the Sanhedrin to assemble until the hour after that time."--MISHNA, "Tamid, or of the Perpetual Sacrifice," C. III. FACT AND ARGUMENT THE fact that the Sanhedrin convened before the offering of the morning sacrifice constitutes the fifth illegality. This error is alleged upon the authority of MM. Lémann, who, in their admirable little work entitled "Jesus Before the Sanhedrin," have called attention to it. It is very difficult, however, to determine whether this was a mere irregularity, or was what modern jurists would call a material error. From one point of view it seems to be merely a repetition of the rule forbidding the Sanhedrin to meet at night. The morning sacrifice was offered at the break of day and lasted about an hour. A session of the court before the morning sacrifice would, therefore, have been a meeting at night, which would have been an infringement of the law. But this was probably not the real reason of the rule. Its true meaning is doubtless to be found in the close connection that existed between the Hebrew law and the Hebrew religion. The constitution of the Hebrew Commonwealth was an emanation of the mind of Jehovah, the Temple in which the court met was His residence on earth, and the judges who formed the Great Sanhedrin were the administrators of His will. It is most reasonable, then, to suppose that an invocation, in sacrifice and prayer, of His guidance and authority would be the first step in any judicial proceedings conducted in His name. It is historically true that a session of the Sanhedrin in the palmiest days of the Jewish Commonwealth was characterized by all the religious solemnity of a service in the synagogue or the Temple. It is entirely probable, therefore, that the morning sacrifice was made by law an indispensable prerequisite to the assembling of the supreme tribunal of the Jews for the transaction of any serious business. On any other supposition the rules of law cited above would have no meaning. We have reason to believe, then, that the offering of the morning sacrifice was a condition precedent to the attachment of jurisdiction, and without jurisdiction the court had no authority to act. That the morning sacrifice was offered each day, whether the court assembled or not, as a religious requirement, does not alter the principle of law above enunciated. But it may be asked: How do we know that the morning sacrifice was not offered? The answer is that the whole context of the Scriptures relating to the trial shows that it could not have been offered. Furthermore, a simple and specific reason is that the time prescribed by law for conducting the morning service was between the dawn of day and sunrise. Then, if the court convened between two and three o'clock in the morning, it is very certain that the sacrifice had not been offered. It is true that there was a morning session of the Sanhedrin. But this was held simply to confirm the action of the night session at which Jesus had been condemned. In other words, the real trial was at night and was held before the performance of the religious ceremony, which was, in all probability, a prerequisite to the attachment of jurisdiction. POINT VI THE PROCEEDINGS AGAINST JESUS WERE ILLEGAL BECAUSE THEY WERE CONDUCTED ON THE DAY PRECEDING A JEWISH SABBATH; ALSO ON THE FIRST DAY OF THE FEAST OF UNLEAVENED BREAD AND THE EVE OF THE PASSOVER LAW "Court must not be held on the Sabbath, or any holy day."--"Betza, or of the Egg," Chap. V. No. 2. "They shall not judge on the eve of the Sabbath, nor on that of any festival."--MISHNA, Sanhedrin IV. 1. "No court of justice in Israel was permitted to hold sessions on the Sabbath or any of the seven Biblical holidays. In cases of capital crime, no trial could be commenced on Friday or the day previous to any holiday, because it was not lawful either to adjourn such cases longer than over night, or to continue them on the Sabbath or holiday."--RABBI WISE, "Martyrdom of Jesus," p. 67. FACT AND ARGUMENT NO Hebrew court could lawfully meet on a Sabbath or a feast day, or on a day preceding a Sabbath or a feast day. Concerning the Sabbath day provision Maimonides offers the following reason for the rule: "As it is required to execute the criminal immediately after the passing of the sentence, it would sometimes happen that the kindling of a fire would be necessary, as in the case of one condemned to be burned; and this act would be a violation of the law of the Sabbath, for it is written 'Ye shall kindle no fire in your habitations on the Sabbath day.'"[259] (Exodus xxxv. 3.) Under modern practice, sessions of court may be adjourned from day to day, or, if need be, from week to week. But under the Hebrew system of criminal procedure the court could not adjourn for a longer time than a single night. Its proceedings were, so to speak, continuous until final judgment. As the law forbade sessions of court on Sabbath and feast days, it became necessary to provide that courts should not convene on the day preceding a Sabbath or a feast day, in order to avoid either an illegal adjournment or an infringement of the rule relating to the Sabbath and feast days. Now Jesus was tried by the Sanhedrin on both a feast day and a day preceding the Sabbath. And, at this point, a clear conception of the ancient Jewish mode of reckoning time should be had. The Jewish day of twenty-four hours began at one sunset and ended with the next. But this interval was not divided into twenty-four parts or hours of equal and invariable length. Their day proper was an integral part of time and was reckoned from sunrise to sunset. Their night proper was likewise a distinct division of time and was measured from sunset to sunrise. An hour of time, according to modern reckoning, is invariably sixty minutes. But the ancient Jewish hour was not a fixed measure of time. It varied in length as each successive day and night varied in theirs at different seasons of the year. Neither did the Jews begin their days and nights as we do. Our day of twenty-four hours always begins at midnight. Their day of twenty-four hours always began at one sunset and ended with the next. Now Jesus was tried by the Sanhedrin on the 14th Nisan, according to the Jewish calendar; or between the evening of Thursday, April 6th, and the afternoon of Friday, April 7th, A.D. 30, according to our calendar. The 14th Nisan began at sunset on April 6th and lasted until sunset on April 7th. This was a single Jewish day, and within this time Jesus was tried and executed. According to our calendar, the trial and execution of Jesus took place on Friday, April 7th. This was the day preceding the Jewish Sabbath, which came on Saturday, according to our reckoning. And on a day preceding the Sabbath no Jewish court could lawfully convene. This is the first error suggested under Point VI. Again, it is beyond dispute that the Feast of Unleavened Bread had begun and that the Passover was at hand when Jesus was tried by the Sanhedrin.[260] This was in violation of a specific provision of Hebrew law, and constitutes the second error alleged under Point VI. There seems to be some conflict among the authorities as to whether Jesus was tried on the first day of the celebration of the feast of the Passover or on the day preceding. But the question is immaterial from a legal point of view, as the law forbade a trial either on a feast day or on the day preceding, for reasons above stated. This violation of the law relating to the Sabbaths and feast days, like that relating to night sessions of the Sanhedrin, resulted in still other errors. It is necessary to mention only one of these at this point. The proceedings of the Sanhedrin were recorded by two scribes or clerks. Their records were to be used on the second day of the trial in reviewing the proceedings of the first. But Hebrew law forbade any writing on a Sabbath or a holy day. How was it possible, then, to keep a record of the proceedings, if Jesus was tried on a Sabbath and also on a feast day, without violating a rule of law? If no minutes of the meeting were kept, a most glaring irregularity is apparent. POINT VII THE TRIAL OF JESUS WAS ILLEGAL BECAUSE IT WAS CONCLUDED WITHIN ONE DAY LAW "A criminal case resulting in the acquittal of the accused may terminate the same day on which the trial began. But if a sentence of death is to be pronounced, it can not be concluded before the following day."--MISHNA, Sanhedrin IV. 1. FACT AND ARGUMENT CARE and conservatism, precaution and delay, were the characteristic features of the criminal procedure of the ancient Hebrews. The principal aphorism of the Pirke Aboth is this: "_Be cautious and slow in judgment_, send forth many disciples, and _make a fence around the law._"[261] The length and seriousness of their deliberations in criminal proceedings of a capital nature were due to their supreme regard for human life. "Man's life belongs to God, and only according to the law of God may it be disposed of." "Whosoever preserves one worthy life is as meritorious as if he had preserved the world." These and similar maxims guided and controlled Hebrew judges in every capital trial. Their horror of death as the result of a judicial decree is shown by the celebrated saying: "The Sanhedrin which so often as once in seven years condemns a man to death, is a slaughter-house."[262] To assure due deliberation and reflection in a case where a human life was at stake, Hebrew law required that the trial should last at least two days, in case of the conviction of the accused. In case of an acquittal the trial might terminate within a single day. Before condemnation could be finally decreed a night had to intervene, during which time the judges could sleep, fast, meditate, and pray. At the close of the first day's trial they left the judgment hall and walked homeward, arm in arm, discussing the merits of the case. At sunset they began to make calls upon each other, again reviewing among themselves the facts in evidence. They then retired to their homes for further meditation. During the intervening night they abstained from eating heavy food and from drinking wine. They carefully avoided doing anything that would incapacitate them for correct thinking. On the following day they returned to the judgment hall and retried the case. The second trial was in the nature of a review and was intended to detect errors, if there were any, in the first trial.[263] It was not until the afternoon of this day that a final decree could be made and that a capital sentence could follow. Now the Gospel record very clearly discloses the fact that Jesus was arrested, tried, and executed within the limits of a single day. Neither the exact hour of His arrest, nor of His trial, nor of His execution is known. But it is positively certain that all took place between sunset, the beginning of Nisan 14, and sunset, the beginning of Nisan 15. This was the interval of a single Jewish day, Nisan 14. And within such an interval of time it was illegal to finally condemn a man to death under Hebrew law. Even Stapfer, who contends that the trial was legal and that forms of law were generally observed, admits this error. He asserts that the precipitate conduct of the members of the Sanhedrin was not only opposed to the spirit of Hebrew conservatism in the matter of criminal procedure but was a breach of a specific provision of the criminal code.[264] It is true that there were two distinct trials: one between 2 and 3 A.M., Friday, April 7th, which is recorded by Matthew[265] and Mark,[266] and a second about daybreak of the same day, recorded by Matthew,[267] Mark,[268] and Luke.[269] But both these trials were had within one day--indeed, within six hours of each other. The judges did not try the case and then retire to their homes for sleep, prayer, and meditation until the following day, as the law required. Even if they had done so, they would not have avoided an illegal procedure, inasmuch as the trial had been illegally begun on a feast day and the eve of the Sabbath, and it would have been impossible to avoid the error alleged in Point VII. For if they had deferred the sentencing and execution of Jesus until the following day it would still have been illegal, since the next day was both a Sabbath and a holy day (the Passover). Several writers who contend that there was a regular trial of Jesus assert that the morning meeting of the Sanhedrin was intended to give a semblance of legality and regularity to that rule of Hebrew law which required at least two trials. But it will readily be seen that this was a subterfuge and evasion, since both trials were had on the same day, whereas the law required them to be held on different days. POINT VIII THE SENTENCE OF CONDEMNATION PRONOUNCED AGAINST JESUS BY THE SANHEDRIN WAS ILLEGAL BECAUSE IT WAS FOUNDED UPON HIS UNCORROBORATED CONFESSION LAW "We have it as a fundamental principle of our jurisprudence that no one can bring an accusation against himself. Should a man make confession of guilt before a legally constituted tribunal, such confession is not to be used against him unless properly attested by two other witnesses."--MAIMONIDES, Sanhedrin IV. 2. "Not only is self-condemnation never extorted from the defendant by means of torture, but no attempt is ever made to lead him on to self-incrimination. Moreover, a voluntary confession on his part is not admitted in evidence, and therefore not competent to convict him, unless a legal number of witnesses minutely corroborate his self-accusation."--MENDELSOHN, "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," p. 133. FACT AND ARGUMENT MORE than one system of jurisprudence has refused to permit a conviction for crime to rest upon an uncorroborated confession. But it remained for the ancient Hebrews to discover the peculiar reason for the rule, that the witness who confessed was "his own relative"; and relatives were not competent witnesses under Hebrew law. Modern Jewish writers, however, have assigned other reasons for the rule. Rabbi Wise says: "Self-accusation in cases of capital crime was worthless. For if not guilty he accuses himself of a falsehood; if guilty he is a wicked man, and no wicked man, according to Hebrew law, is permitted to testify, especially not in penal cases."[270] Mendelsohn says that "the reason assigned for this enactment is the wish to avoid the possibility of permitting judicial homicide on self-accusing lunatics, or on persons who, in desperation, wish to cut short their earthly existence, and to effect this falsely accuse themselves of some capital crime."[271] Modern jurists have assigned still other reasons for the rule as it has existed in modern law.[272] Men have been known to confess that they were guilty of one crime to avoid punishment for another. Morbid and vulgar sentimentality, such as love of newspaper notoriety, have induced persons of inferior intelligence, who were innocent, to assume responsibility for criminal acts. But whatever the reason of the rule, Jesus was condemned to death upon His uncorroborated confession, in violation of Hebrew law. "For many bare false witness against him, but their witness agreed not together. And there arose certain, and bare false witness against him, saying, We heard him say, I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and within three days I will build another made without hands. But neither so did their witness agree together. And the high priest stood up in the midst, and asked Jesus, saying, Answerest thou nothing? what is it which these witness against thee? But he held his peace, and answered nothing. Again the high priest asked him, and said unto him, Art thou the Christ, the Son of the Blessed? And Jesus said, I am: and ye shall see the Son of Man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of Heaven. Then the high priest rent his clothes, and saith, What need we any further witnesses? ye have heard the blasphemy: what think ye? And they all condemned him to be guilty of death. And some began to spit on him, and to cover his face, and to buffet him, and to say unto him, Prophesy."[273] It will be seen from a perusal of this report of the trial that it was sought to condemn Jesus first on the charge of sedition, that is, that He had threatened the destruction of the Temple and thereby endeavored to seduce the people from their national allegiance. "But their witness agreed not together"; and under Hebrew law they were required to reject contradictory testimony and discharge the prisoner, if the state was unable to prove its case. This is what should have been done at this point in the trial of Jesus. But, instead, the judges, in their total disregard at law, turned to the accused and said: "Answerest thou nothing? what is it which these witness against thee?" "But he held his peace, and answered nothing." By remaining silent, Jesus only exercised the ordinary privilege of a Jewish prisoner to refuse to incriminate himself. The modern rule that the accused cannot be made to testify against himself, unless he first voluntarily takes the witness stand in his own behalf, was substantially true among the ancient Hebrews. But here we find Caiaphas insisting that Jesus incriminate Himself. And he continues to insist in the matter of the second charge, that of blasphemy. "And the high priest asked him, and said unto him, Art thou the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?" That question was illegal, because it involved an irregular mode of criminal procedure, and because it asked for a confession of guilt to be made the basis of a conviction. The false witnesses had failed to agree and had evidently been rejected and dismissed. The judges were then without witnesses to formulate a charge and furnish proof of its truth. They were thus forced to the despicable and illegal method of asking the accused to condemn Himself, when they knew that no confession could be made the basis of a conviction. They were also guilty of the illegality of formulating a charge without witnesses. We have seen that only leading witnesses could present an indictment, but here the judges became the accusers, in violation of law. In answer to the high priest's question, Jesus, feeling that He could not afford at such an hour and in such a place to longer conceal His Messiahship, answered boldly and emphatically: "I am."[274] "And they all condemned him to be guilty of death." It will thus be seen that upon His own confession and not upon the testimony of at least two competent witnesses agreeing in all essential details, as the law required, was the Nazarene condemned to death. If it be argued, as it has been, that the two charges of threatening to destroy the Temple and of pretending to be the "Christ, the Son of God," were in fact but different phases of the same charge of blasphemy, and that the two witnesses were the corroborators of the confession of Jesus, then reply must be made that the witnesses were not competent, being false witnesses, nor was their testimony legally corroborated, because it was false and contradictory. Again, it was the rule of Hebrew law that both witnesses had to testify to all the essential elements of a complete crime. One could not furnish one link, and another another link, in order to construct a chain of evidence. Each had to testify to all the essential elements necessary to constitute the legal definition of a crime. But the false witnesses did not do this. Under any view of the case, then, the testimony of these witnesses was wholly worthless, and the confession of Jesus was the solitary and illegal basis of His conviction. The failure of the Sanhedrin to secure sufficient and competent evidence to convict Jesus must not be regarded as accidental, or as attributable to the hour and to the surroundings. The popularity of the Nazarene, outside the narrow circle of the Temple authorities, was immense. The friendship of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea is proof that He had standing even in the Sanhedrin itself. It was therefore difficult to find witnesses who were willing to testify against Him. Besides, the acts of His ministry, while in no sense cowardly or hypocritical, had been, in general, very cautious and diplomatic. He seems to have retired, at times, into the desert or the wilderness to avoid disagreeable and even dangerous complications with the civil and ecclesiastical authorities.[275] Jesus was in no sense a politician, but He was not lacking in mother wit and practical resources. He saw through the designs of Herod Antipas, who wished to get Him out of his dominions. It will be remembered that certain Pharisees, pretending friendship for Him, warned Him to flee from Galilee to avoid being killed by Herod. The courage and manliness of Jesus are shown by the fact that He remained in His native province, and even sent a contemptuous message to the Tetrarch, whom He styled "that fox."[276] At other times, Christ was compelled to defend Himself against the swarm of spies that hovered over His pathway through Samaria, along the Jordan, and around the Sea of Galilee. In His discussions with His enemies who sought to entrap Him, He displayed consummate skill in debate. His pithy sayings and incomparable illustrations usually left His questioners defenseless and chagrined. Oftentimes in these encounters He proclaimed eternal and universal truths which other nations and later ages were to develop and enjoy. When, holding in His hand a penny with Cæsar's image upon it, He said, "Render therefore unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar's, and unto God the things that are God's," he foretold and stamped with approval the immortal principle that was to be embodied in the American constitution and to remain the cornerstone of the American Commonwealth; a truth repeated by Roger Williams when in the forests of Rhode Island he declared that the magistrate should rule in civil matters only and that man was answerable for his religious faith to God alone. This declaration of the Nazarene is the spiritual and intellectual basis of the sublime doctrine of civil liberty and religious freedom that finds its highest expression in that separation of the Church and State which enables men of different creeds and different parties to live side by side as patriots and religionists and as comrades, though antagonists. The replies of Jesus to those who came to "entangle him in his talk" usually left them disconcerted and defeated, and little disposed to renew their attacks upon Him.[277] The efforts of the Pharisees to entrap Him seem to have resulted in failure everywhere and at all times. And at the trial the Sanhedrin found itself in possession of a prisoner but with no competent evidence to establish His guilt. It was least of all prepared to convict Him of the crime of blasphemy as founded upon the claim of Messiahship, for Jesus had been exceedingly cautious, during His ministry, in declaring Himself to be the Messiah. Except in the presence of the woman of Samaria, who came to draw water from the well, there is no recorded instance of an avowal of His Messiahship outside the immediate circle of the disciples.[278] He forbade the devils whom He had cast out, and that recognized Him, to proclaim His Messiahship.[279] When the Jews said to Him, "How long dost thou make us doubt? if thou be the Christ, tell us plainly," Jesus simply referred them to His works, and made no further answer that could be used as testimony against Him.[280] He revealed Himself to His followers as the Messiah, and permitted them to confess Him as such, but forbade them to make the matter public. "Then charged he his disciples that they should tell no man that he was Jesus, the Christ."[281] It will thus be seen that probably no two witnesses who were legally competent to testify could have been secured to condemn Jesus upon the charge preferred at the trial. In their desperation, then, the members of the Sanhedrin were compelled to employ false testimony and a confession which was equally illegal. POINT IX THE CONDEMNATION OF JESUS WAS ILLEGAL BECAUSE THE VERDICT OF THE SANHEDRIN WAS UNANIMOUS LAW "A simultaneous and unanimous verdict of guilt rendered on the day of the trial has the effect of an acquittal."--MENDELSOHN, "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," p. 141. "If none of the judges defend the culprit, i.e., all pronounce him guilty, having no defender in the court, the verdict of guilty was invalid and the sentence of death could not be executed."--RABBI WISE, "Martyrdom of Jesus," p. 74. FACT AND ARGUMENT FEW stranger rules can be found in the jurisprudence of the world than that provision of Hebrew law which forbade a conviction to rest upon the unanimous vote of the judges. A comparison instantaneously and almost inevitably arises in the mind between the Saxon and Hebrew requirement in the matter of unanimity in the verdict. The finest form of mind of antiquity, with the possible exception of the Greek and Roman, was the Hebrew. One of the finest types of intellect of the modern world is that of the Anglo-Saxon. The Hebrew organized the Sanhedrin, and, under God, endowed it with judicial and spiritual attributes. The Anglo-Saxon, on the shores of the German Ocean, originated the modern jury and invested it with its distinctive legal traits. With the Anglo-Saxon jury a unanimous verdict is necessary to convict, but with the Hebrew Sanhedrin unanimity was fatal, and resulted in an acquittal. A great modern writer[282] has declared that law is the perfection of reason. But when we contemplate the differences in Hebrew and Saxon laws we are inclined to ask, in seeking the degree of perfection, whose law and whose reason? But, after all, the Jewish rule is not so unreasonable as it first appears, when we come to consider the reason of its origin. In the first place, as we have seen in Part II, there were no lawyers or advocates, in the modern sense, among the ancient Hebrews. The judges were his defenders. Now if the verdict was unanimous in favor of condemnation it was evident that the prisoner had had no friend or defender in court. To the Jewish mind this was almost equivalent to mob violence. It argued conspiracy, at least. The element of mercy, which was required to enter into every Hebrew verdict, was absent in such a case. Again, this rule of unanimity was only another form or statement of the requirement that the court defer final action, in case of conviction, to the next day in order that time for deliberation and reflection might intervene. In other words, Hebrew law forbade precipitancy in capital proceedings. And what could be more precipitate than an instantaneous and unanimous verdict? "But where all suddenly agree on conviction, does it not seem," asks a modern Jewish writer, "that the convict is a victim of conspiracy and that the verdict is not the result of sober reason and calm deliberation?" But how did they convict under Hebrew law? By a majority vote of at least two. A majority of one would acquit. A majority of two, or any majority less than unanimity, would convict.[283] If the accused had one friend in court, the verdict of condemnation would stand, since the element of mercy was present and the spirit of conspiracy or mob violence was absent. Seventy-one constituted the membership of the Great Sanhedrin. If all the members were present and voted, at least thirty-seven were required to convict. Thirty-six would acquit. If a bare quorum, twenty-three members, was present, at least thirteen were required to convict. Twelve would acquit. This rule seems ridiculous and absurd, when viewed in the light of a brutal and undeniable crime. If the facts constituting such a crime had been proved against a Jewish prisoner beyond any possibility of doubt, if such facts were apparent to everybody, still it seems that the rule above stated required that the defendant have at least one advocate and one vote among the judges; else, the verdict was invalid and could not stand. Such a procedure could be justified on no other ground than that exceptional cases should not be permitted to destroy a rule of action that in its general operation had been found to be both generous and just. Now the condemnation of Jesus was illegal because the verdict of the Sanhedrin was unanimous. We learn this from Mark, who says: "Then the high priest rent his clothes and saith, What need we any further witnesses? ye have heard the blasphemy: what think ye? And they _all_ condemned him to be guilty of death."[284] If they _all_ condemned Him, the verdict was unanimous and therefore illegal. The other Evangelists do not tell us that the verdict was unanimous; neither do they deny it. Mark's testimony stands alone and uncontradicted; therefore we must assume that it is true. Rabbi Wise[285] and Signor Rosadi[286] call attention to the fact that the verdict was unanimous. The former seeks to ridicule Mark as an authority because a unanimous verdict was illegal under Hebrew law, and the distinguished Hebrew writer does not conceive that Hebrew judges could have made such a mistake. Such argument, reduced to ultimate analysis, means, according to Rabbi Wise, that there were certain rules of Hebrew law that could not be and were never violated. In this connection, it has been frequently asked: Was the entire Sanhedrin present at the night trial of Jesus? Were Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea present? If they were present, did they vote against Jesus? These questions can be answered only in the light of the authorities. Only two of the Gospel writers, Matthew and Mark, tell us of the night trial. Both declare that "all the council" were present.[287] The "council" (concilium) is the Vulgate, the Latin New Testament designation of the Great Sanhedrin. Then, if all the "council" were present, the Great Sanhedrin were all present. [Illustration: THE BETRAYING KISS (SCHEFFER)] Concerning the number of judges at the second or daybreak meeting of the Sanhedrin, both Matthew and Mark again declare that the full membership was present. Matthew says: "When the morning was come, _all_ the chief priests and elders of the people took counsel against Jesus to put him to death."[288] Mark says: "And straightway in the morning the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the _whole council_, and bound Jesus, and carried him away, and delivered him to Pilate."[289] It should be remembered that neither Luke nor John contradicts even remotely the statements of Matthew and Mark concerning the full attendance of the members of the Sanhedrin at either the night or morning trial. The first and second Gospel writers therefore corroborate each other, and the presumption of the law is that each told the truth. And yet most commentators and writers seem to be of the opinion that all the members of the Sanhedrin were not present at the night trial of Jesus. They insist that both Matthew and Mark were employing a figure of speech, synecdoche, when they said that "all the council" were present. But these same writers seem to think that these same Evangelists were in earnest and speaking literally when they declared that "_all_ the chief priests and elders" and the "_whole_ council" were present at the morning trial. We shall not attempt to settle the question but will leave it to the reader to draw his own inferences. Suffice it to say that as far as the rule stated in connection with Point IX is concerned, it was immaterial whether the full council was present at either meeting. The rule against unanimity applied to a bare quorum or to any number less than the full Sanhedrin. It was the unanimity itself, of however few members, that carried with it the spirit and suggestion of mob violence and conspiracy against which Hebrew law protested. The question of the number of members that were present at the different meetings of the Sanhedrin has been discussed in the light of history, and as bearing upon the conduct of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, who were friends of Jesus. Nicodemus was certainly a member of the Great Sanhedrin. This we learn from two passages of New Testament scripture.[290] It is also believed that Joseph of Arimathea was a member from a mere suggestion in another passage.[291] Did these friends of the Christ vote against Him? If they were members of the court; if Matthew and Mark wrote literally when they said that "all the council" were present; and if Mark wrote literally and truthfully when he said that "they _all_ condemned him to be guilty of death"; then it naturally and inevitably follows that both Nicodemus and Joseph voted against Jesus. [Illustration: THE ARREST OF JESUS (HOFFMAN)] A number of arguments have been offered against this contention. In the first place, it is said that at a previous meeting of the Sanhedrin Nicodemus defended Jesus by asking his fellow-judges this question: "Doth our law judge any man before it hear him and know what he doeth?"[292] It is asserted that there is no good reason to believe that Nicodemus defended Jesus at this meeting and turned against Him at a subsequent one, that there is a presumption of a continuance of fidelity. But is this good reasoning? Did not Peter cut off the ear of the high priest's servant, Malchus, in defense of Jesus at midnight, in the garden, and then within three hours afterwards deny that he knew Jesus? There is no good reason to believe that Nicodemus was braver or more constant than Peter, for the former seems to have been either ashamed or afraid to express his affection for the Master during the daytime, but preferred to do it at night.[293] Concerning the part taken by Nicodemus in the final proceedings, Rosadi says: "The verdict was unanimous. The members of the Sanhedrin who were secretly favorable to the Accused were either absent or else they voted against him. Nicodemus was amongst the absentees, or amongst those that voted against him. At all events, he did not raise his voice against the pronouncement expressed by acclamation." If Joseph of Arimathea was a member of the Great Sanhedrin, it seems that he "had not consented to the counsel and the deed of them."[294] But it is impossible to tell certainly to which one of the three meetings of the Sanhedrin, held within the six months preceding the crucifixion, this language refers. The defense of Jesus offered by Nicodemus was certainly not at the final meeting which condemned Jesus. It may be that the reference to the protest of Joseph of Arimathea also referred to a prior meeting. Its connection in Luke seems to make it refer to the last trial, but this is not certain. Neither is it certain that Joseph was a member of the Great Sanhedrin, and his failure to consent, if he were not a member, would not disturb the contention made in Point IX of the Brief. Even if he were a member, his failure to consent would not destroy the contention, since ancient Hebrew judges, like modern American jurors, could have first protested against their action and then have voted with them. The polling of the jury, under modern law, has reference, among other things, to this state of affairs. But we may admit that both Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, as well as many others, were absent, as Rosadi suggests, and still contend that the verdict against Jesus was illegal because it was unanimous, as Mark assures us, since the number of judges present was immaterial, provided there was a quorum of at least twenty-three and their verdict was unanimous against the accused. According to the second Gospel writer, there seems to be no doubt that this was the case in the judgment pronounced against Jesus. POINT X THE PROCEEDINGS AGAINST JESUS WERE ILLEGAL IN THAT: (1) THE SENTENCE OF CONDEMNATION WAS PRONOUNCED IN A PLACE FORBIDDEN BY LAW; (2) THE HIGH PRIEST RENT HIS CLOTHES; (3) THE BALLOTING WAS IRREGULAR LAW "After leaving the hall Gazith no sentence of death can be passed upon anyone soever."--TALMUD, Bab., Abodah Zarah, or of Idolatry, Chap. I. fol. 8. "A sentence of death can be pronounced only so long as the Sanhedrin holds its sessions in the appointed place."--MAIMONIDES, Sanhedrin XIV. "And he that is the high priest among his brethren, upon whose head the anointing oil was poured, and that is consecrated to put on the garments, shall not uncover his head, nor rend his clothes."--LEVITICUS xxi. 10. "And Moses said unto Aaron, and unto Eleazar, and unto Ithamar, his sons, Uncover not your heads, neither rend your clothes; lest ye die, and lest wrath come upon all the people."--LEVITICUS x. 6. "Let the judges each in his turn absolve or condemn."--MISHNA, Sanhedrin XV. 5. "The members of the Sanhedrin were seated in the form of a semicircle at the extremity of which a secretary was placed, whose business it was to record the votes. One of these secretaries recorded the votes in favor of the accused, the other those against him."--MISHNA, Sanhedrin IV. 3. "In ordinary cases the judges voted according to seniority, the oldest commencing; in a capital trial, the reverse order was followed. That the younger members of the Sanhedrin should not be influenced by the views or arguments of their more mature, more experienced colleagues, the junior judge was in these cases always the first to pronounce for or against a conviction."--BENNY, "Criminal Code of the Jews," pp. 73, 74. FACT AND ARGUMENT IN the trial of capital cases, the Great Sanhedrin was required to meet in an apartment of the National Temple at Jerusalem, known as the Hall of Hewn Stones (Lishkhath haggazith). Outside of this hall no capital trial could be conducted and no capital sentence could be pronounced.[295] This place was selected in obedience to Mosaic injunction: "Thou shalt do according to the tenor of the sentence, which they may point out to thee _from the place which the Lord shall choose_."[296] The Rabbis argued that the Great Council could not try a capital case or pronounce a death sentence, unless it met and remained in the place chosen by God, which, they contended, should be an apartment of the Great Temple. The Lishkhath haggazith was chosen, and continued for many years to be the meeting place of the supreme tribunal. But Jesus was not tried or condemned to death in the Hall of Hewn Stones, as Hebrew law required. It is clearly evident, from the Gospels, that He was tried and sentenced in the palace of Caiaphas, probably on Mount Zion. It is contended by the Jews, however, that soon after the Roman conquest of Judea the Great Sanhedrin removed from the sacred place to Bethany, and from there to other places, as occasion required. And there is a Jewish tradition that the court returned to the accustomed place on the occasion of the trial and condemnation of Jesus.[297] In opposition to this, Edersheim says: "There is truly not a tittle of evidence for the assumption of commentators that Christ was led from the palace of Caiaphas into the Council Chamber (Lishkhath haggazith). The whole proceedings took place in the former, and from it Christ was brought to Pilate."[298] St. John emphatically declares: "Then led they Jesus from Caiaphas into the hall of judgment."[299] This Hall of Judgment was the Prætorium of Pilate. The first irregularity, then, noted under Point X is that Jesus was tried and condemned in the palace of Caiaphas instead of the Hall of Hewn Stones, the regular legal meeting place of the Great Sanhedrin. The second error noted under Point X is that which relates to the rending of garments by the high priest. "An ordinary Israelite could, as an emblem of bereavement, tear his garments, but to the high priest it was forbidden, because his vestments, being made after the express orders of God, were figurative of his office."[300] When Jesus confessed that He was Christ the Son of God, Caiaphas seems to have lost his balance and to have committed errors with all the rapidity of speech. "Then the high priest rent his clothes, and saith, What need we any further witnesses? ye have heard the blasphemy: what think ye? And they all condemned him to be guilty of death."[301] In this language and conduct of the son-in-law of Annas there were several irregularities in procedure. The first was the rending of garments reported by Matthew and Mark, which act was forbidden by the provisions of the Mosaic Code, recorded in Leviticus and cited above. But it is only fair to state the dissenting opinion on this point. In the times of Christ it seems to have been the custom among the Jews to rend the garments as a sign of horror and execration, whenever blasphemous language was heard. Edersheim states the rule: "They all heard it--and, as the law directed, when blasphemy was spoken, the high priest rent both his outer and inner garment, with a rent that might never be repaired."[302] The law here referred to, however, is the Rabbinic or Talmudic and not the Mosaic law. It should be remembered that the Mosaic Code was the constitution or fundamental law of the ancient Hebrews. The Talmudic law embodied in the Mishna was, in a sense, a mere commentary upon the Mosaic law. We have seen in Chapter I of Part II of this volume that the traditional law was based upon, derived from, and inspired by the written law contained in the Pentateuch. It is true that the Talmud, while professing subordination to the Pentateuch, finally virtually superseded it as an administrative code. But the doctors never repealed a Mosaic injunction, since it was an emanation of the mind of Jehovah and could not be abrogated by human intelligence. When an ancient ordinance ceased to be of practical value the Jewish legists simply declared that it had fallen into desuetude. And whenever a new law was proclaimed to meet an emergency in the life of the Hebrew people the Rabbins declared that it was derived from and inspired by some decree which God had handed down to Moses for the benefit of the nation. In other words, the Mosaic Code was Israel's divine constitution which was to serve as a standard for all future legislation. And as the Jewish lawmakers were not permitted to repeal a Mosaic ordinance, neither were they allowed to establish a rule in contravention of it. Now the Pentateuch forbade the rending of garments. Then did the Talmudists have a right to declare that the law might be changed or broken in the case of blasphemy? That they did is denied by many writers. But admitting the validity of the Talmudic rule, it is nevertheless beyond dispute that the high priest was forbidden to rend his clothes on Sabbaths and holidays. And as Jesus was condemned on both a Sabbath and a festival day, the high priest's action in rending his clothes on that day was illegal.[303] Again, the proceedings against Jesus were illegal because the balloting was irregular. This is the third error noted under Point X. The Hebrew law required that each judge, when his time came to vote upon the guilt or innocence of the accused, should rise in his place, declare his vote, and state his reasons for so voting. In capital cases the youngest judge was required to vote first, in order that he might not be unduly influenced by the example of his seniors in age and authority. The balloting continued in this manner from the youngest member to the high priest, who was generally among the oldest. Two scribes--according to some writers, three--were present to record the votes and to note the reasons stated. These records were to be used on the second day of the trial in comparing the arguments of the judges on that day with those offered on the first day. Judges who had voted for acquittal on the first day could not change their votes on the second day. Those who had voted for conviction on the first day might change their votes on the second day, by assigning good reasons. Those who had voted for conviction on the first day could not vote for conviction on the second day, if the reasons assigned on the second day were radically different from those assigned on the first day.[304] It will thus be seen how very essential were the records of the scribes and how important it was that they should be correctly kept. Hence the necessity, according to Benny, of a third scribe whose notes might be used to correct any discrepancies in the reports of the other two. Now are we justified in assuming that this was the method employed in counting votes at the trial of Jesus? The law will not permit us to presume errors. We must rather assume that this was the method employed, unless the Gospel record indicates, either by plain statement or by reasonable construction, that it was not the method used. In this connection, let us review the language of the Scriptures. "Ye have heard the blasphemy: what think ye? And they all condemned him to be guilty of death." Is it not clearly evident, from this passage, that the balloting was not done singly, the youngest voting first, as Hebrew law required? Can it not be seen at a glance that the judges voted _en masse_? If they did, was it possible for the scribes to record the votes and make a note of the reasons assigned, as the law required? If these things were not done, were the proceedings regular? According to Matthew, Caiaphas, before calling for the votes exclaimed: "He hath spoken blasphemy."[305] Instead of doing this should he not, under the law, have carefully concealed his opinion until the younger members of the court had voted? Is it not a matter of history that the opinion of the high priest was regarded as almost infallible authority among the ancient Hebrews? Did not this premature declaration of guilt on the part of the high priest rob the subordinate judges of freedom of suffrage? The conduct of the case at the close, when the balloting took place, seems to justify the view of those writers who assert that there was no regular trial of Jesus, but rather the action of a mob. POINT XI THE MEMBERS OF THE GREAT SANHEDRIN WERE LEGALLY DISQUALIFIED TO TRY JESUS LAW "The robe of the unfairly elected judge is to be respected not more than the blanket of the ass."--MENDELSOHN, "Hebrew Maxims and Rules," p. 182. "As Moses sat in judgment without the expectation of material reward, so also must every judge act from a sense of duty only."--MENDELSOHN, "Hebrew Maxims and Rules," p. 177. "Nor must there be on the judicial bench either a relation, or a particular friend, or an enemy of either the accused or of the accuser."--MENDELSOHN, "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," p. 108. "He (the Hebrew judge) was, in the first instance, to be modest, of good repute among his neighbors, and generally liked."--BENNY, "Criminal Code of the Jews," p. 38. "Nor under any circumstances, was a man known to be _at enmity with the accused person_ permitted to occupy a position among his judges."--BENNY, "Criminal Code of the Jews," p. 37. FACT AND ARGUMENT THE Gospel records disclose the fact that the members of the Great Sanhedrin were legally disqualified to try Jesus. This disqualification was of two kinds: (1) A general disqualification, under Hebrew law, to act as judges in any case; (2) a special disqualification to sit in judgment upon the life of Jesus. Among all the great systems of jurisprudence of the world the ancient Hebrew system was the most exacting in the matter of judicial fitness. In the palmiest days of the Hebrew Commonwealth the members of the Great Sanhedrin represented the most perfect mental, moral, and physical development of the Hebrew people. A man could not be a member of this court who had any serious mental, moral, or physical defect. He must have been "learned in the law," both written and unwritten. He must have had judicial experience; that is, he must have filled three offices of gradually increasing dignity, beginning with one of the local courts and passing successively through two magistracies at Jerusalem. He must have been an accomplished linguist; that is, he must have been thoroughly familiar with the languages of the surrounding nations. He must have been modest, popular, of good appearance, and free from haughtiness. He must have been pious, strong, and courageous. And above all, he must have been friendly in his attitude toward the accused.[306] These were the qualifications of Israel's judges before Roman politics had corrupted them. But at the time of Christ they had grown to be time-serving, degenerate, and corrupt. Judea was then passing through a period of religious and political revolution. At such a time in any state, as all history teaches us, the worst elements of society generally get the upper hand and control the political currents of the day. Many members of the Sanhedrin had themselves been guilty of criminal acts in both public and private life. Many of them held office by purchase--they had bought their seats. They were thus unfitted to be judges in any case; especially in one involving the great question of life and death. In order to show the general disqualification, under the test of Hebrew law, of the members of the Great Sanhedrin, at the time of Christ, to exercise judicial functions, it is necessary to quote only Jewish authorities. In "The Martyrdom of Jesus," Rabbi Wise says: "The chief priests, under the iron rule of Pilate and his wicked master, Sejan, were the tools of the Roman soldiers who held Judea and Samaria in subjection. Like the high priest, they were appointed to and removed from office by the Roman governor of the country, either directly or indirectly. They purchased their commissions for high prices and, like almost all Roman appointees, used them for mercenary purposes. They were considered wicked men by the ancient writers and must have stood very low in the estimation of the people over whom they tyrannized. The patriots must have looked upon them as hirelings of the foreign despot whose rule was abhorred. Although there was, here and there, a good, pious and patriotic man among them, he was an exception. As a general thing, and under the rule of Pilate, especially, they were the corrupt tools of a military despotism which Rome imposed upon enslaved Palestine." Again, the Talmud, in which we never look for slurs upon the Hebrew people, where slurs are not deserved, contains this bitter denunciation of the high-priestly families of the times of Christ: "What a plague is the family of Simon Boethus; cursed be their lances! What a plague is the family of Ananos; cursed be their hissing of vipers! What a plague is the family of Cantharus; cursed be their pens! What a plague is the family of Ismael ben Phabi; cursed be their fists! They are high priests themselves, their sons are treasurers, their sons-in-law are commanders, and their servants strike the people with staves." In like manner the Talmud, in withering rebuke and sarcasm, again declares that "The porch of the sanctuary cried out four times. The first time, Depart from here, descendants of Eli; ye pollute the Temple of the Eternal! The second time, Let Issachar ben Keifar Barchi depart from here, who polluted himself and profaneth the victims consecrated to God! The third time, Widen yourselves, ye gates of the sanctuary and let Israel ben Phabi, the wilful, enter that he may discharge the functions of the priesthood! Yet another cry was heard, Widen yourselves, ye gates, and let Ananias ben Nebedeus, the gourmand, enter, that he may glut himself on the victims."[307] It should be borne in mind that the high-priestly families so scathingly dealt with by the Talmud were the controlling spirits in the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ. Were they legally qualified, then, under the ancient and honorable tests of Hebrew law, to be members of the highest court in the land? If they bought their offices and used them for mercenary purposes, as Wise asserts, were they worthy of the great exemplar, Moses, who "sat in judgment without the expectation of material reward"? If they thus secured their places and prostituted them to selfish purposes, were their robes to be respected any more than the blanket of the ass? The ancient Hebrew judges, in the days of Israel's purity and glory, submitted their claims to judicial preferment to the suffrage of a loving and confiding people.[308] They climbed the rungs of the judicial ladder by slow and painful degrees. Integrity and ability marked each advance toward the top. Was this the process of promotion in the case of Caiaphas and his fellow-judges? Did their bought and corrupted places not brand them with the anathema of the law? We come now to consider the special disqualifications of members of the Sanhedrin to sit in judgment upon the life of Jesus. The reasons for these disqualifications were two: (1) The members of this court were, in the language of Jost, "burning enemies" of Jesus, and were therefore disqualified, under Hebrew law, to act as His judges; (2) they had determined upon His guilt, and had sentenced Him to death before the trial began; and had thus outraged not only a specific provision of Hebrew law but also a principle of universal justice. The various causes of the hatred of the members of the Sanhedrin for Jesus are too numerous and profound to admit of exhaustive treatment here. A thorough analysis of these causes would necessitate a review of the life of Christ from the manger to the sepulcher. A few reasons will suffice. But at this point a distinction should be made between that personal hatred which disqualifies and the hatred and loathing of the crime that do not disqualify. Every just and righteous judge should loathe and hate the crime itself; and a certain amount of loathing and dislike for the criminal is most natural and almost inevitable. But no judge is qualified to sit in judgment upon the rights of life, liberty, or property of another whom he hates as the result of a personal grudge, born of personal experience with the prisoner at the bar. The hatred that disqualified the members of the Sanhedrin, under Hebrew law, was that kind of hatred that had been generated by personal interest and experience. The most merciless invective, barbed with incomparable wit, ridicule, and satire, had been daily hurled at them by Jesus with withering effect. With a touch more potent than that of Ithuriel's spear He had unmasked their wicked hypocrisy and had blazoned it to the skies. Every day of His active ministry, which lasted about three years, had been spent in denouncing their shameless practices and their guilty lives. The Scribes and Pharisees were proud, haughty, and conceited beyond description. They believed implicitly in the infallibility of their authority and in the perfection of their souls. How galling, then, to such men must have been this declaration of an obscure and lowly Nazarene: "Verily, I say unto you, That the publicans and the harlots go into the kingdom of God before you."[309] What impetuous invective this: "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye devour widows' houses, and for a pretense make long prayer: therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation. Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye make him twofold more the child of hell than yourselves."[310] We can well imagine how these fiery darts pierced and tore the vanity of a haughty and contemptuous priesthood. Consider for a moment the difference in the spheres of Jesus and of His enemies. He, an obscure prophet from Nazareth in Galilee; they, the leaders of Israel and the guardians of the Temple at Jerusalem. He, the single advocate of the New Dispensation; they, the manifold upholders of the Old. He, without earthly authority in the propagation of His faith; they, clothed with the sanction of the law and the prestige of a mighty past. Imagine, then, if you can, the intensity of the hatred engendered by the language and the conduct of Jesus. That we may fully appreciate the tension of the situation let us cast a single glance at the character of the Scribes. Edersheim has written these wonderfully graphic lines about them: He pushes to the front, the crowd respectfully giving way, and eagerly hanging on his utterances, as those of a recognized authority. He has been solemnly ordained by the laying on of hands; and is the Rabbi, "my great one," Master, amplitudo. Indeed, his hyper-ingenuity in questioning has become a proverb. There is not measure of his dignity, nor yet limit to his importance. He is the "lawyer," the "well-plastered pit," filled with the water of knowledge, "out of which not a drop can escape," in opposition to the "weeds of untilled soil" of ignorance. He is the divine aristocrat, among the vulgar herd of rude and profane "country people," who "know not the law," and are "cursed." Each scribe outweighed all the common people, who must accordingly pay him every honor.... Such was to be the respect paid to their sayings that they were to be absolutely believed, even if they were to declare that to be at the right hand which was at the left, or vice-versa.[311] What could, then, be more terrific than the hatred of such a character for an unlettered Galilean who descended from the mountains of His native province to rebuke and instruct the "divine aristocrats" in religious matters and heavenly affairs? Imagine his rage and chagrin when he heard these words: "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and all uncleanness.... Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! because ye build the tombs of the prophets, and garnish the sepulchres of the righteous, And say, If we had been in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers with them in the blood of the prophets. Wherefore ye be witnesses unto yourselves, that ye are the children of them which killed the prophets. Fill ye up then the measure of your fathers. Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?"[312] "His exquisite irony," says Renan, "His stinging remarks, always went to the heart. They were everlasting stings, and have remained festering in the wound. This Nessus-shirt of ridicule which the Jew, son of the Pharisees, has dragged in tatters after him during eighteen centuries, was woven by Jesus with a divine skill. Masterpieces of fine raillery, their features are written in lines of fire upon the flesh of the hypocrite and the false devotee. Incomparable traits worthy of a Son of God! A god alone knows how to kill in this way. Socrates and Molière only grazed the skin. The former carried fire and rage to the very marrow."[313] Are we not now justified in asserting, with Jost, that the members of the Sanhedrin, who were none other than the Scribes and Pharisees above described by Jesus, were the "burning enemies" of the prisoner at the bar? If they were, were they legally qualified to be His judges? But it may be argued that their hatred was simply a form of righteous indignation provoked by His repeated assaults upon the national religion and the national institutions; that it was their duty as guardians of both to both hate and try Him; and that they would have been derelict in duty if they had not done so. But it is apparent from the record and is evident to any fair-minded reader that the enmity of the judges toward Jesus was more personal than political, more a private than a public affair. In support of this contention, in addition to the withering language addressed to them, the matter of the purification of the Temple may be mentioned. It will be remembered how Jesus, with a scorpion lash, scourged the money-changers and traders from the Sanctuary. Now it is historically true that Annas and Caiaphas and their friends owned and controlled the stalls, booths, and bazaars connected with the Temple and from which flowed a most lucrative trade. The profits from the sale of lambs and doves, sold for sacrifice, alone were enormous. When Jesus threatened the destruction of this trade He assaulted the interests of Annas and his associates in the Sanhedrin in a vital place. This grievance was certainly not so religious as it was personal. The driving of the cattle from the stalls was probably more effective in compassing the destruction of the Christ than any miracle that He performed or any discourse that He delivered. But whatever the cause the fact is historic and indisputable that the Sanhedrists were enemies of Jesus, and therefore disqualified under Hebrew law to try Him. A second reason for the special disqualification of the members of the Sanhedrin to sit as judges at the trial of Christ was the fact that they had determined upon His guilt and had sentenced Him to death before the trial began. This point needs no extensive argument or illustration. Under every enlightened system of justice the first great qualification of judges has been that they should be unbiased and unprejudiced. Judicial proceedings are murderous and no better than mob violence when judges and jurors enter upon the trial of the case with a determination to convict the accused, regardless of the testimony. The principles underlying this proposition are fundamental and self-evident. Now the Gospel narratives disclose the fact that three different meetings of the Sanhedrin were held in the six months preceding the crucifixion, to discuss the miracles and discourses of Jesus, and to devise ways and means to entrap Him and put Him to death. The first meeting was held in the latter part of the month of September, A.D. 29, about six months before the night trial in the palace of Caiaphas. This meeting is recorded by St. John in Chap. vii., verses 37-53. The occasion was the Feast of Tabernacles, when Jesus made many converts by His preaching, and at the same time caused much apprehension among the Pharisees, who assembled the Sanhedrin to adopt plans to check His career. It was on this occasion that Nicodemus defended Christ and asked the question that shows the nature of the proceedings at that time. "Doth our law judge any man before it hear him and know what he doeth?" This was the voice, not only of Hebrew but of universal justice demanding a hearing before a condemnation. Nothing definite seems to have been accomplished at this meeting. The second session of the Sanhedrin took place in the month of February, A.D. 30, about six weeks before the crucifixion. The occasion of this meeting was the resurrection of Lazarus, an account of which is given in John xi. 41-53. The chief priests and Pharisees seem to have been seized with consternation by the reports of the progress of the propaganda of Jesus. They had often listened contemptuously and in sullen silence to the accounts of His miraculous performances. But when He began to raise the dead to life, they decided that it was about time to act. At this meeting Caiaphas appealed to his associates in the name of the common weal. "Ye know nothing at all," he said, "nor consider that it is expedient for us, that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation perish not."[314] This seems to have been a form of condemnation in which the other judges joined. "Then from that day forth they took counsel together for to put him to death."[315] At this second session of the Sanhedrin the death of Jesus seems to have been decreed in an informal way and an opportunity was awaited for its accomplishment. The third meeting of the Sanhedrin took place just a few days before the Paschal Feast. "Now the feast of unleavened bread drew nigh, which is called the Passover. And the chief priests and scribes sought how they might kill him; for they feared the people."[316] "Then assembled together the chief priests, and the scribes, and the elders of the people, unto the palace of the high priest, who was called Caiaphas, and consulted that they might take Jesus by subtilty, and kill him. But they said, Not on the feast day, lest there be an uproar among the people."[317] At this third session of the court it was agreed that the arrest and execution of Jesus should be accomplished at the earliest possible date. It will be seen that at these different sessions of the Sanhedrin in the six months preceding the regular trial the judges had resolved that Jesus should be done away with at the first convenient opportunity. In short, and in fact, their hatred was formed and their determination fixed in the matter of the proceedings to be instituted against Him. Were they, then, legally qualified to act as His judges? Again, besides prejudging Him to death had they not demonstrated their total unfitness for any righteous administration of justice by seeking false witnesses against Him? Hebrew law forbade them to seek for witnesses of any kind. They were the defenders of the accused and, under the Hebrew system, were required to search for pretexts to acquit and not for witnesses to condemn.[318] It was a maxim that "the Sanhedrin was to save, not to destroy life."[319] Much more were they forbidden to seek for false witnesses. Hebrew law denounced false witnesses and condemned them to the very punishment prescribed for those whom they sought to convict. "And the judges shall make diligent inquisition; and, behold, if the witness be a false witness, and hath testified falsely against his brother; then shall ye do unto him, as he had thought to do unto his brother.... And thine eye shall not pity; but life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot."[320] But here we find the judges actually seeking testimony which the law pointedly prohibited. This matter alone establishes their utter unfitness to try Jesus, and is explicable only on the ground of the degradation into which they had fallen at the time of Christ and on the hypothesis that their burning hatred had overwhelmed their judgment and sense of justice. If it be objected that the points of disqualification above alleged were not applicable to all the judges, a single sentence of Scripture meets the objection: "And the chief priests and _all the council_ sought for witness against Jesus to put Him to death."[321] The fact that "all the council" were willing to outrage a provision of the fundamental law is sufficient proof that they were all disqualified to try Christ. Another conclusive proof of the total unfitness of the members of the Sanhedrin to try Jesus is the fact that they so far forgot themselves that they abandoned all sense of self-respect and judicial dignity by brutally striking Him and spitting in His face. We would like to believe that this outrageous conduct was limited to the servants of the priests, but the Gospel of St. Mark, Chap. xiv., verse 65, clearly indicates that the judges themselves were also guilty. POINT XII THE CONDEMNATION OF JESUS WAS ILLEGAL BECAUSE THE MERITS OF THE DEFENSE WERE NOT CONSIDERED LAW "Then shalt thou inquire, and make search, and ask diligently."--DEUTERONOMY xiii. 14. "The judges shall weigh the matter in the sincerity of their conscience."--MISHNA, Sanhedrin IV. 5. "The primary object of the Hebrew judicial system was to render the conviction of an innocent person impossible. All the ingenuity of the Jewish legists was directed to the attainment of this end."--BENNY, "Criminal Code of the Jews," p. 56. FACT AND ARGUMENT THE actual trial of any criminal case shows, upon the record, two essential parts: (1) The accusation; (2) the defense. The absence of the elements of defense makes the proceeding _ex parte_; and there is really no trial. And it is impossible to conceive a proper administration of justice where a defense is not allowed, since the right to combat the allegations of the indictment is the essential principle of liberty under the law. The destruction of this right is the annihilation of freedom by subjecting the individual citizen to the whims and caprices of the governing power. An ideal code of criminal procedure would embody rules of evidence and practice perfectly adapted to establish truth in the matter at issue between the commonwealth and the prisoner. Neither the people nor the accused would be favored or prejudiced by the admission or exclusion of any kind of evidence. An exact interpretation and administration of this code would result in a perfect intellectual balance between the rights of the state and the defendant. But such a code has never been framed, and if one were in existence, it would be impossible to enforce it, as long as certain judges insisted on aiding the prosecution and others on helping the accused, in violation of standard rules of evidence. Now, the ancient Hebrew system of criminal procedure was no such ideal one as that above described. It should be remembered that there was no body, under that system, corresponding to our modern Grand Jury, to present indictments. There were no prosecuting officers and no counselors-at-law, in the modern sense. The leading witnesses preferred charges and the judges did the rest. They examined and cross-examined witnesses, did the summing up and were, above all, the defenders of the accused. The rights of the defendant seem to have alone been seriously considered. This startling maxim was a constant menace to the integrity of the government and to the rights of the commonwealth: "The Sanhedrin which so often as once in seven years condemns a man to death, is a slaughter-house."[322] Lightfoot is of the opinion that the Jews did not lose the power of capital punishment as the result of the Roman conquest, but that they voluntarily abandoned it because the rules of criminal procedure which they had from time to time adopted finally became wholly unfitted for convicting anyone. This view is unsupported by historic fact, but it is nevertheless true that the legal safeguards for the protection of the rights of the accused had, in the later years of Jewish nationality, become so numerous and stringent that a condemnation was practically impossible. The astonishing provision of Hebrew law to which we have referred in Part II known as Antecedent Warning had the effect of securing an acquittal in nearly every case. It is contended by many that this peculiar provision was intended to abolish capital punishment by rendering conviction impossible. In the light of the principles above suggested let us review the action of the Sanhedrin in condemning Jesus to death upon His uncorroborated confession. The standard of thoroughness in investigating criminal matters is thus prescribed in the Mosaic Code: "Then shalt thou inquire, and make search, and ask diligently." The Mishna supplements the fundamental law by this direction: "The judges shall weigh the matter in the sincerity of their conscience." From what we know of the peculiar tendency of the Hebrew system to favor the accused we are justified in assuming that the two rules just cited were framed for the protection of the prisoner more than for the security of the commonwealth. Now at this point we are led to ask: Were these rules applied in the trial of Jesus in any sense either for or against the accused? Did Caiaphas and the other members of the Sanhedrin "inquire, and make search and ask diligently" concerning the facts involved in the issue between Jesus and the Hebrew people? Did they weigh the whole matter "in the sincerity of their conscience?" Is it not clearly evident from the record that the false witnesses contradicted themselves, were rejected and dismissed, and that Jesus was then condemned upon His uncorroborated confession that He was the Christ, the Son of God? The usual and natural proceeding in a Jewish criminal trial was to call witnesses for the defendant, after the leading witnesses had testified for the people. Was this done in the case of Jesus? His own apostles deserted Him in the garden, although two of them seem to have returned to the scene of the trial. Is it probable, in the light of the record, that witnesses were called for the defendant? We have seen that they could not legally convict Him upon His own confession. And there is nowhere the faintest suggestion that witnesses other than the false ones were called to testify against Him. The record is clear and unequivocal that the conviction of Jesus was upon His uncorroborated confession. This was illegal. When Caiaphas said, "I adjure thee by the living God that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God," Jesus answered, "Thou hast said"; that is, "I am," according to Mark. Here was an issue squarely joined between the Commonwealth of Israel and Jesus of Nazareth. It was incumbent upon the state to establish His guilt by two competent witnesses who agreed in all essential details. If these witnesses were not present, or could not be secured, it was the duty of the court to discharge Christ at once. This the law provided and demanded. But this was not done. If, as has been contended, the false witnesses were relied upon by the Sanhedrin to corroborate the confession of Jesus, then under Hebrew law the judges should at least have sought witnesses in His behalf, or should have allowed His friends time to find them and bring them in. In other words, His defense should have been considered. However overwhelming the conviction of the judges of the Sanhedrin that the claims of Jesus were false and blasphemous, they were not justified in refusing to consider the merits of His pretensions. If a midnight assassin should stealthily creep into the room of a sleeping man and shoot him to death, a judge would not be legally justified in instructing the jury, at the close of the people's case, to bring in a verdict of guilty, on the ground that nothing that the defendant could prove would help his case. However weak and ridiculous his defense, the prisoner should at least be heard; and a failure to accord him a hearing would certainly result in reversal on appeal. A refusal to consider the defense of a prisoner under ancient Hebrew law was nothing less than an abrogation of the forms of government and a proclamation of mob violence in the particular case, for it must be remembered that Hebrew criminal law was framed especially for the protection of the accused. It should also be kept in mind that it would not have been incumbent upon Caiaphas and his fellow-judges to acquit Jesus simply because a defense had been made. In other words, they were not bound to accept His explanations and arguments. If they had heard Him and His witnesses, they could have rejected His pretensions as false and blasphemous, although they were truthful and righteous, without incurring the censure of mankind and the curse of Heaven, for it would be preposterous to require infallible judgment of judicial officers. All that can be demanded of judges of the law is that they act conscientiously with the lights that are in front of them. The maledictions of the human race have been hurled at Caiaphas and his colleagues during nineteen centuries, not because they pronounced an illegal judgment, but because they outraged rules of law in their treatment of the Christ; not because they misinterpreted His defense, but because they denied Him all defense. We should constantly keep in mind that Jesus was entitled to have the two requirements, "Then shalt thou inquire, and make search, and ask diligently," and "The judges shall weigh the matter in the sincerity of their conscience," applied not only for but against Him. That is, before the Hebrew Commonwealth rested its case against Him, He had a right to demand that a _prima facie_ case be made, or in case of failure to do so, that He be at once discharged. This rule was as pointed and imperative under ancient as under modern law, and before the merits of the defense were required to be considered the state had to close its case against the defendant, with a presumption of guilt against Him, as a result of the introduction of competent and satisfactory evidence. If rules of law had been properly observed in the trial of Jesus the question of the merits of His defense would never have been raised; for it was practically impossible to convict Him under the circumstances surrounding the night trial in the palace of Caiaphas. As has been before suggested, Jesus was very popular outside the circle of the Temple authorities. So great was His popularity that it is almost certain that two competent witnesses could not have been secured to convict Him of blasphemy in the sense that He had claimed to be the Messiah. We have seen, under Point VIII, that Jesus had confessed His Messiahship to no one excepting the Samaritan woman, outside the Apostolic company. Judas, then, was probably the only witness who had heard Him declare Himself to be the Messiah that could have been secured; and his testimony was incompetent, under Hebrew law, because, under the supposition that Jesus was a criminal, Judas, His apostle, was an accomplice. As to the charge of blasphemy in the broader sense of having claimed equality with God, upon which, according to Salvador, Jesus was convicted, it seems from the Gospel record that there would have been no difficulty in legally convicting Him, if the Sanhedrin had met regularly and had taken time to summon witnesses in legal manner. For on many occasions Jesus had said and done things in the presence of both friends and enemies that the Jews regarded as blasphemous; such as claiming that He and His Father were one; that He had existed before Abraham; and that He had power to forgive sins. But these charges were not made at the trial, and we have no right to consider them except as means of interpreting the mind of Caiaphas in connection with the meaning of the claim of Jesus that He was the Christ, the Son of God. If Caiaphas was justified in construing these words to mean that Jesus claimed identity with Jehovah, then he was justified in inferring that Jesus had spoken blasphemy, for from the standpoint of ancient Judaism and considering Jesus simply as a Jewish citizen, blasphemy was the crime that resulted from such a claim. But even from this point of view Caiaphas was not justified in refusing Jesus ample opportunity to prove His equality with Jehovah, or at least that He was gifted with divine power. This was all the more true because the claim of Jesus was that of Messiahship, and according to one line of authorities in Hebrew Messianic theology the Messiah was to be clothed with divine authority and power as the messenger and vicegerent of Jehovah on earth. But it is clearly certain that a _prima facie_ case of guilt was not made by the Sanhedrin against Jesus; and, as a matter of law, He was not called upon to make any defense. He could have refused to say a word in answer to the accusation. He could have asserted His legal rights by objecting that a case against Him had not been made, by demanding that the charges against Him be dismissed and that He be set at liberty at once. But Jesus did not do this. He simply confessed His Messiahship and Sonship of the Father. This confession was not legal evidence upon which He could have been convicted, but it did help to create an issue, the truth or falsity of which should have been investigated by the court. Now, let us suppose, for argument's sake, that a _prima facie_ case of guilt against Jesus was made before the Sanhedrin. What was the next legal step under Hebrew law? What should the judges have done after hearing the witnesses against Him? It is beyond dispute that they should have begun at once to "inquire, and make search, and ask diligently" concerning all matters pertaining to the truthfulness and righteousness of His claims to Messiahship. They should have assisted Him in securing witnesses whose testimony would have helped to establish those claims. Having secured such testimony, they should have weighed it "in the sincerity of their conscience." But this they did not do. It may be asked: What proofs could have been offered that Jesus was "the Christ, the Son of God," if complete rights of defense had been accorded? That question is difficult to answer, nearly two thousand years after the trial. But if a _prima facie_ case of guilt had been made against Him, shifting the burden of proof, and requiring that His claims be proved, it may be reasonably contended that a complete defense would have necessitated proofs: (1) That Jesus was the Christ, that is, that He was the Messiah; (2) that He was also the Son of God, that is, that He was identical with God Himself. Let us consider these two phases of the subject and their attendant proofs in order. And first, what evidence could have been offered that Jesus was the Christ, that is, the Messiah? What method of procedure should have been employed by the Sanhedrin in investigating His claims? Let us suppose that Caiaphas understood that Jesus claimed to be the long-looked-for Messiah who had come from Jehovah with divine authority to redeem mankind and to regenerate and rule the world. Let us not forget that the Jews were expecting a Messiah, and that the mere claim of Messiahship was not illegal. Such a claim merely raised an issue as to its truth or falsity which was to be investigated like any other proposition of theology or law. It was not one to be either accepted or rejected without demonstration. Then when Jesus acknowledged His Messiahship in answer to the high priest's question it was the duty of the court either to admit His claim and discharge Him at once, or to summon competent witnesses, by daylight, to prove that His pretensions were false and blasphemous. Having rested their case, it was their duty to aid the prisoner in securing witnesses to substantiate His claims, and according to the spirit of Hebrew law to view rather favorably than unfavorably such claims. It was also incumbent upon them to apply to Jesus all the Messianic tests of each and every school. It should be remembered that at the time of Christ there were radically different views of the attributes of the expected Messiah. No two schools agreed upon all the signs by which the future Deliverer would be recognized. Only one sign was agreed upon by all--that He would be a scion of the House of David. The followers of Judas of Galilee believed that the Messiah would be an earthly hero of giant stature--a William Tell, a Robert Bruce, an Abraham Lincoln--who would emancipate the Jews by driving out the Romans and permanently restoring the kingdom of David on the earth. The school of Shammai believed that he would be not only a great statesman and warrior, but a religious zealot as well; and that to splendid victories on the battlefield, he would add the glorious triumphs of religion. Radically different from both these views, were the teachings of the gentle Hillel and his disciples. According to these, the Messiah was to be a prince of peace whose sublime and holy spirit would impress itself upon all flesh, would banish all wars, and make of Jerusalem the grand center of international brotherhood and love. But even these conceptions were not exhaustive of the various Messianic ideas that were prevalent in Palestine in the days of Jesus. Some of the Messianic notions were not only contradictory but diametrically opposite in meaning. A "prince of peace" and a "gigantic warrior" could not well be one and the same person. And for this reason it is apparent that, had an examination been made, the claims of Jesus to the Messiahship could not have been rejected by Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin, simply because this or that attribute did not meet the approval of this or that sect or school. Instead of condemning Him to death for blasphemy, when Jesus answered that He was the Christ, the Son of God, Caiaphas should have asked a second question: "What sign shewest thou then, that we may see and believe thee?" It has been contended by Jewish writers that, far from denying Jesus the privilege of proving His Messiahship, He was frequently asked to give signs and perform wonders. The reply to this is that as far as the legal merits of the case are concerned Jesus was not invited at the trial in the palace of Caiaphas to show signs or give proofs of His Messiahship. And as to the chances afforded Him at other times and places, they were extra-judicial and were mere street affairs in which Jesus probably refused to gratify vulgar curiosity and by which He was not remotely bound legally or religiously. It is only when properly arraigned and accused that a citizen under modern law can be compelled to answer a charge of crime. The rule was more stringent under the ancient Hebrew dispensation. Private preliminary examinations, even by judicial officers, were not permitted by Hebrew law, as Salvador explicitly states. It was only when confronted by proper charges before a legally constituted tribunal in regular session, that a Hebrew prisoner was compelled to answer. And at the regular trial before the full Sanhedrin Jesus was not asked to give evidence that would serve to exculpate Him. What Caiaphas should have done was to notify Jesus, at the time of the arraignment in his own house, that His life was at stake and that now was the time to produce testimony in His own behalf. It was the duty, furthermore, of the high priest and his associates to consult the sacred books to see if the Messianic prophecies therein contained were fulfilled in the birth, life, and performances of Jesus, as these matters were developed at the trial by witnesses duly summoned in His behalf. It was a matter personally within the knowledge of the judges that the time was ripe for the appearance of the Deliverer. Not only the people of Israel, but all the surrounding nations were expecting the coming of a great renovator of the world. Of such an arrival Virgil had already sung at Rome.[323] A great national misfortune had already foreshadowed the day of the Messiah more potently than had any individual event in the life of Jesus. When Jacob lay dying upon his deathbed, he called around him his twelve sons and began to pronounce upon each in turn the paternal and prophetic blessing. When the turn of Judah came, the accents of the dying patriarch became more clear and animated, as he said: "Judah, thou art he whom thy brethren shall praise: thy hand shall be in the neck of thine enemies; thy father's children shall bow down before thee. Judah is a lion's whelp: from the prey, my son, thou art gone up: he stooped down, he couched as a lion, and as an old lion; who shall rouse him up? The _sceptre_ shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be."[324] The Jewish Rabbinical commentators of antiquity were unanimously of the opinion that this prophecy of Jacob referred to the day of the Messiah. And for ages the people had been told to watch for two special signs which would herald the coming of the great Deliverer: (1) The departure of the scepter from Judah; (2) the loss of the judicial power. The Talmudists, commenting on the above passage from Genesis, say: "The son of David shall not come unless the royal power has been taken from Judah"; and in another passage: "The son of David shall not come unless the judges have ceased in Israel."[325] Now both these signs had appeared at the time of the Roman conquest, shortly before the birth of Christ. At the deposition of Archelaus, A.D. 6, Judea became a Roman province with a Roman procurator as governor. Sovereignty then passed away forever from the Jews. And not only was sovereignty taken from them, but its chief attribute, the power of life and death in judicial matters, was destroyed. Thus the legal and historical situation was produced that had been prophesied by Jacob. The _scepter_ had passed from Judah and the _lawgiver_ from between his feet, when Jesus stood before the Sanhedrin claiming to be the Messiah. A fair trial in full daylight, it is believed, would have called before His judges a host of witnesses friendly to Jesus, whose testimony would have established an exact fulfilment of ancient Messianic prophecy in His birth, life, arrest, and trial. A judicial record would have been made of which the following might be regarded as an approximately correct transcript: (1) _That the Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem_: PROPHECY--But thou, Beth-lehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.--MICAH v. 2. FULFILLMENT--Now when Jesus was _born in Bethlehem_ of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem.--MATT. ii. 1. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem (because he was of the house and lineage of David), To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.--LUKE ii. 4-7. (2) _That the Messiah was to be born of a virgin_: PROPHECY--Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.--ISA. vii. 14. FULFILLMENT--And in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, To a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary.... And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus.--LUKE i. 26-30. Then Joseph being raised from sleep did as the angel of the Lord had bidden him, and took unto him his wife: and knew her not till she had brought forth her firstborn son: and he called his name Jesus--MATT. i. 24, 25. (3) _That the Messiah was to spring from the house of David_: PROPHECY--Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that I will raise unto David a righteous Branch, and a King shall reign and prosper, and shall execute judgment and justice in the earth. In his days Judah shall be saved, and Israel shall dwell safely: and this is his name whereby he shall be called, THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS.--JER. xxiii. 5, 6. FULFILLMENT--He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest; and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David.--LUKE i. 32. But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost.--MATT. i. 20. (4) _That the Messiah should not come until the scepter had departed from Judah and the lawgiver from between his feet_: PROPHECY--The Sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come.--GEN. xlix. 10. FULFILLMENT--And he saith unto them, Whose is this image and superscription? They say unto him, Cæsar's. Then saith he unto them, Render therefore unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar's; and unto God the things that are God's.--MATT. xxii. 20, 21. Then said Pilate unto them, Take ye him, and judge him according to your law. The Jews therefore said unto him, It is not lawful for us to put any man to death.--JOHN xviii. 31. (5) _That a forerunner like unto Elijah should prepare the way of the Messiah_: PROPHECY--Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me: and the Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple, even the messenger of the covenant, whom ye delight in: behold, he shall come, saith the Lord of hosts.--MAL. iii. 1. The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.--ISA. xl. 3. FULFILLMENT--In those days came John the Baptist, preaching in the wilderness of Judea, And saying, Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. For this is he that was spoken of by the prophet Esaias, saying, The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.--MATT. iii. 1-3. This is he, of whom it is written, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee. For I say unto you, Among those that are born of women there is not a greater prophet than John the Baptist.--LUKE vii. 27, 28. (6) _That the Messiah should begin to preach in Galilee_: PROPHECY--In Galilee of the nations, the people that walked in darkness have seen a great light.--ISA. ix. 1, 2. FULFILLMENT--Now when Jesus had heard that John was cast into prison, He departed into Galilee.... The people which sat in darkness, saw great light; and to them which sat in the region and shadow of death light is sprung up. From that time, Jesus began to preach, and to say, Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.--MATT. iv. 12-17. (7) _That the Messiah should perform many miracles:_ PROPHECY--Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as a hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing: for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert.--ISA. xxxv. 5, 6. FULFILLMENT--Then was brought unto him one possessed with a devil, blind, and dumb, and he healed him, insomuch that the blind and dumb both spake and saw.--MATT. xii. 22. But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power upon earth to forgive sins (he said unto the sick of the palsy), I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy couch, and go into thine house. And immediately he rose up before them, and took up that whereon he lay, and departed to his own house, glorifying God.--LUKE v. 24, 25. Jesus answered and said unto them, Go and shew John again those things which ye do hear and see: The blind receive their sight, and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them.--MATT. xi. 4, 5. (8) _That the Messiah should make his public entry into Jerusalem riding upon an ass:_ PROPHECY--Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee: he is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass.--ZECH. ix. 9. FULFILLMENT--And the disciples went, and did as Jesus commanded them, And brought the ass, and the colt, and put on them their clothes, and they set him thereon. And a very great multitude spread their garments in the way; others cut down branches from the trees, and strewed them in the way. And the multitudes that went before, and that followed, cried, saying, Hosanna to the Son of David: Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest.--MATT. xxi. 6-9. (9) _That the Messiah should be betrayed by one of his followers for thirty pieces of silver which would finally be thrown into the potter's field:_ PROPHECY--Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me.--PSA. xli. 9. And I said unto them, If ye think good, give me my price; and if not, forbear. So they weighed for my price thirty pieces of silver. And the Lord said unto me, Cast it unto the potter: a goodly price that I was prized at of them. And I took the thirty pieces of silver, and cast them to the potter in the house of the Lord.--ZECH. xi. 12, 13. FULFILLMENT--Then one of the twelve, called Judas Iscariot, went unto the chief priests, And said unto them, What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you? And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver.--MATT. xxvi. 14, 15. Then Judas, which had betrayed him, when he saw that he was condemned, repented himself, and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders, Saying, I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood. And they said, What is that to us? see thou to that. And he cast down the pieces of silver in the temple, and departed, and went and hanged himself. And the chief priests took the silver pieces, and said, It is not lawful for to put them into the treasury, because it is the price of blood. And they took counsel, and bought with them the potter's field, to bury strangers in.--MATT. xxvii. 3-8. (10) _That the Messiah should be a man of poverty and of suffering; and should be despised and rejected of men:_ PROPHECY--He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.--ISA. liii. 3. FULFILLMENT--And Jesus said unto him, Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.--LUKE ix. 58. And they smote him on the head with a reed, and did spit upon him, and bowing their knees worshipped him. And when they had mocked him, they took off the purple from him, and put his own clothes on him, and led him out to crucify him.--MARK xv. 19, 20. Through reasonable diligence, witnesses might have been secured to testify to a majority, at least, of the points above enumerated, touching Messianic prophecy and fulfillment. Besides these are many others too numerous to mention in a treatise of this kind. The question then arises at once: Admitting that all the evidence above suggested, marked "Prophecy" and "Fulfillment," could have been introduced in evidence at the trial before the Sanhedrin; were the judges morally and legally bound to acquit and release Jesus, if they believed this testimony to be true? We answer unhesitatingly, yes; as far as the count in the accusation relating to Messiahship was concerned. But we must remember that the charge against Jesus was not limited to His claims to Messiahship. The indictment against Him was that He claimed to be "the Christ, the Son of God." "Christ" is the English form of the Greek translation of the word meaning "Messiah." The real nature of the charge against the prisoner, then, was that He claimed to be not only the Messiah but also the Son of God. We have seen that "Son of God" conveyed to the Sanhedrin the notion of divine origin and of equality with Jehovah. Even to-day there is no dispute between Jews and Christians in regard to this construction. Jews charge that Jesus made such a claim and Christians agree with them. They are compelled to do so, indeed, or else abjure the fundamental dogma of their faith--the doctrine of the Trinity. Now we approach the consideration of a phase of the subject where theology and law meet and blend. It has been sought to ridicule the contention that Jesus should have been heard on the charge of being the Son of God, in the sense that He was God Himself, because such a claim was not only ridiculous and frivolous as a plea, but because it was blasphemous upon its face; as being opposed, by bare assertion, to the most fundamental and sacred precept of the Mosaic Code and of the teachings of the Prophets: that God was purely and wholly spiritual; that He was not only incorporeal but invisible, indivisible, and incomprehensible. The advocates of this theory declare that Jesus asserted, in the face of this primary belief of the Hebrews, a plurality of gods of which He was a member, and that this assertion destroyed the very cornerstone of Judaism, founded in the teaching of the celebrated passage: "Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord." They further declare that when Jesus presented Himself in the flesh, and declared that He was God, He insulted both the intelligence and religious consciousness of His judges by a complete anthropomorphism; and that when He did this, He was not entitled to be heard. One of the most radical of this class is Rabbi Wise who, in "The Martyrdom of Jesus," says: "Had Jesus maintained before a Jewish court to be the Son of God, in the trinitarian sense of the terms, viz., that He was part, person, or incarnation of the Deity, He must have said it in terms to be understood to that effect, as ambiguous words amount to nothing. But if even clearly understood, the court could only have found Him insane, but not guilty of any crime." This is strong language, indeed, and deserves serious consideration. It means nothing less than that Jesus, upon His confession of equality and identity with God, should have been committed as a lunatic, and not tried as a criminal. And the real meaning of this too extreme view is that the claims of Jesus, being a man in the flesh, to membership in a plurality of gods was such an outrageous and unheard-of thing that it amounted to insanity; and that an insane person was not one to be listened to, but to be committed and protected. The purpose of the distinguished Hebrew theologian was to show by the absurdity of the thing that Jesus was never tried before a Hebrew court; that He never claimed to be the Son of God, and that the Evangelical narratives are simply false. The same writer thus continues in the same connection: "Mark reports furthermore, that Jesus did not simply affirm the high priest's question but added: 'And ye shall see the Son of Man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven.' Jesus cannot have said these words. Our reasons are: they are not true; none of the judges and witnesses present ever did see him either sitting on the right hand of power or coming in the clouds of heaven. These words could have originated only after the death of Jesus, when the Jewish Christians expected his immediate return as the Messiah and restorer of the kingdom of heaven, so that those very men could see him coming in the clouds of heaven. Besides, Jesus, the Pharisean Jew, could not have entertained the anthropomorphism that God had a _right hand_."[326] It is only necessary to add that Rabbi Wise may be right, if the Gospel writers were untruthful men. Suffice it to say that we have said enough in support of the veracity of the Evangelists in Part I of this volume. If we are right that they were truthful historians when they published these biographies to the world, Rabbi Wise is wrong; for according to these writers the Sanhedrin did not take the view that Jesus was a crazy man, but that He was a criminal. They accordingly tried Him to the extent of bringing an accusation against Him and of supporting it with a certain kind and amount of testimony, and by then leading Him away to be crucified by the Romans. Our contention is that the trial was not complete, in that His judges did not consider the merits of the defense of Jesus in the proceedings which they conducted against Him. It would be entirely consistent with the plan of this treatise and of the special treatment of this theme to ignore completely the question of the divinity of Jesus; since we have announced a legal and not a theological consideration of the subject. But we repeat that the theological and the legal are inseparably interwoven in a proper handling of Point XII. If Rabbi Wise and others are right that the anthropomorphic pretensions of Jesus robbed Him of the protection of the law, in the sense that His claims to be God in the flesh were not worthy of consideration by a Hebrew court, then we are wrong in making the point that the merits of His defense should have been considered. Our contention is that the claims of Jesus were not so strange and shocking as to place Him without the pale of the law and to deny Him its ordinary protection; that His pretensions were not those of an insane man; that if He was not the Son of God He was guilty of blasphemy; and that if He was the Son of God He was innocent. We further contend that all these things were subjects of legitimate judicial examination by Hebrew judges under Hebrew law, and that Jesus should have had His day in court. A very brief examination of the question of anthropomorphism in its connection with the claims of Jesus will demonstrate the fallacy of the arguments of Rabbi Wise and of those who agree with him. Candor compels us to admit that the Jewish conception of Jehovah at the time of the crucifixion was very foreign to the notion of a God of flesh and bone. Hebrew monotheism taught the doctrine of one God who was purely spiritual, and therefore invisible, intangible, and unapproachable. Judaism delighted to lift its deity above the sensual, material, and corporeal things of earth, and to represent Him as a pure and sinless spirit in a state of awful and supreme transcendence. Our first impression, then, is that this dogma of divine unity and spirituality must have received a dreadful shock when Jesus, a carpenter of Nazareth, whose mother, father, brothers, and sisters were known, confronted the high priest and declared to him that He was God. But the shock was certainly not so great that Caiaphas and his colleagues, after a moment's composure and reflection, could not have concluded that the pretensions of Jesus were not wholly at variance with the revelations of Hebrew theology in the earlier years of the Commonwealth of Israel. They might have judged His claims to be unfounded, but they were certainly not justified in pronouncing Him insane, or in ignoring His rights under the law to be heard and to have His defense considered. Their arrest and trial of the prisoner was the consummation of a number of secret meetings in which the astounding personality and marvelous performances of Jesus were debated and discussed with fear and trembling. The raising of Lazarus from the dead had created a frightful panic among the Sadducean oligarchy. Far from regarding Him as an obscure person whose claims were ridiculous and whose mind was unbalanced, the priests feared lest all men might believe on Him, and boldly declared that such was the influence of His deeds that His single life might be balanced against the existence of a whole nation.[327] What the judges of the Sanhedrin should have done in examining the merits of the defense of Jesus was: (1) To consider whether, in the light of Hebrew scripture and tradition, a god of flesh and bone, representing the second person of a Duality or a Trinity of gods, was possible; (2) to weigh thoroughly the claims of Jesus, in the light of testimony properly adduced at the trial, that He was this second person of a Duality or Trinity of gods. In making this examination, let us bear in mind, the members of the court were not to look forward, but backward. They were to examine the past, not the future, in reference to the present. Furthermore, they were not to consider so much a Trinity as a Duality of gods; for it must be remembered that the Holy Ghost was not a feature of the trial. The Athanasian creed and the proceedings of the Nicene Council were not binding upon Caiaphas and his fellow-judges. Nor were the teachings of the New Testament scriptures published to the world more than a generation after the trial. They were to consider the divine pretensions of Jesus in the light of the teachings and revelations of the Law and the Prophets. They were to measure His claims by these standards in the light of the evidence adduced before them. With a view to a thorough and systematic examination of the merits of the defense of Jesus, Caiaphas, as presiding officer of the Sanhedrin, should have propounded to his fellow-judges the following initial questions: (1) Do the Law and the Prophets reveal the doctrine of a plurality of gods among the Israelites? That is, has Jehovah ever begotten, or has He ever promised to beget, a Son of equal divinity with Himself? Was this Son to be, or is He to be born of a woman; and to have, therefore, the form of a man and the attributes of a human being? Was this Son to be, or is He to be at any time identical with the Father? Do the Law and the Prophets tell us unmistakably that Jehovah ever appeared upon the earth in human form and exhibited human attributes? Do they contain a promise from the Father that He would send His Son to the earth to be the Redeemer of men and the Regenerator of the world? (2) Do the credentials of Jesus, the prisoner at the bar, in the light of the evidence before us, entitle Him to be considered this Son and Ambassador of God, sent from the Father to redeem mankind? It follows logically and necessarily that if affirmative answers were not given to the first set of questions an examination of the second would be useless. Let us conceive, then, that the judges of the Sanhedrin had employed this method. What answers, we may ask, would they have developed to these questions from the Sacred Books? At the outset it is safe to say that negative answers would have been given, if the judges had considered the claims of Jesus with reference alone to the prevailing Pharisaic teachings of the days of Jesus. And in this connection let us note that the Hebrew conception of Jehovah had materially changed in the time intervening between the Mosaic dispensation and the coming of the Christ. The spiritual growth of the nation had been characterized at every step by marked aversion to anthropomorphism--the ascription to God of human form and attributes. In the Pentateuch there is a prevailing anthropomorphic idea of Jehovah. He is frequently talked about as if He were a man. Human passions and emotions are repeatedly ascribed to Him. This was inevitable among a primitive people whose crude religious consciousness sought to frame from the analogy of human nature a visible symbol of the Deity and a sensible emblem of religious faith. All early religions have manifested the same anthropomorphic tendencies. Both Judaism and Christianity have long since planted themselves upon the fundamental proposition that God is a spirit. But both these systems of religion have in all ages been compelled to run the gantlet of two opposing tendencies: one of which sought by a living, personal communion with God through Moses and through Christ, by means of human attributes and symbols, an intimate knowledge and immediate benefit of the divine nature; the other, from a horror of anthropomorphism, tending to make God purely passionless and impersonal, thus reducing Him to a bare conception without form or quality, thus making Him a blank negation. The successive steps in the progress of weeding out anthropomorphisms from the Pentateuch may be clearly traced in later Hebrew literature. The Prophets themselves were at times repelled by the sensuous conceptions of God revealed by the writings of Moses. The great lawgiver had attributed to Jehovah the quality of repentance, a human attribute. "And it _repented_ the Lord that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him at his heart," says Genesis vi. 6. But a later writer, the prophet Samuel, denied that God had such a quality. "And also the Strength of Israel will not lie nor repent: for he is not a man, that he should repent."[328] And the prophet Hosea affirms this declaration when he places in the mouth of Jehovah the affirmation: "For I am God and not man."[329] At a still later age, when the notion of the supreme transcendence of Jehovah had become prevalent, it was considered objectionable to make God say, "I will dwell in your midst"; as a substitute, "I shall cause you to dwell" was adopted. "To behold the face of God" was not a repulsive phrase in the ancient days of Hebrew plainness and simplicity, but later times sought to eradicate the anthropomorphism by saying instead, "to appear before God." The Septuagint, the Greek version of the Bible in use at the time of Christ, reveals the same tendency toward paraphrasing or spiritualizing the anthropomorphic phrases of the older Bible. In this translation the "image of God" of the older Hebrew literature becomes "the glory of God," and "the mouth of God" is expressed by "the voice of the Lord." The Septuagint was written more than a century before the birth of Jesus, and we may safely assert that at the beginning of our era the Jews not only affirmatively proclaimed the doctrine of divine unity and pure spirituality, in relation to the person and character of Jehovah, but that they boldly and indignantly denied and denounced any attempt to make of God a man or to attribute to Him human qualities. But when we say "the Jews," we mean the dominant religious sect of the nation, the Pharisees. We should not forget, in this connection, that the primary difference between the Sadducees and the Pharisees was in the varying intensity with which they loved the Law of Moses and adhered to its teachings. We have seen in Part II of this volume that the Mishna, the oral law, was really more highly esteemed by the Pharisaic Jews than was the Mosaic Code. But the Sadducees planted themselves squarely upon the Pentateuch and denied that the traditions of the Scribes were of binding force. "The Sadducees were a body of aristocrats opposed to the oral law and the later developments of Judaism." Now what views, we may ask, did the Sadducees entertain of the possibility of God appearing to men in the flesh? In other words, what was their notion, at the time of Christ, of the anthropomorphisms of the Pentateuch, which was their ultimate guide and standard in all matters of legal and religious interpretation? These questions are important in this connection, since Caiaphas and the large majority of his colleagues in the Great Sanhedrin were Sadducees and held the fate of Jesus in their hands. Candor compels us to admit that we believe that the Sadducees agreed with the Pharisees that Jehovah was a pure and sinless spirit. But we feel equally sure that their knowledge of the Pentateuch, in which at times anthropomorphism is strongly accentuated, taught them that Jehovah had not only appeared in the flesh among men in olden times, but that it was not at all impossible or unreasonable that He should come again in the same form. But this much is certain: that in determining whether Jesus could be both man and God the Sadducees would be disposed to ignore the traditions of the Pharisees and "the later developments of Judaism," and appeal direct to the law of Moses. Jesus Himself, if He had been disposed to make a defense of His claims, and His judges had been disposed to hear Him, would have appealed to the same legal standard. Christ more than once manifested a disposition to appeal to the Mosaic Code, as a modern citizen would appeal from mere statutes and the decisions of the courts, to the constitution, as the fundamental law of the land. Mark tells us that in denouncing the Pharisees, He used this language: "And he said unto them, Full well ye reject the commandment of God, that ye may keep your own tradition.... Making the word of God of none effect through your tradition, which ye have delivered: and many such like things do ye."[330] Hebrew sacred literature is filled with anecdotes, often characterized by raillery and jests, of how the Sadducces denounced the Pharisees for their attempts to nullify Mosaic injunction by their peculiar interpretation. Now in view of what we have just said, are we not justified in assuming that if the judges had accorded Jesus full liberty of defense He would have appealed to the Pentateuch, with the approbation of His judges, to show that God had appeared among men in the flesh, and that a plurality in the Godhead was plainly taught? Would He not then have appealed to the Prophets to show that Jehovah had spoken of a begotten Son who was none other than Almighty God Himself? Would He not have shown from both the Law and the Prophets that the angel of Jehovah, who was none other than Himself, had frequently, in ages past, acted as the ambassador of God in numerous visits to the earth, on missions of love and mercy among men? Would He not have proved to them that this angel of Jehovah had been at certain times in the past none other than Jehovah Himself? Could He not have pointed out to them that their whole sacred literature was filled with prophecies foretelling the coming of this Son and Ambassador of God to the earth to redeem fallen man? Could He not then have summoned a hundred witnesses to prove His own connection with these prophecies, to show His virgin birth, and to give an account of the numerous miracles which He had wrought, and that were the best evidence of His divine character? Let us imagine that Caiaphas, as judge, had demanded of Jesus, the prisoner, to produce Biblical evidence that God had ever begotten or had promised to beget a Son who was equal with Himself. The following passages might have been produced: Psa. ii. 7: Thou art my son; this day have I begotten thee. Isa. ix. 6: For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. What closer identity, we may ask, could be demanded between the Father and the Son than is revealed by this language of Isaiah, "and his (the son's) name shall be called The mighty God, The everlasting Father?" What more exact equality could be asked than the same words suggest? What stronger proof of plurality in the Godhead could be demanded? Again, let us suppose that His judges had demanded of Jesus scriptural proof that the divine Son of God was to be born of a woman, and was to have, therefore, the form of a man and the attributes of a human being. The following passages might have been produced: Isa. vii. 14: Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel. Gen. iii. 15: And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel. Enoch lxii. 5: And one Portion of them will look on the other, and they will be terrified, and their countenance will fall, and they will seize them when they see _that Son of Woman_ sitting on the throne of his glory. The first of these passages needs no comment. It is perfectly clear and speaks for itself. Regarding the second, it may be observed that after the fall of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden it was announced that the seed of the woman should bruise the serpent's head. This announcement contained, when viewed in the light of subsequent revelations, both a promise and a prophecy; a promise of a Redeemer of fallen man, and a prophecy that He would finally triumph over all the powers of sin and darkness whose father was Satan, who had entered into the serpent. The "seed of the woman" foretold that the Redeemer would have a human nature; His triumph over Satan suggested His divine origin and power. Again, continuing the examination, let us suppose that Caiaphas had informed Jesus that His pretensions to be God in the flesh were not only not sanctioned by but were offensive to the current teachings of Judaism in relation to the person and character of Jehovah. Let us suppose, further, that the high priest had informed the prisoner that he and his fellow-judges, who were Sadducees in faith and a majority in number of the Sanhedrin, did not feel themselves bound by Pharisaic tradition and "the later developments of Judaism"; that they preferred the Mosaic Code as a standard of legal and religious judgment; that the anthropomorphisms of the Pentateuch were not particularly offensive to them, for the reason that they had not been to Moses; and that if He, the prisoner at the bar, could cite instances related by Moses where Jehovah had appeared among men, having the form of a human being, His case would be greatly strengthened; on the ground that if God had ever appeared in the flesh on one occasion it was not unreasonable, or at least impossible, that He should so appear again. In proof that God had appeared in the flesh, or at least in human form, among men, the following passages might have been adduced: Gen. xviii. 1-8: And the Lord appeared unto him in the plains of Mamre: and he sat in the tent door in the heat of the day; And he lifted up his eyes and looked, and, lo, three men stood by him: and when he saw them, he ran to meet them from the tent door, and bowed himself toward the ground, And said, My Lord, if now I have found favour in thy sight, pass not away, I pray thee, from thy servant: ... And Abraham ran unto the herd, and fetched a calf tender and good, and gave it unto a young man; and he hasted to dress it. And he took butter, and milk, and the calf which he had dressed, and set it before them; and he stood by them under the tree, and they did eat. Gen. xvi. 10-13: And the angel of the Lord said unto her, I will multiply thy seed exceedingly, that it shall not be numbered for multitude. And the angel of the Lord said unto her, Behold, thou art with child, and shalt bear a son, and shalt call his name Ishmael; because the Lord hath heard thy affliction.... And she called the name of the Lord that spake unto her, Thou God seest me: for she said, Have I also here looked after him that seeth me? Gen. xxii. 11, 12: And the angel of the Lord called unto him out of heaven, and said, Abraham, Abraham: and he said, Here am I. And he said, Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto him: for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, from me. Ex. iii. 2-6: And the Angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed. And Moses said, I will not turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt. And when the Lord saw that he turned aside to see, God called unto him out of the midst of the bush, and said, Moses, Moses. And he said, Here am I. And he said, Draw not nigh hither: put off thy shoes from off thy feet; for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground. Moreover he said, I am the God of thy father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. And Moses hid his face; for he was afraid to look upon God. From the first passage above cited it is clear that Jehovah, in the form of a man, appeared to Abraham in the plains of Mamre. A contributor to "The Jewish Encyclopedia" declares that these three men were angels in the shape of human beings of extraordinary beauty but that they were not at once recognized as angels.[331] The Christian commentators are generally agreed that it was Jehovah who was present in human form.[332] The other members of the company are declared by some of them to be the second and third persons of the Trinity. Plausibility is given to this contention by the fact that Abraham first saw one person, the Lord; then he looked up and saw three; he then advanced to meet the three, and, addressing them, used a singular epithet, "My Lord." The form of the address, together with the movements of Abraham, seem to suggest three in one and one in three. But with this theory we are not seriously concerned, as our present purpose is to show that Jehovah occasionally appeared in human form upon the earth in the olden days. A plurality of gods is suggested, however, by the passage, if Christian interpretation be applied; for if one of these men was Jehovah, as Abraham's language seems to indicate, and as modern Christian interpretation generally maintains, why could not the other two men have also been gods in the form of the Son and the Holy Spirit? If the Jewish commentator's opinion, to which we have referred heretofore, be plausible--that the three men were angels in human form--why is it not equally as plausible to suppose that a god or gods should also appear in human form? But at all events these three men were not ordinary human beings. He who maintains that they were assaults the intelligence of either the translators of the Bible or of Abraham, or both; for the Hebrew patriarch believed that Jehovah was present as a guest in his house, and he spread a hospitable meal for him. The language of Genesis very clearly indicates as much. And the question may be asked: If Abraham could not recognize Jehovah, who could or can? In the second of the above extracts from Genesis the angel of the Lord appeared unto Hagar and said to her: "I will multiply thy seed exceedingly, that it shall not be numbered for multitude." And Hagar made reply: "And she called the name of the Lord that spake unto her, Thou God seest me." This passage plainly teaches that the angel of the Lord and Jehovah were sometimes identical. The third passage heretofore cited from Genesis also teaches the identity of the angel of the Lord and of God Himself, in the matter of the attempted sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham. It was the same voice, that of the angel of the Lord, that said: "For now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me." Again, the identity of the angel of the Lord and of Jehovah is unmistakably shown from the account of the voice that cried from the burning bush: "I am the God of thy father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look upon God." Concerning the manifestation of Jehovah to men in angelic and human form a modern writer says: "Much has been written concerning a certain Mal'akh Yaweh (messenger of Jehovah) who appears in the Old Testament. I say 'a certain' Mal'akh Yaweh, because it is not every Mal'akh Yaweh that appears to which I refer. In most passages the Mal'akh Yaweh is simply an angel sent by the Almighty to communicate his will or purposes to men. These angels are distinctly apprehended as created intelligences, wholly separate and diverse from God. But there is a class of passages in which the Mal'akh Yaweh appears as a self-manifestation of God. He appears indeed in human form and speaks of God in the third person. But those to whom he appears are oppressed by the consciousness that they have seen God and must die. They see in him an impersonation of Deity such as is found in no other angel. He is to their minds not merely a messenger from God but the revelation of the being of God. The Christian fathers for the most part identify him with the Logos of the New Testament. But there is as much reason to adopt the opinion of many modern writers who hold that he is Jehovah himself appearing in human form, for he is explicitly addressed as Jehovah (Judges vi. 11-24)."[333] The identity of the angel of Jehovah and of Jehovah Himself could not be more conclusively proved than in the appearance to Gideon, related in the passage above cited, Judges vi. 11-24. The absolute identity is revealed in verses 22, 23: "And when Gideon perceived that he was an angel of the Lord, Gideon said, Alas, O Lord God! for because I have seen an angel of the Lord face to face. And the Lord said unto him, Peace be unto thee; fear not: thou shalt not die." Now let us suppose that Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin had received these passages favorably; that they had become convinced that Jehovah had appeared in the olden days in the form of angels and of men; that at one time He was identical with a man, and at another with an angel whom He had sent. Let us suppose further that the judges of Jesus had demanded of Him a passage of ancient Scriptures connecting Him even remotely with this messenger of God. The following passage might have been produced: Ex. xxiii. 20, 21: Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared. Beware of him, and obey his voice, provoke him not; for he will not pardon your transgressions: for my name is in him. The concluding paragraph of the last cited passage, "My name is in him," is equivalent to "I am in him." The mere name of God is often used to denote God Himself as manifested. For instance, in I Kings viii. 29 is contained the statement, "My name shall be there"; that is, "There will I dwell." And when it is said that the name of Jehovah would be in the angel of Jehovah it is equivalent to saying that Jehovah Himself would be present in His messenger which He had sent before Him. The passage further teaches that the messenger of Jehovah to the earth bore a commission to pardon sin, or not to, according to his pleasure. The Sanhedrin were undoubtedly aware that Jesus claimed the same power by virtue of authority vested in Him by His Father. But it may be imagined that Caiaphas was perfectly willing to concede that Jehovah had appeared in human form upon the earth, but was not inclined to believe that He had ever manifested human passions and emotions, as Jesus had done when He denounced on several occasions the hypocrisy of the Pharisees; and, above all, when He overthrew the tables in the Temple, and, applying a lash to their backs, drove out the money-changers.[334] Let us imagine that the high priest demanded of the prisoner proof from the ancient Scriptures that Jehovah was possessed of ordinary human attributes; and particularly that He was at times disposed to fight. Jesus might have produced the following passages to show that Jehovah, His Father, had manifested in times past the ordinary human passions and emotions of repentance, grief, jealousy, anger, graciousness, love, and hate: Ex. xv. 3, 6: The Lord is a man of war.... Thy right hand, O Lord, is become glorious in power: thy right hand, O Lord, hath dashed in pieces the enemy. Gen. vi. 6: And it _repented_ the Lord that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him at his heart. Deut. vi. 15: For the Lord thy God is a _jealous_ God among you, lest the anger of the Lord thy God be kindled against thee, and destroy thee from off the face of the earth. Psa. cxi. 4: He hath made his wonderful works to be remembered: the Lord is _gracious_ and full of _compassion_. I Kings x. 9: Because the Lord _loved_ Israel forever, therefore made he thee king, to do judgment and justice. Prov. vi. 16: These six things doth the Lord _hate_: yea, seven are an abomination unto him. And as a final step in the examination let us imagine that Caiaphas and his colleagues had stated to Jesus that they were satisfied, from the authorities cited, that Jehovah had, in ancient days, appeared upon the earth in human form and had exhibited human attributes; that Jehovah had begotten a Son who was equal in power and majesty with Himself; that this Son had been begotten of a woman and possessed, therefore, human form and attributes; that this Jehovah had sent an angel messenger to the earth with a commission to pardon sins. Let us imagine further that the judges had demanded of the prisoner that He present and prove His credentials as the divine ambassador of God from heaven to men on earth; that He conform His personal claims to heavenly Messiahship to ancient prophecy by producing evidence before them in court. What facts, we may ask, could Jesus have shown to establish His claims to Messiahship and to Sonship of the Father? To attempt to originate a defense for Jesus would be unnecessary, if not actually impertinent and sacrilegious. We are fully justified, however, in assuming that if called upon to prove His claims to Messiahship He would have made the same reply to the Sanhedrin that He had already made to the Jews out of court who asked Him: "What sign shewest thou, then, that we may see, and believe thee? what dost thou work?"[335] "How long dost thou make us to doubt? If thou be the Christ, tell us plainly. Jesus answered them, I told you, and ye believed not: _the works that I do in my Father's name, they bear witness of me_."[336] Again, He would have doubtless made the same reply to Caiaphas that He did to the embassy from John the Baptist who came to inquire if He was really the Messiah. "Jesus answered and said unto them, Go and shew John again those things which ye do hear and see: The blind receive their sight, and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them."[337] Under a fair trial, in daylight, with full freedom of defense to the accused, abundant evidence could have been secured of the miraculous powers of Jesus and of the truthfulness of His pretensions to a divine origin. Testimony could have been introduced that would have been not only competent but entirely satisfactory. The New Testament narratives tell us of about forty miracles that Jesus performed during His life. The closing verse of St. John intimates that He performed many that were never reported. The circumstances surrounding the working of these wonders were such as to make them peculiarly competent as evidence and to carry conviction of their genuineness, when they were once introduced. In the first place, miracles were entirely capable of being proved by testimony. If those persons who had known Lazarus intimately during his lifetime saw him dead on one day, and on the fourth day afterwards saw him alive and walking the streets, the senses would be perfectly competent to decide and the fact that a miracle had been performed would be conclusively proved. And it may be added that a dozen witnesses who were entirely competent to testify could have been summoned to the defense of Jesus in the matter of raising Lazarus from the dead. Again, we must remember that the miracles of Jesus were performed in the most public manner, in the street, on the highway, in far-away Galilee, and at the very gates of Jerusalem. Both His friends and enemies, men and women, were witnesses of their performance. The number and publicity of these wonder-working performances rendered it possible for the Sanhedrin to call before them hundreds and thousands of competent witnesses who had seen and felt the manifestation of the divine power of the prisoner in their presence. Again, the miracles of Jesus were such as to render them subject to the test of the senses, when submitted to examination. If Caiaphas and his fellow-judges had decided that there was fraud in the matter of the alleged raising of Lazarus from the dead, because the brother of Martha and Mary was not really dead, but simply swooned or slept; if they had decided that the man sick of the palsy was not cured by miracle, but by faith; nevertheless, they could not have charged fraud and faith cure in the matter of the stilling of the tempest or the feeding of the five thousand or the walking on the sea. They would have been forced to conclude that the witnesses had lied or that miracles had been wrought. In the case of the feeding of the five thousand, the witnesses would have been too numerous to brand with falsehood. But, we may ask, was the performance of miracles by Jesus, if believed by the Sanhedrin, sufficient evidence of the divine origin of Jesus? This question we are not prepared to answer positively, either yes or no. We can only venture the personal opinion that the act of raising a person indisputably dead, to life again, would be an astounding miracle, an achievement that could be wrought by the hand of a God alone. The trouble with the question is that men like Elijah raised the dead.[338] It is true that there is no pretension that Elijah was divine or that he wrought the miracle by virtue of any peculiar power within himself. The Scriptures plainly state that he asked God to raise the dead to life through him. The same is true of the raising of Lazarus by Jesus.[339] But Christ seems to have raised the daughter of Jairus[340] and the son of the widow of Nain[341] from the dead by virtue of the strength of His own divinity; for there is no suggestion that the power of God was either previously invoked or subsequently acknowledged. As to the weight which the testimony of the miracles of Jesus should have had with Caiaphas and the other members of the court, we have a valuable indication in the opinion expressed by Nicodemus, who was himself a member of the Sanhedrin, when he said to Jesus: "We know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him."[342] If Nicodemus, "a ruler of the Jews" and one of the leading members of their highest tribunal, believed that Jesus was divine because of the wonders that He had wrought, why should not a knowledge of these miracles by the other members of the Sanhedrin have produced the same impression? Nicodemus, it is true, was a friend of Jesus, but he was not a disciple. And the very timidity with which he expressed his friendship, having come at night to pay his compliments to the Master, demonstrates the deep impression that the miraculous powers of the Christ had made upon him. But the judges of Jesus were not limited to the evidence of miracles as a proof of the divinity of the prisoner in their midst. They should have weighed "in the sincerity of their conscience" the fact that Jesus was born in Bethlehem in fulfillment of the prophecy contained in Micah v. 2; that He was sprung from the House of David in conformity with the teachings in Jeremiah xxiii. 5, 6; that John the Baptist was His forerunner like unto Elijah, who had come to prepare the way according to the prophecy in Malachi iii. 1; that He had begun to preach in Galilee, as foretold in Isaiah ix. 1, 2; that the scepter had departed from Judah and the lawgiver from between his feet, as prophesied in Genesis xlix. 10, which fact it was believed would herald the approach of the Messiah; that He had made His public entry into Jerusalem riding upon an ass, as foretold in Zechariah ix. 9; and that He had been betrayed into their hands by one of His own friends, in fulfillment of prophecies contained in Psalms xli. 9 and Zechariah xi. 12, 13. This cumulative evidence, this collective proof, must have carried overwhelming conviction to the minds and the hearts of fair and impartial judges. More than one Nicodemus would have arisen to plead the cause of Jesus if this testimony had been adduced before a free-minded, open-hearted, disinterested tribunal. More than one Joseph of Arimathea would have refused assent in a hostile verdict against a prisoner in whose favor the record of fact was so pronounced. In determining the weight that this evidence should have had in affecting the decision of the judges we must not forget that a Jewish prisoner was not required to prove his innocence. It was incumbent upon the Commonwealth of Israel to establish guilt beyond all doubt. We should also remember that the peculiar tendency of the Hebrew system of criminal procedure was in the direction of complete protection to the accused. Not reasonable doubt merely, but all doubt was resolved in his favor. It was a maxim of the Hebrew law that "the Sanhedrin was to save, not to destroy life." Pretext after pretext was sought to acquit. "The primary object of the Hebrew judicial system," says Benny, "was to render the conviction of an innocent person impossible. All the ingenuity of the Jewish legists was directed to the attainment of this end." If this generous and merciful tendency of Hebrew law had been duly observed, would not the production of the evidence above noted have resulted in the acquittal of Jesus? But, at this point, let us return to the consideration of the real meaning of the objection urged in Point XII. The irregularity therein alleged is that the Sanhedrin paid no attention whatever to the defense of Jesus. And herein was the real error. The members of that court might have rejected as false the claims of the Nazarene to Messiahship. They might have denounced as fraudulent his pretensions to miraculous powers. They could not for this reason have been charged with judicial unfairness, if they had first heard his defense and had then "weighed it in the sincerity of their conscience." Infallibility of judgment cannot be demanded of judicial officers. In closing the discussion of errors committed at the night trial in the palace of Caiaphas, the reader should be reminded that the twelve Points above mentioned are not exhaustive of the irregularities. Others might be mentioned. It seems that Jesus, being the accused, should not have been put under oath.[343] On the days on which capital verdicts were pronounced Hebrew judges were required to mourn and fast.[344] But there was evidently no mourning and fasting by Caiaphas and his colleagues at the time of the condemnation of Jesus. Again, there is no evidence that Antecedent Warning was properly administered. Still other errors might be noted, if a legal presumption in favor of the correctness of the record did not prevent. The irregularities which we have heretofore discussed, it is believed, exhaust all the material errors committed at the first session of the Sanhedrin. At least, no others are revealed by the Gospel records. _The Morning Session of the Sanhedrin._--About three hours after the close of the night session in the palace of Caiaphas, that is about six o'clock in the morning, the Sanhedrin reconvened in a second session. In the interval between these sittings Jesus was brutalized by His keepers. Exactly what the priests were doing we do not know. They were probably busily engaged in perfecting plans for the destruction of the prisoner in their charge. The daylight meeting is thus reported in Matthew xxvii. 1: "When the morning was come, all the chief priests and elders of the people took counsel against Jesus to put him to death." In Mark xv. 1 the same session is thus recorded: "And straightway in the morning the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the whole council, and bound Jesus, and carried him away, and delivered him to Pilate." The exact nature of this morning sitting, whether a regular trial or an informal gathering, is not certainly known. Meyer, Ellicott, and Lichtenstein maintain that this second session was nothing more than a prolongation of the night trial, perhaps with a brief recess, and that its special object was to convene for consultation concerning the carrying out of the sentence which had already been pronounced against Jesus.[345] But this view is entirely exceptional. It is maintained by the greater number of reputable authorities that the second sitting was in the nature of a second trial. The solution of the difficulty seems to turn upon the account given by St. Luke, for St. John records the details of neither the night nor the morning session. St. Luke describes a regular trial, but it is not positively known whether his account refers to the night or to the morning meeting. If his report refers to the same trial as that described in Matthew xxvi. 57-68 and in Mark xiv. 53-65, then we have only the brief notices in Matthew xxvii. 1 and in Mark xv. 1 concerning the morning session, which indicate only a very brief and informal meeting of the Sanhedrin at daybreak. On the other hand, if the report of St. Luke refers to the daylight meeting of the Sanhedrin referred to by St. Matthew and St. Mark then we have received from the third Evangelist a description of a regular trial at the second session of the Sanhedrin. Andrews has thus expressed himself very cogently concerning this matter: Our decision as to a second and distinct session of the Sanhedrin will mainly depend upon the place we give to the account in Luke xxii. 66-71. Is this examination of Jesus identical with that first session of Matthew xxvi. 57-68, and of Mark xiv. 53-65? Against this identity are some strong objections: First, The mention of time by Luke: "As soon as it was day." This corresponds well to the time of the morning session of Matthew and Mark, but not to the time when Jesus was first led before the Sanhedrin, which must have been two or three hours before day. Second, The place of the meeting: "They led Him into their council," [Greek: anêgagon auton eis to synedrion heautôn]. This is rendered by some: "They led Him up into their council chamber," or the place where they usually held their sessions. Whether this council chamber was the room Gazith at the east corner of the court of the temple, is not certain. Lightfoot (on Matthew xxvi. 3) conjectures that the Sanhedrin was driven from this its accustomed seat half a year or thereabout before the death of Christ. But if this were so, still the "Tabernæ," where it established its sessions, were shops near the gate Shusan, and so connected with the temple. They went up to that room where they usually met. Third, The dissimilarity of the proceedings, as stated by Luke, which shows that this was no formal trial. There is here no mention of witnesses--no charges brought to be proved against Him. He is simply asked to tell them if He is the Christ ("If thou art the Christ, tell us," R. V.); and this seems plainly to point to the result of the former session. Then, having confessed Himself to be the Christ, the Son of God, He was condemned to death for blasphemy. It was only necessary now that He repeat His confession, and hence this question is put directly to Him: "Art thou the Christ? tell us." His reply, "If I tell you, ye will not believe; and if I also ask you, ye will not answer me, nor let me go," points backward to his former confession. To His reply they only answer by asking, "Art thou then the Son of God?" The renewed avowal that He is the Son of God, heard by them all from His own lips, opens the way for His immediate delivery into Pilate's hands. Fourth, The position which Luke gives (xxii. 63-65) to the insults and abuse heaped upon Jesus. There can be no doubt that they are the same mentioned by Matthew and Mark as occurring immediately after the sentence had been first pronounced. From all this it is a probable, though not a certain conclusion, that Luke (xxii. 66-71) refers to the same meeting of the Sanhedrin mentioned by Matthew (xxvii. 1) and Mark (xv. 1), and relates, in part, what then took place. (Alford thinks that Luke has confused things and relates as happening at the second session what really happened at the first.) This meeting was, then, a morning session convened to ratify formally what had been done before with haste and informality. The circumstances under which its members had been earlier convened, at the palace of Caiaphas, sufficiently show that the legal forms, which they were so scrupulous in observing, had not been complied with.[346] If then the second session of the Sanhedrin was in the nature of a regular trial, what were the facts of the proceedings? St. Luke says: "And as soon as it was day, the elders of the people and the chief priests and the scribes came together, and led him into their council, saying, Art thou the Christ? tell us. And he said unto them, If I tell you, ye will not believe: And if I also ask you, ye will not answer me, nor let me go. Hereafter shall the Son of man sit on the right hand of the power of God. Then said they all, Art thou then the Son of God? And he said unto them, Ye say that I am. And they said, What need we any further witness? for we ourselves have heard of his own mouth."[347] The reader will readily perceive the source of the difficulty which we have just discussed. This report of St. Luke points both ways, toward both the night and morning sessions. "_And as soon as it was day_" clearly indicates a daybreak meeting, but the remainder of the account bears a most striking resemblance to the reports of the night trial given by St. Matthew and St. Mark. This seeming discrepancy is very easily reconciled, however, when we reflect that the second trial required by Hebrew law to be held in every case where a verdict of guilt had been pronounced, was virtually a repetition of the first trial. Benny tells us that the second trial was a critical examination of the trial of the first day, in which the questions and answers originally asked and made were carefully reviewed and reëxamined.[348] Is it very strange, then, that at the morning trial described by St. Luke substantially the same questions are asked and answers given as are found in the reports of the night trial by St. Matthew and St. Mark? We may now ask: What was the purpose of this second trial? Why did not the first trial suffice? According to the most reliable authorities, the answer to this question is to be found in that provision of the Hebrew law which required two trials instead of one, in every case where the prisoner had been found guilty at the first trial. Not only were there to be two trials, but they were to be held on different days. The morning session of the Sanhedrin was intended, therefore, to give a semblance of legality and regularity to this requirement of Hebrew law. But we shall see how completely the Sanhedrin failed in this design. "What legitimacy," says Keim, "might be lacking in the proceedings of the nocturnal sitting of the Sanhedrin, was to be completely made up by the morning sitting, without prejudice to the authority and the--in the main point--decisive action of the former.... There nevertheless was no lack of illegality. The most striking instance of this was the fact that though they wished to bring about an extension of the procedure over two days they had in fact only two sittings, and not two separate days. But contempt of the legal ordinances was much more seriously shown by the absence of any investigation into the circumstances of the case at the second sitting, although _both law and tradition demanded such an investigation_."[349] If "both law and tradition demanded such an investigation," that is, if the second trial of the case on the second day of the proceedings was required to be formal and in the nature of an action _de novo_; if the second trial was required by law to be characterized by all the formality, solemnity, and legality of the first trial; what errors, we may ask, are disclosed by the reports of St. Luke, St. Matthew, and St. Mark in the proceedings against Jesus conducted by the Sanhedrin at the morning session? To be brief, reply may be made that the irregularities were virtually the same as those that occurred at the night trial. The same precipitancy that was forbidden by Hebrew law is apparent. This haste prevented, of course, that careful deliberation and painstaking investigation of the case which the Mosaic Code as well as the rules of the Mishna imperatively demanded. It is true that the second trial was not conducted at night. But the Passover Feast was still in progress, and no court could legally sit at such a time. The Sanhedrin at the second session seems to have been still sitting in the palace of Caiaphas instead of the Hall of Hewn Stones, the legal meeting place of the court. This we learn from a passage in St. John.[350] Again, no witnesses seem to have been summoned, and the accused was convicted upon his uncorroborated confession. And finally, the verdict at the second trial, as was the case in that of the first, seems to have been unanimous, and therefore illegal. This unanimity is indicated by the combined reports of St. Matthew, St. Mark, and St. Luke. St. Matthew says: "When the morning was come, _all_ the chief priests and elders of the people took counsel against Jesus to put Him to death." St. Mark says: "And straightway in the morning, the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the _whole council_, and bound Jesus, and carried him away, and delivered him to Pilate." These accounts of the first two Evangelists very clearly state that the full Sanhedrin was present at the morning trial. Then St. Luke very explicitly explains the nature and manner of the verdict: "Then said they _all_, Art thou then the Son of God? And he said unto them, Ye say that I am. And they said, What need we any further witness? for we ourselves have heard of his own mouth." It may be objected that no formal verdict was pronounced at the second trial. Such a verdict would have been expressed in these words: "Thou, Jesus, art guilty."[351] While such words are not expressly reported by the Evangelists, the account of St. Luke taken in connection with the report of St. Mark of the night trial, which the morning session was intended to confirm, clearly indicates that such a verdict must have been pronounced. A reasonable inference from the whole context of the synoptic writers in describing both trials certainly justifies such a conclusion. The question again arises: If the full Sanhedrin was present at the morning session and if all the members condemned Jesus, either with or without a formal verdict, is it not true that both Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, who were doubtless members of the court, were arrayed against the Christ? If they were hostile in their attitude toward Him, either openly or by acquiescence at the morning session, does this fact not help to support the contention made under Point IX that they voted against Him at the night trial? We are well aware that there is much opposition to this view, but we are, nevertheless, compelled to agree rather reluctantly with Keim that "it is a pure supposition that members of the council who were secret friends of Jesus--whose existence, moreover, cannot be established--either raised an opposition in one of the sessions, or abstained from voting, or were not present."[352] The plain language of the Scriptures indicates: (1) That both Nicodemus[353] and Joseph of Arimathea[354] were members of the Great Sanhedrin; (2) that they were both present at both trials;[355] and (3) that they both either voted against Him or tacitly acquiesced in the judgments pronounced against Him.[356] We have already discussed under Point IX the passage in Luke xxiii. 51 referring to the fact that Joseph of Arimathea "had not consented to the counsel and deed of them," which seems to furnish refutation of the contention which we have made, as far as such contention relates to Joseph of Arimathea. Suffice it to note the opinion of Keim that "the passage in itself can be held to refer to absence or to dissent in voting."[357] "And the whole multitude of them arose, and led him unto Pilate." The reader may ask: Why did the Jews lead Jesus away to Pilate? When they had condemned Him to death on the charge of blasphemy, why did they themselves not put Him to death? Why did they invoke Roman interference in the matter? Why did they not stone Jesus to death, as Hebrew law required in the case of culprits convicted of blasphemy? Stephen was stoned to death for blasphemy.[358] What was the difference between his case and that of Jesus? Why was Jesus crucified instead of being put to death by stoning? The stoning of Stephen as a blasphemer by the Jews has been explained as an irregular outbreak of fanatical priests, a sort of mob violence. It has also been contended that the case of Stephen was one of the rare instances in which Roman procurators permitted the Jews to execute the death sentence. In any event it was an exceptional proceeding. At the time of the crucifixion of Jesus and of the martyrdom of Stephen the Jews had lost the right of enforcing the death penalty. Judea was a subject province of the Roman empire. The Jews were permitted by the Romans to try capital cases. If an acquittal was the result, the Romans did not interfere. If a verdict of guilty was found, the Jews were compelled to lead the prisoner away to the Roman governor, who reviewed or retried the case as he saw fit. Accordingly, having condemned Him to death themselves, the Jews were compelled to lead Jesus away to the palace of Herod on the hill of Zion in which Pilate was stopping on the occasion of the Paschal Feast, to see what he had to say about the matter, whether he would reverse or affirm the sentence which they had pronounced. The Roman trial of Jesus will be treated in the second volume of this work. END OF VOL. I FOOTNOTES: [1] "Testimony of the Evangelists," pp. 7-11. [2] "Testimony of the Evangelists," pp. 25, 26. [3] I "Starkie on Evidence," pp. 480-545. [4] John x. 30: "I and my Father are one." [5] Matt. ix. 9. [6] Col. iv. 14: "Luke, the beloved physician." [7] Matt. xxvi. 70-72. [8] Matt. xxvi. 46-50. [9] Matt. xxvi. 56. [10] Matt. xiv. 28-31. [11] Mark x. 35-42; Matt. xx. 20-25. [12] Matt. xi. 2, 3. [13] Mark iii. 21. [14] Luke iv. 28, 29. [15] Mark xiv. 51, 52. [16] "Intro. Vie de Jesus." [17] Luke i. 2, 3. [18] "Die synoptischen Evangelien," pp. 412-14. [19] Marcus Dods, "The Bible, Its Origin and Nature," p. 184. [20] An opposite doctrine seems to be taught in Luke xii. 11, 12; xxiv. 48, 49. [21] "Evidences of Christianity," p. 319. [22] Matt. xiv. 12-20; Mark vi. 34-43; Luke ix. 12-17; John vi. 5-13. [23] Luke xxii. 64. [24] Luke xxii. 51. [25] Campbell's "Philosophy of Rhetoric," c. v. b. 1, Part III, p. 125. [26] "Intro. Vie de Jesus," p. 62. [27] D. L. Moody, "Sermon on the Resurrection of Jesus." [28] See also I "Starkie on Evidence," pp. 496-99. [29] "Ant.," XVIII. 3, I. [30] See authorities cited in "The Brief." [31] "De iis qui sero puniuntur," p. 554. [32] P. 1080, edit. 45. [33] P. 1247, edit. 24, Huds. [34] P. 1327, edit. 43. [35] "Productique omnes, virgisque cæsi, ac securi percussi," Lib. XI. c. 5. [36] Domit. Cap. X. "Patremfamilias--canibus objecit, cum hoc _titulo_, Impie locutus, parmularius." [37] Book LIV. [38] "Aur. Vict. Ces.," Cap. XLI. "Eo pius, ut etiam vetus veterrimumque supplicium, patibulum, et cruribus suffringendis, primus removerit." Also see Paley's "Evidences of Christianity," pp. 266-68. [39] Luke xxii. 44. [40] Tissot, "Traité des Nerfs," pp. 279, 280. [41] Joannes Schenck à Grafenberg, "Observ. Medic.," Lib. III. p. 458. [42] Voltaire, "Oeuvres complètes," vol. xviii. pp. 531, 532. [43] De Mezeray, "Histoire de France," vol. iii. p. 306. [44] John xix. 34. [45] John xix. 35. [46] John xviii. 6. [47] "Encyc. Brit.," vol. xv. p. 550. [48] Mendelsohn, "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," p. 191. [49] Mendelsohn, p. 189, n. 1. [50] "Jewish Encyc.," vol. xii. p. 1. [51] Emanuel Deutsch, "The Talmud," p. 26. [52] Farrar, "Hist. of Interpretation." [53] Emanuel Deutsch, "The Talmud," p. 47. [54] "Encyc. Brit.," vol. xxiii. p. 35. [55] Emanuel Deutsch, "The Talmud," p. 58. [56] Emanuel Deutsch, "The Talmud," p. 27. [57] Emanuel Deutsch, "The Talmud," p. 27. [58] Deut. xvi. 18. [59] "Ant.," XIII. 10, 6. [60] Horace. [61] Emanuel Deutsch, "The Talmud," p. 12. [62] "Jewish Encyc.," vol. xii. p. 22. [63] Emanuel Deutsch, "Talmud," p. 12. [64] Maimon., "H. Sanh." xv. 10-13. [65] Mendelsohn, "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," pp. 45-50. [66] Mendelsohn, "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," pp. 45-50. [67] Mendelsohn, p. 43. [68] Mendelsohn, pp. 39, 40. [69] Mendelsohn, pp. 39, 40. [70] Maimonides ("Yad"), "Sanhedrin" xix. [71] Dr. Smith's "Hist. of Greece," p. 557. [72] "Jewish Encyc.," vol. ii. p. 257. [73] Ex. ii. 12-16. [74] "Sanh." 52b; Maim., "H. Sanh." xv. 4. [75] "H. Sanh." xv. 5. [76] Benny, "Crim. Code of the Jews," p. 90. [77] Mendelsohn, p. 159. [78] Chap. I. 10; X. i, 2. [79] Matt. xxvi. 59. [80] "Ant.," XIV. Chap. V. 4; "Wars of the Jews," I. VIII. 5; "Talmud," "Sanhedrin." [81] "Post Bibl. Hist.," vol. i. p. 106. [82] Matt. xvi. 21. [83] "Commentary on the Law," vol. ccclxvi. recto. [84] "Sanhedrin" 32. [85] Benny. [86] Jose b. Halafta, I. c. [87] R. Johanan, "Sanhedrin" 19a. [88] Benny. [89] Benny. [90] "Sanhedrin" 17a; "Menahoth" 65a. [91] Sifre, Num. 92 (ed. Friedmann, p. 25b). [92] Yalkut, "Exodus," Sec. 167. [93] Sotah 22b. [94] "Const. of the Sanhedrin," Chap. I. [95] Benny, "The Criminal Code of the Jews," p. 71. [96] Saalschütz, "Das Mosaische Recht," p. 58; Deut. xx. 5, 6. [97] Luke ii. 46-51. [98] Jer. xxxvii., xxxviii. [99] "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. p. 45. [100] "The Life and Words of Christ," vol. ii. p. 517. [101] "Archæol." 87. [102] Acts xxiv. 1, 2. [103] I Kings iii. 16-28. [104] Mendelsohn, "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," pp. 102, 103. [105] Mendelsohn, pp. 96-98. [106] "Sanhedrin," Chap. I. fol. 19. [107] Mendelsohn, p. 97. [108] Mishna, "Sanhedrin," Chap. IV. 1. [109] Mendelsohn, p. 98. [110] "Sanhedrin," 8b, 41a, _et al._ [111] Mendelsohn, p. 101. [112] Schürer, "The Jewish People in the Time of Jesus Christ," 2d Div., 1. [113] "Sanhedrin," IV. 4. [114] "Sanhedrin," IV. 1. [115] "Sanhedrin," 17a, p. 176. [116] "Sanhedrin," Chap. I. 5. [117] Benny. [118] Benny. [119] Benny. [120] Mendelsohn, p. 140, n. 327. [121] Montaigne, "Essays," III. C. XIII. [122] "Un homme ne jugera jamais seul; cela n'appartient qu'a Dieu." "Ne sis judex unus; non est enim unicus judex, nisi unus."--Salvador, "Institutions de Moïse," L. IV. Chap. II. p. 357. [123] "But let not the testimony of women be admitted, on account of the levity and boldness of their sex."--Josephus, "Ant.," IV. 8, 15. [124] "Nor let servants be admitted to give testimony, on account of the ignobility of their souls."--"Ant.," IV. 8, 15. [125] "Ant.," IV. 8, 15. [126] Maimonides, I. C. XI. 6, based on "Sanh." 26b. [127] Mendelsohn, p. 118. [128] "Talmud," B. B. 43a. [129] Deut. xvii. 6. [130] Num. xxxv. 30. [131] "Hist. Nat.," Lib. VIII. Cap. XXII. [132] L. 20, Dig. De quæstionibus, xlviii. 18. [133] Blackstone, iv. 357. [134] Con. U. S., Art. III, Sec. 3. [135] "Les lois qui font périr un homme sur la déposition d'un seul témoin, sont fatales à la liberté. La raison en exige deux; parce qu'un témoin qui affirme, et un accusé qui nie, font un partage; et il faut un tiers pour le vider. Les Grecs and les Romains exigeaient une voix de plus pour condamner. Nos lois françaises en demandent deux. Les Grecs prétendaient que leur usage avait été établi par les dieux; mais c'est le notre."--"De L'Esprit Des Lois," L. XII. C. III. [136] Mishna, "Sanhedrin," C. V. 2. [137] Maimonides, "Sanhedrin," Chap. XX. [138] "Jewish Encyc.," vol. v. p. 277. [139] "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," p. 29. [140] Philo Judæus, "De Decalogo," III. [141] Prov. xi. 10; Mishna, "Sanhedrin," IV. 5. [142] Apocrypha. [143] Benny. [144] Mishna, "Sanhedrin," Chap. V. 1. [145] Benny. [146] Deut. xix. 18-21. [147] Apocrypha. [148] Maimonides, Mishna, "Sanhedrin," Chap. IV. 2. [149] Münsterberg, "On the Witness Stand," "Untrue Confessions," pp. 137-171. [150] Rosadi. [151] Rabbi Wise, "Martyrdom of Jesus." [152] "Yad," Edut, xvii. 1. [153] "Jewish Encyc.," vol. v. p. 279. [154] Num. xxxv. 30. [155] Mishna, "Sanhedrin" V. 3, 4. [156] Matt. xxvi. 60. [157] Mark xiv. 56. [158] Lev. xxii. 28. [159] Deut. xvii. 5; "Sanhedrin" VII. 4. [160] Num. vi. 2-4. [161] "Jewish Encyc.," vol. vi. p. 260. [162] "Einleitung in der Gesetzgebung," p. 4. [163] "Jewish Encyc.," vol. vi. p. 260; Benny, "Criminal Code of the Jews," p. 97; Saalschütz, "Das Mosaische Recht," n. 560. [164] Mishna, treatise Makhoth. [165] Mishna, "Capita Patrum," I. 1. [166] Salvador, "Institutions de Moïse." [167] Mishna, "Sanhedrin," IV. 1. [168] "Jesus Before the Sanhedrin," p. 109. [169] "Talmud," Jerus., Sanh., C. I. fol. 19. [170] Mishna, "Tamid," C. III. [171] Geikie, vol. ii. p. 517. [172] Lyman Abbott, "Jesus of Nazareth," pp. 446, 447. [173] "Jewish Encyc.," vol. v. pp. 279, 280. [174] Benny. [175] Mendelsohn, p. 144. [176] Josephus, "Ant.," XIV. 9, 4. [177] Schürer, 2d div., vol. i. p. 175. [178] Schürer, 2d div., vol. i. p. 184. [179] "Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah," vol. ii. p. 556. [180] "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. p. 37. [181] "The Talmud," p. 32. [182] "Ant.," xv. 6, 2. [183] "History of the Jews," vol. ii. p. 163. [184] "Tribus, pseudo-propheta, sacerdos magnus, non nisi a septuaginta et unius judicum consessu judicantur."--"Mishna, De Synedriis," i. 5. [185] "Among the offenses of which it took cognizance were false claims to prophetic inspiration and blasphemy."--Andrews, "The Life of Our Lord," p. 510. [186] "Gesch. d. Judenth." vol. i. pp. 402-409. [187] "Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah," vol. ii. p. 553. [188] "Vie de Jesus," pp. 303, 304. [189] "Trial of Jesus Christ," p. 81. [190] Matt. xxvi. 60, 61. [191] Mark xiv. 57, 58. [192] Matt. xxvi. 64-66. [193] Mark xiv. 56. [194] John ii. 20. [195] John ii. 19. [196] John ii. 21. [197] "The Martyrdom of Jesus," pp. 75-77. [198] Deut. xiii. 1-5. [199] I Kings xxi. 10. [200] Isa. lii, 5; Ezek. xxxv. 12. [201] Luke xxii. 65; Acts xiii. 45; xviii. 6. [202] Revelation xiii. 1-6. [203] "Blackstone," vol. ii. pp. 75-84. [204] Greenidge, "Legal Procedure of Cicero's Time," pp. 427, 507, 518. [205] Deut. iv. 15, 16; Deut. xiii. [206] Gen. xli. 16. [207] Num. xx. 10-12. [208] Num. xx. 20-24. [209] Greenleaf, "Testimony of the Evangelists," p. 555. [210] Matt. v. 17. [211] John xi. 41. [212] Matt. ix. 20-22; Mark v. 25-34; Luke viii. 43-48. [213] Matt. viii. 24-26; Mark iv. 37-39; Luke viii. 23-25. [214] Matt. viii. 28-32; Mark v. 1-13; Luke viii. 26-33. [215] Matt. ix. 18-26; Mark v. 22-42; Luke viii. 41-55. [216] Luke vii. 12-15. [217] Matt. ix. 2, 3. [218] Luke v. 21. [219] John v. 18. [220] John x. 30-33. [221] John vi. 41. [222] John viii. 58. [223] "Testimony of the Evangelists," p. 562. [224] Edersheim, "Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah," vol. ii. p. 629. [225] John xiii.-xvii. [226] Matt. xi. 3. [227] Luke xxiv. 39-43; John xx. 24-28. [228] John xiii. 33. [229] John xviii. 9. [230] "Jesus Devant Caïphe et Pilate." [231] Acts iv. 3. [232] "Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah," vol. ii. p. 494. [233] See Cooley's "Blackstone," vol. ii. p. 330, n. 6; also Greenleaf, "On Evidence," vol. i. pp. 531-35 (10th edition). [234] "Vie de Jesus," p. 303. [235] John xviii. 13. [236] Matt. xxvi. 57. [237] Mark xiv. 53. [238] Luke xxii. 54. [239] John xviii. 19. [240] Luke iii. 2; Acts iv. 6. [241] "Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah," vol. i. p. 264. [242] "The Life of Our Lord," p. 142. [243] Luke iii. 2. [244] Plummer, St. Luke, in "International Critical Commentary," pp. 84, 515. [245] Josephus, "Ant.," XVIII. chap. ii. 2. [246] John xviii. 19-23. [247] Mark xiv. 58-61. [248] Matt. xxvi. 60-63. [249] Matt. xxvi. 63. [250] Mark xiv. 59. [251] Acts vi. 14. [252] "Jewish Encyc.," vol. i. p. 163. [253] Fiske, "Manual of Classical Literature," iii. Sec. 108; Smith, "Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities," 89a. [254] See discussion of Point I. [255] Luke xxii. 66. [256] Luke xxii. 2. [257] Mark xiv. 2. [258] Mark xiv. i; Matt. xxvi. 4 (Consilium fecerunt ut Jesum dolo tenerent et occiderent). [259] Maimonides, "Sanhedrin" II. [260] John xviii. 28; Luke xxii. 1; Mark xiv. 1; Matt. xxvi. 2. [261] Mishna, "Capita Patrum," I, 1. [262] Mishna, "Treatise Makhoth." [263] See Part II, Chap. V. [264] Edmund Stapfer, "Life of Jesus." [265] Matt. xxvi. 57-66. [266] Mark xiv. 55-64. [267] Matt. xxvii. 1. [268] Mark xv. 1. [269] Luke xxii. 66-71. [270] "Martyrdom of Jesus," p. 74. [271] "Criminal Jurisprudence of the Ancient Hebrews," p. 133, n. 311. [272] See Part II, Chap. IV. [273] Mark xiv. 56-65. [274] Mark xiv. 62. [275] Matt. xii. 14-16; Mark iii. 7; ix. 29, 30. [276] Luke xiii. 31, 32. [277] Matt. xxii. 15. [278] John iv. 26. [279] Mark i. 34. [280] John x. 24. [281] Matt. xvi. 20. [282] Blackstone. [283] Mendelsohn, p. 143. [284] Mark xiv. 63, 64. [285] "Martyrdom of Jesus," p. 74. [286] "The Trial of Jesus," p. 200. [287] Matt. xxvi. 59; Mark xiv. 55. [288] Matt. xxvii. 1. [289] Mark xv. 1. [290] John iii. 1; vii. 50. [291] Luke xxiii. 51. [292] John vii. 51. [293] John vii. 50; xix. 39. [294] Luke xxiii. 51. [295] Mendelsohn, p. 98. [296] Deut. xvii. 7, 8. [297] "It is important to notice that every time the necessities of the case required the Sanhedrin returned to the Hall Gazith, or of Hewn Stones, as in the case of Jesus and others."--"Thosephthoth, or Additions to the Talmud," Bab., "Sanhedrin," C. IV. fol. 37, recto. [298] Edersheim, "Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah," vol. ii. p. 556, n. 1. [299] John xviii. 28. [300] MM. Lémann, "Jesus Before the Sanhedrin," p. 140. [301] Mark xiv. 63, 64. [302] Edersheim, "Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah," vol. ii. p. 561. [303] Rabbi Wise, "Martyrdom of Jesus," p. 74. [304] Benny, "Criminal Code of the Jews," p. 81. [305] Matt. xxvi. 65. [306] See Part II, Qualifications of Judges. [307] "Talmud, Pesachim, or the Passover," fol. 57, verso; see also "Jesus Before the Sanhedrin," pp. 54, 55. [308] Benny, "Criminal Code of the Jews," pp. 28-41. [309] Matt. xxi. 31. [310] Matt. xxiii. 14, 15. [311] "Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah," vol. i. pp. 93, 94. [312] Matt. xxiii. 27, 29-33. [313] "Vie de Jesus," p. 267. [314] John xi. 49, 50. [315] John xi. 53. [316] Luke xxii. 1-3. [317] Matt. xxvi. 3-5. [318] Benny, "Criminal Code of the Jews," p. 56. [319] Geikie, "The Life and Words of Christ," vol. ii. p. 517. [320] Deut. xix. 18-21. [321] Mark xiv. 55. [322] Mishna, Treatise "Makhoth." [323] "Afresh the mighty line of years unroll'd, The Virgin now, now Saturn's sway returns; Now the blest globe a heaven-sprung Child adorns, Whose genial power shall whelm earth's iron race, And plant once more the golden in its place."--Virgil, Eclogue IV. [324] Gen. xlix. 8-10. [325] "Sanhedrin," fol. 97, verso. [326] "Martyrdom of Jesus," p. 76. [327] John xi. 48-50. [328] I Sam. xv. 29. [329] Hosea xi. 9. [330] Mark vii. 9-13. [331] "Jewish Encyc.," vol. i. p. 583. [332] Hodge, "Systematic Theology," vol. i. p. 485. [333] Steenstra, "The Being of God as Unity and Trinity," pp. 192, 193. [334] John ii. 15. [335] John vi. 30. [336] John x. 24, 25. [337] Matt. xi. 4, 5. [338] I Kings xvii. 17-22. [339] John xi. 41. [340] Matt. ix. 18-26; Mark v. 22-42; Luke viii. 41-55. [341] Luke vii. 12-15. [342] John iii. 2. [343] See Friedlieb, Archæol., 87; Dupin, 75; Keim, vol. iii. 327. [344] Bab. Sanh. f. 63, 1: "Cum synedrium quemquam moti adjudicavit, ne quidquam degustent illi isto die." [345] Andrews, "The Life of Our Lord," p. 522. [346] "The Life of Our Lord," pp. 523, 524. [347] Luke xxii. 66-71. [348] See Part II, Chap. V.; also Benny, "Crim. Code of the Jews," pp. 81-83. [349] Keim, "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. pp. 63, 64. [350] John xviii. 28. [351] "Thou, Reuben, art guilty! Thou, Simon, art acquitted, art not guilty!" were stereotyped forms of verdicts under Hebrew criminal procedure. Sanh. in Friedl., p. 89. [352] Keim, "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. p. 74. [353] John iii. 1; vii. 50. [354] Luke xxiii. 50, 51. [355] Matt. xxvi. 59; Mark xiv. 55; Matt. xxvii. 1; Mark xv. 1. [356] Mark xiv. 63, 64; Luke xxii. 70, 71. [357] Keim, "Jesus of Nazara," vol. vi. p. 74, n. 2. [358] Acts vi. 11; vii. 59. INDEX A Abarbanel, Isaac, on the Sanhedrin, I, 106 Ab-beth-din, vice-president of the Sanhedrin, I, 112 Abbott, Lyman, on the scribes of the Sanhedrin, I, 158 Acts of Pilate, the Apocryphal, modern criticism of, II, 327 discovery of, II, 327 Lardner on the authenticity of, II, 328 _seq._ Tischendorf on the authenticity of, II, 345 _seq._ antiquity of, II, 351 text of, II, 351 _seq._ Æbutius, Publius, part of, in the exposure of Bacchanalian orgies, II, 271 _seq._ Ædile, Roman, judicial powers of, II, 36 Æsculapius, Græco-Roman divinity, II, 198 Akiba, Jewish rabbi, Mishna systematized by, I, 79 Albanus, Roman governor, his deposition of Albanus, II, 296 Alcmene, myth of Zeus and, II, 265 Alexander, Jewish Alabarch, biographical note on, II, 299 Alexander III, pope, genuineness of "true cross" attested by bull of, II, 63 Alexandrian MS. of the Bible, I, 67 Ananias ben Nebedeus, Jewish priest, biographical note on, II, 299 family of, cursed in Talmud, II, 302 Ananos. See Annas Ananus, son of Annas, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 296 Anathemas, Jewish, against the Christians, II, 307, 308 Anaxagoras, Greek philosopher, on the deification of natural forces, II, 225 his exposure of the divination of Lampon, II, 226 Annanias, author of "Acts of Pilate," II, 351 Annas (Ananos), Jewish high priest, examination of Christ before, I, 238-247 deposition of, by Gratus, I, 244; II, 20 Christ examined in house of, I, 256 biographical note on, II, 295 legendary examination of Joseph of Arimathea, II, 374, 376 Antecedent Warning, peculiar provision of Hebrew Criminal Law regarding, I, 147-152 Antistius, L., Roman tribune, impeachment of Julius Cæsar by, II, 46 Antoninus Pius, Roman emperor, persecution of Christians by, II, 78 Aphrodisia, rites of, II, 265 Aphrodite, Greek divinity, patroness of prostitutes, II, 265 Aquillius, Manlius, Roman governor, trial of, before the Comitia, II, 40 Antonius, Marcus, Roman advocate, defense of, of Manlius Aquillius, II, 40 Aristotle, Greek philosopher, on the licentiousness of Sparta, II, 241 Arnold, Matthew, on despair of Roman people, II, 286 Arnobius, Numidian writer, on the familiar treatment of Roman gods, II, 218 on the lewdness of the Roman drama, II, 267 Art, effect of, in corruption of Roman and Greek morals, II, 268 Aspasia, mistress of Pericles, II, 242 Athens, domestic licentiousness of, II, 240, 241 Athronges, Jewish peasant, revolt of, II, 110 Atticus, Numerius, Roman senator, attests ascent of Augustus to heaven, II, 234 Atys, myth of, represented on Greek and Roman stage, II, 267 Augurs, Roman priests, II, 204 spectators at licentious dramas, II, 267 Augury, modes of, II, 211 Augustus Cæsar, Roman emperor, reign and policy of, II, 25, 26 care of profligate daughter Julia, II, 83 belief of, in omens, II, 215 his chastisement of Neptune, II, 222 deification of, II, 233 Aurelius Antoninus, Marcus, Roman emperor and philosopher, persecution of Christianity by, II, 78 adoration of Serapis by, II, 217 on suicide, II, 232 B Bacchanalian orgies, Livy's account of, II, 270-283 Bacchus, Roman deity, licentious festivals of, II, 265 Barabbas (Bar Abbas) released by Pilate, II, 131, 138, 363 Baring-Gould, S., on the symbolism of the Cross, II, 66 Baths, Roman, splendor of, II, 247 Beheading of criminals under Hebrew Law, I, 91, 99 Benny, on the Talmud, I, 75 on internment in Jewish Cities of Refuge, I, 98, 99 Bernhardt, Sarah, insulted in Quebec, II, 182 Bernice (Berenice), Jewish queen, a suppliant before Florus, II, 100 Bible, the manuscripts of, I, 67 purity of text of, I, 69 anthropomorphism of, I, 336-338 influence of, II, 4, 5 "Birchath Hamminim" Jewish imprecation against Christians, II, 308 Blasphemy, discussion of charge against Christ of, I, 193-209 Hebrew definition of, I, 199-201 classification of, I, 203 Boethus, family of, cursed in Talmud, II, 301. See also Simon Bossuet, Jacques B., French divine, on the citizenship of Christ, II, 108 Brothels, Roman, dedication of, to Venus, II, 265 Burning of criminals under Hebrew Law, I, 92, 99 C Cæsar, Caius Julius, 10th legion cowed by, II, 169 superstition of, II, 205 disbelief of, in immortality, II, 229 deification of, II, 233 divorces of, II, 238 profligacy of, II, 238, 239 unnatural practices attributed to, II, 263 Caiaphas, Jewish high priest, accusation of, against Christ, before Sanhedrin, I, 190 erratic conduct of, at trial of Christ, I, 290 rôle of, in trial of Jesus before Pilate, II, 101 biographical note on, II, 295 legendary examination of Joseph of Arimathea by, II, 374, 376 Caligula, Roman emperor, deifies his sister Drusilla, II, 234 depravity of, II, 234 Cantharus, family of, cursed in Talmud, II, 301 Capital Crimes under Hebrew Criminal Law, classification and punishments of, I, 91-101 Carlyle, Thomas, on the life of Christ, II, 187 Cassius, Dion, on the labeling of Roman criminals, I, 57 Cato, Marcus Porcius, contempt of, for the haruspices, II, 228 suicide of, II, 232 divorces of, II, 237 contempt of, for Lucullus, II, 246 merciless treatment of slaves, II, 251 Catulus, Quintus, dream of, presaging accession of Augustus, II, 214 Chanania, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 314 Chanania ben Chiskia, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 309 Charles IX, king of France, bloody sweat of, I, 59, 60 Christianity, conflict of, with Roman paganism, I, 16; II, 76-79 Chrysostom, St. John, on the legendary desire of Tiberius to deify Christ, II, 344 Cicero, Marcus Tullius, dream of, presaging accession of Augustus, II, 215 on Roman superstition, II, 221 on Roman skepticism, II, 227 his divorce of his wife, II, 237 witticism of, upon Cæsar's gallantries, II, 239 Cities of Refuge, Jewish, internment in, I, 96-99 Claudia, granddaughter of Augustus, marriage of, to Pilate, II, 82 dream of, regarding Jesus, II, 133, 355 Claudius, Roman commander, throws sacred pullets into the sea, II, 222 Clement V, pope, and the Talmud, I, 88, 89 Coliseum, the, description of, II, 260 Comitia Centuriata, public criminal trials in, II, 37-43 miscarriage of justice in, II, 38-42 Commodus, Roman emperor, deification of, II, 234 Consul, Roman, judicial powers of, II, 36 Coke, Sir Edward, contrast between Pilate and, II, 170-172 Cornelius, son of Ceron, the elder, biographical note on, II, 321 Cross, Roman instrument of death, erroneous representations of, II, 56 forms of, II, 62 use of, by various races as religious symbol, II, 64-67 "Cross, the True," legends of, II, 62, 63 Crucifixion, Plutarch on, I, 56 history of, II, 54, 55 mode of, II, 55 pathology of, II, 58, 59 Roman citizens exempt from, II, 54 of Jesus, II, 365 Cybele, Roman deity, importation of, from Phrygia, II, 199 D Deification of Roman emperors, ceremony of, II, 234 Dembowski, Bishop, and the Talmud, I, 88 Demosthenes, on the women of Athens, II, 242 Dérembourg, Joseph, on the Jewish priestly families, II, 294 Deutsch, Emanuel, on the Talmud, I, 74, 80 on the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 179, 181 Diocletian, Roman emperor, deification of, II, 233 Divination, Roman modes of, II, 211 Divorce, among the Romans, II, 236-239 trivial pretexts for, II, 237, 238 Döllinger, on the Roman view of Christianity and high treason, II, 77 on divorce, and the profligacy of Roman matrons, II, 236 on the effect of art in corrupting Greek and Roman manners, II, 268 Domitian, Roman emperor, self-deification of, II, 235 Doras, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 321 Dorotheas, son of Nathanael, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 321 Drama, the, licentiousness of, among Greeks and Romans, II, 266 Dreams, interpretation of, among Romans and Greeks, II, 213, 214 Druidism, annihilation of, II, 73 Drusilla, deified by Caligula, II, 234 Dysmas, legendary name of one of the thieves crucified with Jesus, II, 364 E Edersheim, Alfred, on the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 177 Elders, Jewish chamber of. See Sanhedrin Eleazar ben Partah, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 314 Eleazar, son of Annas, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 295 Eleazar, son of Simon Boethus, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 297 Eliezer, Jewish rabbi, Mishna amplified by, I, 79 Ellicott, Dr., on the character of Pilate, II, 91 Epicurus, Greek philosopher, II, 229 Epicureanism, degradation of, among Romans, II, 230 Epitaphs, irreligious Roman, II, 222, 285 Epulos, Roman priests, II, 204 Etruria, importation of haruspices from, II, 210 Eusebius, reference of, to the "Acts of Pilate," II, 329, 333, 344 Evhemere, on the Greek gods, II, 225 Evangelists, honesty of, I, 12 character of, I, 13, 14 motives of, I, 15 ability of, I, 18 candor of, I, 20-24 discrepancies of, I, 29-33 corroborative elements of narrative of, I, 34-39 impossibility of collusion among, I, 38 conformity of narrative of, with human experience, I, 39 coincidence of testimony of, with collateral circumstances, I, 52-67 narrative of, confirmed by profane historians, I, 56, 57 Evidence, rules of, under Hebrew Law, I, 144, 145 F False swearing under Hebrew Criminal Law, I, 93 Fathers, Church, writings of the, I, 68 Fecenia, Hispala, part of, in exposure of Bacchanalian orgies, II, 271 _seq._ Felix, Minucius, Christian father, controversy of, with pagans on adoration of the cross, II, 64 Flagellation, under Hebrew Criminal, I, 94 Flamens, Roman priests, II, 204 spectators at licentious dramas, II, 267 G Gallio, pro-consul of Achaia, attitude of, toward Jewish clamors, II, 107 Gamaliel, Jewish rabbi, biographical note on, II, 304 Ganymede, depraving influence of myth of rape of, II, 262 Gavazzi, Alessandro, sermons of, in Coliseum, II, 262 Geib, on the status of Judea, II, 16 on the courts of the Roman Provinces, II, 32 Geikie, Cunningham, on the non-existence of the Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 181 on the character of the trial of Jesus before Sanhedrin, I, 184 Gemara, the Jerusalem and Babylonian recensions of, I, 81 relation of, to Mishna, I, 83. See also Talmud and Mishna Germanicus, Cæsar temples profaned on death of, II, 222 exposure of children born on day of death of, II, 254 Gestas, legendary name of one of thieves crucified with Jesus, II, 364 Golden House of Nero, II, 246 Gibbon, Edward, on the jurisdiction of the great Sanhedrin, I, 120 on the laws of the Twelve Tables, II, 53 on the extent of the Roman Empire, II, 196 Gladiatorial games, origin of, II, 256 gigantic scale of, in Rome, II, 256, 257 conduct of, II, 258 Gospels, the, admissibility of, as legal evidence, I, 5-12 Governors, Roman, powers of, II, 24, 27, 28, 29 forbidden to take wives to their provinces, II, 84, 85 Graetz, Heinrich, on the existence of the Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 181 Greeks, superstition of, II, 223 philosophy of, II, 229 depraving effect on Romans of art, literature, and manners of, II, 240-244, 268, 284 Bacchanalian orgies introduced by, II, 270 invective of Juvenal against, II, 284 Greenidge, on the interpretation of native law by Roman proprætors, II, 31 Greenleaf, Simon, American jurist, on the admissibility of the Scriptures as legal evidence, I, 6-9 on the testimony of the Evangelists, I, 10, 11 on the legal justice of the conviction of Christ for blasphemy, I, 209 H Hacksab ben Tzitzith, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 320 "Hall of Hewn Stones," sessions of Sanhedrin in, I, 117 Haruspices, Roman, account of, II, 210 Helcias, Jewish treasurer, biographical note on, II, 300 Helena, Empress, legendary discovery of "true cross" by, II, 62 Hercules, Greek divinity, burning of, represented on Greek and Roman stage, II, 267 Herder, Johann, on the character of Christ, II, 187 Herod Antipas, character of, II, 120 his treatment of Jesus, II, 122-127 Herod I, the Great, last will of, II, 119, 120 arbitrary changes of, in high priesthood, II, 293 Hetairai, status of, in Athens, II, 242, 243 High priest, Jewish, vestments of, I, 158 abuses in appointment of, II, 293 Hillel, Jewish doctor, inspiration of, I, 84 Hillel, School of, and the Mishna, I, 79 dissensions of, with School of Shammai, II, 309 Homer, the bible of the Greeks, II, 264 Honorius IV, pope, and the Talmud, I, 87 Horatius, trial of, before the Comitia Centuriata, II, 40 I Ignatius, St., martyrdom of, in Coliseum, II, 261 Impalement, death by, II, 61 Infanticide, among Romans, II, 254 Inkerman, story of soldier killed at battle of, II, 191 Innes, on the trials of Jesus before the Sanhedrin, I, 185; II, 10 on the cowardice of Pilate, II, 138 Interpreters, not allowed in Jewish courts, I, 107 Imprisonment. See Law, Hebrew Criminal, I, 93 Ishmael, Jewish rabbi, and the Mishna, I, 79 Ismael ben Eliza, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 309 Ismael ben Phabi, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 298 family of, cursed in Talmud, II, 301 Isis, Egyptian deity, rites of, established in Rome, II, 217 Roman temples of, a resort of vice, II, 269 Issachar ben Keifar Barchi, Jewish priest, cursed in Talmud, II, 302 J James, brother of Jesus, condemnation of, by Ananus, II, 296 Janus, Roman god, invocations of, II, 207 Jehovah, appearances of, in human form, I, 343-349 Jerome, St., on the Jewish anathema against Christians, II, 308 Jesus, the Christ, human perfection of, I, 14; II, 186 scourging of, I, 56, 57 breaking of legs of, by soldiers, I, 57 bloody sweat of, I, 59, 60 physical cause of death of, I, 61, 62 watery issue of, I, 60-62 devotion of women to, I, 66 resurrection of, I, 211; II, 368 divinity of, I, 211, 212 celebrates the Paschal feast, I, 220-224 at Gethsemane, I, 224-226 arrest of, I, 225 private examination of, before high priest, I, 238-247 charged with sedition and blasphemy I, 250 annnounces his Messiahship before Sanhedrin, I, 273, 274 Messianic prophecies fulfilled in Him, I, 323-328, 341, 342 miracles of, I, 350-355 at morning session of Sanhedrin, I, 356-362 condemned to death by Sanhedrin, I, 365 His teachings treasonable under Roman law, II, 72 before Pilate, II, 96 _seq._ charged with high treason before Pilate, II, 106, 352 indictment of, before Pilate, II, 107-109 acquitted by Pilate, II, 116 sent by Pilate to Herod, II, 118 before Herod, II, 119 _seq._ mocked, and sent back to Pilate by Herod, II, 127 second appearance of, before Pilate, II, 129 _seq._ delivered to Jews by Pilate, II, 138 mocked by mob, II, 139 tributes of skeptics to, II, 187 Napoleon's tribute to, II, 189, 190 charged by Jews with illegitimacy, II, 356 crucifixion of, II, 365 See also trial of Jesus, Hebrew, and trial of Jesus, Roman Jesus ben Sie, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 298 Jews, the political state of, at time of Jesus, II, 11-23 discussion of their responsibility for Christ's death, II, 174-180 prejudices against, II, 180-187 distinguished, II, 185, 186 Joazar, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 296 Jochanan ben Zakai, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 311 John, St., at the sepulcher, I, 37 at the crucifixion of Christ, I, 65 John, St., Gospel of, style of, I, 19 John, Jewish priest, biographical note on, II, 299 Jonathan, son of Annas, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 295 Jonathan ben Uziel, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 306 John, son of John, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 321 Joseph of Arimathea, presence of, at trials of Christ, I, 282-286, 364 biographical note on, II, 318 receives body of Jesus from Pilate, II, 366 apocryphal account of escape of, from Jews, II, 367, 373-376 Josephus, Flavius, on the character of Pilate, I, 21 on scourging I, 56 on the Pharisees, I, 87 on the existence of the great Sanhedrin at time of Christ, I, 176 on the loss, by Jews, of power of life and death, II, 19 on the rapacity of the high priests, II, 301 Jowett, Benjamin, upon the corruption of Rome, II, 240 Judah, the Holy, Jewish rabbi, and the composition of the Mishna, I, 79, 80 Judas, son of Hezekiah, Jewish rebel, put to death by Herod, II, 109 Judas Iscariot, his betrayal of Christ, I, 227-235 Julia, daughter of Augustus, profligacy of, II, 82 marriages of, II, 83 Julian, Roman emperor, his defiance of Mars, II, 222 Juno, Roman divinity, sacrifices to, II, 208 Jupiter, Roman deity, multitudinous forms of, II, 203 sacrifices to, II, 208 Justin Martyr, reference of, to "Acts of Pilate," II, 331, 346, 348 Juvenal, Satires of, on Roman social depravity, II, 240, 244, 248 K Keim, Theodor, on the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 178 on the character of Christ, II, 188, 189 Knight, R. P., on the symbolism of the Cross, II, 65 Koran, the, I, 77 L Lamartine, Alphonse, on the death of Christ, II, 3 Lampon, Greek diviner, exposed by Anaxagoras, II, 226 Lardner, on the authenticity of the "Acts of Pilate," II, 328 _seq._ Law, Hebrew Criminal, administration of, I, 153, 154 basis of, I, 73, 84, 85 burial of bodies after execution under, I, 101, 171 capital punishments under, I, 91-93, 99-101 circumstantial evidence under, I, 144 Cities of Refuge under, I, 96 courts and judges, I, 102-126 execution under, I, 170, 171 false swearing under, I, 93 flagellation under, I, 94 imprisonment under, I, 93 peculiarities of, I, 125, 132, 147, 167, 168 slavery under, I, 95 tenderness of, for human life, I, 154, 155, 310 testimony under, I, 144-147 witnesses under, I, 127-144 written and documentary evidence irrelevant, I, 133, 145 Laws, Roman, lex Appuleia, II, 69 Cornelia, II, 69 Julia Majestatis, II, 69, 80 Memmia, II, 46 Porcia, II, 54 Remmia, II, 49 Talionis, II, 53 Valeria, II, 37, 54 Varia, II, 69 Lazarus, raising of, from the dead, I, 352 Lectisternia, Roman banquets to the gods, slaves released at, II, 130 indecencies of, II, 218 Lémann, extract from work of, on Sanhedrin, II, 291 Lepidus, Marcus, Roman patrician, magnificence of, II, 246 Livy, on scourging, I, 57 account of Bacchanalian orgies, II, 270-283 Longinus, legendary name of soldier who pierced Christ, II, 379 Lucullus, Roman patrician, luxury of, II, 244 Luke, St., occupation of, I, 19 Luke, St., Gospel of, style of, I, 19 Lupercals, Roman priests, II, 204 Luxury of the Romans, II, 244 Lycurgus, code of, II, 241 M Macarius, identification of "true cross" by, II, 63 Macaulay, Lord, speech of, on Jewish disabilities, II, 184 Mahomet, character of, I, 14 Malchus, ear of, cut off by Peter, I, 36, 226 Magath, Julius, extract from work of, II, 291 Maimonides, on Hebrew Capital Crimes, I, 91 on the prohibition of nocturnal trials, I, 255, 256 Manlius, Marcus, trial of, before the Comitia Centuriata, II, 40 Marius, Caius, assassin cowed by, I, 62 Mark, St., Jesus arrested at home of, I, 220 Marriage, among the Romans, II, 236 among the Greeks, II, 240-243 Marcius, Quintus, Roman consul, motion of, on the suppression of the Bacchanalian orgies, II, 282 Mars, Roman deity, II, 208 Messiah, the, prophecies regarding, and their fulfillment in Jesus, I, 322-328 varying expectations of Jews regarding, I, 319-322; II, 110 conception of Pharisees of, II, 324 conception of Sadducees of, II, 325 Matthew, St., occupation of, I, 19 Matthias, son of Annas, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 296 Mendelssohn, on the Talmud, I, 75 Messalina, Roman empress, lewdness of, II, 244 Messalinus, Cotta, prosecuted for treason, II, 70 Metrodorus on the Greek gods, II, 226 Mezeray, de, on the bloody sweat of Charles IX, I, 60 Minerva, Roman deity, II, 208 Miracles, probability of, I, 40-51 Spinoza on, I, 40-43 Renan on, I, 44 of Christ, I, 351-354 Mishna, the, E. Deutsch on, I, 80 subdivisions of, I, 80 relation of Talmud to, I, 83 traditional view of, I, 84 on capital and pecuniary cases, I, 155, 156. See also Gemara and Talmud. Mommsen, Theodor, on the jurisdiction of native courts of Roman subject peoples, II, 15 on Roman marital looseness, II, 243 on Roman extravagance, II, 247 Montefiore, Sir Moses, anecdote of, II, 180 Mosaic Code, the, a basis of Hebrew Criminal Law, I, 73, 84, 85 Müller, Johannes, explodes legend of Pilate and Lake Lucerne, II, 95 N Nachum Halbalar, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 314 Nævius, Marcus, accusation of Scipio Africanus by, II, 41 Napoleon I, fickleness of populace toward, I, 63, 64 tribute of, to Jesus, II, 189 religious faith of, II, 190, 191 Nasi, prince of the Sanhedrin, I, 112 Nathan, Jewish rabbi, note on, II, 315, note Neptune, Roman deity, II, 208 Nero, Roman emperor, deification of, II, 234 Golden House of, II, 246 Ney, Michel, French marshal, compared with St. Peter, I, 64 Nicodemus, Jewish elder, presence of, at trial of Christ, I, 282-286 defense of Christ before Sanhedrin, I, 305 presence and conduct of, at second trial of Jesus by Sanhedrin, I, 364 biographical note on, II, 319 apocryphal account of pleading of, for Jesus before Pilate, II, 360 Gospel of. See "Acts of Pilate" Nordau, Max, on Jewish pride in Jesus, II, 188 O Oaths, not administered to witnesses, under Jewish law, I, 134 Octavian. See Augustus Omens, belief of Romans in, II, 215 Onkelos, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 305 Oracle, Delphic, consulted by Romans, II, 210 Osiris, Egyptian deity, the cross a symbol of, II, 66 Ovid, Roman poet, on unnatural practices in temples, II, 269 P Paganism, Græco-Roman, conflict of, with Christianity, I, 16; II, 76-79 Hellenization of Roman religion, II, 199 importation of foreign gods, II, 200 origin and multiplicity of Roman gods, II, 198-204 Roman priesthood, II, 204, 205 Roman forms of worship, II, 205-209 perplexity of worshipers regarding deities, II, 207 prayer, II, 207, 208-210 augury and divination, II, 210-215 omens, II, 215, 216 decay of Roman faith, II, 217-220 Roman skepticism, II, 220-229 sacrilege among Romans, II, 221 disbelief of Romans in immortality, II, 228, 229 Epicureanism among the Romans, II, 229-231 stoicism, II, 231-233 deification of Roman emperors, II, 233-235 base deities of Romans, II, 265 effect of religion in Greek and Roman social corruption, II, 269 Palace of Herod, description of, II, 96, 97 Paley, William, on the discrepancies of the Gospels, I, 32, 33 Pan, Græco-Roman divinity, feasts of, II, 265 Paul, St., on the depravity of Rome, II, 284 delivery of, to Felix, II, 299 Pericles, Greek tyrant, and the divination of Lampon, II, 226 Pentateuch, the, a basis of Hebrew jurisprudence, I, 73 Permanent Tribunals (quæstiones perpetuæ), mode of trials before, at Rome, II, 43-52 Peter, St., at the sepulcher, I, 37 compared with Marshal Ney, I, 64 and Malchus, I, 36, 226 Pharisees, and the Talmud, I, 87 attitude of, toward the law, I, 338 dominant in priestly order, II, 302 their conception of the Messiah, II, 324 characteristics of, II, 324 Philip, St., and the feeding of the five thousand, I, 35 Phillips, Wendell, on Hindu swordsmanship, I, 48 Philo, Jewish philosopher, on the character of Pilate, I, 21; II, 89-91 Phryne, mistress of Praxiteles anecdote of, II, 242 Pilate, Pontius, powers of, as procurator of Judea, II, 27-31 name and origin of, II, 81, 82 marriage of, II, 82 becomes procurator of Judea, II, 84 provokes the Jews, II, 85 appropriates funds from Corban, II, 86 hangs shields in Herod's palace, II, 88 slays Galileans, II, 88 character of, I, 21; II, 88 canonization of, II, 89 ordered to Rome by Vitellius, II, 92 legends regarding death of, II, 92-94 interrogation of Jesus, II, 112-115 talents of, II, 115 his opinion of Jesus, II, 115 acquits Jesus, II, 116 sends Jesus to Herod, II, 117 reconciled with Herod, II, 128 offers to release Barabbas, II, 130 warned by wife's dream of Jesus, II, 133, 355 washes his hands of Christ's death, II, 137, 364 releases Barabbas, II, 138, 363 summary of his conduct of Christ's trial, II, 168 conduct of, compared with Cæsar, II, 169; with Sir Edward Coke, II, 170-172 Pindar, Greek poet, denunciation of, of vulgar superstitions, II, 224 Plato, Greek philosopher, unnatural love of, II, 263 reprobation of Homeric myths, II, 264 Pliny, the Younger, correspondence of, with Trajan, II, 78 disbelief of, in immortality, II, 229 on slavery, II, 203 Plutarch, on crucifixion, I, 56 anecdotes of Lucullus, II, 244-246 Polybius, on Roman pederasty, II, 263 Pompeia divorced by Cæsar, II, 238 Pompey, Cneius, the Great, conquest of Palestine by, II, 11 defeated at Pharsalia, II, 25 divorce of his wife Mucia, II, 238 Pontiffs, Roman, II, 204 Poppæa, wife of Nero, deification of, II, 77 Postumius, Spurius, Roman consul, suppression of Bacchanalians by, II, 270-283 Prætor, Roman, judicial powers of, II, 36 Priesthood, Roman. See Roman religion Priests, Jewish Chamber of. See Sanhedrin Procurator, Roman, jurisdiction of, II, 27, 28 Provinces, Roman, classification of, by Augustus, II, 27 Q Quetzalcoatle, crucified Savior, worshiped by Mexicans, II, 66 R Rabbi, origin of Jewish title of, II, 315 Rabbis, Jewish, arrogance of, II, 316 Raphall, Morris, on the origin of the Sanhedrin, I, 104 Rawlinson, George, on the political state of Judea at the time of Christ, II, 11 Religions, policy of Romans toward foreign, and of conquered peoples, II, 72-74 Renan, Ernest, on miracles, I, 44-47 on the "judicial ambush" of blasphemers, I, 235 on the character of Pilate, II, 90 on the character of Christ, II, 187, 188 Richard III, King of England, contest of, with Saladin, I, 48 Richter on the pathology of crucifixion, II, 58, 59 Rosadi, on the confession of the accused under Hebrew law, I, 143 on the hatred of Pilate toward the Jews, II, 98 on the order of criminal trials in Roman provinces, II, 32 Rousseau, Jean Jacques, on the death of Christ, II, 187 Romans, laws of, the basis of modern jurisprudence, II, 5 policy of, toward subject peoples, II, 13-15 responsibility of, for Christ's death, II, 174-176 religion of. See Paganism Ruga, Carvilius, first Roman to procure a divorce, II, 236 S Sacrifice, human, among the Romans, II, 209 Sadducees, attitude of, toward the law, I, 338 attitude of, toward anthropomorphism of Pentateuch, I, 338 dominant in the Sanhedrin, I, 339 disbelief of, in immortality, II, 322 wealth and rank of, II, 322 Saladin, Saracen Sultan, contest of, with Richard III, I, 48 Salians, Roman priests, II, 204 Sallust, Roman historian, on the conspiracy of Cataline, II, 229 Salvador, Joseph, on the existence of the Great Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 177 Samuel, Hakaton, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 307 Sanctuary, right of, among ancient peoples, I, 96 Sanhedrin, the Great, origin of, I, 103 history of, I, 104 organization of, I, 105 chamber of scribes, I, 105; II, 303 chamber of elders, I, 105; II, 318 chamber of priests, I, 105; II, 292 qualifications of members of, I, 106 disqualifications of judges of, I, 109 officers of, I, 112 compensation of officers of, I, 115 sessions of, I, 116 recruitment of personnel of, I, 117 quorum of, I, 119 jurisdiction of, I, 119 appeals to, from minor Sanhedrins, I, 120 morning sacrifice of, I, 157 assembling of judges of, I, 158 scribes of, I, 158, 159 examination of witnesses by, I, 159-162 debates and balloting of judges of, I, 162 procedure of, in cases of condemnation of accused, I, 165-167 method of counting votes, I, 167, 168 death march of, I, 169, 170 question of existence of, at time of Christ, I, 175-181 jurisdiction of, in capital cases at the time of Christ, I, 181-183 discussion of trial of Christ before, I, 183-186 procedure of, in trial of Christ before, I, 186 illegality of proceedings of, against Christ, I, 255-259, 260-262, 263-266, 267-270, 287-294 illegality of sentence of, against Christ, I, 271-278, 279-286 disqualifications of members of, who condemned Christ, I, 296-308 morning session of, at trial of Christ, I, 356-364 three sessions of, to discuss Christ, I, 305, 306 authority of, after Roman conquest, II, 12, 16, 21 deprived by Romans of power of capital punishment, II, 19, 20 biographical sketches of members of, who tried Jesus, II, 291-326 Sanhedrins, minor, appeals from, to Great Sanhedrin, I, 120 establishment of, I, 121 jurisdiction of, I, 121 superior rank of those of Jerusalem, I, 123, 124 Saul, Abba, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 313 Savonarola, Girolamo, Florentine reformer, burning of, I, 63 Scaurus, Manercus, prosecuted for treason, II, 70 Sceva, Jewish priest, biographical note on, II, 300 Schenck, account of, of the bloody sweat of a nun, I, 59 Schürer, on the existence of the Sanhedrin at the time of Christ, I, 176 on the jurisdiction of the Sanhedrin, II, 18 on the administration of civil law by Sanhedrin, II, 30 Scipio Africanus, trial of, before Comitia Centuriata, II, 41 Scott, Sir Walter, on the contest between Richard III and Saladin, I, 47, 48 Scourging, of Jesus, I, 56 mode of, among Romans, II, 55 Scribes, Jewish, Edersheim on, I, 302 Scribes, Jewish Chamber of. See Sanhedrin Segnensis, Henricus, anecdote of, illustrative of mediæval ignorance regarding Talmud, II, 74 Semiramis, Assyrian queen, origin of crucifixion imputed to, II, 54 Seneca, anecdote from, regarding political informers, II, 71 on the patriotic observance of the national religion, II, 226 on suicide, II, 232 on slavery, II, 252 on Roman myths, II, 265 Septuagint, version of the Bible, paraphrasing of anthropomorphic passages in, I, 237 Sepulture, of crucified criminals forbidden, II, 58 Serapis, Egyptian deity, images of thrown down, II, 73 Marcus Aurelius an adorer of, II, 217 Servilia, mistress of Julius Cæsar, II, 239 Shammai, School of, and the Mishna, I, 79 dissensions of, with School of Hillel, II, 309 Shevuah ben Kalba, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 319 Shoterim of the Sanhedrin, I, 113 Sibylline Books, II, 199, 204 Sibyl, Erythræan, Virgil inspired by, II, 287 Simon, Jewish rebel, revolt of, II, 110 Simon, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 320 Simon Boethus, made high priest by Herod I, II, 296 Simon ben Camithus, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 298 Simon Cantharus, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 297 Simon, son of Gamaliel, Jewish elder, biographical note on, II, 305 Simon Hamizpah, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 314 Sinaitic MS. of the Bible, I, 67 Slavery, under Hebrew law, I, 95 account of, among Romans, II, 250, 251 Social life, Græco-Roman, marriage and divorce, II, 236-240 prostitution, II, 242-244 luxury and extravagance, II, 244-249 poverty of Roman masses, II, 249 slavery, II, 249-253 infanticide, II, 254 gladiatorial games, II, 255-262 depravity of, traceable to corrupt myths, II, 262-270 practice of Bacchanalian rites, II, 270-283 hopeless state of, at time of Christ, II, 284-287 Socrates, Greek philosopher, resemblance of charges against, to those against Jesus, II, 181 counsel of, to Hetairai, II, 243 Sodomy, prevalence of, among Greeks and Romans, II, 262-264 practiced in Roman temples, II, 269 Solomon ben Joseph, Jewish rabbi, on the Talmud, I, 90 Sonnenthal, Adolf von, Jewish actor, refused freedom of Vienna, II, 182 Sparta, licentiousness of, II, 241 Spartacus, Roman gladiator, revolt of, II, 259, 260 Spartans, marital looseness of, II, 241 Spinoza, Jewish philosopher, on miracles, I, 40-44 Standards, apocryphal miracle of, at trial of Christ, II, 354 _seq._ Starkie on the credibility of testimony, I, 12 Stephen, St., stoning of, I, 365 Stephen, Sir James F. J., on the Roman treatment of Christianity, II, 76 on Pilate's trial of Jesus, II, 159-164 Stoicism, among the Romans, II, 231 resemblance of, to Christian precepts, II, 331 Stoning of criminals under Hebrew law, I, 92, 99 Strangling of criminals under Hebrew law, I, 91, 99 Strauss, David, on the behavior of Jesus before Herod, II, 126 on the character of Christ, II, 187 Stroud on the physical cause of death of Christ, I, 61, 62 Suetonius, Roman historian, on the labeling of criminals before execution, I, 57 on divination, II, 213 narrative of, of dreams presaging reign of Augustus, II, 214 account of, of belief of Augustus in omens, II, 215 Suicide, attitude of Stoics toward, II, 232 Suspension, death by, II, 61, 62 Sweat, bloody, historical instances of, I, 59, 60 T Tacitus, Roman historian, on slavery, II, 253 Talmud, the, definition of, I, 74 recensions of, I, 81 contents of, I, 82 relation of Mishna to, I, 83, to Gemara, I, 83; to Pentateuch, I, 83; to Mosaic Code, I, 84, 85 efforts of Christians to extirpate, I, 87, 88 message and mission of, I, 89 See also Gemara and Mishna Telemachus, St., death of, in arena, II, 261 Temples, a resort of immorality in Rome, II, 269 Tertullian, Latin father, on the character of Pilate, II, 89 on the resort of vice to temple precincts, II, 269 reference of, to the "Acts of Pilate," II, 329, 333 _seq._, 347, 348 Tertullus, his prosecution of Paul, II, 299 Testimony, under Hebrew Criminal Law, of each witness required to cover entire case, I, 132 vain, I, 145 standing, I, 146 adequate, I, 147 of accomplices, I, 228-230, 235, 236 Theodota, the courtesan, counseled by Socrates, II, 243 Theophilus, son of Annas, Jewish high priest, biographical note on, II, 296 Theresa, Maria, Austrian empress, codex of, II, 54 Three, Jewish Courts of, jurisdiction of, I, 124 Tiberius Cæsar, Roman emperor, sway of, II, 27 character of, II, 70 prosecutions of, for treason, II, 70, 71 marriage of, to Julia, II, 83 legendary desire of, to deify Christ, II, 329, 330 _seq._ Tischendorf, Constantine, on the authenticity of the "Acts of Pilate," II, 345 _seq._ Tissot, account of, of the bloody sweat of a sailor, I, 59 Trajan, Roman emperor, correspondence of, with Pliny, II, 78 Trials, Roman criminal, right of appeal, II, 28 during the regal period, II, 35 Roman, mode of, in the Comitia Centuriata, II, 37-43 mode of, in the Permanent Tribunals, II, 43-52 prosecutor, rôle and selection of, II, 43, 44, 49 Trial of Jesus, Hebrew, nature of charge against Jesus before Sanhedrin, I, 187 procedure of, before Sanhedrin, I, 188 discussion of charge of blasphemy against Jesus, I, 193-209 illegality of arrest of Jesus, I, 219-237 illegality of private examination of Jesus before high priest, I, 238-247 illegality of indictment of Jesus, I, 248-254 illegality of nocturnal proceedings against Jesus, I, 255-259 illegality of the meeting of the Sanhedrin before morning sacrifice, I, 260-262 illegality of proceedings against Christ, because held on the eve of the Sabbath, and of a feast, I, 263-266 illegality of trial, because concluded in one day, I, 267-270 condemnation of Jesus founded on uncorroborated evidence, I, 271-278 Jesus illegally condemned by unanimous verdict, I, 279-286 condemnation of Jesus pronounced in place forbidden by law, I, 288-292 irregular balloting of judges of Jesus, I, 292-294 condemnation of Jesus illegal, because of unlawful conduct of high priest, I, 290, 291 disqualifications of judges of Jesus, I, 296-308 Jesus condemned without defense, I, 309 second trial of Jesus by Sanhedrin, I, 356-366 Trial of Jesus, Roman, discussion of Roman and Hebrew jurisdiction, II, 3-23 Roman law applicable to, II, 68-80 as conducted by Pilate, II, 96-118, 129-139 legal analysis of, II, 141-168 Tribune, Roman, judicial powers of, II, 36 Tryphon, son of Theudion, Jewish elder; biographical note on, II, 321 Twelve Tables, laws of the, II, 53, 208 U Ulpian, Roman jurist, his definition of treason, II, 69 V Vatican, MS. of the Bible, I, 67 Venus, Roman deity, sacrifices to, II, 208 impersonated by Phryne, II, 243 worshiped by harlots, II, 266 Veronica, St., legend of, II, 93 Vestals, Roman priestesses, guardians of sacred fire, II, 204 spectators at licentious dramas, II, 267 Vinicius, Lucius, Roman patrician, letter of Augustus to, II, 83 Virgil, poem of, on advent of heaven-born child, I, 321; II, 287 Virginia, legend of, II, 236 Vitellius, legate of Syria, spares Jewish prejudices, II, 85 orders Pilate to Rome, II, 92 Vitia, Roman matron, executed for treason, II, 71 Voltaire, François de, account of, of the bloody sweat of Charles IX, I, 59 on character of Christ, II, 187 Vulgate, version of the Bible, I, 68 W Witnesses, under Hebrew Criminal Law, competency and incompetency of, I, 127-129 number of, required to convict, I, 129 agreement of, I, 131 adjuration to, I, 134 examination of, I, 136, 138 false, I, 140 the accused as, I, 141 separation of, I, 137 Wise, Rabbi, on the non-existence of the Great Sanhedrin at time of Christ, I, 175, 179 on the "martyrdom of Jesus," I, 330 X Xenophanes, ridicule of, of Greek religion, II, 224 Z Zadok, Jewish scribe, biographical note on, II, 310 Zeno, Greek philosopher, originator of Stoicism, II, 229 Zeus, Greek divinity, character of, I, 14 myth of rape of Ganymede by, II, 262 Corrections The first line indicates the original, the second the correction: p. 24: in the life and minstry in the life and ministry p. 189: that he flattered that He flattered God could be worshiped in any other place as well as in his God could be worshiped in any other place as well as in His p. 206: that he was "the Christ, the Son of God" that He was "the Christ, the Son of God" Index: Dysmas, legendary name of one of thieves crucified with Jesus, II, 364 Dysmas, legendary name of one of the thieves crucified with Jesus, II, 364 Derembourg, Joseph, on the Jewish priestly families, II, 294 Dérembourg, Joseph, on the Jewish priestly families, II, 294 Lemann, extract from work of, on Sanhedrin, II, 291 Lémann, extract from work of, on Sanhedrin, II, 291 Scipio Africanus, trial of, before Comitia Centuriata Scipio Africanus, trial of, before Comitia Centuriata, II, 41 Footnote 135: sont fatales a la liberté. sont fatales à la liberté. 
41569	----	available by the Jewish National and University Library Digitized Book Repository (http://jnul.huji.ac.il/eng/digibook.html) Note: Images of the original pages are available through the Jewish National and University Library Digitized Book Repository. See http://aleph.nli.org.il/nnl/dig/books/bk001202937.html Transcriber's note: Greek words and phrases in the Greek alphabet have been transliterated and are surrounded by plus signs (+) in this transcription (example: +spêlaiôn+). Footnotes in the original publication were numbered at the page level. E.g., if a page had three footnotes, they were numbered 1, 2 & 3, and footnote numbering began with 1 on each page on which notes appeared. For this transcription, all 903 footnotes have been renumbered sequentially, from 1 to 903, and footnotes for a given chapter have been placed at the end of the chapter. JERUSALEM EXPLORED Being a Description of the Ancient and Modern City. [Illustration: University Press Logo] Cambridge: Printed by C. J. Clay, M.A. At the University Press. JERUSALEM EXPLORED Being a Description of the Ancient and Modern City, With Numerous Illustrations Consisting of Views, Ground Plans, and Sections, by ERMETE PIEROTTI, Doctor of Mathematics, and Architect-Engineer, Civil and Military, to His Excellency Surraya Pasha of Jerusalem. Translated by Thomas George Bonney, M.A., F.G.S. Fellow of St John's College, Cambridge. VOLUME I.--TEXT. [Illustration: Printer's Logo] London: Bell and Daldy, Fleet Street. Cambridge: Deighton, Bell, and Co. M.DCCC.LXIV. [The right of Translation is reserved.] TO HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY NAPOLEON III. Emperor of the French, PROTECTOR OF THE HOLY PLACES, THIS CONTRIBUTION TO ARCHÆOLOGICAL SCIENCE, IN WHICH HE IS HIMSELF A PROFICIENT, IS BY HIS MAJESTY'S AUGUST PERMISSION INSCRIBED, BY HIS OBEDIENT SERVANT, ERMETE PIEROTTI. _PALAIS DES TUILERIES, LE 26 NOV. 1861._ _CABINET DE L'EMPEREUR._ _MONSIEUR,_ _L'EMPEREUR ME CHARGE D'AVOIR L'HONNEUR DE VOUS INFORMER QUE, SELON VOS DÉSIRS, SA MAJESTÉ VEUT BIEN ACCEPTER LA DÉDICACE DE VOTRE OUVRAGE SUR LES MONUMENTS ET LES LOCALITÉS DE LA PALESTINE[1]._ _AGRÉEZ, MONSIEUR, L'ASSURANCE DE MA CONSIDÉRATION DISTINGUÉE._ _POUR LE SECRÉTAIRE DE L'EMPEREUR, CHEF DU CABINET ET PAR AUTORISATION._ _LE Ss. CHEF._ _JACALEY._ _LE DR. E. PIEROTTI._ _11 RUE DES DEUX BOULES, PARIS._ [1] Of which Work this is intended as the first part. PREFACE. On the subject of Jerusalem many books in various languages have already been published; but I venture to think that there is still room for another, as most of them are open to objections of different kinds. Some authors have erred in being carried away by their subject, and disappoint the reader by substituting their own reflexions for the information that he desires to acquire. Some, with the eye of fancy, seem to behold the shades of Kings, of Prophets, and of Heroes, wandering among their tombs, or haunting the ruins of Sion; others, after a short stay in Jerusalem, return to their own homes and publish books, composed of fragments of classic lore, and the traditions they have gathered from the guides who have accompanied them in the visits to the Holy Places; some indeed going so far as to denounce as heretics and infidels all who do not lend a ready belief to these tales. Lastly, there are some who, without visiting Jerusalem, and consequently without a minute knowledge of its topography, rely upon the information they have gathered from the accounts of others, to reconstruct the ancient walls, the Temple, and other buildings, and endeavour to overthrow the conclusions which have been formed after a prolonged residence in the country and much careful observation. In the works of all these authors there is much that is interesting, but the description of what is really to be seen is always more or less defective. I have accordingly endeavoured to supply this want during my residence in the Holy City, and now present to my readers the fruits of eight years of continual labour, devoted to a study of the topography of Jerusalem upon the spot, in which I have been constantly occupied in excavating and removing the rubbish accumulated over the place during so many centuries, in retracing the walls, in examining the monuments and ancient remains, and in penetrating and traversing the conduits and vaults; so that I trust I am in a position to throw some fresh light upon the subject of Jewish Archæology. In arranging the plan of my work, I have rested chiefly upon the Bible, the traditions of the Rabbis, and the works of Josephus, and have made but little use of any other authorities upon the ancient topography of the city; but, to compensate for this, I have made excavations and watched those made by others, have formed intimacies with the inhabitants of the country, have sought for information on the spot, regardless of personal risk, have worked with my own hands under the ground, and so have obtained much knowledge of that which lies below the surface of the soil in Jerusalem; and have pursued my purpose, at one time with bribes, at another with force, and always with patience, perseverance, and courage. But my efforts would have been of little avail had it not been for the constant protection and assistance of His Excellency Surraya Pasha, of M. de Barrère, the French Consul, and his Chancellor, M. Aimé Dequié, who lost no opportunity of publicly testifying their esteem and regard for me. I must not forget to express my gratitude to the Ecclesiastical authorities, who have also shewn me great kindness. That I have been able to publish my book in England is due to the Rev. George Williams, Fellow of King's College, Cambridge, who, when he had heard of my discoveries in the Holy City,--a place so dear and so full of interest to him,--invited me to this University, gave me a truly English welcome, and aided me to the utmost of his power in accomplishing my desire. For the translation of my Italian manuscript into English, I am indebted to the Rev. T. G. Bonney, Fellow of St John's College, whom I have also to thank for several useful suggestions and corrections. I must also express my obligations to Mr R. W. Taylor, Fellow of the same College, who, in order to expedite the publication of the book, kindly undertook to assist his friend by translating the Notes. The proof-sheets have been corrected by Mr Bonney, and revised by Mr Williams, and by the Rev. John E. B. Mayor, Fellow of S. John's College, who has not only been at the pains to collate them with my manuscript, but has also aided me with his great learning and experience. I cannot find terms adequate to express my gratitude to these three gentlemen for their constant kindness and friendly care. Nor can I refrain from thanking my numerous friends in this University, who have contributed to render my sojourn among them at once pleasant and profitable; with whom I have spent many happy hours, the memory of which will not leave me during the rest of my life. And now I present my book to the reader, apologizing for its many deficiencies, and trusting that he will be an indulgent critic. It does not profess to be more than a simple and strict record of facts, and therefore I must ask him to pardon me if it be sometimes rather dull and dry. I have purposely avoided, as much as possible, all that would interfere with the main end of the work, such as personal reminiscences and unimportant details; wishing rather to put forward facts than theories, to rely upon sight rather than imagination. Most thankfully shall I receive friendly correction and criticism, or suggestions and advice for my conduct in the new investigations which I hope to make in Palestine. As regards those which I have described in the following pages, I can honestly say that I have spared no pains to make them as complete as possible; and though they have cost me much time and money, much anxiety and fatigue, still, if I succeed in throwing any additional light upon Jewish antiquities, or in exciting a more general interest upon such an important subject, I shall feel that I have not laboured in vain. ERMETE PIEROTTI. CAMBRIDGE, _December 15th, 1863_. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE ORIGIN OF THE NAME JERUSALEM--HISTORY--TOPOGRAPHY AND GENERAL ASPECT--CLIMATE--POPULATION--WATERS 1 CHAPTER II. ANCIENT TOPOGRAPHY OF JERUSALEM--IDENTIFICATION OF THE MOUNTAINS, HILLS AND VALLEYS--JERUSALEM IN THE TIME OF THE JEBUSITES, DAVID, SOLOMON, JOTHAM, HEZEKIAH, MANASSEH, NEHEMIAH, HEROD--THE TESTIMONY OF JOSEPHUS EXAMINED--THE SIEGE BY TITUS--FORMER EXTENT OF THE CITY--JERUSALEM IN THE TIME OF HADRIAN, THE CRUSADERS AND SOLYMAN 16 CHAPTER III. MOUNT MORIAH AND ITS ENVIRONS--HISTORY IN THE TIME OF ABRAHAM, JACOB, DAVID, SOLOMON, ZERUBBABEL, ALEXANDER THE GREAT, ANTIOCHUS EPIPHANES, THE MACCABEES, POMPEIUS, CRASSUS, THE HERODS, TITUS, HADRIAN, CONSTANTINE, JULIAN THE APOSTATE, OMAR, ABD-EL-MALEK, VALID OR ELULID, THE CRUSADERS, SALADIN, SELIM I., SOLYMAN I.--GENERAL EXAMINATION OF MORIAH, WITH DETAILS OF THE INVESTIGATIONS 45 CHAPTER IV. THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION, AND THE HOSPITAL OF S. JOHN, WITH THEIR ENVIRONS--HISTORY OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE FROM THE DEATH OF CHRIST TO THE PRESENT TIME--GENUINENESS OF THE SEPULCHRE--GOLGOTHA--EXAMINATION OF THE EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH--RUINS OF THE HOSPITAL 102 CHAPTER V. INVESTIGATIONS IN THE VIA DOLOROSA (OR THE WAY OF THE CROSS). THE RELIGIOUS AND OTHER REMARKABLE BUILDINGS IN IT OR IN ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD AND IN THE REST OF THE CITY, TOGETHER WITH ALL THE CONVENTS OF THE DIFFERENT RELIGIOUS COMMUNITIES 135 CHAPTER VI. EXCURSIONS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF THE CITY ON THE EAST, SOUTH, AND SOUTH-WEST--THE VALLEY OF KIDRON, CALLED ALSO THE VALLEY OF JEHOSHAPHAT, WITH ITS MONUMENTS AND REMARKABLE PLACES--THE MOUNT OF OLIVES--BETHPHAGE--BETHANY--THE VALLEY OF HINNOM--THE MOUNT OF EVIL COUNSEL--SOUTH-WESTERN PART OF THE VALLEY OF GIHON--MOUNT SION--CHRISTIAN CEMETERIES--TOMB OF DAVID, AND SUBTERRANEAN VAULTS--THE COENACULUM--THE HOUSE OF CAIAPHAS--THE GROTTO OF S. PETER--THE LEPERS 167 CHAPTER VII. EXCURSIONS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF THE CITY ON THE NORTH AND WEST--THE MONUMENT OF HELENA OF ADIABENE, AND THE CHURCH DEDICATED TO S. STEPHEN--ROYAL CAVERNS--GROTTO OF JEREMIAH--HOUSE OF THE VINE--TOMBS OF THE KINGS--SHEIKH JERRAH--ANCIENT SYNAGOGUE--TOMB OF SIMON THE JUST--TOMBS AT THE HEAD OF THE KIDRON VALLEY--KIDRON POOL--VARIOUS TOMBS ON THE NORTH-WEST--TOMBS OF THE JUDGES--SHEIKH AYMAR--RUSSIAN BUILDINGS--VALLEY OF GIHON--BIRKET MAMILLAH--MONUMENT OF HEROD, AND RUINS OF THE CHURCH OF S. BABYLAS--GREEK CONVENT OF THE HOLY CROSS--PROPERTY OF THE ARCHIMANDRITE NICOFORUS 223 CHAPTER VIII. ON THE WATERS, FIT OR UNFIT FOR DRINKING, IN JERUSALEM AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD 245 CHAPTER IX. GENERAL REMARKS UPON THE PRESENT STATE OF THE CITY OF JERUSALEM 262 * * * * * NOTES 281 CHRONOLOGICAL SUMMARY 311 PRINCIPAL PASSAGES FROM THE HOLY BIBLE 315 PASSAGES FROM JOSEPHUS'S ANTIQUITIES OF THE JEWS 323 PASSAGES FROM JOSEPHUS'S HISTORY OF THE JEWISH WAR 327 INDEX 333 CORRIGENDA ET ADDENDA. Page 7, line 30, _for_ Hulda _read_ Huldah Page 10, line 33, _for_ and in 1859 _read_ and in 1861 Page 14, line 2, and page 15, lines 6 and 13, _for_ Sherif _read_ Sherîf Page 37, line 8, _for_ Barrére _read_ Barrère Page 43, line 28, _for_ Willebrand _read_ Willibrand Page 106, line 5, and page 117, line 14, _for_ Abbot _read_ Abbé Page 145, line 23, _for_ then _read_ be thou Page 155, head line, _for_ Greek Synagogue _read_ Great Synagogue Page 207, line 18, _for_ 260 _read_ 270 Page 210, last line, _for_ Note XXII. _read_ Note XVI. Chapter 1. The numbers of the different nations and sects that inhabit Jerusalem were taken by the Author, in the service of Surraya Pasha, in the year 1861. Vols. I. and II. of the Gesta Dei per Francos, referred to in the body of the work, form 'Tomus Primus Orientalis Historiæ.' The pages are numbered continuously, and, according to Dr Robinson, the book usually forms only one volume. This, however, was not observed by the translator in verifying the references until the earlier sheets were struck off. Sanutus' Liber Secretorum fidelium Crucis forms 'Tomus Secundus Orientalis Historiæ.' An account of most of the earlier books referred to in this work will be found in Dr Robinson's Biblical Researches, Vol. III. First Appendix, pp. 3-27 (1st Edition). La Citez de Jherusalem, contained in M. de Vogüé's work, Les Églises de la Terre Sainte, is also printed in the Rev. G. Williams' Holy City, Vol. 1. Appendix II. pp. 134--142 (2nd Edition). JERUSALEM EXPLORED. CHAPTER I. ORIGIN OF THE NAME JERUSALEM--HISTORY--TOPOGRAPHY AND GENERAL ASPECT--CLIMATE--POPULATION--WATERS. Most authors agree in identifying the Salem of Melchizedek[2] with Jerusalem. S. Jerome[3] however asserts that the residence of the King of Righteousness was in the east of Judea, three leagues to the south of the city of Scythopolis, and not far from the Jordan, supporting his opinion by the fact that in his time a town still existed there called Salim (_Salumias_), not far from which was Ænon[4], where S. John Baptist baptized. The Arabs of the Jordan guided me to Salumias and to a neighbouring valley, which I identify with "the valley of Shaveh[5] (_the plain_), which is the king's dale." We are told that Abraham met Melchizedek and the king of Sodom on his return from the successful attack on the invaders, and it seems incredible that he should have gone by Jerusalem to Hebron, thus uselessly prolonging his journey by passing through a strange country. Nor would it be said that the king of Sodom went out "_to meet him in the valley of the plain_," but rather "_to seek him in the king's dale in the mountains_," nor would Melchizedek have been received by Abraham, but they would have met in Salem[6]. For these reasons I believe Salem and Jerusalem to be two distinct places. There is, however, no doubt that Jerusalem was the city of the Jebusites, a nation descended and named from Jebus, son of Canaan. It is difficult to fix the period when it acquired the name of Jerusalem (_Yerush-shalom_, Inheritance of Peace,) for the use of the word in Joshua x. 1, xii. 10, Judges i. 21, does not prove that it was older than the period of the conquest. The Emperor Hadrian called it _Ælia Capitolina_. The City is named _El Kuds_, or _Beit el Makdus_ (the Holy House), by the Arabic writers of the middle ages. It is possible that it may have borne this name at a much earlier period, as Cadytis[7], a great city of Syria, taken by Necho, king of Egypt, may be Jerusalem; Cadytis being only a corruption of the Aramaic _Kadishtha_ (the Holy). Some suppose that _Jerusalem_ has been formed by the union of _Jebus_ and _Salem_, the _b_ being changed into _r_, but the Hebrew form of the word does not admit of this transformation. The derivation given by Lysimachus[8] is amusing from its absurdity. He asserts that in the time of Bocchoris, king of Egypt, the Jews were expelled from that country by the order of the Sun-god, who was disgusted at the diseased and leprous condition of the race, and visited the land with a famine; that being led by Moses, they travelled over the desert; and "the difficulties of the journey being over, they came to a country inhabited; and there they abused the men, and plundered and burnt their temples; and then came into that land which is called Judea, and there they built a city and dwelt therein; and that their city was named _Hierosyla_, from this robbing of the temples; but that still, upon the success they had afterwards, they in time changed its denomination, that it might not be a reproach to them, and called the city _Hierosolyma_, and themselves _Hierosolymites_." Adonizedek was king of Jerusalem at the time of the conquest under Joshua[9]. He fell in battle against the Jews, near Gibeon, and some time after the lower town was taken by them. The Jebusites[10], however, still remained in it, among the descendants of Judah and Benjamin, and were not driven from the upper town till the eighth year of David's reign, when their stronghold was taken by storm[11], and the place became the capital of his kingdom. Jerusalem attained to its highest pitch of grandeur under the government of Solomon, being the centre of commerce, civilization, and religion. After the division of the Tribes, it continued to be the capital of the kingdom of Judah. In the fifth year of Rehoboam it was taken and sacked by Shishak[12], king of Egypt. In the reign of Jehoram[13] bands of Philistines and Arabs entered the city, plundered the king's palace, and carried his wives and sons into captivity. In the reign of Amaziah[14] it was sacked by Joash king of Israel. It was unsuccessfully threatened by the Assyrians in the days of Hezekiah[15]. Manasseh[16] fortified the western side of the city and Ophel, but it was laid waste by the Chaldeans under Nebuchadnezzar[17]. After a captivity of half a century, the Jews were permitted by Cyrus to rebuild it, but, owing to the opposition of their enemies, the work was not completed till the time of Nehemiah. Jerusalem was involved in the troubles caused by the fall of the Persian Empire. The city opened its gates to Alexander, who not only treated it with humanity, but also conferred upon it several privileges. After his death it was taken by Ptolemy, son of Lagus, king of Egypt. Under the Ptolemies, and for a while under the Seleucidæ, it on the whole enjoyed peace and honour, until the barbarity of the tyrant Antiochus Epiphanes renewed the sorrows of the unhappy city. The heroic sons of the house of Mattathias delivered their country from this yoke, and it remained under the princes of the Asmonean family until Palestine was conquered by the Romans. Pompeius the Great, who entered Jerusalem as a conqueror 63 B.C., respected the lives and property of the inhabitants. The temple was protected by him, only to be plundered by Crassus. The liberality of Herod the Great added much to the splendour of Jerusalem; but after his death the spirit of sedition spread more and more every day among the Jews, producing frequent revolts against the Romans, which were terminated by the destruction of the city by Titus, A.D. 71. Thus were the predictions of the prophets fulfilled. After lying in ruins for sixty years it was rebuilt by the Emperor Hadrian upon a part of its former site, and called Ælia Capitolina[18]; but the Jews were forbidden to enter it under pain of death. When Christianity triumphed in the reign of Constantine, the heathen temples were replaced by churches in honour of every memorial of the Saviour's life and death. Chosroes II., king of the Persians, took the city by assault, A.D. 614; it was regained by the Emperor Heraclius A.D. 629, and again taken by the Khalif Omar A.D. 636. After this it was successively under the dominion of the Persian Khalifs, of the Fatimites of Egypt, and of the Seljukians, in whose time the Crusades were commenced, owing to the preaching of Peter the Hermit. The Christian army, led by Godfrey of Bouillon, entered the Holy City A.D. 1099. The Latin kingdom was brought to an end by the victories of Saladin A.D. 1187. Sultan Malek el-Kamel ceded the city to Frederick II. of Germany, but it was recovered by the Mohammedans under Jenghiz Khan, A.D. 1244. It then remained subject to the different dynasties of the Sultans of Egypt and Syria, until it was conquered by the Turks under Selim I. A.D. 1517. Ibrahim Pasha of Egypt took possession of it A.D. 1832, but the Great Powers restored it to the Porte A.D. 1840[19]. The spirit of the present Turkish government, influenced as it is by the nations of Europe, induces us to think that a happier and more peaceful future is in store for Jerusalem, and that under their protection the furious contests, so common among the rival sects of Christians, who struggle for the possession of the Holy Places, will be appeased. By these quarrels only will the soil of Jerusalem be stained with blood, not by the fanaticism of the Mohammedan; he is, and will be, restrained by the power of the local authorities, the energy of the Consuls, and the bribes paid by the Convents to pacify the more restless spirits. We may also hope that European civilization will speedily penetrate into Palestine, and that Jerusalem will become an inviolable asylum, open to every devout man; for all, without distinction of creed, are entitled to mourn, to hope, and to pray, on the spot consecrated by the sacrifice of our Divine Master. The city of Jerusalem[20] is situated about 31° 47' north latitude and 33° east longitude (Paris) in the highest part of the mountains of Judea, and upon the ancient boundaries of the tribes of Judah and Benjamin (Joshua xviii. 6). It is surrounded on every side by rising ground, and therefore cannot be seen by the traveller until he approaches near it. The most distant view of it is obtained from the village of _Neby Samwîl_[21] (Prophet Samuel), three hours (about twelve miles) distant on the north-west; and it was from this height that the first Crusaders, under Godfrey of Bouillon, saluted Jerusalem with shouts of exultation. On the north the city is overshadowed by the mountain of _Shafat_ (fair prospect), the ancient Scopus. It was from this position that Titus made his first general survey of the city, which at that time he had no intention of destroying[22]. On the east rises Mount Olivet; on the south, an eminence known as the Hill of Evil Counsel, and also as the Mount of the Sepulchres, from the great number of tombs existing there. To the west are the summits of Mount Gihon. Valleys separate all these mountains from the city and the high table-land to the north, entirely surrounding it except on the north-west and a small portion of the north side, where the ground is so nearly level as to admit of an easy approach. On the north commences the valley of Kidron, at first not deep but sinking as it approaches the east, and continuing to do so along the whole of that side, until it reaches the lower extremity of the gardens of Siloam. Here it unites with the valley of Hinnom, which runs parallel to the south of the city. On the west is the valley of Gihon, which is very deep at the point where it takes the name of Hinnom, on the south-west. From this conformation of the ground, it is obvious that, in times when only the weapons and military engines of ancient warfare were employed, the city was an important stronghold, well defended by nature, except on the north-west and a small portion of the north side, where the almost level ground exposed it to an attack. From the most remote periods of antiquity until the time of the Crusades and Saladin, Jerusalem was invariably assaulted at these points by those who made themselves masters of the city. A few olive-trees, a bare argillaceous soil scattered over with stones and flints, some ruins of ancient sepulchres, four water-tanks, some cisterns almost entirely dilapidated, and bare rocks, some of which exhibit traces of chiselling, are the only objects that meet the eye throughout the whole region of the north and north-west. On the east, along the course of the valley of Kidron, nothing is seen but rocks and accumulations of earth and rubbish: these continue likewise along the south, but the desolate effect is somewhat concealed by the growth of vegetation, and by the gardens of the peasants of Siloam. The ruins still existing, and the nature of the soil, which is mostly grey in colour and full of lime, shew that the ground on this side was once occupied by houses. Finally, on the west are seen the reservoir of Mamillah, accumulations of earth and rubbish, argillaceous soil, bare rocks, and a few recent plantations,--the work of the improver of cultivation in Palestine, the Greek Archimandrite, Nicoferus. As may be inferred from this description, the environs of Jerusalem present an appearance of wretchedness and desolation, that cannot fail to strike the eye of the traveller: and the feeling of melancholy is further increased by the thought that the Holy City itself is surrounded by tombs which are daily being opened, and that the inhabitants have only cemeteries for their public promenades. The memories of the past alone are able to attract the traveller and the pilgrim to Jerusalem,--not its present condition; for the miserable spectacle presented by the monuments still existing above ground would certainly not repay the trouble and fatigue of so long a journey. But those memories, together with the subterranean remains, afford ample recompense to any one possessing imagination and religious feeling, who wishes to study the Bible in its own peculiar country, where its use will inevitably lead him to the truth. During the past few years several buildings have been erected in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, more especially on the north-west. Of these, the most remarkable, both for their extent and for their site, which commands the city on every side, are those belonging to Russia. This great nation, though the last to establish a mission here, has been the first to choose a fine situation and erect suitable buildings upon it. The occupants have also the advantage of escaping from the bad smells of the city. I was the first to offer this site to Cyril, Bishop of Melitopolis, and head of the Mission, but it was declined. I renewed the offer to His Excellency M. de Mansouroff, who at first refused it, but afterwards gave orders that the purchase should be made. We will now proceed to a survey of the city itself. The whole _terrain_ slopes sensibly in an easterly direction; its highest point is at the north-western angle of the walls; but between this position and the highest part of Sion to the south the difference of level is not so great as to forbid us to conjecture that it was originally one hill. The accumulations of soil have so much altered the surface of the ground that it is impossible to recognize ancient localities in the modern city without making excavations: this I have done to an extent that enables me to speak confidently on the point. Believing that in an undertaking of this kind it is useless to form an opinion without an accurate investigation of the soil and a careful study of the subject, I could not be content to remain merely a few days in the country. Modern Jerusalem does not occupy the whole of the space covered by the ancient city in the days of Herod; the greater part of Mount Sion (to the south) being excluded, as it has been since the time when Hadrian rebuilt the city under the name of _Ælia Capitolina_. The agreement between the descriptions of the town, given by William of Tyre, James of Vitri, Brocardus and many others in the middle ages, and those of modern writers, shews that its limits have not since undergone any changes. The wall, which now surrounds the city, was built from the foundations at that time, and only restored in some parts by order of Sultan Solyman the Magnificent, son of Selim I. in 1534, as declared by the inscriptions over the gates[23]. This wall is not of uniform height, but varies from thirty-six to forty-two feet. Its thickness also varies in different parts, from four to five and five and a half feet. The whole wall is crowned by battlements, and makes a great number of angles; of these there are more on the south than on the north; while on the east it forms nearly a straight line, and on the west, two segments, meeting in a very obtuse angle at the Jaffa gate. Here rise some towers[24], and the old fortress, called the Castle of David[25]. This constitutes the feeble nucleus of the fortification of the city, and is of no importance whatever in the present state of military science. The form of the city is an irregular trapezium, the longest side of which is the north, the next the south; the east is shorter than either of the former, the west the shortest of all. The walls contain eleven gateways[26], five of which are closed up. 1st. On the north, the gate of Damascus, called by the Arabs _Bâb-el-'Amud_, or The Gate of the Column[27]. Through this is the road to the ancient land of Ephraim, and so to Nablûs and Damascus. It is also the gate of honour by which all the Mohammedan authorities who arrive as governors or as visitors to the Holy City make their first entry. This gate is better built than any of the others, and presents a fine appearance; its Saracenic architecture is magnificent; the few arabesques and ornaments are of excellent workmanship. Inside, on the right-hand wall on entering, is a Cufic inscription. 2nd. Proceeding eastwards, about 780 feet from the gate just described, is the gate, commonly called that of Herod, which has been walled up for some few years, to save the expense of a guard. The Arabs call it _Bâb-ez-Zaheri_, which some translate as Gate of Gardens. Close to this gate is a small reservoir, called the Pilgrim's Pool, in memory of a maiden who made a vow to walk to Jerusalem barefoot and fasting, and died of exhaustion on reaching this spot. 3rd. Continuing along the eastern side and turning to the south, after passing by a ditch excavated in the rock, we come to a pool and to the Gate of Saint Mary, _Bâb-Sitti-Mariam_ of the Arabs, called by many S. Stephen's Gate. Over the gateway are four lions in _bas relief_, said traditionally to have been placed there by the Khalif Omar[28]. The pool is called _Birket-Hammam-Sitti-Mariam_, or the Pool of the Bath of our Lady Mary. This gate leads to the valley of Kidron, commonly called the valley of Jehoshaphat, to Bethany, and to Jericho. 4th. At a short distance, towards the south, is the Golden Gate[29], which would open upon the area of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_. This is the most richly ornamented of all, and is remarkable for its architecture, of which I shall presently speak at greater length. It has long been closed up, doubtless on account of a legend, to which much importance is attached by the natives, which states that through this gate a sovereign from the west will enter, on a Friday, and make himself master of the city. In consequence, many resort to the gate every Friday to offer their mid-day prayer and to entreat God to deliver them from foreign invasions. 5th. Within a short distance is a very small gate, also built up, which M. de Saulcy was the first to recognize, (in my opinion wrongly,) as the gate of Jehoshaphat of the period of the Crusades. 6th. Passing the south-east corner of the wall, and proceeding westward, we observe a gate with a pointed arch, also walled up. 7th. Continuing in the same direction we find a triple gate, also closed with masonry. 8th. The southern gate, called by the Mohammedans _Bâb-el-Huldah_, Gate of Huldah[30]. This gate, now disused, is under the Mosque _el-Aksa_. Of its ornamentation I shall speak more fully in another place. 9th. Still keeping along the southern wall in a westerly direction we find the small Dung Gate, called by the Arabs _Bâb-el-Mogharibeh_, Gate of the western Africans. It is not kept open throughout the year; but when there is a scarcity of water in the city, it is used by the water-carriers. 10th. Ascending towards Sion, we reach the Sion Gate, _Bâb-Neby-Daûd_, (The Gate of the prophet David,) so called because it leads to the Sepulchre of David, which is at a short distance. Through it too is the way to the Christian and Jewish cemeteries. 11th. Lastly, on the west is the Jaffa Gate[31], or in Arabic, _Bâb-el-Khalíl_, (Gate of Hebron,) because through this gate is the best and shortest road to Hebron. The appearance of Jerusalem within the walls is sombre and sad, offering no attraction to the eye, and filling the mind with deep melancholy. With the exception of the esplanade of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_, the city presents but a mass of buildings without order or design, very few of which deserve special attention. The cupolas of the Church of the Resurrection, that of the new Jewish Synagogue, and some minarets, are the only edifices which tower above the others, and the forms even of these are not pleasing. The panorama of Jerusalem, as seen from Olivet[32], is striking from the feelings it awakens and the reminiscences it calls up; but it conveys no idea of life. It is in truth the panorama of a Deicide city. The streets and lanes entangled in the labyrinth of houses are irregular, narrow, dirty, and ill-paved; through many of them flow open sewers, receiving the drainage from the houses, and filth of all kinds abounds. There was a period when it was even thought desirable to leave the gates of the city open at night, in order that hyenas and jackals might enter and purify the streets by devouring the carcases of animals that were lying about. The vaulted bazaars, which in many cities of the East are so full of life and activity, at Jerusalem look rather like caves containing sepulchral cells, and the visitor must be careful where he stands, lest some portion of the ruinous wall fall upon him, where he sets his foot, or against whom he brushes in the street. With few exceptions, the fronts of the houses present nothing but rows of windows with iron-bars, or heavy wooden _jalousies_, that give them the appearance of prisons--weeds and hyssop are growing upon many--others are fast falling to decay--the whole is a sad picture of neglect and indifference. There are three great divisions of the city. A central valley, commencing at the N.W., outside the Damascus gate, and terminating at the S.E., below the Pool of Siloam, separates it into two parts, of which that on the west of the valley may be considered as the first division, being larger than both the others together. These are separated one from another by a street, now called (for the greater part of its length) the Via Dolorosa, which begins at the Gate of Saint Mary, whence it rises westward until it meets the central valley. The hill to the north of this street forms the second division, and the platform on the south, occupied by the _Haram-es-Sherîf_ and its precincts, the third division. The first division is traversed from north to south by a street[33] extending from the Damascus Gate to the Gate of Sion. The part to the west of this is chiefly inhabited by Christians, and may therefore be considered as the Christian Quarter; the part to the east, as far as the central valley, is occupied by people of various creeds. From the Jaffa Gate as far as the western side of the _Haram_, the city is traversed by another street, called in the time of the Crusaders the Street of David. The district, then, east of the street leading to the Gate of Sion, and S.E. of the Street of David, is the Jewish Quarter; and that north of the Street of David, together with the western side of the central valley, the Mohammedan Quarter, although many Christians and Jews also dwell in it. The second division may be considered as partly a Christian and partly a Mohammedan Quarter, because in the last few years the Christians have become possessed of much of it, especially along the northern side of the Via Dolorosa. The third division is entirely a Mohammedan Quarter, except that the Armenian Catholics possess a small plot of ground in the angle formed by the junction of the Via Dolorosa with the central valley. Of all these quarters, the dirtiest, most fetid, and wretched, is that of the Jews, and this not on account of its topographical position, which is undoubtedly the best of any, but entirely from the habits of the people, who pay no attention to cleanliness either in their houses or dress; they wallow in the mire, so to speak, and carry it on their persons as though fearing to be robbed of it. They dwell in small houses, huddled together in great numbers, like moving heaps of filth, and seem only to use their reason for the purpose of plunging more deeply into the dirt. I have repeatedly entered their habitations, and observed that in the courts masses of filth were accumulating year by year and producing various physical evils, simply because the occupants would not spend the few _piastres_ necessary for its removal. It is impossible to persuade them of the unhealthiness of their way of living, because they would themselves have to pay for any improvements in it; while, if they fall ill, the hospitals are chargeable with the expense. Moreover, in two rooms, measuring from twelve to fourteen feet square, it is by no means rare to find a whole family of six or eight persons. The mere sight of these things enables one to understand, in some measure, the statements of Josephus in his "Wars of the Jews," both as to the number of deaths during the siege by the Romans, and the causes which produced such mortality. In visiting this quarter, it is impossible to forget the curse that hangs over the children of Israel, and the words of Deuteronomy ix. 6: "Understand, therefore, that the Lord thy God giveth thee not this good land to possess it for thy righteousness; for thou art a stiffnecked people." Alas! no longer can any one exclaim at sight of Jerusalem: "Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is mount Sion, on the sides of the north, the city of the great King[34]." The climate of Jerusalem would not be unhealthy, if the streets were kept cleaner, if the heaps of refuse were deposited further from the walls, and if the lazy agriculturists would avail themselves of it for manuring the ground; if the houses were kept in a more cleanly state, and the drains were better attended to; if the rain-water, by which the cisterns are fed, passed through filters which were themselves free from impurity; if the dead, especially among the Mohammedans, were interred at a greater depth; if all the cemeteries were at a distance from human habitations, and so situated, that the prevalent winds of the country would not carry their exhalations over the city; if the carrion and offal, now often found in the city itself, and always abounding in the immediate vicinity, were buried; if, in short, there existed a board for the maintenance of sanitary regulations. His Excellency Surraya Pasha has made every effort to remedy all these evils, and something has been done to promote the healthiness of the place since he removed the slaughter-houses and tannery from the centre of the city. But he has stood alone in his endeavours. His subordinates, not being animated by the same spirit, according to their custom, have neglected to see his commands carried into execution. Hence the result of his measures, though very perceptible, has not yet been proportionate to just expectation. Although the climate is not subject to the frequent and sudden changes that occur in western countries, yet it is necessary to guard against the variation of temperature in the morning and evening, which is very great, and an ordinary cause of violent attacks of fever, not unfrequently fatal. Affections of the eyes are common among the lower classes, who so seldom wash their faces. Those of cleanly habits rarely suffer. From the month of October until the end of March the temperature is much lowered by the rains. In December and January snow occasionally falls. From the beginning of April to the month of October there is great heat during the day and much dew by night. At this season the greatest care must be taken of the health. The ordinary population of Jerusalem comprises about 20,453 souls, but at the Easter season this number is more or less increased, according to the concourse of pilgrims, and it is impossible to fix the numbers, even approximately. In 1856 about 12,800 pilgrims arrived in the Holy City; in 1859, 7000; and in 1859 not more than 1200. The following are the religious communities in Jerusalem:-- 1st. The Jews, whose numbers amount to 7,738: of these, 5,200 are called _Sephardim_, and derive their origin from the Jews driven out of Spain A.D. 1497, under the reign of Ferdinand the Catholic and Isabella. Their Spanish tongue, mixed with many expressions from the Arabic and other languages, is the sole trace they have preserved of their former temporary home. The second branch is composed of 2,500 _Ashkenazim_, from the countries of the north and west of Europe, who have taken up their abode at Jerusalem: some moved solely by the desire to die in the land of their patriarchs, others to exercise their industry, the greater number to profit, with the _Sephardim_, by the abundant alms sent thither by their co-religionists of Europe, and badly distributed by a wretched administration. Finally, the _Karaites_,--a sect which sprang up about the decline of the Jewish kingdom, and admits no human interpretation of the Old Testament, nor any Rabbinical book--number about 38, and are superior to all the rest in intelligence, education, cleanliness, and probity. They belong to the country, though they may have occasionally abandoned it for a short time during periods of trouble. The head of the whole Jewish community is the Grand Rabbi (_Khakam-bashi_), to whom all look up, both as the head of their religion, and as the one to whom the distribution of the alms chiefly belongs. He it is who gives civil protection to the _Sephardim_ and _Karaites_, and supports their interests with the local government; while the _Ashkenazim_ are protected by the Consuls of the different nations whose subjects they are. Their synagogues are numerous but unimportant[35]; a hospital, a dispensary, and a house of refuge, outside the Jaffa gate, are due to the kindness of their co-religionists in Europe, among the most distinguished of whom are the Messrs. Rothschild and Sir Moses Montefiore. It is to be hoped that their public schools for both sexes will for the future be better managed and more effective than they have hitherto been. The Mohammedans number 7,598; thus divided, Arabs 6,854, Turks 680, Lepers (a separate class) 64. The first are the proprietors of the country, and govern it with moderation; less, however, from natural inclination, than from the advantages resulting to themselves from this course. They are aware that any excesses committed by them at Jerusalem would not only entail severe punishment, but involve them in the greatest distress, for but few of them live on their property or by commerce. Many are employed in public offices or under the civil and ecclesiastical authorities; others derive the means of subsistence from the influx of pilgrims and travellers; and the rest subsist upon the alms distributed by the convents, and in some cases by the Consuls. From all these sources the Mohammedan prospers in Jerusalem, and consequently is generally not averse to the Christian. Even at the time of the late disasters in the Lebanon and the massacres of Damascus, His Excellency Surraya Pasha by his activity and force of character was able to prevent any outbreak in Palestine, thus earning the gratitude of every Christian. The Lepers are separated from all, and inhabit a very filthy quarter, near the gate of Sion. The reader must not believe that they live in abject misery; they have property of their own and beasts of burden to fetch and carry their provisions, and each one has his special duty assigned to him by the head of their community (chosen from among themselves); either to provide in some way for the common wants, or, in the case of the most diseased, to solicit alms incessantly, which is done with so much success that no one of them would submit to be cured, for fear of losing so profitable a profession. The orthodox Greeks are in number about 2,700; they are chiefly subjects of the Sublime Porte, and acknowledge as their religious head the Patriarch of Jerusalem, who also, in virtue of his high position, directs and counsels them in their civil affairs. The great Greek convent of Saint Constantine at Jerusalem is the light-tower that sheds its beneficent rays not only over the city but through the whole country: being very rich, it exercises the greatest influence; modifies the policy of the government; curbs fanaticism; rouses the idle; finds work for the poor; acquires very large landed possessions, and encourages an enlightened system of cultivation; in a word, it greatly fosters the small amount of prosperity visible in the country. The Greek Church has many convents, hospices, seminaries, schools, and a hospital; but of these, and of those belonging to the other communities, I will speak in detail in another chapter. The number of the Latins or Roman Catholics is about 1,270. Except a few who are under the protection of the different Consuls, they are all subject to the Porte, but yield religious submission to a Patriarch, delegated by the Pope, who resides in Jerusalem. The inability to lavish money, as the Greek convent does, would limit the influence of the Patriarch and the Franciscan Fathers of the Holy Land, but that happily this want is largely compensated by the special protection accorded to the Holy Places officially by France, and also by other Christian Powers, which, though not called upon to give protection, yield it from devotion. Chief among these is Spain, who, both in times past and present, has liberally aided in supporting the religious communities that have the care of the Holy Places. Hence it comes that from these resources, in addition to those supplied by the French Government, the Propaganda of Rome, Lyons, and other places, both the Patriarch and the Guardian of the Holy Land are so well able to minister to the wants of the members of their Church, to assist the sick, to entertain the pilgrims, and to maintain seminaries and schools for the civil and religious education of the youth of both sexes. The Armenians do not exceed 526 in number, and belong to the Monophysite sect, declared heretical by the Council of Chalcedon, A.D. 451. They are subject to the Porte, but yield religious submission to their Patriarch, who sometimes gives them excellent advice in civil matters. The Armenians are few and well governed. They are industrious and free from abject poverty, applying themselves to trade and commerce, and may be truly said to live by the sweat of their brows. Of the Protestants, about 206 belong to the Anglican Church, and 62 to the Lutheran; total 268. The Copts are so few in number, and so entirely engrossed in their commercial pursuits, that there is nothing whatever to be said about them; they live a quiet unobtrusive life, and are 130 in all. The Abyssinians are so wretchedly poor that they have ceded, or at least leased out in perpetuity, most of their rights in the Holy Places to the Armenians, who, in return, furnish them with the means of daily subsistence. Their number does not exceed 80. Notwithstanding the numerous caravans of pilgrims which Russia annually sent to the Holy Land, that country formerly did not possess a foot of ground in Jerusalem. But a few years before the last Eastern war, Russia established in the Holy City an Archimandrite, for whom the Greeks themselves supplied a fitting residence. The jealousy of the latter, however, was soon aroused, and they were foolish enough to treat as dangerous intruders those whom a more prudent course of conduct might have made valuable allies. The plans of Russia have perhaps changed since the late war; that which she has been unable to secure at once by force of arms, she will doubtless acquire more slowly by other means, which time will bring more fully to light. Meanwhile she is at present taking the lead in the restoration of the cupola of the Holy Sepulchre. In February 1858 a Russian Bishop, accompanied by his clergy, took up his abode in Jerusalem; in October of the same year, the Russian consulate was established, and a temporary hospice opened pending the erection of a permanent one. The new buildings are nearly finished, but not yet inhabited. The community numbers 68. The Syrians, who possess a convent presided over by a Bishop, are in number 32. The Greek Catholics have a well-built convent. The number of those permanently established in the city is 24. The Armenian Catholics possess an estate, on which they intend to erect a church, a convent, and a Bishop's house. Their number will then increase, at present they are but 6. The Ammonites are 8 in number, the Disciples 3, and the Sabbatarians 2: these three sects have arrived during the last few years from America, but have not made any proselytes. From these numbers it results that the whole population, as I have already stated, amounts to 20,453. Compared with the space surrounded by the walls the population is very small. Without including the large area of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_, Jerusalem could easily contain at least three times as many inhabitants as it now does. If indeed the houses were built two or three stories high, if those belonging to the Government and the mosques were occupied, if those now tottering or in ruins were rebuilt and made habitable, if the numerous convents of the different religious communities contained a number of inhabitants in proportion to their sizes, if also the plots of land now abandoned, covered with rubbish or occupied by gardens, were partially built over, there would be no lack of room for a greatly increased population. From this it is evident that, even if the city did not contain the exaggerated number of more than a million at the time of the siege by Titus, the amount of its inhabitants might have been considerable, especially when Ophel and the southern part of Sion were within the enclosure, thus augmenting the habitable space by more than a third. To complete the description of the present state of Jerusalem, a few words may be said about the sources of water and the sewers, which at present so insufficiently supply the wants of the city. First come the cisterns for rain-water, which are thickly sprinkled over Jerusalem and its suburbs; one at least being possessed by every landholder and community. When, during the summer-months, the supply of rain-water fails, the peasants of the neighbouring villages, especially of Siloam (where it is drawn from the well of Joab, _Bir-el-Eyub_), drive a thriving trade as water-carriers. Such is the sad state of a city once so well supplied with water from the works constructed by its former kings and the Herods, which are now for the most part in ruins. The conduit of Solomon (by many called that of Pilate), which constantly supplied Jerusalem from the fountains of Etham, still exists, and by it during the last few years (by direction of Kiamil Pasha and Surraya Pasha) the water was, under my care, again brought into the city. Owing to the length of the aqueduct (about three hours' journey) it was impossible to protect it from the Arabs, whose wanton injuries before long cut off the supply of water. On the west, the Pool of Mamillah, though partly filled with earth, catches the rain-water, which is conveyed from it by a dilapidated conduit into the so-called Pool of Hezekiah, inside the city. This, during a few months of the year, supplies a bath. The water, being mixed with dirt and the drainings from the sepulchres round Mamillah, is not fit to drink. The Pool by St Mary's Gate, being in bad repair, contains very little water; during twenty or thirty days in the year it supplies the bath close to the wall, within the city, called _Hamman-sitti-Mariam_. A similar reason to that mentioned above renders this water also unfit for drinking. The Pilgrims' Pool, on the north, close to Herod's Gate, is too small to be worth further notice. The Pool at the head of the Valley of Kidron, on the north, is filled with earth and stones. That of _Birket-es-Sultan_ on the west cannot hold water, as it escapes by the south wall. The great Pool of Siloam is now filled with earth and converted into a garden. The Pool of Bethesda, within the walls, is almost choked with earth and refuse that has been thrown into it; by this time it would have been quite filled up, had not Kiamil Pasha, at my earnest request, put a stop to the practice in 1856. Within the _Haram-es-Sherîf_ the great cistern at the south-east corner is not only in ruins but so filled with rubbish as to be useless. This is the effect not so much of time as of Vandalism and of the carelessness of Mohammedans about keeping up ancient monuments; when they are gone they regret their loss, but take no pains whatever to preserve them. The waters naturally unfit for drinking are, inside the city, the springs of the _Hammam-es-shefa_ (Bath of Shefa), situated near the western side of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_. The water supplies the neighbouring bath, but has a disagreeable taste. Outside the city is the spring called the Fountain of the Virgin, that runs into the Pool of Siloam. It is used for irrigating the gardens of Siloam and for domestic purposes. Neither of these springs gives a copious supply of water. The city is full of sewers, the principal being that which, beginning from the Damascus Gate and following the line of the central valley, goes out under the south wall at the Dung Gate, and continues along the western side of the same valley till it comes to the great Pool of Siloam. Another goes along the Street of David, joining the former on the east. All are in the worst possible condition, and annually stand in need of repair, as they frequently become choked up by the accumulated filth. The above brief sketch may suffice for the present; the subject will be treated in detail, and further information given in a future chapter. FOOTNOTES: [2] Gen. xiv. 18. [3] Ep. ad Evang. Presb. § 7. [4] S. John iii. 23. [5] Gen. xiv. 17. [6] Advocates of the other opinion rely on 2 Sam. xviii. 18, but in this passage _the king's dale_ only is mentioned, without the specification of _the valley of the plain_. These last words could not be used of a place overhung by the steep slopes of Mount Moriah and Mount Olivet. [7] Herod, II. 159; III. 5. [8] Josephus, c. Ap. I. 34. [9] Josh. x. 1-27. [10] Judg. i. 21; Josephus, Ant. V. 2, §§ 2, 3. [11] 2 Sam. v. 6-9. [12] 1 Kings xiv. 25, 26. [13] 2 Chron. xxi. 16, 17. [14] 2 Chron. xxv. 23, 24. [15] 2 Kings xix. 35. [16] 2 Chron. xxxiii. 14. [17] 2 Kings xxv. 9, 10. [18] Note I. [19] See the Chronology in Appendix. [20] Plates II., IV. [21] Note II. [22] Note III. [23] Note IV. [24] Plate V. [25] Plate VI. [26] Note V. [27] Plate VII. [28] Images of animals are not forbidden to Mohammedans; see for example the Court of Lions in the Alhambra. [29] Plate XVIII. [30] Plate XX. [31] Plate V. [32] Plate I. [33] Note VI. [34] Psalm xlviii. 2. [35] The Great Synagogue and the Polish are the only two worth mention. CHAPTER II. ANCIENT TOPOGRAPHY OF JERUSALEM--IDENTIFICATION OF THE MOUNTAINS, HILLS AND VALLEYS--JERUSALEM IN THE TIME OF THE JEBUSITES, DAVID, SOLOMON, JOTHAM, HEZEKIAH, MANASSEH, NEHEMIAH, HEROD--THE TESTIMONY OF JOSEPHUS EXAMINED--THE SIEGE BY TITUS--FORMER EXTENT OF THE CITY--JERUSALEM IN THE TIME OF HADRIAN, THE CRUSADERS AND SOLYMAN. Having thus described the existing city, let us pass on to consider the ancient, and endeavour to recognise in its mountains and hills, its valleys and other landmarks, points corresponding to the allusions of the Bible and the writings of Josephus. We will suppose the reader to be standing with us on the summit of the Mount of Olives, and will point out the chief features of the view before him[36]. At the first glance we see that the city is built upon two nearly parallel ranges of hills, separated by a central valley. These we proceed to examine in detail. The summit of the western part forms a kind of plateau, extending from the north-west to the south, whose highest points are at the southern extremity, at the Armenian convent, at the castle of David, and at the north-west corner; but on closer examination we see that the plateau, which commences at the castle and terminates at the south, forms a hill sloping sensibly on the west, east, south, and slightly on the north as far as the street of David, where there is nothing to be seen which would induce us to suppose that a valley had once existed there. I believe that the fortress of the Jebusites, and afterwards that of Sion, used to stand on the upper part of this hill, and that the city of David[37] extended over the whole of its irregular quadrilateral area. This opinion is confirmed by Josephus, who says[38] it was defended by precipices on every side, except the north, which, being the weakest, was guarded by a triple wall. This hill then has on the west the valley of Gihon[39], on the south the valley of Hinnom[40], on the east the continuation of the central valley, while on the north it is open to attack, and consequently in former time was fortified there more strongly than on the other sides, which were inaccessible. Sion is then the spot on which the _upper city_ of Josephus was situated. A street, rising from the Gate of S. Mary and running in a westerly direction to meet the central valley, distinctly divides the eastern range. North of this division is the highest ground; on the south there is the great plateau of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_. Outside the west wall of the _Haram_ a gentle slope leads towards the central valley, which is covered by houses. The testimony of Josephus[41] is consequently verified, that "the city was built on two hills, which are opposite one to another, and have a valley to divide them asunder; at which valley the corresponding rows of houses on both hills end." Having thus pointed out the western hill, Sion, and the valley indicated by Josephus, which we call the central valley, let us examine that part of the eastern range, which is to the south of the dividing street, in order to identify Moriah and Acra. Josephus[42] states that "the other hill which was called Acra, and sustains the lower city, slopes[43] on all sides; over against this there was a third hill, but naturally lower than Acra, and parted formerly from the other by a broad valley. However, in those times when the Asamoneans reigned, they filled up that valley with earth, and had a mind to join the city to the Temple. They then took off part of the height of Acra, and reduced it to be of less elevation than it was before, that the Temple might be superior to it." Hence it appears why we no longer see the broad valley and the two separate hills, but an area in which the site of the ancient Temple overtops the rest. We consider Moriah to be the third hill, and Acra the part lying between the west side of Moriah and the central valley. The identification of Moriah does not admit of any doubt. The name and its probable equivalent Jehovah-jireh, are found in the story of Abraham's sacrifice[44]; there Solomon[45] built the Temple, whose precious remains still indicate its position: of these we will speak at length in a future chapter. The name Moriah is not used by Josephus, but the place can be identified with certainty from his description. We are told by him[46] that the platform of the temple was defended on the north-west by the tower Antonia, which was itself protected by a ditch. An examination of the Pool of Bethesda and the excavations, which I made by the foundations of the barracks of the _Haram_, have convinced me of the historian's accuracy. In his description of the Temple[47] it is stated that the hill-side to the east of it was precipitous, and that Solomon was obliged to build a wall to support the made ground. The ancient wall and the valley of Kidron still exist, in confirmation of this statement. It is also implied that the south side was precipitous, which is proved by the remains of buildings still to be seen and the actual declivity of Ophel. That there was once a large valley on the west side, is proved by the following fact: on the west of the area of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_ the rock runs up to the inside of the boundary wall, but on the outside it disappears, and is replaced by made ground of very great depth. I have inspected several excavations in the neighbourhood, and examined the tanks which are just outside the _Haram_, usually not less than 50 or 56 feet deep, the shaft (passing through the earth) being generally from 30 to 36 feet, and built with masonry. Hence I infer that a valley once existed on this spot, and that the made ground was obtained by the demolition of Acra; by this means Moriah was thrown open to every part of the city, which surrounded it like a theatre[48], and so was made 'superior to Acra.' But on examining the tanks nearer to the Tyropoeon valley, I found the shafts not more than 12 feet deep: here then was Acra in former times. These few feet of made ground were probably formed by the destruction of the city by Titus. Acra was said to 'slope on all sides,' because it had on the east the 'broad valley,' on the south the descent to the central valley, on the west the central valley itself, and on the north the valley, which, starting from the central valley, went in an easterly direction to that of Kidron. How this last has been filled up I will presently explain. In the time of Josephus these hills were already united, and so, speaking generally, the city appeared to be 'built on two hills opposite to one another.' In the northern part of the eastern range we find _Bezetha_, or the 'New city' of Josephus, which was entirely surrounded by valleys or ditches[49] artificially made. This position is elevated and opposite to the north[50] side of the _Haram_, and must therefore be identical with _Bezetha_, which had the central valley on the west, ditches on the north and east, and on the south the valley dividing it from the Tower of Antonia: all which characteristics may still be recognised on the spot. There is yet another hill in Jerusalem, called _Gareb_. The only instance we have of the use of the name in former times is in Jer. xxxi. 39. Josephus does not mention it, either considering it as part of Mount Sion, with which it was continuous, or, more probably, comprehending it in the 'New city.' It bears the name _Gareb_ among the Arabs at the present day. When I speak of the walls of the city, the Temple, and the tower Antonia, I will bring forward other arguments to confirm my assertions about the hills; for the present I reserve them, and pass on to the valleys. The central valley has already been mentioned several times. It agrees in every respect with the Tyropoeon of Josephus[51], which "distinguished the hill of the upper city from that of the lower, (and) extended as far as Siloam." Many who have written on the topography of ancient Jerusalem, especially Dr Robinson, assert that the Tyropoeon valley ran eastwards from the Jaffa Gate till it joined the central valley, at the point where the latter bends to the south-east, in its course to the Pool of Siloam. In opposition to this opinion, and in confirmation of my own, I have certain facts to bring forward. The valley which I consider the Tyropoeon still drains the whole city; all along it runs a sewer receiving those from the eastern and western divisions. I have had frequent opportunities of ascertaining this, while repairs were being carried on[52]. I found that the central sewer, although 12, 16, and sometimes even 18 feet below the surface, was not based upon rock, but upon made ground. During the repairs I searched for the rock in the upper part of the valley, and found it at a depth of 18 feet, near the Damascus Gate, of 26 feet near the Temple Bazaar, of 22 feet at a few paces to the north of the Dung Gate. These facts shew that there was formerly a valley in this part of Jerusalem. Now we cannot adopt the position assigned to the Tyropoeon by Dr Robinson, for the following reasons: (1) In the north ditch of the Castle of David we find the rock, which extends thence in a north-west direction. I came upon it in 1860, when a building (now used as a custom-house) was erected by the Greek convent outside the wall adjoining the Jaffa Gate. (2) The rock, found under the new buildings belonging to the Latin Patriarch a little to the north of the castle, under the English church and under a new building to the north of it, plainly shews that the head of the valley could not be at this spot. On the south side of the Christian Bazaar is the Greek Convent of S. John, and a few paces to the south of this the Prussian hospital. While this was being built in 1858, I examined its foundations, and ascertained the shelving stratum on which they rest to be a continuation of the rock beneath the convent. Where then could the valley be? (3) A similar state of things is found on descending about 350 feet to the east. (4) From west to east along the course of the supposed valley runs a sewer, 6 feet below the ground, cut in some parts in the rock. This I helped to repair at several points in 1856, and was able to ascertain that there was but very little made ground anywhere near it; I cannot therefore allow that there ever was a valley at this place. Brocardus about A.D. 1283, Adrichomius and Villalpandus near the close of the sixteenth century, assert that this valley existed, but to prove their statement they ought to have made excavations. They must have seen Jerusalem in a condition very like its present, especially as regards its valleys, which must have been already filled up, either at the time of the destruction by Titus or of the rebuilding by Hadrian; for since these periods the city cannot have undergone any material change. The above authors inferred the existence of a valley from seeing that the south side of the street of David was considerably upraised, while the north was nearly level. Had they searched for the rock, they would have found the higher ground to the south to be nothing but a mass of rubbish, while the south front of the Convent of S. John, and the rest of the buildings on the same side, rest upon rock a few feet below the surface. The supposed existence of this valley has led some to think that the ground, now occupied by the Church of the Resurrection, was the hill Acra; but this locality does not correspond with any of the topographical _data_ of Josephus. How could the citadel[53] of Antiochus Epiphanes be built in this position to command the Temple? How could the Macedonian garrison from this place harass and even kill the Jews who were going to the Temple? Could this be Acra 'sloping on all sides' which was 'levelled that the temple might be higher than it[54]'? None of these conditions are satisfied, therefore this theory must be rejected. In the Tyropoeon of Dr Robinson I place the Quarter of _Millo_: my reasons for doing so I will give at the proper place. A valley has already been mentioned as dividing Moriah from Bezetha; only the eastern extremity of this is now visible, at the Pool of Bethesda, at which place we will examine it. The north and south side walls of the pool are founded upon and rest against the rock, while on the east, as the valley once extended down to Kidron, a solid sloping wall has been built solely to confine the water. There is also a wall on the west, and all the observations that I have made in this direction, as far as the Tyropoeon, have convinced me of the existence of a valley; and on questioning the old masons who in the time of Ibrahim Pasha, A.D. 1836, laid the foundations of the Barrack of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_, I was assured that on the north side they had gone down not less than 26 or 30 feet before they came to the rock. On the south side of the Latin Chapel of the Flagellation, which lies directly north of the Barrack, the Franciscans had to dig 16 or 18 feet for the same purpose. In laying the foundations of the Austrian Hospice above the eastern verge of the Tyropoeon, A.D. 1856, I clearly ascertained the existence of the valley on the south side, and have done the same on the property of the Armenian Catholics, called 'the first fall of Christ.' Hence I conclude that there was a valley in this part of the city, which divided Bezetha from Moriah and the north-west corner of Acra. A small valley, commencing on the north near Herod's Gate, runs into the city, and terminates at the Pool of Bethesda, thus dividing Bezetha into two parts. Inside the city it can hardly be distinguished, owing to the quantity of rubbish by which it has been filled up. Its existence however is proved by the water-courses that descend from the east slope of the western part of Bezetha. Let us now proceed to examine the exterior of the city. Ophel or Ophlas is to the south of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_. Its position corresponds exactly with the statement of Josephus[55], that it adjoins the Temple on the south. Its form is that of a triangle with the base resting against the south side of the _Haram_ and the vertex directed towards the Pool of Siloam. It is bounded on the east by the sloping sides of the valley of Kidron, on the west by those of the Tyropoeon valley. Its defences were carefully attended to by different kings of Judah, because its fortifications greatly increased the strength of the Temple, which otherwise would have been exposed to an attack from the south. The position is a sufficient argument for its identity. The positions of Mount Olivet and the Mount of Offence are indisputable. David[56] went up Mount Olivet, weeping, after crossing the torrent Kidron, and the Mount of Offence[57] is 'before Jerusalem.' Olivet is frequently mentioned in the New Testament, especially in the Acts of the Apostles, where its distance from the city is fixed by the words "Olivet, which is from Jerusalem a sabbath-day's journey[58]," that is, a little more than 2000 cubits, according to the rabbinical writers; and so we find it to be. We may also cite in confirmation the testimony of Josephus, who says that it "lies over against the city on the east side, and is parted from it by a deep valley interposed between them, which is named Kidron[59]." Authors differ about the site of Mount Gihon[60], or Guihon, but I place it on the west, because we find that Hezekiah "stopped the upper water-course of Gihon, and brought it straight down to the west side of the city of David[61]," and Manasseh "built a wall without the city of David on the west side of Gihon, in the valley, even to the entering in at the Fish-gate[62]." This gate was probably the same as that of Jaffa, which might very likely bear this name, because through it the produce of the sea would be brought into Jerusalem. If Gihon does not correspond with the hill on the west, outside the city, I cannot understand the two verses cited above; especially since Hezekiah could not have brought water into the city from any other point, without either cutting through the hills with great trouble and expense, or making an aqueduct over a valley. The Hill of Evil Counsel is probably the same as Tophet[63]. We find from the prophet Jeremiah that it was a place of sepulture, and indeed it was only there that room could be found for the purpose. Even now the Arabs call it the _Mount of the Sepulchres_, from the number of graves there. They call Hinnom the _Valley of the Fire_; in Syriac it is _Gehenna_ (Hell). This nearly corresponds with the _Valley of Slaughter_, as it is called by Jeremiah[64]. It is not impossible that the fortress of Bethsura[65] stood on this mount, which was distant from the city about five[66] stadia, towards the south. Mount Shafat, or Scopus, is the northern part of the range of Olivet, which runs in a north-west direction; the account of it given by Josephus, the distance from the city of seven stadia, the use made of it in the strategic operations of Titus[67], all correspond exactly with this position. Having thus gone through the chief points of topographic interest, let us glance at the condition of the city during the different epochs of its existence. First, then, in the time of the Jebusites. On this subject the Bible only tells us, that it was defended on the south by the valley of Hinnom[68], that it was on high ground, and, in the then state of the art of war, nearly impregnable, so that its inhabitants thought it could be defended against the army of David by the blind and the lame[69]. Jerusalem was then divided into two parts, the Fortress and the Lower City[70]. Hence we can understand how it was that the descendants of Benjamin[71] dwelt at Jerusalem with the Jebusites; the former dwelling in the Lower City, the latter in the Fortress. This we find confirmed by the statement of Josephus[72]. It is very probable that the fortress of the Jebusites covered the platform of Sion, which reaches from its southern extremity to the castle still existing on the north, and is bounded on the east by the Tomb of David, the Armenian convent[73], and the English church. This opinion is confirmed by the remains of an old wall, which the Armenians found on building a seminary and rooms for pilgrims, and by the discovery of an ancient pool. Both these appear to be the work of a very early age, and anterior to the introduction of Phoenician art into Jerusalem. The lower city must have occupied the eastern slope of Sion near the western side of the Tyropoeon. Owing to the scanty materials that have come down to us, we cannot add anything more about the city of the Jebusites. The form and size of the City of David have already been mentioned in the account of Mount Sion. It is stated in the Bible, that David, directly after his conquest, began to strengthen not only the fortress but the whole city, that he dwelt in the fortress[74], that the King of Tyre sent labourers to build his house[75], which was certainly the whole fortress, that "David built round about from Millo and inward[76]," and that "Joab repaired the rest of the city[77]." We are not told that David enlarged the city, but unquestionably he fortified it; possibly however he may have made its form more regular by bringing the houses up to the edge of the declivities of the valleys on the west, south, and east. To test this opinion I examined the part of Mount Sion which is outside the present wall, and found in the Protestant cemetery the vertical hewn rock, and a flight of steps close by cut out of it, which were discovered by the workmen employed by the Mission; at the same time large stones were also dug up in the ground, such as are frequently thrown out by the spades of the husbandmen. On questioning some of them, more particularly the older men, I heard that, for a long time past, large stones had been found in considerable quantities, and sold by the landowners to the builders in the city, who, in order to remove them more easily, broke them up on the spot. I was able to satisfy myself of the truth of this statement at the place itself[78]. I then asked them about the shape of the stones, and inquired whether those found near the surface corresponded with those found at a greater depth, and was told that the former were usually rusticated, and also almost calcined, while the latter were large irregular blocks in excellent preservation. I satisfied myself of the truth of this by examining the two kinds of stone. I then inquired about the direction in which the greatest number of stones were discovered, but their answers on this point were so vague, that I determined to make some excavations on my own account. With some difficulty permission was obtained from the owners of the land, under the condition that I should use their workmen, give them all that might be found, and make them a present in addition. As I was only anxious to obtain proof of the position of the wall of David, I willingly agreed to this. The attempt was successful; at certain points on the south and east[79] I found the rock hewn vertical or cut into steps, or else steep and broken; on it fragments of ancient masonry still remained, built of large irregular blocks, fitted together without mortar: in some places other rows of stones, joined with greater skill, were laid upon these, which in turn supported others rudely rusticated in high relief, with the surface rough. I am inclined to think that the lower rows belong to the period of the Jebusites, the next to that of David[80], and the upper to a later date. Near the Pool of Siloam the vertical hewn rock is again plainly seen, and also inside the city, on the west side of the Tyropoeon Valley, and in front of the Mosque _el-Aksa_. I believe therefore that the Wall of David can be traced on the south and east. A careful examination of the western brow of Sion and the configuration of the ground shew that this wall must have followed its present course, and have continued in the same direction as far as the south-west angle. All that I have been able to find at the castle belongs to a much later period, as we shall presently see. North of Sion, on the south side of the Street of David, the ground is covered by houses. I have therefore been unable to examine it, and can only draw inferences; but I am led to think that Millo was on that side for the following reasons.--We have seen that David "built round about from Millo and inward[81];" which must mean that _he began to build from the position of Millo inwards_, i.e. to the south, or round about the city. Now I believe that the quarter of Millo derived its name from the great pool in the neighbourhood, commonly called the Pool of Hezekiah[82]--the original _Millo_ of David. A learned Russian ex-rabbi explained to me that the word _Millo_ generally meant 'made ground,' but that a large reservoir, which receives water from another, is commonly called _Millo_, while this other is called _Mamillah_, and water-carriers, _Malleah_. We can therefore understand that David began to build from Millo, because, as there is not a valley on that side, it was the weakest part of the city. This explanation, as we shall see, suits all the other passages in the Bible in which Millo is mentioned; but it cannot be a place of 'made ground,' because there is none here. This is all that is known about the City of David. The city was undoubtedly enlarged in the reign of Solomon, by the addition of Mount Moriah, on which the Temple was built[83]. David bought the threshingfloor (its site) from Araunah[84], a rich Jebusite, at which time it evidently was outside Jerusalem: but when Solomon built upon it, he joined it to the City of David[85]. Josephus also tells us that Solomon enlarged the city, and built new walls and fortified it with towers[86]. My opinion is that Solomon's wall began on the north side of David's, to the east of the Castle, and ran in a northerly direction, till it bent round to the east, so as to include Mount Moriah, which it encompassed on the east, south, and for a short distance on the west, till it again joined the wall of the City of David, after crossing the Tyropoeon Valley. Thus the fortifications of the Old city were strengthened on the north, while the New was liable to be taken from the north-west and a small part of the north side; but the rest of this, and the other sides, were strongly defended by art or the natural difficulties of the position. In this new part of the city I have found fragments of the age of Solomon in the foundations of houses, in the walls of the Pool of Bethesda, and in the eastern and southern boundary wall of the _Haram_; but will speak of these more particularly in the chapter on the Temple. The remains that I have seen or found inside the city are of the greatest interest, but all belong to a much later period. In the passages of the Bible that speak of Solomon, we find frequent mention of _Millo_; for example, "This is the reason of the levy which King Solomon raised, for to build the house of the Lord, and his own house, and Millo, and the wall of Jerusalem.... Pharaoh's daughter came up out of the city of David unto her house which Solomon had built for her: then did he build Millo[87]." And "Solomon built Millo, and repaired the breaches of the city of David his father[88]." This Millo is not the same as the Millo of David; for I hold with the rabbinical tradition, that Solomon's house was near the south side of the Temple, to which place he brought Pharaoh's daughter from the City of David; that this Millo is the immense reservoir still to be seen at the south-east corner of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_, and that the materials derived from it were used to fill up the depths of the Tyropoeon Valley, between the New and the Old City. The "House of Millo, which goeth down to Silla[89]," where Joash was murdered, I take to be near the Millo of David, because the _going down to Silla_ must have been a street leading down to Siloam, and therefore corresponding with the street of David. We may observe that this part added to the city is specified at an early period[90]. Some works of defence appear to have been constructed on Ophel, before the reign of Jotham, for it is said that "Jotham built much on the wall of Ophel[91]," which seems to mean that he found the wall already in existence. What he did build there we have now no means of ascertaining. Of Hezekiah we learn that he "built up all the wall that was broken, and raised it up to the towers, and another wall without, and repaired Millo, _in the City of David_[92]." This place I have already identified with the Pool[93] bearing Hezekiah's name, which before his time was outside the city, and was by him enclosed within the defences so as to deprive the Assyrians of water. In confirmation of this view I may mention that when the fathers of the Holy Land were laying the foundation of the house now occupied by the Latin Patriarch, they came upon remains of the solid masonry of the old wall. The same thing occurred to the Copts on the north side of the foundations of their Hospice. I do not speak of this from personal knowledge, as I was not living in Jerusalem at the time, but I have no doubt of the truth of the statement. I myself found a fragment of the massive ancient wall, when superintending the laying of the foundations of the little mosque, dedicated to Omar[94], which is opposite to the Church of the Resurrection on the south: the masonry was composed of large blocks of stone, of a tolerably regular form, which were fastened together by iron clamps: and the thickness of the wall was about seven feet and a half. I have therefore traced and attributed to Hezekiah the wall, which starting on the north of the Castle of David, passes on the north of the Copts' Hospice, and finally joins the line of that which I have attributed to Solomon, after running parallel to the street of the Sepulchre. A strong line of fortifications was built round Ophel by Manasseh[95]. Directed by the hints given in the Bible, I examined it as I had Sion. The answers given to me by the _fellahîn_, the evidence on the spot, and my excavations, brought to light some traces of a wall of circumvallation on the east side of the Tyropoeon, and at the south end of Ophel. The great accumulation of earth on the Kidron side would have made any investigations very costly, and I was convinced of the direction of the walls in this part by the account of Josephus[96]; accordingly I did not make any excavations here. Before describing Jerusalem at the time of Nehemiah, it will be well to enumerate the gates of the city before the Captivity, and to fix, as far as possible, their positions. We are told that Jehoash king of Israel "brake down the walls of Jerusalem from the gate of Ephraim to the corner gate, four hundred cubits[97]." I place the _gate of Ephraim_ at the N.W. angle of Solomon's wall because it led to the land of Ephraim. The _Corner gate_ was, I think, at the north-east angle of the platform of the Temple. We find in Jeremiah "The city shall be built from the tower of Hananeel unto the gate of the corner[98]," which may be very well understood to mean "from one extremity of the city to the other." I believe that the tower of Hananeel was in the present castle. King "Uzziah built towers in Jerusalem at the corner gate and at the _valley gate_, and fortified them[99]." The latter might have been in the south side of the wall of Sion. The _horse gate_[100] is also mentioned, but this was probably in the wall of the Temple, not of the city. I identify the _fish gate_[101] with the present Jaffa gate. The situation of "the _high gate of Benjamin_, which was by the house of the Lord[102]," is uncertain: I think it to have been either a gate of the Temple, or one through which a road to the Temple passed. Perhaps it may be found in the second line of wall on the north, but this is very doubtful. Lastly, it is said that when the Chaldeans entered Jerusalem, "all the men of war fled by night, by the way of the _gate between two walls_, which is by the king's garden[103]." These are the walls of David and Manasseh on the two sides of the Tyropoeon, so the gate was probably in the middle of the valley, looking southwards towards the King's garden, now tilled by the peasants of Siloam. I do not expect that the above remarks will convince all, but trust that they may at least suggest subjects for thought and study. The city, thus built at different periods, was burnt and destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar; but let us pass over the sad years of captivity, till we come to the time when, by the energy and zeal of Nehemiah, it rose again from its ruins. Something must be said of its aspect at that time, and especially of its gates; but I must warn the reader that, after all my labours, I have not been able thoroughly to satisfy myself about their situation, because of the difficulty of reconciling the third and twelfth with the second chapter of Nehemiah. Still, without desiring to push my opinions presumptuously forward, I offer them in hopes that they may be fortunate enough to attract the attention of competent students to this interesting point of Biblical Archæology. I know that many have already attempted to fix the position of these gates, but I am also aware that their theories are contradictory, and often rest upon hypotheses which are open to attack. The illustrious Reland has not chosen to make any positive assertions on these points, and has contented himself with a simple list of names; I will therefore follow his example[104]. The _sheep gate_[105] must have been in the west wall, that runs southwards from the castle, in which were the towers of Meah and Hananeel: the _fish gate_, nearly on the site of the present Jaffa gate: the _old gate_, in the north part of David's wall, near its junction with Solomon's: the _broad wall_, that portion of the second enclosure, which protected the west and north as far as the north-west corner of the temple area, and the _tower of the furnaces_, outside it: the _valley gate_, at the extreme south-west corner of Sion: the _dung gate_, on the south side of Sion, a thousand cubits to the east of the valley gate: the _fountain gate_, at the east extremity of the north wall of David's enclosure, and, consequently, at the middle of the Tyropoeon valley. I identify the _pool of Siloah_ with that, now filled with earth, below the fountain of Siloam, and the _king's garden_ with those still existing there. The _stairs that go down from the city of David_ begin at the south-east angle of that king's wall and extend eastwards down the slopes of Sion. The _sepulchres of David_ are upon Sion, a little to the west of that now shewn under that name. The _pool that was made_ is _Birket-es-Sultan_, outside the walls on the west. The _water gate_ is in the Tyropoeon valley, to the south of the fountain gate; the _east gate_, on the site of the present golden gate. Let the reader now examine the account[106] of the two companies which went, in opposite directions, to dedicate the new wall to the Lord. The _dragon well_[107] may have been near the south end of the pool _Birket-es-Sultan_; indeed there is a tradition among the Arabs, that a spring once existed on this spot, but I do not know whether it is of any value. No remains of the age of Nehemiah are to be found either outside the present city or in its walls, except in the east wall of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_: I will explain my reasons for referring these to this epoch in the chapter on the Temple. No one besides Josephus has handed down to us a detailed account of the topography of Jerusalem in the time of the Herods and Titus: since then he lived in this period and is our sole authority, I follow his account entirely. In endeavouring to identify the spots mentioned by him, in a place that has undergone such frequent alterations, I have not imitated the example of most writers, in ancient and modern times, who have copied one from another, and based their arguments on mere hypotheses; but, during a period of eight years, have devoted myself to a thorough examination of every part of Jerusalem; have carefully studied the _terrain_, the rocks, the stones, which I have sought under the accumulated ruins of centuries; have made deep excavations to trace the course of the ancient walls, underground passages and conduits; have watched the digging of numbers of foundations, from day to day, within and without the city; have collected information from persons worthy of credit and experienced in building, about the most important works that had been carried out before my arrival; have descended into and examined cisterns, clean and dirty; and after working like a labourer during the day, have read Josephus instead of going to sleep, and tested his statements for myself. I did not use any other authors except Livy and Cæsar, whose writings I studied in order to understand thoroughly the Roman art of war and the siege operations of Titus against the city; and after I had done all this, I made plans and sections upon the spot. This being well known to all the inhabitants of Jerusalem, I fearlessly present the results of my labours to all who take an interest in the reconstruction of the city of the Herods. I may indeed sometimes be mistaken in my arguments, or wrong in my conclusions; if so, I shall be glad to be corrected; thankful if even by this means I have created an interest in the subject, and given rise to new ideas and a better knowledge of the archæology of Jerusalem. Having now considered the general features of the city, its hills and its valleys, and seen that it was guarded by a triple wall on the exposed side and a single wall on those which overhung the valleys[108], we will proceed to examine this triple line of defence. The first wall began on the north at the _Tower Hippicus_, and passing by the _Xystus_ joined on to the _Palace of the Council_, and ended at the west gate of the Temple. It was strengthened with much care and expense by David, Solomon, and their successors. In examining its course on the present ground, I started from the castle of David, going eastward in a line parallel to 'David's street' as far as the _Mekhemeh_ (the Turkish law courts), and thence to the west wall of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_. In order to identify the towers of Hippicus, Phasaëlus, and Mariamne, I frequently and carefully examined the fortress[109]. In it there are still three towers, one on the west, just south of the Jaffa gate, whose architecture, as far as it is visible, appears mediæval; another to the east of this, built of stones with large rustic work of the Herodian pattern; and a third to the south of these two, resembling the first. In all three I ascertained that the Jewish masonry is founded on the rock, and that, for a height of five feet above the ground, they are cased with large stones, roughly rusticated; but in the middle tower the Jewish masonry continues about 39 feet from the bottom of the ditch--only the _stones_, however, are of the Herodian period, the architecture is of a later date, belonging to the time when art was declining in the country[110]; for we see that these interesting remains are used without the slightest care; being arranged without any regard to their size, and most of them shewing the marks of the clamps, by which they were formerly bolted together inside the wall; so that they have evidently been placed in reverse order[111]. The three towers are solid inside to a height of 11 feet, and the lower part of the ditch (14 feet deep) that surrounds them on the north, east, and south, is cut in the rock; the west tower is nearly 25 cubits square, the centre 40, the south 20. I adopt, then, Williams' opinion, that the tower Hippicus stood on the foundation of the first, Phasaëlus on the second, and Mariamne on the third. This identification seems to agree with Josephus' description[112]; so that these are the positions of the three ancient towers, which Titus ordered to be spared, "in order to demonstrate to posterity what kind of a city it was, and how well fortified, which the Roman valour had subdued[113]." It may be urged, as an objection to this, that the cisterns, mentioned by the historian, are not to be found in these towers; but it is surely very unlikely that these would come down to us through so many changes. One tower has been enlarged to accommodate a greater number of troops, and nothing is more probable than that the cisterns would be destroyed in some of the extensive alterations which the buildings have undergone; for example, in making the story 20 cubits high, which now exists in it; besides, the cisterns, which are in other parts of the fortress, seem to shew that those within the towers have been removed. We shall presently see that the position assigned to Hippicus agrees very well with the historian's statements on other points, especially on the second position, occupied by Titus during the siege[114]. The number of houses and the character of their several owners make it impossible to excavate along the street of David, from the tower Hippicus to the west wall of the Temple; so that I was obliged to be contented with what I could find above ground. In many places I noticed large stones, generally rusticated, built into the lower parts of the present houses; for example, in the Greek convent of S. John, in the south-east corner of the Pool of Hezekiah, and in many houses on the south of the above-named street. These stones I suppose to be remains of the old wall, because I cannot think that any one would have taken the trouble to bring them from a distance. The most remarkable thing is a semicircular Jewish arch, forming part of an ancient gateway, now almost entirely buried. This I will describe when I come to the second wall. The Xystus, as appears from several passages in Josephus, was a public place surrounded by buildings, on the lower slopes of Sion, opposite the west wall of the Temple. We are told that the priests built a wall on the west of the Temple, to prevent king Agrippa II. from watching the sacred rites from the top of his palace[115] near the Xystus; also that, after the capture of the lower city and the Temple, the Jews, entrenched on Sion, asked to speak with Titus, and that he placed himself on the west side of the Temple, for "there were gates on that side above the Xystus, and a bridge that connected the upper city with the Temple[116]." The Xystus is also mentioned in conjunction with the bridge in other passages; but it is unnecessary to quote them, as the present state of the ground assists us in determining its position, the slope of Sion being much less here than at any other part of the east side. In the careful investigations that I have made on the west side of the Tyropoeon, I found evidence that the surface had been levelled in the direction of the street of David; this however did not extend southwards beyond the point opposite to the south-west corner of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_, where the ground is very much broken with steep faces of rock; therefore, as I cannot suppose that a public place would be on an uneven site, I imagine that the Xystus began at the street of David and ended before it came opposite to the south-west corner of the _Haram_. The Palace of the Council was probably situated in the position of the present _Mekhemeh_. The number of stones of Jewish workmanship of the Herodian period in the foundation of the present building, and its position with reference to the Xystus and the Temple, are strong arguments in favour of this identification[117]. This is all that I have been able to gather about the northern part of the first line of walls; excavations being impossible, from the nature of the place, and still more of the inhabitants. On the west, the first wall started from _Hippicus_ and "extended through a place called _Bethso_ to the _gate of the Essenes_, and after that it went southward, having its bending above the _fountain of Siloam_, where it also bends again to the east at _Solomon's pool_, and reaches as far as a certain place which they called _Ophlas_ (Ophel), where it was joined to the eastern cloister of the Temple[118]." I have already stated how I was able to retrace this part of the wall on the south of Sion and at Ophel, and have no more to add, except that I found, during my investigations on Sion, great vaulted cisterns hewn out in the rock, remains of conduits, also cut in the solid rock, and ruined caverns, which had obviously once been reservoirs; but all these occurred inside the circuit of the wall, that I have laid down on the Plan, and never outside; shewing that one part had been formerly covered by houses, the other not. The position of _Bethso_ is unknown: some think that the word means "house of filth:" one Rabbi supposes it to have been a place where waters met; however, I have not been able to find out anything certain about it. The site of the _gate of the Essenes_ is also unknown to us: I place it at the south-east angle of the City of David, because this position seems to suit best the Greek text of Josephus--"the wall extended downwards to the gate of the Essenes[119];" moreover, from this point I see that the wall could bend to the south, while, from a higher position, a very irregular course must be given it, in order to obtain this angle. The positions of the fountain of Siloam and the pool of Solomon cannot be doubted. As the latter is filled with earth, I was obliged to make excavations, in order to ascertain whether it still retained marks of its antiquity. I found that the wall on the east side, especially in its lower part, was of ancient Jewish work; so also were parts of the north-west side and the east extremities of the other two walls. The pool is from 7-3/4 to 10 feet deep on the south-east, and 14 feet on the north-west. I have no doubt that it is as old as the time of Solomon, and think it may be the one named by the prophet Isaiah, "Ye made also a ditch between the two walls for the waters of the old pool, but ye have not looked unto the maker thereof, neither had respect unto him that fashioned it long ago[120]." Josephus does not directly state that the east side of Sion, above the Tyropoeon valley, was fortified, but we may infer it, as he[121] tells us that, when Titus had gained possession of the Temple and Ophel and all the north part of Jerusalem, he laid siege to the Upper City, which must have fallen at once, if there had not been a wall defending it on the east. We can hardly suppose that the Jews would have built it at the time, after seeing the fall of their strongest bulwarks, the tower Antonia and the Temple, nor would an obstacle hastily thrown up, and therefore weak, have arrested the victorious Romans. The second wall is thus described: it "took its beginning from that gate which they called _Gennath_, which belonged to the first wall; it only encompassed the northern quarter of the city, and reached as far as the _tower Antonia_[122]." I have already mentioned the addition made to the city of David and its probable extent, in speaking of Jerusalem at the time of Solomon: consequently I now have only to give the reasons that have induced me to fix the position of the places, and see whether they agree with the narrative of the historian. There are but two points to give in the line of the wall, the _gate Gennath_, whose position we must determine, and the _tower Antonia_, which was situated at the north-west angle of the platform[123] of the Temple, and whose position we may consider to be nearly ascertained. I place the gate Gennath (i.e. of gardens) east of the tower Hippicus, in the northern part of the first wall, at the place where I stated that I had found an ancient Jewish semicircular arch. From its name we may infer that it opened on cultivated land, and Josephus[124] speaks of the gardens on the north and north-west of the city, which were destroyed by the troops of Titus in levelling the ground. If the Pool of Hezekiah be the same as the pool _Amygdalon_[125] (of almonds), we may infer that probably plantations of almonds were in this neighbourhood. We must also recollect that if the sepulchre of Joseph of Arimathea were on the north-west, there would be a garden here[126]. Now as all the gates of Jerusalem in former times were named from their position or destination, it is very probable that this was called the _garden gate_, because the road to the gardens went through it; and indeed on excavating by the side of the arch above named, I found the two piers, which have been preserved by the accumulation of the earth. The arch, visible for about five feet above ground, is formed of large stones, rusticated, although the work has been much injured by time. They are firmly fastened together inside with iron clamps without mortar, that which I saw being merely superficial, and introduced by the Arabs during repairs. The two piers are constructed of similar masonry, but here the rustic work is very conspicuous. I discovered that the gate was founded on the rock, was 18 feet high and 8-1/2 wide. It is buried by a mass of rubbish, that here, as elsewhere, has raised the true level of the soil. The position of the gate (looking west) is not incompatible with its having formed part of a line of defence from the tower Hippicus to the Xystus; because not only were angles admitted into the systems of fortifications of that time, but also, with regard to Jerusalem, we are told by Tacitus[127] that "Walls with re-entering angles and curves, to take the assailants in flank, enclosed two very high hills." In the immediate neighbourhood of the tower Hippicus I was not able to find any ancient remains, and therefore suppose that the wall commenced at this gate. I sought for its ruins, along a line northwards from this point, but was at first unsuccessful; although I found a fragment of a building on the east side of the plot of land formerly occupied by the convent of S. Mary the Great[128], which may possibly belong to an early period; but I had afterwards three opportunities of learning that I was not mistaken, in expecting to find the required evidence somewhere in this part. (1) In January 1857, the weight of a quantity of fallen snow threw down a part of the wall of a Mohammedan Bazaar[129], called the Meat Bazaar, near the above-named convent. By order of the Governor I repaired it in 1858, and in digging down to the rock to lay the new foundations, at a depth of 10 feet below the surface, came upon large stones, boldly rusticated, and arranged in a manner that reminded me of the Phoenician work of the time of Solomon. This wall is nine feet thick, and consists of three courses of stone, the first, which lies on the rock, being 3-1/4 feet in height, the second 2, and the third 2-1/2; thus an extension both north and south from this spot was proved by this fragment. (2) In 1858 the Russian mission at Jerusalem, by my suggestion, obtained a piece of land near to the church[130] of the Resurrection on the east. In 1859 they cleared away the accumulated rubbish, and during the work a corner of a Jewish wall was discovered; the stones of which were rusticated to a depth of 4 or 5 lines, and carefully finished; these were the remains of a restoration of the time of the Herods on the ancient foundation of Solomon's wall. (3) In 1860 the dragoman of the French consul built a house, close to the west side of the present _judgement-gate_, and in digging down for the rock found, at a depth of 18 feet below the surface, a fragment of a wall, resembling in all respects that described above in the first case. From these three points I ascertained the course of the west side of the wall; it remained therefore to search for the northern face towards the Damascus gate; and an opportunity occurred before long, when the Greek Archimandrite Bisarion repaired and strengthened a house (now temporarily occupied by the Russian consulate). I dug some pits to examine its foundation, but no remains of antiquity were discovered, and the only result of my labours was to ascertain the true level of ancient Jerusalem at this spot. I made enquiries of all, who in former years had built in this neighbourhood, but could not hear that any Jewish ruins had ever been found, and therefore think that the wall must have turned sharp to the east at the _judgement-gate_ (formerly the gate of Ephraim), and so, facing the north, gone on to the tower Antonia. The occurrence of very large stones, evidently of Jewish work, in the walls of the houses (especially in the lower parts) in this direction confirms this idea. These were found when the Effendi Kadduti repaired and partly rebuilt the house in the Via Dolorosa, at the _Station of Veronica_. A similar discovery was made by the Mufti, in strengthening his house, at the _Station of Simon of Cyrene_; and by the Effendi Soliman Giari, opposite to the Mufti's house on the north. The Armenian Catholic Monk requested me to examine and level a piece of land, at the _Station of the first fall of Christ_, which, as representative of his nation, he had just bought. In the lower part of the wall enclosing it on the north very large stones and an ancient gate were found. In the foundations of the Austrian hospice, laid in 1857, to the north of the Armenian property, large stones were discovered, and also, farther to the east, in the new convent of the Daughters of Sion. From all these facts, I infer that the line of the second wall passed along this side. I may also remark that the Greek text of Josephus states that the wall "went up to the Antonia[131];" and we can still see, from the conformation of the ground in this direction, that, after crossing the Tyropoeon valley, it would _go up_ to the tower. The assertion that the second wall "only encompassed the northern quarter of the city," is true, because, at the time of Josephus, Hezekiah's wall must have been standing, and therefore considered to form part of the second line. I once supposed that the gate Gennath was near the tower Hippicus on the east, and that consequently the second wall went in a zigzag course until it joined the Antonia: but, as mentioned above, I did not find any traces of it very near the tower Hippicus, and I think that if the gate of Gennath had been close to this, the historian would have mentioned it. I have already said that I attribute this wall to Solomon, because it is mentioned in the Bible in connection with events after his time. Josephus states that "the beginning of the third wall was at the tower Hippicus, where it reached as far as the north quarter of the city and the tower Psephinus, and then was so far extended till it came over against the monuments of Helena, which Helena was queen of Adiabene, the daughter of Izates; it then extended farther to a great length, and passed by the royal caverns (+spêlaiôn+), and bent again at the tower of the corner, at the monument which is called the Monument of the Fuller, and joined to the old wall at the valley called the Valley of the Kidron[132]." In laying down the course of this wall I differ from all those (in particular Barclay, Schultz and Robinson) who, up to the present time, have written on the topography of ancient Jerusalem. I am led to do this by the careful investigations, which, during a long time, I carried on in the district north of the city. It is my positive opinion that the ancient walls did not extend to the north beyond the present enclosure; that is, that they began at the Jaffa gate, passed by the Damascus gate, and ended at the north-east corner of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_. Let me now state the facts which have led me to this conclusion. In 1860 the Greek convent repaired the building outside the Jaffa[133] gate, now used as a custom-house. Wishing to lay some foundations against the city wall, I came, on digging down, upon those of Agrippa's, which rest upon the rock; now we know that this wall near to Hippicus was defended by the steep slope of the side of the valley, and that where this ceased, towards the north-west corner, a ditch was cut in the rock. This may still be seen, and is a proof that I am right in supposing the present to be the wall that went from Hippicus to Psephinus. At the north-west corner a massive ruin still exists inside the city, rising about twenty feet above the ground, and built of small stones joined with strong mortar; in the south-west corner however are found large stones, rusticated after the Herodian pattern. On digging about the shapeless pile, I discovered that courses of similar stones continued down to the rock. I also found two sides of masonry, and many large rusticated stones buried in the rubbish, and traces of a great cistern. Hence I consider this to be the site of the tower Psephinus, an octagon in form, and seventy cubits high[134]. Beyond these ruins, outside the present wall, is a ditch cut in the rock, unquestionably a work of the Herodian age, for no later conquerors would have had the time or desire to execute such a great and costly work. It is now concealed by rubbish, but it runs eastward parallel to the present wall, which therefore can scarcely have extended beyond it, in the course laid down by Barclay, Schultz, and many others. The position I assign to Psephinus is the highest point in the city; therefore as the tower was seventy cubits high, we can understand that from its top the confines of Arabia and the sea (the Dead Sea) might be visible; indeed the latter may even now be seen from the terraces of the highest houses in the neighbourhood of the ruins. I call particular attention to this, because some have supposed that Josephus meant the Mediterranean; which cannot be seen even from the higher station of Mount Olivet. Besides he tells us that the tower was _at_ the north-west corner of the wall[135]. The position assigned to Psephinus by Schultz, about 1800 feet from the corner, _along_ the line, is not only a very bad one in a strategic point of view, being in a hollow and commanded by higher ground in front, but also would not have given a glimpse of the sea had the tower been double the height. Barclay's position is to the north-west and beyond the present wall, but nearer to mine and on higher ground, so that it satisfies the historian's conditions, but still is inadmissible, because it would be on a plateau without any defences, and would therefore have been easily taken by the Romans, instead of giving them some trouble. I believe that Schultz fixed upon his position because a pool and some fragments of a wall, which he considered ancient, were found there. The reservoir is however too small and is an oblong, and therefore ill suited for an octagonal tower; in which we should at least expect to find a square. I examined the wall by excavations, and found it to be only an Arab work: some stones, large but not thick, are the only things that have a look of antiquity, and this character is not decisive because they are embedded in mortar; in fact they are only the remains of some slabs that have once been used in a conduit. Barclay has certainly made the most of the reservoir of the _Meidan_; but in his time it was filled with rubbish, and therefore could not be examined. I have seen it empty, and its dimensions are nine feet deep, twenty long, and ten wide. It is therefore too small for the tower. I have surveyed and carefully investigated all the ground near it, for the Russian Mission and for Signor Tanûs (the owner of the reservoir), but could not discover the slightest trace either of defensive works, or a wall, or detached stones, to induce me to believe that a fortification ever occupied this spot, but on the contrary found rock, either quite bare or thinly covered with a red clayey soil. Other writers have assigned other positions to Psephinus, which are either near the above, and so open to the same objections, or else do not agree with the account of Josephus. At the north-west corner the wall turns to the east, and after about 150 paces, before arriving at the Damascus Gate, we come to a new Greek building, touching the city-wall. When the foundations of this were laid, I examined a piece of wall, entirely of the age of the Agrippas, some stones of which are still visible. From this we see that a part of the wall, or a tower, was formerly on this spot, in accordance with my opinion. The present Damascus Gate[136] bears strong testimony to the fact that Agrippa's wall once passed by it. It is flanked, east and west, by two towers, that are conspicuous objects from inside the city; their bases are entirely composed of large stones of the Herodian period. They are twenty cubits square[137], and solid up to the ancient level of the ground. I believe them to be the 'women's towers' mentioned by Josephus[138]. I say the ancient level, because in a reservoir outside the gate, on the east, I discovered traces of another gate, at a lower level than and supporting the present Damascus Gate. In the south wall of this there is a segment of a semicircular arch, 12 feet wide and 26 high, the stones forming the side piers are large and rusticated, those of the arch itself are also large but smooth. I discovered it in January, 1861. This I believe to be identical with the 'North Gate' of Josephus, through which the Jews made a sortie to disturb Titus' first reconnoissance of the city[139]. On both sides, without the present gate, are large stones, rusticated, of the Herodian period, some in the lower part of the present wall, others forming a sort of terrace above the road. About 980 feet north of the Damascus Gate is an isolated rock rising 8 or 10 feet above the ground, and bearing inside and out traces of the hand of man. In the east side is an aperture, which resembles the doors in the sepulchres of the Kings, of the Judges and of Aceldama, and, like these, has been closed by a heavy stone moving on two hinges, the holes for which are still visible. It leads into a ruined cistern, nearly filled with rubbish. I had often been struck by the resemblance this presented to an ancient sepulchre, and thought that in that case it might be the tomb of Helena, but several difficulties stood in my way, and it is to the intelligent co-operation of M. Edmond de Barrère, French Consul at Jerusalem, that I am indebted for the confirmation of my idea. During our investigation at this place, we discovered that the rock appeared to be cut into the form of the base of a pyramid; also, by excavating inside the cistern, we found traces of tombs hewn in the rock. Hence I conclude that this is the site of the tomb of Helena. This is not the only instance where the resting-places of the dead have been profaned. Near the tombs of the Judges, and to the north of the head of the Kidron valley, changes of this kind are common: so too at the sepulchres of Aceldama the peasants of Siloam have converted some into dwelling-houses, others into barns. We know the history of some of the accidents that have befallen the grave of Helena; for a church was built on the same rock by the Empress Eudoxia, between the years A.D. 450 and 461, and dedicated to S. Stephen, who was said by tradition to have been stoned there; it was destroyed by the Saracens on the approach of the Crusaders. These rebuilt it, completing the work about the middle of the twelfth century; but destroyed it again A.D. 1187, fearing that Saladin would use it to cover his troops in attacking the city. This site satisfies another condition given by Josephus, when he says that the tomb was "distant no more than three stadia from the city of Jerusalem[140]." Now he invariably uses the words 'city of Jerusalem' to express the part enclosed by the first or second line of walls, and 'the new city' or 'Bezetha' for that within the third. Agrippa's wall, commenced A.D. 44, and continued A.D. 66, by the Jews[141], was lying in an unfinished state at the time of Helena's death; consequently, I understand that Josephus intended the three stadia to be reckoned from the second wall. S. Jerome[142], speaking of the Journey of Paula, states that, coming from Ramah and Gabaah, she left the tomb of Helena on the left hand, and then entered Jerusalem. The ancient road from Ramah, whose remains may still be seen, passed a little to the north of the sepulchres of the Kings, and then turning to the N.W., left the monument of Helena on the left and entered Jerusalem. The distance from the north gate, as determined by me, is another very strong argument for this position. The following Jewish tradition also confirms my opinion. It is the custom for the Jews, every year, about the time of the Feast of Pentecost, to leave Jerusalem by the Damascus Gate, and pass the whole day in visiting this rock, the sepulchres of the Kings, the supposed tomb of Simon the Just, and a grotto, opposite to this, looking south, called in Arabic _Jadagat el-Ahel_, that is, "store of food" or "alms of food[143]." They repeat their visit, or rather pilgrimage, for three days, and never return to the city without scrupulously visiting these four places. I asked educated Jews the reason of this custom, and was told that from this direction a great Queen had come, who, during a severe famine, had brought large supplies of food to Jerusalem, which were deposited in the above-named grotto; that on her death she wished to be buried on the north near the city; (I asked them to point out the place, but they could not), and consequently they went out in respectful remembrance of her, (they did not know even her name,) and also to visit the tombs of their ancestors. Thus, though the tradition does not fix the exact place of the grave, it shews that it was near the city, and indicates the direction in which it lay. Close to the outer side of the wall, a little to the east of the Damascus gate, is a large deep hollow, almost entirely enclosed on the south, east, and north, by bare rock, which has evidently been worked at some very distant period[144]. In the upper part of the south side is a hole, opening into a long deep cavern extending southward and eastward under the city; and facing this, to the north, is the (commonly called) grotto of Jeremiah. These are nothing but ancient stone-quarries, which I consider to be the _Royal Caverns_ of Josephus, and believe that the stones, which at different times have been used to build the city walls and the Temple, have been, at least in great part, taken from them. They were separated one from another, as at present, partly in getting the stone and partly in fortifying the north of the New City (Bezetha) with a ditch, which still runs eastward along the wall till it arrives at the pool near S. Mary's gate. It is cut entirely in the rock, like the one on the north-west in front of the tower Psephinus, and is a regular defence for the city-walls. As similar works have never been found in any other part of the district on the north, its occurrence at this place seems a strong argument in favour of my theory. I also compared the levels of the bottom of the hollow in front of the cavern, and of the Tyropoeon valley, with the old level of the north gate, and found they correspond. I further ascertained that the road sloped gently towards the Temple, so that the huge blocks could have been easily transported. We may remark also that Josephus uses different words to express Cavern and Sepulchre[145]; and that the word used in speaking of this place does not apply to a place of burial. I conclude therefore that these are the Royal Caverns of Josephus, and if it be objected that this position restricts too much the line of Agrippa's wall, I ask to what other place on the north this name can be applied. To the east of the Royal Caverns is Herod's gate, and a little below it, in the same direction, the lower part of the present wall for four courses above the ground is of Herodian work; another point in favour of my theory. It is stated that "the wall bent again at the tower of the corner, at the monument which is called the Monument of the Fuller[146]." We must now endeavour to assign the position of these two. I place the tower inside the present wall at its north-east corner, where massive masonry may still be seen on a level with the ground. The Monument of the Fuller is entirely destroyed, and its place cannot be exactly determined. Still, two passages in the Bible give some clue: Josiah burnt the grove which he had removed from the house of the Lord "at the brook Kidron, and stamped it small to powder, and cast the powder thereof upon the graves of the children of the people[147];" also, Jehoiakim slew Urijah "with the sword, and cast his dead body into the graves of the common people[148]." Now in the valley of the Kidron, east of the corner of the wall, are some rocks bearing evident traces of workmanship, but so much injured and weatherworn, and so covered with rubbish, that it is impossible to say whether they have belonged to a monument or not; but there are some signs of sepulchres; so, as the 'graves of the common people' are in the valley of Kidron, I am inclined to think that this may have been the Fullers Monument. The highway of the Fuller's field is mentioned in 2 Kings xviii. 17, Isaiah xxxvi. 2, and some think that this is connected with the monument named by Josephus; but the two things are quite distinct, and there is no reason why the former should be near the latter. After passing the monument the wall joined the old wall, which now forms the north-east corner of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_. Having thus examined the line of the walls, let us try to prove, both from the historian's words and the conformation of the ground, that the city cannot have extended to the north beyond its present limits. It is stated[149] that "the third wall had ninety towers (twenty cubits square), and the spaces between them were each two hundred cubits, but in the middle wall were fourteen towers[150], and the old wall was divided by sixty; while the whole compass of the city was thirty-three stadia." Now it is quite credible that the middle and old walls had the above numbers of towers, but it is very hard to understand how the third could have had ninety, and these two hundred cubits apart. If each tower was twenty cubits square, then the space occupied by towers would be eighteen hundred cubits; and if they were two hundred cubits apart, the sum of their distances would be eighteen thousand cubits; so that the whole length of the third wall would have been nineteen thousand eight hundred cubits; which is equal to about nine thousand seven hundred and ninety-one yards, or _forty-eight stadia_. This, besides being greater than the whole compass of the city (thirty-three stadia), is far too large for even the space claimed by Barclay; because in order to obtain a measurement of this extent, we must suppose a part of the Scopus itself to have been included within the walls. There must therefore, as it appears to me, be some error in the text of Josephus in the number 'ninety,' so that no argument can be founded upon it. The position, however, which I assign to the wall, agrees very well with the thirty-three stadia, given by the historian as the whole length of the walls[151]. My theory is also supported by the description of Titus' wall of circumvallation[152]. "He began the wall from the _Camp of the Assyrians_, where his own camp was pitched; and drew it down to the lower parts of the New City; thence it went along the valley of the Kidron to the Mount of Olives; it then bent towards the south, and encompassed the mountain as far as the rock called _Peristereon_, and that other hill which lies next it; and is over against the valley which reaches to Siloam; whence it tended again to the west, and went down to the valley of the fountain, beyond which it went up again at the _Monument of Ananus_ the high priest; and encompassing that mountain where Pompeius had formerly pitched his camp, it returned back to the north side of the city, and was carried on as far as a certain village called the _House of the Erebinthi_, after which it encompassed _Herod's Monument_, and there on the east was joined to Titus' own camp, where it began. Now, the length of this wall was thirty-nine stadia. Now, at this wall without were erected thirteen places to keep garrison in, whose circumferences put together amounted to ten stadia." Of the places mentioned in the above description, the camp of the Assyrians is at the north-west corner of the present line of walls, two stadia distant from which were the head-quarters of Titus[153]. I cannot ascertain the position of the rock Peristereon (dovecote). According to Schultz this word has the same meaning as the Latin 'Columbarium[154],' and he identified it with the so-called 'Tombs of the Prophets[155],' but this does not correspond with the 'Columbarium' of the Romans. Its position indeed, at the first glance, seems to agree with the _data_ of Josephus; but his words appear more applicable to a prominent rock than to a monument, which moreover is too far up the hill-side to be included in the line of circumvallation. I believe therefore that the Peristereon of Josephus was situated at the north entrance of the present village of Siloam, where the rocks still bear marks of having been extensively quarried. The Monument of Ananus has been identified by Schultz with the present tomb of S. Onuphrius, a building in the Doric style, situated in Aceldama; we will examine it more minutely hereafter. I also agree with Schultz in placing the village, called 'House of Erebinthi' (chick peas), in the valley of Gihon to the west of _Birket-es-Sultan_, at a spot marked by some ruins, quarried rock, and a considerable number of cisterns hewn in the rock; called by the Arabs, _Kasr-el-Asfur_ or _el-Ghazal_ (castle of the young sparrow or of the gazelle) and _Abu-Wair_. Near, and to the west of _Birket Mamillah_, is a large mass of ruins, covering some sepulchral caves, which are identified by Schultz with Herod's monument. Though it is difficult to recognise in them the customary magnificence of that family, still the position suits the account of Josephus. They were injured in the early ages of Christianity on the building of the Greek church of St Babylas, which was afterwards destroyed by the Persians under Chosroes II., and to which the present remains belong. Some authors are very anxious to extend Jerusalem towards the north (since this is impossible on the south), in order to make it large enough to contain the immense population, and the numbers of dead and prisoners recorded by Josephus[156]. But Hecatæus of Abdera, cited by the historian[157], reckons its inhabitants, at the time of Alexander the Great, at 120,000; is it then possible that the population of the city could have so greatly increased in four centuries, during which Palestine had been drained by numerous emigrations and frequent revolutions, and was the field of constant and bloody strife[158]? Nor must we forget that the defenders were not more than 25,000, nor the besiegers more than 60,000[159]. Could not then so great a population (about 2,000,000) furnish a larger garrison for the defence of their Palladium? Though Titus might have reckoned on the intestine struggles among the Jews, would he even then, skilful general and experienced warrior as he was, have undertaken so hazardous an enterprise? Could he have approached so large and populous a city with an army relatively so weak? We do not need more evidence to convince us that either the historian has included in his numbers the prisoners and dead of the whole war, or has indulged in exaggeration, or else that the figures have been wrongly transcribed. Let us also consider the conformation of the ground on the north. Josephus has distinctly stated that the city was enclosed by a triple wall, except on the side of the valleys, where there was but one, as this part was inaccessible[160]. These few words appear to me to be fatal to any theory that lays down Agrippa's wall near the Tombs of the Kings. If he had begun to build it on the ridge south of the upper part of the Kidron valley, the Jews would of course have completed it on the same spot, and Josephus would not have omitted to state that the city was defended to a considerable extent by a valley on the north. But on this point he is silent, and finding his description correct in other respects, I cannot suppose that he has made an omission in this. If it be contended that the upper part of the Kidron valley is too shallow to be worth mention, I reply, that it is from 16 to 24 feet deep, and was no doubt deeper in the time of Josephus; who therefore would not have failed to observe that there was also a valley on the north, which at any rate was quite deep enough to be a formidable obstacle to an attack from that side. Again, suppose that the city-wall had come up to the Tombs of the Kings, or stood a little to the south of them, what would then have been the use of Titus' reconnoissance from Gofna with 600 horse[161]; thus uselessly exposing himself to danger, when he could have examined the place better, and even exhorted the people to submit, from Mount Scopus. Had the city extended thus far, it would have been open to view and exposed to an attack on the north-west, being closely surrounded by higher hills; nor would a skilful general like Titus have given his men the trouble of levelling the ground from Scopus up to Herod's monument[162], needlessly increasing the labours of his troops, and exposing them to constant attacks from the Jews. He certainly would not have moved his camp to a position two stadia distant from both Psephinus and Hippicus[163], because he could easily have attacked the city at any point between the Tombs of the Kings and Psephinus. Lastly, I assert that no signs of defensive works, natural or artificial, are found to the north or north-west of the present walls. From the Jaffa Gate to the Tombs of the Kings, and thence to the north-east corner of the walls, there is not the slightest trace of the foundation or the masonry of the outer wall; no great hewn stones scattered over or buried in the ground; nothing but twenty-six vaulted cisterns, hollowed out in the rock, and four very small pools, which could not have supplied the large population that must have covered this space; the rock, though in places worked, is generally rough and untouched by any tool; the soil is everywhere red and clayey, its natural condition; another proof that it was never built over, for where the houses have been destroyed by fire or age, it is of a blackish or greyish colour, and contains fragments of walls or at least hewn stones in plenty. Let any one examine the south part of Sion or Ophel and contradict my assertion if he can. On the south heaps of broken stones and rubbish are scattered over a grey soil; on the north is bare rock, or a scanty though rich virgin earth. Some, however, infer an extension of the city to the north, from the occurrence not only of cisterns but also of small cubes of stone, belonging to mosaic pavements, and of certain walls which, without proper examination, have been considered to be ancient Jewish work. But these remains are not of any value, because, as stated by Josephus[164], there were houses and gardens in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem to the north. We may indeed infer the same from the words of Nehemiah[165], because we cannot imagine persons engaged in the service of the Temple living elsewhere in the environs of the city, on account of the great number of tombs in every other part. Houses also stood here at the time of the Crusades, and a church, dedicated to the Martyrdom of S. Stephen; therefore the occurrence of some mosaics and stones is easily accounted for. For all these reasons I deny that the walls extended farther to the north than their present position; and if the advocates of other theories are not convinced, I invite them to examine the places for themselves, when they will see that I have spoken the truth. A Roman garrison was left by Titus at Jerusalem, after the work of destruction was completed, to watch over the ruins and prevent any attempt at restoring the city[166]; and it was not till 60 years afterwards that Hadrian sent thither a heathen colony to rebuild it and call it _Ælia_, after his name Ælius. A temple to Jupiter Capitolinus was erected on the site of the ancient Temple, whence the epithet _Capitolina_. He forbade the Jews to enter the territory of Jerusalem under pain of death, in order, according to Ariston of Pella[167], that they might not behold the home of their fathers even from afar. He also caused the effigy of a pig to be sculptured in marble on the gate leading to Bethlehem; an animal unclean to the Jews, but one of the Roman standards[168]. The southern part of Sion was excluded from his city, and all agree that its form and size coincided with the present. On this point we have the testimony of the Pilgrim of Bordeaux[169], who visited the place early in the fourth century, during the building of the Church of the Resurrection by Constantine. At the time of the arrival of the Crusaders Jerusalem had not undergone any material change, as we learn from El Edrisi[170], who finished his work January, A.D. 1154, Benjamin of Tudela, who visited it A.D. 1173, and Willibrand of Oldenburgh, who stayed there A.D. 1211. During the occupation by the Crusaders a ditch extended along the wall from the south-west corner to the Sion Gate. It is now covered by a street, but on descending into one of the cisterns which opens into the middle of the road, I found that they were all in reality formed out of the ditch. This is the only part of the city of the Crusaders that has disappeared from view owing to the restorations of Solyman the Magnificent, who ascended the throne A.D. 1534. The form of Jerusalem was not changed in his days, although he greatly wished it. He had given orders to the architect, who was building the new walls, to extend them on the side of Sion, so as to include the whole of that hill. Regard for the sanctity of the place was not his motive (as many Christians both then and since have thought), but fear, lest in the event of a siege it might be occupied by an enemy, as a commanding position on which to collect troops preparatory to an assault. But when the architect, who hated the Christians, saw their deep reverence for the place and their desire that it might be included in the city, he determined to leave it outside as Hadrian had done; without thinking of the political or military views of his sovereign. He paid dear for his disobedience, for the Sultan recalled him to give an account of his actions, and regardless of his religious scruples cut off his head. Having thus given a general idea of modern and ancient Jerusalem, we will proceed to describe all the objects of interest enclosed within its walls. FOOTNOTES: [36] See the Panorama, Plate I, and Plates II., III., IV. [37] 2 Sam. v. 6, 7, 9. [38] Jewish War, V. 4, § 1. [39] 2 Chron. xxxiii. 14. [40] Josh. xv. 8; xviii. 16. [41] Jewish War, V. 4, § 1. [42] Ibid. [43] +amphikyptos+. Whiston translates 'Of the shape of a moon when she is horned.' [44] Gen. xxii. 2, 14. [45] 2 Chron. iii. 1. [46] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2; 5, § 8. [47] Jewish War, V. 5, § 1; Ant. XV. 11, § 3. [48] Ant. XV. 11, § 5. [49] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2. [50] Jewish War, V. 5, § 8. [51] Jewish War, V. 4, § 1. [52] Note I. [53] Ant. XII. 5, § 4; 9, § 3. [54] Ant. XIII. 6, § 7; Jewish War, V. 4, § 1. [55] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2. [56] 2 Sam. xv. 23, 30. [57] 1 Kings xi. 7; 2 Kings xxiii. 13. [58] Acts i. 12; Note II. [59] Jewish War, V. 2, § 3. [60] 1 Kings i. 38. See Note XIII. [61] 2 Chron. xxxii. 30. [62] 2 Chron. xxxiii. 14. [63] 2 Kings xxiii. 10; Jer. vii. 31, 32; xix. 11. [64] Jer. xix. 6. [65] 1 Macc. iv. 61; vi. 26, 31; 2 Macc. xi. 5. [66] Note II. [67] Ant. XI. 8, § 5; Jewish War, II. 19, § 4; V. 2, § 3. [68] Josh. xviii. 16. [69] 2 Sam. v. 6, 7. [70] Ant. VII. 3, § 1. [71] Judges i. 21. [72] Ant. V. 2, § 2. [73] Note III. [74] 2 Sam. v. 9; 1 Chron. xi. 7. [75] 2 Sam. v. 11. [76] 2 Sam. v. 9. [77] 1 Chron. xi. 8. [78] Note IV. [79] Marked with black on the Plan of the Ancient City. Plate II. [80] Note V. [81] 2 Sam. v. 9; 1 Chron. xi. 8. [82] Plate XXXI. [83] 2 Chron. iii. 1. [84] 2 Sam. xxiv. 16-25; 1 Chron. xxi. 18. [85] 1 Kings ix. 15; xi. 27. [86] Ant. VIII. 2, § 1; 6, § 1. [87] 1 Kings ix. 15, 24. [88] 1 Kings xi. 27. [89] 2 Kings xii. 20. [90] 2 Kings xxii. 14 (margin); Zeph. i. 10. [91] 2 Chron. xxvii. 3. [92] 2 Chron. xxxii. 5. [93] Plate XXXI. [94] Note VI. [95] 2 Chron. xxxiii. 14. [96] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2. [97] 2 Kings xiv. 13; 2 Chron. xxv. 23. [98] Jer. xxxi. 38. [99] 2 Chron. xxvi. 9. [100] 2 Chron. xxiii. 15; Jer. xxxi. 40. [101] 2 Chron. xxxiii. 14; Zeph. i. 10. [102] Jer. xx. 2. [103] 2 Kings xxv. 4; Jer. lii. 7. [104] Note VII. [105] For what follows see Neh. ch. iii. [106] Neh. xii. 31, 37, 38, 39. [107] Neh. ii. 13. [108] Jewish War, V. 4, § 1, 2, 3. [109] Plate V. [110] Note VIII. [111] Jewish War, V. 4, § 3. [112] Plate VI. [113] Jewish War, VII. 1, § 1. [114] Ibid. V. 3, § 5. [115] Ant. XX. 8, § 11. [116] Jewish War, VI. 6, § 2. [117] Note IX. [118] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2. [119] +Dia de tou Bêthsô kaloumenou chôriou katateinon epi tên Essênôn pylên.+ [120] Isaiah xxii. 1, 11. [121] Jewish War, VI. 7, § 2; 8, § 1. [122] Ibid. V. 4, § 2. [123] Jewish War, V. 5, § 8. [124] Ibid. V. 3, § 2. [125] Ibid. V. 11, § 4. [126] S. John xix. 41. [127] "Duos colles, in immensum editos, claudebant muri per artem obliqui, aut introrsus sinuati ut latera oppugnantium ad ictus patescerent."--Hist. V. 11; Note X. [128] Plate XXX. [129] Plate XXX. [130] Plate XXX. [131] +Anêei mechri tês Antônias.+ [132] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2. [133] Plate V. [134] Jewish War, V. 4, § 3. [135] Ibid. V. 3, § 3; 4, § 3. [136] Plate VII. [137] Jewish War, V. 4, § 3. [138] Ibid. V. 2, § 2. [139] Ibid. [140] Ant. XX. 4, § 3. [141] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2. [142] Jerome, Ep. CVIII. Ed. Migue, (_Ad Eustochium virginem_). [143] Plate LVII. [144] Plates VIII., IX. [145] +spêlaion+ (cavern), +mnêmeion+ (sepulchre). [146] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2. [147] 2 Kings xxiii. 6. [148] Jer. xxvi. 23. [149] Jewish War, V. 4, § 3. [150] Whiston reads 'forty' instead of fourteen; the latter is the number in the Greek text. [151] Note II. [152] Jewish War, V. 12, § 2. [153] Ibid. V. 7, § 3. [154] Columbarium means not only a dovecote, but also a sepulchre, with niches for urns. [155] Plate LIV. [156] Jewish War, V. 13, § 7; VI. 9, § 3. [157] c. Apion. I. 22. [158] See the Chronological Table. [159] Jewish War, V. 1, § 6; 6, § 1. [160] Ibid. V. 4, § 1. [161] Jewish War, V. 2, § 1. [162] Ibid. V. 3, § 2. [163] Ibid. V. 3, § 5. [164] Jewish War, V. 3, § 2. [165] Nehem. xii. 28, 29. [166] Jewish War, VII. 1, § 1. [167] Eusebius, Eccl. Hist. IV. 6. [168] Jerome, 'Interpretatio Chronicæ Eusebii Pamphili' (Hadr. An. XX.). [169] Note XI. [170] Note XII. CHAPTER III. MOUNT MORIAH AND ITS ENVIRONS--HISTORY IN THE TIME OF ABRAHAM, JACOB, DAVID, SOLOMON, ZERUBBABEL, ALEXANDER THE GREAT, ANTIOCHUS EPIPHANES, THE MACCABEES, POMPEIUS, CRASSUS, THE HERODS, TITUS, HADRIAN, CONSTANTINE, JULIAN THE APOSTATE, OMAR, ABD-EL-MALEK, VALID OR ELULID, THE CRUSADERS, SALADIN, SELIM I., SOLYMAN I.--GENERAL EXAMINATION OF MORIAH, WITH DETAILS OF THE INVESTIGATIONS. Mount Moriah, forming the south-east part of the Lower City, is one of the points in Jerusalem whose situation can be fixed with the greatest certainty, from the evidence of the place itself with its ruins and remains, and from the testimony of ancient authors and local traditions. At the present day it is surrounded by walls and buildings enclosing the great plateau, in the middle of which rises the majestic _Kubbet-es-Sakharah_ (Dome of the Rock), on the site formerly occupied by the Temple of the God of Israel. The followers of Islam, on their conquest of Jerusalem, dedicated this spot to the service of their own faith, under the name of _Beit-el-Mokaddas-es-Sherîf_ (the Noble Sanctuary). They esteemed it the holiest place on earth, after Mecca and Medina, and, as usual, strictly forbade all unbelievers to enter it. An accurate and scientific examination of it was not made, so far as we know, in the days of the Crusaders, and since then, though many have attempted it, none have succeeded. Ali Bey's description, made A.D. 1807, is correct enough for a traveller, but does not touch upon questions of archæology; Catherwood, Bonomi, and Arundale, during Ibrahim Pasha's occupation of Syria, A.D. 1833, commenced a survey with plans and views; but were hindered and finally stopped by the fanaticism of the Arabs, and so obliged to bring to a hasty conclusion a work carefully begun. Many have spoken before scientific societies and written on this subject in various publications; some after looking at the place from the Mount of Olives or the terrace of the Barrack at the north-west corner of the enclosure, others after a hurried visit; but no one since the time of its destruction by Titus has examined the ground, no one has carried on careful and systematic investigations there; all have been content to speak of what appeared above the soil, and were consequently ignorant of the objects of far greater interest below. In consequence of the late war in the East, Mohammedan fanaticism was somewhat abated, and Kiamil Pasha, Governor of the city, several times allowed travellers to visit the _Haram_[171], and kindly gave me frequent leave to enter it alone, without forming one of the train of some distinguished visitor; at other times I went in disguise with Arab friends; but on all these occasions I could only use my eyes, and now and then venture to measure a distance by stepping it. This was not what I wanted, for I had determined to construct plans and thoroughly examine the ground in every direction. My wishes were carried into effect by the great kindness and powerful protection of Surraya Pasha, who attached me to his service as honorary architect, and then gave me every opportunity and assistance in accomplishing my design, during a period lasting from the beginning of 1857 to August 1861, when I returned to Europe. I have accordingly examined this celebrated place, patiently and perseveringly, and with no small sacrifice of time and private means[172]. I have penetrated into the subterranean works, sought out and classified the conduits and ascertained their course, constructed plans[173], and now present the details of my labours to the reader, in confidence that, even if I have not fully accomplished my design, I am the first to bring forward many facts useful to archæology, and that if others continue the researches (when that is possible) many great problems will be solved. The first mention of Moriah in the Bible is when Abraham, in obedience to the divine command, came to it to offer up his son Isaac, and the Almighty, satisfied both of the faith of the father and the obedience of the son, arrested the knife, and substituted another victim[174]. It is possible that this mount may have been the scene of Jacob's dream[175], and not the Bethel usually supposed; where at a later period the golden calf was set up by Jeroboam. Had it been the latter place it is rather improbable that the patriarch would have halted at so short a distance from Shechem, when he fled from the vengeance of the neighbours of Hamor[176]. Moriah is not directly mentioned in the account of David's conquest of Jerusalem, nor in the history of his reign, but it is indirectly when his country was smitten by a pestilence, after that, led astray by pride, he had numbered the people[177]. He repented and entreated God, who checked the destroying angel's hand, as his sword was stretched out over Jerusalem. Bidden by the prophet Gad, the King went out from the city to raise an altar to the Lord on the threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite, near to which he had seen the angel. He found the owner with his four sons threshing wheat, purchased the floor for 600 shekels of gold, with the oxen for sacrifices, the grain for meat-offerings, and the instruments for wood; built an altar there, and called upon the Lord. The fire of heaven descended upon it, and the angel thrust back his sword into the sheath. He continued to sacrifice there, saying, "This is the house of the Lord God, and this is the altar of the burnt-offering for Israel[178]." From the above narrative we see that the threshing-floor was without the city, and the property of a Jebusite, that it was a sacred spot, chosen by the Lord himself for his House, and identical with Moriah. Josephus[179] informs us that this was the very place to which Abraham brought his son Isaac to offer him as a burnt-offering. Here it will be well to digress a little to describe a 'threshing-floor' (Goren) of this period. It consisted of a plot of ground, usually rocky, levelled to allow of the crops being spread out to the air and sun, ready for the labourers, yet so situated as to be sheltered from the full force of the prevailing wind. For greater security it was usually near a dwelling; and, either within the enclosure or in the immediate neighbourhood, cisterns were hewn in the rock, some to catch the rain-water, others to hold the grain and other farm produce[180]. The purposes for which these were designed can be determined from their form. Those for water have only one chamber, with a shaft (about 2-3/4 feet wide) opening out into the middle of the roof; the rest have two chambers, one below the other, communicating by a hole (about 4 feet wide) in the middle of the floor of the upper[181], which itself opens to the threshing-floor by a sloping passage (about 3-1/2 feet wide). The lower cavern is deeper and larger than the upper. I have met with very many of these cisterns during my frequent journeys in Palestine, where they are still applied to their ancient uses; they are especially common in those Arab villages which stand upon sites mentioned in the Bible; as at Beth-shemesh, on the road from Jaffa to Jerusalem just at the east of the village of _El-Atrun_, at _Neby Samwîl_ (formerly Ramah the home of Samuel), at Gibeon and Beth-horon, at _Beit-zacaria_, the ancient Bath-zacharias[182], at _El-Kebab_ in the plain of Sharon, and in many other places. In the threshing-floor of Araunah there are many cisterns, but I wish to call especial attention to two very near each other, to the north of the _Kubbet-es-Sakharah_[183] and to one inside it, beneath the sacred rock; of which the visitor can only see the hole on the north-east side and the upper part, but can convince himself by the hollow sound of the existence of the lower cave. These are, in my opinion, the strongest proofs of the identity of the position of the mosque and its platform with the ancient threshing-floor of the Jebusite. I will hereafter explain how I contrived to explore the interior of the cisterns in a place of such sanctity. David collected materials, and instructed his son to build the Temple on the spot where he had offered sacrifice; and when Solomon had established himself upon the throne, he commenced the work, which was to perpetuate the glory of his reign. As his own dominions were not able to supply suitable wood for the building, and as his people had not as yet made sufficient progress in art to enable him to execute his magnificent designs, he asked Hiram king of Tyre to furnish him with cedars from Lebanon and Phoenician masons[184], with a skilful artist to direct the work[185]. His request was granted, a treaty was made between the two kings[186]: timber was prepared and brought to Jaffa[187] by orders of Hiram, while Solomon had great blocks of stone, of 8 and 10 cubits[188], quarried and transported to the spot ready for use, so that "there was neither hammer, nor axe, nor any tool of iron heard in the house, while it was in building[189]." Before laying the foundations of the Temple itself he executed great works to enlarge and strengthen the ground[190]. Josephus indeed states that the summit of the mountain was so abrupt and surrounded by precipices, that it was hardly large enough to support the sacred house and the surrounding buildings, and that in consequence a wall was built on the east, rising 400 cubits from the bottom of the valley, and the intervening space filled up with earth to support a portico[191]. The work began in the fourth year of his reign in the month _Zif_ (April-May) and lasted seven years[192]. I agree with Munk that it is impossible to give an exact description of this Temple; those found in 1 Kings vi. 7 and 2 Chron. iii. and iv. are very incomplete, and often hard to reconcile; besides the meaning of the architectural terms used in them cannot readily be determined. That given by Josephus frequently differs, especially in dimensions, from those given in the Bible, and the details which he adds seem based upon mere conjecture. The numerous modern accounts[193] are very dissimilar and present great difficulties, when elevations are made from them. We may therefore conclude that a correct idea of the proportions and architecture of Solomon's Temple cannot be obtained; consequently I have put aside during my researches all considerations about the height, style, and ornamentation of the building, referring my reader to Josephus[194] and Munk[195], and concerned myself only about the details relating to the ground-plan. This was an oblong, 60 cubits in length from east to west, and 20 cubits wide. At the entrance of the Temple on the east was a portico called _Oulam_, measuring 20 cubits from north to south, and therefore corresponding with the house, and 10 cubits from east to west[196]. The Temple itself was divided into two distinct parts; that in front on the east, called _Hechel_ (Palace), now the Holy Place, was 40 cubits long; inside it, on the right or north, was the table of shewbread, on the left the seven-branched candlestick; between these in front of the veil, the altar of incense. The inner part, _Debir_ (the Holy of Holies), was twenty cubits square, and contained the ark alone, in which were the two tables of stone, placed there by Moses at Horeb[197]. The Temple was surrounded by two courts. The inner is mentioned in 1 Kings vi. 36, but its dimensions are not recorded; it was probably an oblong, enclosing the building, which stood near the west end, so as to leave a considerable space in front, where the holy things, used in the Jewish ritual, were arranged; as none but the Priests could enter this, it was called the court of the Priests[198]. Besides this there was the 'great' or 'outward' court[199], where the people assembled to worship. In the middle of the inner court, opposite to the entrance of the Sanctuary, was placed the great bronze altar of burnt-offerings, which was 20 cubits square and 10 cubits in height[200]. South-west of this and south-east of the Temple, was the large laver called from its size the 'sea of bronze,' 10 cubits in diameter and containing 3,000 baths[201] of water, used for the lustrations of the priests[202]. Besides this there were ten other vases, 4 cubits in diameter, five on either hand, each containing 40 baths[203]; these were used in washing the burnt-offerings[204]. The effect of these works was to change entirely the appearance of the Moriah of Abraham and David; but the threshing-floor of Araunah, which had sustained the original altar, was handed down to posterity by the succession of events which identified the spot, and the indelible traces of antiquity, yet to be found there. As Solomon had built in the Temple enclosure houses for the Levites[205], besides the laver and altar of burnt-offering; it was necessary for him to construct conduits and cisterns to bring, to keep, and to carry off water for the religious ceremonies and the various purposes of daily life, as well as to remove the blood of the victims and other refuse. On this point the Bible is silent, but we can easily see that there were not any sources of drinkable water in the Temple and its vicinity, or indeed in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem; and that the rain-water alone could not be depended upon for a supply sufficient for the wants of the place; we may therefore assert with confidence that Solomon must have made great works to bring water from distant sources, as from Etham (Eccl. ii. 6), where an abundant quantity could always be obtained; with cisterns to keep it, and conduits attached to convey it to different parts of the platform of the Sanctuary. We are told that the victims were slain on the north, the blood sprinkled about the altar, and the refuse cast away towards the east, in the 'place of the ashes[206],' and the Priest's chambers built on the north side of the altar of burnt-offerings[207]. Hence it follows that drains must have existed at the altar of burnt-offerings, on the north-side, and at the 'place of the ashes.' That these and many other things were constructed by Solomon, we shall presently see from my investigations in the _Haram-es-Sherîf_; I have now only alluded to the account given in the Bible of the ground-plan of the building, in order to be more easily understood in describing them. Although the Temple was sacked in the reign of Rehoboam by Shishak king of Egypt[208], and under Amaziah by Joash king of Israel[209], and repaired by Joash king of Judah[210], it did not undergo any material change up to the time of its destruction by the Chaldeans. It was set on fire by order of Nebuchadnezzar, with the rest of Jerusalem, and in a few days became a heap of ruins. So fell the first Temple of the Lord, rather more than four centuries after its first foundation[211]. This done, the Chaldeans carried away a part of the people into captivity, but left the poorer class to cultivate the land; over whom Gedaliah, their countryman, was set as governor. He fixed his residence at Mizpah[212], the abode of Jeremiah, and under his good rule the number of inhabitants rapidly increased, the fugitives returned from all quarters, tranquillity and order were established, and the people began to devote themselves to the vintage and the harvest of summer-fruits[213]; but before long a traitor, Ishmael, overthrew the hopes of this remnant of Judah by the murder of Gedaliah[214], after which the greater part of them, fearing the anger of the king of Babylon, migrated into Egypt, and settled in the land of Tahpanhes[215], five years after the destruction of Jerusalem. From these facts, derived from the Bible, it is evident that the country was never wholly cleared of its inhabitants during the captivity; and that, as Jeremiah mourned for five years over the ruins of the city, so might many others follow his example during successive years; so that the recollection, not only of the site of the Temple, but of its very details, would be preserved, together with the traces of the ancient threshing-floor of Araunah, and the cisterns, which must have escaped the flames. Cyrus ascended the throne of Persia B.C. 536, and in the first year of his reign allowed the Jews to return to Palestine and rebuild the Temple[216]; fifty-two years after the destruction of the city, and sixty-three after the exile of King Jehoiakim[217], a numerous band, headed by Zerubbabel and Joshua, set out for Judæa, and arrived there after a journey of four months[218]. The next year, B.C. 535, in the second month, Zerubbabel began to rebuild the Temple, and the new walls rose among the joyful shouts of the young men, who saw them for the first time, and the tears of the old, who remembered the greater glories of the former House[219]. Hence we see that persons, worthy of credit, who had seen the first Temple, were alive when the second was built; and therefore cannot but believe that it stood on its ancient foundations. The Samaritans, ever the rivals of the Jews, wished to share in this work; and when their offers were rejected, harassed the workmen and interrupted its progress, until, at last, by sending exaggerated and false reports to the King, they obtained an order suspending it[220]. After a lapse of fifteen years, in the second year of Darius, Zerubbabel[221], instigated by Haggai, re-commenced the building; which was finished and solemnly inaugurated[222], in the sixth year of Darius B.C. 517, on the third day of the month _Adar_ (February-March). We do not find any description of the dimensions and appearance of Zerubbabel's Temple: according to the decree of Cyrus[223], it was to be sixty cubits broad and as many high; but these dimensions cannot be relied on, because we are told that the new edifice was not in any respect equal to the former[224]. It was visited by Alexander the Great B.C. 332; and if we can credit Hecatæus of Abdera, a contemporary of the conqueror, it differed considerably in style and size from Solomon's Temple; the dimensions of the enclosure in which it stood were six plethra (606 feet) long and 100 cubits wide; the great altar of burnt-offerings was built of large white unpolished stones, being 20 cubits square and 12 high. According to the assertion of Herod the Great, quoted by Josephus[225], the second House was not so high as the first. Antiochus Epiphanes entered Jerusalem B.C. 170, and after killing many of the Jews and plundering the Temple, withdrew to Antioch. After two years he returned, persecuted the people more barbarously than ever, and profaned the House of the Lord, despoiling it of all that had been left on the former occasion. He built a fortress in the lower city in a commanding position, and placed therein a Macedonian garrison to harass all who went to pray at the Holy Place[226]; still the form of the Temple and its enclosure remained unaltered during this calamitous period. Never have more glorious deeds been done by any nation than by the Jews under the rule of the Maccabees, men ever ready to die rather than break the laws of their God and country. The Temple was recovered and cleansed from pollution; the sacred things, which had been carried away by the Syrians, were recaptured; the altar of burnt-offerings, having been defiled by heathen sacrifices, was destroyed and a new one erected[227]; the walls surrounding the Temple, which had been pulled down by Antiochus Eupator, were rebuilt by Jonathan, and strengthened by towers[228]; the neighbouring fortress on the hill Acra was captured by Simon, the Macedonian garrison expelled, and the building razed. The hill itself was levelled, so that it no longer commanded the Temple: three years of incessant labour, night and day, being spent on the work. He afterwards fortified Moriah, and built his house upon it[229], probably on the site at the north-west corner, where his successors built the castle Baris[230]. In this dwelt Aristobulus, son of Hyrcanus, by whose orders his brother Antigonus was murdered, at a place in an underground passage, leading to the castle, called Strato's Tower[231]. I shall return to this again, as I think that I have discovered it, or at least been the first to identify it. At the time of Pompeius the Great the Temple was joined to the city by a bridge, which was destroyed by the followers of Aristobulus, as they retreated within the sacred walls, and prepared to defend themselves against their assailants, who had called the Roman forces to their aid. On the north it was protected by high towers and a deep ditch, excavated with great pains in a valley; and on the west by precipices, which could not be scaled when the bridge was broken down[232]. The Roman conqueror entered the sanctuary, but respected its treasures, and permitted the Jews to carry on their worship without interruption. Crassus, on the contrary, though only passing through Jerusalem, did not imitate the moderation of Pompeius, but despoiled it of its treasures and sacred vessels. The last calamity that befell it was when some of the cloisters were burnt, during the siege by Herod the Great[233]. Of all the great works executed by this King, the most important for several reasons was the Temple of Jerusalem. In the eighteenth year of his reign he convoked a national assembly, and set before them the necessity of rebuilding it, giving as his chief reason that, at the time of its restoration by Zerubbabel, it had not been made of the proper dimensions or on the right plan. No doubt a house, raised five centuries before, by a poor colony, with funds supplied by the King of Persia, must have had a paltry appearance, contrasted with the magnificent buildings erected by Herod in the highest style of Grecian art. The Jews hesitated to consent to his scheme, fearing that after he had demolished the old Temple, he might be unable or unwilling to finish the new. He reassured them by promising not to begin to pull it down, until he had collected all the materials required for so great an undertaking. He kept his word; two years were spent in preparation[234]; the sanctuary itself was completed in eighteen months, and the courts and their cloisters in eight years; but the works in the outer buildings were carried on for a much longer time[235]. This wonderful pile rose upon the summit of Moriah, now enlarged by the labours of many centuries, and surrounded by solid walls and deep valleys, more like an impregnable fortress than a house of prayer; therefore the Apostles, beholding with wonder the huge blocks of stone, bound with clamps of lead and iron into a mass as firm as the rock itself, said one day to our Saviour, "Master, see what manner of stones and what buildings are here!" The truth of His reply may still be seen at the place itself[236]. I must now describe the ground-plan of the Temple sufficiently to enable my readers to understand my investigations; referring those who are desirous of entering more minutely into the subject, to the two accounts of Josephus[237], and the description of Munk, to which I am greatly indebted[238]. The area, enclosed by the outer wall, (called in the Mischna 'the Temple Hill,') was a square of 500 cubits, or, according to Josephus[239], of one stadium. This was divided into a series of platforms, rising one above the other, and the Sanctuary was situated rather nearer to the north-west corner, on the highest ground. This arrangement produced a magnificent effect, and rendered the building visible from every part of the city[240]. In the outer wall were several gates; five, according to the Mischna[241], two on the south, and one on each of the other sides; but in Josephus[242] it is stated that there were four on the west alone, the numbers on the other sides not being mentioned. Cloisters were built round the wall on the inside, those on the east, north, and west were double, being supported by three rows of columns, and thirty cubits wide; that on the south, called the 'Royal Cloister,' was triple, and supported by four rows of columns[243]. The Temple-market was held in this court; for all, even foreigners, were allowed to enter it; hence it has been called by modern authors the 'Court of the Gentiles[244].' It was bounded on the inside by a stone balustrade, in which columns were placed at certain intervals, bearing inscriptions forbidding the Gentiles to pass them. In this fence, according to the Mischna, were thirteen gateways from which fourteen steps (each half a cubit in height and breadth) led up to a platform ten cubits wide, called by the Mischna, _Hêl_ (before the wall), above which rose the wall enclosing the sacred precincts. This was 25 cubits high, and had nine gates, four to the north, four to the south, and one to the east; these were approached by five steps; consequently the enclosure was higher than the _Hêl_. It was divided into two courts, one on the east, another on the west. The eastern gate led into a court, 135 cubits square, devoted to the women, and called after them _Azarath naschîm_ (court of the women). This was divided from the western court by a wall, in the middle of which, opposite to the entrance into the women's court, was 'Nicanor's Gate[245],' approached by five steps circular in form; the western court was therefore raised above the eastern. It surrounded the Sanctuary, and was 135 cubits from north to south, and 187 from east to west. The wall on the inside was surrounded by columns; and on the north, east and south were a number of chambers, devoted to various purposes, among which was the Hall of the Sanhedrim, _Lischcath Hagazîth_. This court was divided by a balustrade, 11 cubits from the east end, in the middle of which were three flights of steps[246], from which the Priests blessed the people. The part devoted to the men (135 cubits from north to south, and 11 from east to west) was called the 'Court of the Israelites,' _Azarath Yisrael_: the other, the 'Court of the Priests,' _Azarath Cohanîm_. The Temple itself was 100 cubits in length, and as many in height; its east front was formed by a vestibule, 100 cubits wide, measuring from east to west 11 cubits, according to the Mischna, and 20 according to Josephus. The rest of the building was 60 cubits wide (according to the Mischna 70), therefore the vestibule projected 20 (or 15) cubits on each side; twelve steps led up to the open door of the vestibule, which was 25 cubits wide. The _Hechal_, or Holy Place, was 20 cubits wide and 43 long, and was divided from the Holy of Holies (20 cubits square) by a curtain. The sacred things were arranged as in Solomon's Temple. The bronze laver stood in the Priests' court, south-east of the Sanctuary; a certain Ben Katîn made twelve outlets for water in it, so that the same number of Priests could purify themselves at the same time; he also contrived a machine to bring the water into it from a well[247]. In the middle of the court opposite the entrance of the Temple, north-east of the laver, was the altar of burnt-offerings, made of unhewn stones, as ordered by the law of Moses[248]. According to Josephus it was 50 cubits square and 15 high, terminated at each corner by a kind of horn, and approached by a gentle slope on the south side. The Rabbins say that it rose in steps, the base being 32 cubits square[249], and that at the south-east corner was a conduit, draining off the blood into the torrent Kidron. North of the altar were marble tables to receive the flesh of the victims[250]. In the Holy Place, the table of shewbread stood on the north, the seven-branched candlestick on the south, and between them the altar of incense; all made of gold. The Holy of Holies was empty, since there was no ark in the second Temple, as it was lost when the first was destroyed. According to a tradition, it had been hidden for security by the prophet Jeremiah in a cave on Mount Nebo, which could not afterwards be found[251]. A stone, about 2 inches high, called by the Rabbins _Schethiyya_ (foundation), occupied its place, on which the High Priest placed the censer on the day of Atonement[252]. Herod did not restrict his liberality to the Temple alone, but executed some other great works in the same part of the city. He extended the sacred enclosure on the north[253], strengthened its fortifications, restored the ancient tower Baris[254], built by the Asmonean princes at the north-west corner of the Temple, and called it Antonia, after his patron, Marcus Antonius. As altered by him it was a square[255], half a stadium each way; so that the whole perimeter of it and the Temple together was six stadia. The outer wall enclosed a palace and four towers, one at each angle; three of them 50 cubits high, and the fourth, at the south-east corner, nearest the Temple, 70; from its summit the Roman sentinel could see what was going on in the several courts[256]. The fortress was joined by a subterranean passage to a tower near the east gate of the Temple, so that in case of a popular tumult the king could easily escape into the Antonia[257]. At the present day, a plot of levelled ground, a rocky knoll on the north of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_, and a few shapeless fragments of masonry, are all that remain of the splendid buildings of Herod. All the buildings connected with Herod's Temple were finished at the time of our Saviour's ministry[258]. He frequently taught in its courts, and twice expelled those who profaned them with merchandise. He prophesied the destruction of the place; and in its citadel His sufferings commenced; for the Prætorium of Pilate was in the tower Antonia, which was the residence of the Roman Governor and his garrison[259]. There the sentence was proclaimed to the infuriated people, who called down on their own heads the curse of the innocent blood; in a few years so terribly avenged. The description of Josephus, who was an eye-witness of the scene, has been followed by all who have written on the siege and fall of Jerusalem; it bears every mark of truth; and I shall give a brief sketch of the part relating to the Temple and its environs, in order that the account of my researches on the spot may be more intelligible to the reader. On the first day of the month Thammuz (June-July) the Romans assaulted the tower Antonia[260] and made a breach in the wall; but were surprised to find that a second had been built up behind it. This was carried on the fifth of the same month, and the Jews were driven within the walls of the Temple courts. The greater part of the fortress was razed during the next seven days, and the assailants erected mounds for their engines on the space thus cleared, and battered the walls of the Temple. Meanwhile the Jews burnt the north-west cloister, fearing that it would open a communication with the main building for the Romans, who themselves burnt the north cloister on the twenty-fourth day. This was in no way opposed by the Jews, who considered that their position was improved by the destruction of the cloister, and on the twenty-seventh, by a feigned retreat, they decoyed a number of the Romans on to the roof of the west cloister, and then fired a quantity of combustible material, which had been previously heaped up below; so that numbers of their enemies perished in the flames. The Romans having battered the west wall of the inner inclosure during six days, and tried in vain to undermine the north gate, were ordered to carry the cloisters by escalade. On the eighth day of the month _Ab_ (July-August) they mounted the ladders without opposition, but when they had arrived on the roof, they were fiercely assailed by the Jews, and driven back with the loss of some standards. Titus, seeing that the attempt had failed, set the gates on fire; these were quickly destroyed, and the flames spread to the cloisters in both directions. The fire continued till the next day, when Titus, wishing to open a passage to the Temple for his troops, and to save the building itself, if possible, ordered it to be extinguished. During this day the Jews remained quiet; but on the morrow they renewed the attack, determined either to drive the Romans from the Sanctuary, or to perish beneath its ruins. By a sortie from the east gate they forced back the enemy; but Titus, seeing from the Antonia the retreat of his soldiers, went to their aid, and at last, about the fifth hour, the Jews were again driven within the walls. He determined to wait and collect his forces before making the assault; but this was a fatal day, being the anniversary of the destruction of Solomon's Temple by the Babylonians, six centuries and a half before[261]. The Jews made another sortie upon the Romans, who were occupied in extinguishing the flames in the inner inclosure, and were forced back as far as the buildings in the neighbourhood of the House itself; these were set on fire by a Roman soldier without orders, and the flames quickly spread to all the chambers. Titus, in vain, commanded his troops to extinguish them; his voice was drowned in the tumult; the Jews, with loud shrieks, fought furiously in defence of the last bulwark of their nationality; but it was now too late; the sacred building was in a blaze, and its obstinate and heroic defenders perished beneath the ruins. After the Temple had fallen, Titus tried to induce John and Simon, who had retreated into the Upper city, to submit, and a parley was held at the bridge by the Xystus[262]. These proud and blood-thirsty tyrants would not hearken to him; the siege was carried on, and before long the whole upper city was in his power. He ordered the Temple and the rest of Jerusalem to be levelled with the ground, leaving only some of the western fortifications to mark its former magnificence[263]. Thus ended the political existence of the Jewish race. The Christians came back from Pella to Jerusalem soon after its destruction, and some of the Jews returned there to mourn over its sacred ashes; so that the place was not wholly deserted even in the darkest days of Trajan's persecution. Therefore tradition, as well as the heaps of ruins, pointed out the site of the Sanctuary to Hadrian, when, in order to humiliate the Jews and extinguish every hope of its restoration, he built thereupon a temple to Jupiter Capitolinus. When the idol temples were destroyed by Constantine the Great A.D. 332, this too was demolished; but he took no care of Moriah, and allowed two statues of Hadrian to remain there; neither did he attempt to clear it of ruins, nor prevent its becoming a receptacle for rubbish; as if he wished every trace of the departed glory of the nation to disappear. However, the wretched descendants of David visited the place in solitude, to anoint with oil and bedew with tears the 'perforated stone,' which they considered a relic of their Sanctuary[264]. The accession of Julian the Apostate renewed the hopes of the Jews. Wishing to prove the words of Scripture[265] false, he determined to rebuild the Temple; and supplied the necessary funds, giving the business in charge to Alypius of Antioch, Governor of Great Britain. The Jews came in crowds to take part in the work, but their attempts to lay the foundations were frustrated by flames, which issued from the excavations with such peals of thunder, that the workmen fled affrighted, mistaking in their ignorance a natural phenomenon for a miracle[266]. The Emperor Justinian was the first to begin to clear away some of the ruins from Moriah, A.D. 527. He endeavoured to identify the places mentioned in the Gospels, and ordered a basilica to be erected on the south side dedicated to the Presentation of the Virgin, not far from the site of the Temple[267]. Some buildings were also constructed on the north side, and perhaps on the east, as I will presently shew. The Mohammedans, commanded by Khaled and Abu Obeida, besieged the Holy City, A.D. 636. The Patriarch Sophronius capitulated to Omar himself, and the new master of the place converted the basilica of Justinian into a mosque (_Aksa_); purified the sacred rock (_Sakharah_), the ancient threshing-floor of Araunah[268], and ordered a mosque to be built over it, which was commenced A.D. 643. William of Tyre reports that in his time Arabic inscriptions existed in the building, mentioning the date of the foundation, the founder's name, and the cost of the work[269]. However, from the account of Said-Ebn-Batrik, it appears that the mosque was afterwards enlarged by Abd-el-Malek-Ibn-Meruan, fifth Khalif of the race of the Ommiades, who ascended the throne the 65th year of the Hejra (A.D. 684), and died in the 86th (A.D. 705)[270]. His eldest son, Valid or Elulid, embellished and enlarged the mosque, enriching it with a dome of gilded copper, which he took from the church of Baalbek and placed over the _Sakharah_[271]. The completion of the building must therefore be attributed to him; although it was from time to time improved by the Khalifs his successors, being considered second only in sanctity to Mecca and Medina; so that when, during the Khalifat of Al-Moktadar (Hej. 229 = A.D. 950), the pilgrimages to the former place were interrupted by the invasions of the Karmali, the _Kubbet-es-Sakharah_ took the place of the _Kaaba_[272]. It is evident that the present mosque is not in every respect identical with that built by Omar, from the words of Adamnanus (an author of the eighth century) in a book on the Holy Places, compiled from the accounts of Arculf, who had passed nine months at Jerusalem. He says (speaking of the mosque) "but on that celebrated spot where once the magnificent Temple stood, near the wall on the east side, the Saracens have now meanly built with uprights and great beams, a quadrangular house of prayer over some ruined remains, which they frequent; it is large enough to contain three thousand men at once[273]." William of Tyre however asserts that on the building seen by him (which was different from the one described by Adamnanus), the name of Omar its founder was inscribed. One of the existing Arabic inscriptions seems, at first sight, to cause some difficulty; it runs as follows: "May God render illustrious the great king, son of Meruan, who enlarged this majestic temple, and grant him mercy." 65th year of the Hejra (A.D. 684, the first of the reign of Abd-el-Malek[274]). This at first sight appears to contradict the assertion made above, that Elulid, son and successor of Abd-el-Malek, was the Khalif who added to the splendour of the mosque, but it is very likely that if he completed the work of restoration, he would inscribe not only the name of the first founder Omar, but also that of his father. In other respects William of Tyre gives no detailed information, in speaking of the mosque of Omar; only alluding to it in general terms[275]. During my frequent visits to the _Haram_, I often thought of copying all the inscriptions, but was always pressed for time, and afraid that each visit might be the last; therefore, as the examination of the subterranean vaults was by far the most important matter, I thought it better not to turn aside to a work, which others may easily execute by degrees. It is evident that the mosque remained in the hands of the Mohammedans from the commencement of Omar's building, A.D. 643, to the arrival of the Crusaders, A.D. 1099. These soldiers of Christ, forgetful alike of charity and mercy, slaughtered numbers of the followers of Islam in the building[276]: they also converted the mosque _el-Aksa_ into a dwelling-house, and after altering the interior of the _Kubbet-es-Sakharah_, consecrated it as a Christian church, on the third day after Easter, A.D. 1143[277], under the name of Templum Domini[278]; because the first Temple to the honour of God had been erected by Solomon on that spot. Saladin, the champion of toleration, magnanimity, and generosity[279], restored the worship of Islam in the two mosques, A.D. 1187[280]; and from his time the _Haram-es-Sherîf_ has remained in the hands of the Mohammedans as one of their holy places. Selim I., Sultan of Constantinople, who conquered Syria and Palestine, A.D. 1517, restored and improved the two mosques; doubtless the internal and external mosaic decorations, with the various arabesque ornaments still existing, are due to his liberality, and that of his successor, Solyman I., with his favourite Sultana Rossellane; who, according to the works of authors preserved in the Mohammedan archives, spent large sums of money in adorning the whole of the _Haram_, and in erecting there schools and other philanthropic establishments. From the above narrative I draw the following conclusions: that history and an unbroken chain of events prove that the whole _Haram-es-Sherîf_ is the ancient Mount Moriah; that the present mosque of Omar stands upon the ancient threshing-floor of Araunah; that the levelled rock on the north-west, and that rising at the barrack mark the position of the tower Antonia, and that the mosque _el-Aksa_ is the original basilica of Justinian. Let us now proceed to a detailed examination of the whole area, within and without, pausing at each object, which, either from its antiquity or other causes, seems to merit special attention. The barrack, which, according to ancient tradition, stands on the site of the Prætorium, touches the western part of the north side of the wall enclosing Moriah[281]; east of the barrack are buildings of the period of the Crusades, or not much later; and near the north-east angle of the wall the Pool of Bethesda[282]. Before proceeding to examine these places, we must notice some objects in their immediate neighbourhood, which are worthy of the most careful attention. The Society of the Daughters of Sion bought (November, 1857) a plot of land a few yards to the north-west of the barrack[283], on which stands the north pier of the arch of the 'Ecce Homo[284];' and requested me to survey it. In December, after removing with considerable difficulty the accumulated rubbish of centuries, I came upon a small arch, close to the larger one, which from its style, masonry, and materials, evidently was part of the same building. I at once tried to examine the south side, belonging to the Kusbeck dervishes, but as in this place excavations were impossible, I was obliged to restrict myself to what appeared above ground; and found, in the line of the large arch, a fragment of an ancient wall, which from its form and position seemed to have belonged to a pier supporting an arch corresponding to the one I had discovered. Both the arches are semicircular, with a single archivolt composed of a narrow fillet, a wide ogee moulding, and a band of the same breadth, supported by a cornice, formed by two fillets, separated by an ogee moulding. In the west face of the north pier is a semicircular recessed niche, above a projecting cornice of the same width and pattern as the one just described. Early in the year 1860 I took charge of the already commenced buildings of the new convent of the Daughters of Sion, which abut upon the arch mentioned above; and consequently had an opportunity of examining the foundations of the piers, and convincing myself that both their materials and masonry are of the Roman period; because the blocks of stone, being neither rusticated nor clamped with iron or lead, are not earlier than the time of Hadrian, and are not sufficiently finished for so late an age as that of Constantine or Justinian. Some think that the large arch was built before the capture of Jerusalem by Titus; but how in that case could it have escaped the general destruction of the city, and especially of the adjoining tower Antonia, of which it was actually a part, in the opinion of those who believe that from it our Lord was shewn to the people? But would the Romans, who razed the tower and reduced the Temple and whole city to ruins, have spared this insignificant building; or would the fire have left its architectural features uninjured? The conformation of the ground itself shews us that the arch could not have been standing at that time; because, in its present position, there was then a valley or ditch, separating Moriah from Bezetha. I found the rock, supporting the piers, 18 feet below the surface (as I have before stated), and to the north and south are vaulted cisterns excavated in it, in the natural slopes of Bezetha on one side and Moriah on the other. It is therefore highly improbable that an arch would have been built in such a position with reference to the fortress. My predecessor had laid the foundations of the east wall of the convent, but being ill acquainted with the nature of the ground at Jerusalem, he discovered too late that they rested, especially on the north-east, on unsolid ground, namely, on the vaulted roof of a subterranean building, and as the walls rose they began to crack. Some of the masons were just aware of the existence of the vault when I came; but no one had entered, or measured it, or examined its whole length, so that I was the first to do this and determine its age. In order to build a buttress at the north-east corner, and at the same time to lay new foundations in a small plot of land on the north, I was obliged to dig a hole, 18 feet deep, below the level of the street, which rises towards Bezetha: and on the 3rd of June came upon a layer of large slabs, each 4 or 5 feet long, 3 or 4 wide, and 9 or 10 inches thick. On removing two of these I found a square hole, through which I entered, or rather fell, into the vault I was looking for, but the intense heat and foul air compelled me to beat a hasty retreat, and have the aperture enlarged to permit the air to circulate more freely. Meanwhile I continued excavating a little to the north, and met with the wall bounding the vault on that side, and found, 4-1/2 feet below its top, (measured from the outer surface,) the original entrance; by which I obtained easy access for myself and afterwards for many others. The end of the east side of this gallery is just at the south-east angle of the building on the north, separated from the body of the convent by a small level street; and it terminates at the north-west angle of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_; the floor throughout the whole length slopes slightly and is formed in the rock: though the place was partly filled with earth at the north end, and with filthy stinking mud at the south, I thoroughly examined it and made a plan and elevation. At the entrance a stone staircase, with steps about 2-1/2 feet wide, afforded an easy descent; but unfortunately I was obliged to mutilate this, in order to construct a pier to sustain the weight of the north-east corner of the building above. The side walls are founded on the rock, which appears above the level of the floor, at a distance of 69 feet from the entrance, and gradually rises in them up to the southern extremity. They are built of squared blocks, generally 3-1/2 feet long, and from above 2 to 3 high, perfectly fitted together. The semicircular vaulting is admirable, being formed of oblong stones, 2-1/2 feet long, and 8 inches high. Its exact regularity is its most striking feature. I consider that this gallery was remodelled during the Roman period, because some holes in it to admit the water are no part of the original design. In the east wall is a semicircular arched door, built up, whose width and height shew that it was formerly the entrance of a passage. Along the side walls are semicircular headed apertures, which, together with the two openings of the same shape, opposite one to another, near the south end, are also no part of the original design. These two are the beginnings of conduits, one of which ran eastward down to the Pool of Bethesda; the other westward, into the Tyropoeon valley. The accumulated water and filth did not allow me to make a close examination of these, but, as far as I could see at the openings, the masonry and shape of the stones led me to think that they formed part of a Roman restoration. A short distance from these the gallery is closed by a wall, entirely of Arab work; but I made a temporary opening in it, and was able to continue my examination as far as the _Haram-es-Sherîf_; the ground of which is about 8 feet above the top of the vault. The quantity of water, earth, and filth, prevented my approaching the rock at the end, and ascertaining the means of communication with the surface at the _Haram_, but as I saw that the south-east corner was built up, I have no doubt there had been access at that point. It immediately occurred to me that the vault had originally been a passage between Bezetha and Moriah, and was the 'Strato's Tower,' where Antigonus, younger brother of Aristobulus, (the sons of John Hyrcanus,) was murdered by the treacherous devices of the Queen Alexandra[285]. After completing the examination of the interior I applied myself to the exterior, and found that the side walls rose one foot above the top of the vault; the space thus made being filled with strong masonry, so as to form a level surface of the same size as the gallery; which was covered over along the whole length by large slabs, of the size mentioned above; these, being firmly cemented together, bound into one mass the two side walls and the vaulting. At the same time, during the progress of the excavation another interesting discovery was made, namely, the arched opening of a sewer, 3-1/2 feet wide and 4 feet high, by the side of the entrance to the gallery on the east. It was choked up with dirt, but appeared to come from the north, and ran along the east side of the vault of the gallery as far as the middle of the Via Dolorosa, where it turned to the east. Afterwards upon making further examinations I discovered that it bent again towards the south, opposite to S. Ann's church, and came out on the north side of the Pool of Bethesda. I followed it down for 112 feet from the entrance, and found that after 22 feet the vaulting gave place to a covering of large slabs. The floor rested upon made ground, and was also formed of large slabs, strongly cemented together. I was unable to continue my expedition by reason of the filth it contained, in which I had a disgusting bath through a fall, caused by a sudden change of level in the downward course of the sewer: so to make sure of its direction, by the permission of the Pasha, I excavated in the middle of the Via Dolorosa, opposite to the projecting north-east angle of the barrack, and over against the tower commonly called the Antonia; and so verified what I have already stated, and ascertained with greater certainty that it rested upon made ground; another proof of the existence of a valley in this part of the city. The sewer was made centuries after the first construction of the gallery. I have however not yet exhausted the objects of interest afforded by the property of the convent of the Daughters of Sion. On continuing the excavation to the north in order to lay new foundations, at a depth of 36 feet below the street, water was met with in abundance. At first I supposed it had filtered through from some cistern, but as it did not increase or diminish, I had the excavation deepened and enlarged, and then discovered, to the north of the water, a perpendicular face of hewn rock; and on digging deeper a small conduit cut in it, through which the water ran from north to south. I was anxious to follow it in these directions, but was prevented by the depth of the soil, the houses in the neighbourhood, and above all by the customs of the country, and so was obliged to restrict my researches to that spot, and even there the owner did not allow me to do much, fearing to attract the attention of the Mohammedans. I ascertained however that this water did not enter the gallery, because after drawing off all that was found there, no more appeared beyond what drained from the street after rain, while the stream flowed continuously southward, yielding a constant supply for building purposes. During the first three days its water was muddy and brackish, but afterwards it gradually became clearer, but always had a disagreeable taste and contained the same ingredients as that at the springs of the _Hammam-es-Shefa_ and at the fountain of the Virgin in the Kidron valley. From the day of its discovery (June 12, 1860), to the end of January, 1861, it yielded a daily supply of from 200 to 250 gallons without any diminution, and was not affected by the fall of rain or snow. At this time I resigned the charge of the works to a master-mason, as all the difficulties had been overcome, but I am told that the water continued to flow, and has done so abundantly up to the present date (April, 1863). From several investigations which I will mention in the chapter on the waters, I infer that this stream enters the well of the _Hammam-es-Shefa_[286]. My plan and sections shew all the ancient cisterns, both excavated and built, which occur in this small compass, and some remains of masonry either of the age of the Crusades or of Arab work. This spot is an excellent example of the great and frequent changes that the ground of Jerusalem has undergone, and shews the difficulty that all have to encounter, who attempt to form an opinion without taking them into account. Let us now examine the north side of the _Haram_. I have already mentioned the depth of the foundations of the north walls of the barrack[287]; but on the south the masonry rests upon the bare rock, which here rises 35 feet above the level of the _Haram-es-Sherîf_ as is shewn in the drawing[288]; its north face being 55 feet above the bottom of the valley. Hence I cannot admit the common tradition that the barrack stands on the site of the Antonia, but consider that the rock above named is the true position of the _north_ side of the ancient tower. This opinion, I think, is in accordance with all that Josephus says of its height and situation, divided from Bezetha by a valley and ditches[289]. If its southern side had coincided with that of the barrack (which the height of the rock mentioned above entitles us to assume), I cannot understand why it was built in so bad a position, where it would be completely commanded by Bezetha, and from which it could not have been separated by any work of defence. Besides, where are we then to place the pool Struthium[290]? We must remember that the shape of the Antonia was a square, each side being half a stadium; it must therefore have extended to the north right across the valley. Now if it had stood in this position, Titus would not have been obliged to batter its walls with engines, and to throw up banks to support them and to enable his troops to make the assault; because he could have poured upon it such a storm of stones and combustibles from the summit of Bezetha, that the garrison would have been obliged to evacuate so untenable a post. Moreover, Josephus states, that the perimeter of the Temple and the Antonia together was 6 stadia[291]. Now according to every estimate of this measure, this condition cannot be satisfied unless the latter is placed _within_ the north-west angle of the _Haram_, as the description in Josephus seems to require[292]. We are also told that it was razed by Titus; the place which I assign still bears traces of this; and as a still stronger proof, there remains, in the middle of the rock that has been thus levelled, a fragment of the ancient Herodian wall; which I believe to have formed the south-east corner of the inner buildings of the tower, i.e. of the Prætorium. On the west is the house belonging to the Pasha, governor of Jerusalem, and there I have seen, by means of excavations, the rock in the foundations and, resting against it, the earth which conceals the valley filled up by the Asmoneans. Lastly, there is a vault, which starts from the position I assign to the Antonia and goes towards the present Golden Gate. This I discovered by descending into two cisterns on the north of the _Haram_, and by the fall of the west portion of an old wall, near the north-west corner of the above gate, which, being washed away by the rain, exposed the other end. I was not able to pass along its whole extent, as it was nearly filled up by rubbish, but by examining the two extremities at these places, I convinced myself that they belonged to a continuous building. It is partly excavated in the rock, which however sinks on approaching the east. The masonry of the side walls and vaulting resembles that in the gallery below the convent of the Daughters of Sion. The floor is also paved throughout the whole length, as far as I saw. Josephus[293] mentions that a subterranean communication existed between the Antonia and the east gate of the Temple; consequently for this and the other preceding reasons I firmly believe that I have placed the tower in the true position. I believe then that the barrack stands in the valley; that is, upon the ancient position of the Pool Struthium, which has been filled up, by the materials cast into it by order of Titus, in making the bank to support the Roman battering train, and by the ruins of the Antonia itself. Had the tower occupied this position, the only side properly defended would have been that towards the Temple, by the high face of rock, which in that case ought to shew traces of having been hewn away towards the north. What purpose could my 'Strato's tower' have then served, if it had passed through the basement of the Antonia? It would have been useless as a communication, because the tower itself would have done as well, and it is too deep in the ground and too small for a work of defence. The buildings on the east of the barrack, between it and the first passage leading up to the Temple, may belong either to the age of Saladin or of Solyman I.; the Arabs attribute them to the latter. They have been greatly altered within and without, and therefore do not present any distinctive features. Their foundations rest upon the rock, which on the south side is one or two feet below the level of the _Haram_, but on the north from 14 to 18 feet lower down, being at the bottom of the valley which I have already mentioned. On the left of the passage going up to the _Haram_ is a bath now disused, inside the buildings. During my examination of it I discovered the eastern conduit, which starts from inside the gallery. Its course from this place to the pool of Bethesda cannot be followed, as it is stopped up by rubbish; it is vaulted but not founded upon the rock. Facing the little passage mentioned above, on the north, are the remains of an ancient building[294], commonly called a bastion of the tower Antonia. It rests upon the rock, and is doubtless of considerable antiquity, but certainly not Jewish work. The stones composing it are small and bevelled at the edges, so that the part projecting from the wall is like a thin slice cut horizontally from a pyramid: they are laid with mortar, and do not appear to belong to an age remarkable for the splendour of its work. This place is about a stadium from the north-west angle of the _Haram_, and therefore, besides being in too low a situation, cannot have been included in the tower Antonia, if we accept the dimensions of the fortress given us by Josephus. The north side is terminated on the east by the Pool of Bethesda[295]. This, I believe, was made by Herod the Great, at the same time as the Antonia, from the valley or ditch defending the north side of the Temple. It has obviously undergone great alterations and greater injuries. Porticoes were built upon its south wall by Solyman I.; on the others are Arab houses in the meanest style, most of which are now in ruins. It is nearly filled with soil and rubbish, which are covered with creepers and shrubs. By this time it would probably have been quite full, if I had not preserved it[296]. At its west end are two arches, almost choked up with earth, and overgrown by vegetation. I forced my way into them, and saw two more arches, built of small stones, and obviously of Arab work; the northern of these was the termination of the eastern conduit from the great gallery. With much difficulty I traversed it for a distance of 72 feet, and found it vaulted in the same way as the one I have described below the bath. Tradition asserts this place to be the Pool of Bethesda, at which our Saviour healed a paralytic[297]. I shall notice it again, in describing the various works connected with the supply of water to the city. In both faces of the north-east angle of the _Haram_ wall are several courses of ancient stones, rusticated, which prove that in former times this was also the corner of the sacred enclosure. After passing the Gate of S. Mary and leaving on the left the ruins of a small Saracenic building of the age of Saladin, the Mohammedan cemetery is reached, which occupies almost the whole of the high narrow plateau running parallel to the east wall of the _Haram_, above the Kidron valley. I consider the foundation of the whole line of wall, from the north-east to the south-east corner, to be the work of Solomon; being led to this conclusion by a series of observations, carried on when graves were dug against the wall, and by excavations which I made with the help of the keepers of the cemetery, wherever I could do it without exciting suspicion and arousing the fanaticism of the Mohammedans. Near the south-east corner is a stone, which appears to have been the impost of an arch; as there are no tombs in this part, I made an excavation opposite to it, at a distance of 12 feet, and, after digging down for 14 feet, came upon the great foundation stones. By opening another hole along the same line, nearer to the corner, I found them again at a depth of 12 feet; the difference being caused by the slope of the ground. By this means I convinced myself that the foundations of the wall were laid far down in the valley (as stated by Josephus), and that they rose up to the place, where it still appears above the surface of the ground, in a series of steps about 2 feet wide. The foundation (strictly speaking) is made of large blocks, roughly squared, and not rusticated, fastened together by a tenon left projecting from the face of one stone, fitting into a corresponding mortise in the next: there is not a trace of iron or lead or mortar; but where the wall rises above ground its face is vertical, the blocks are more carefully squared, and rustic work is used, with wide and deep grooves; as may be seen at many places in the lower part of the present wall[298]. The force of the flames, the vandalism of man, and the course of time, have produced no effect upon these massive buildings; which have been saved from the fate of those on Sion and Ophel, by the ruins heaped about them, and still more by the reverence paid by the Mohammedans to the ground on which they stand. These valuable remains enable us to compare their masonry with the Herodian work, seen more especially in the projecting wall at the north-east angle[299], and at the south-east extremity. The stones in these two places are of large size[300] and rusticated; only the grooves here are small, and the whole surface of the block is well smoothed; they also are perfectly fitted together without mortar, but clamps of iron or soldering plugs of lead are used; as I was able to ascertain when a small part was repaired: each course stands a little more than a tenth of an inch farther back than the one below it. The general appearance of the work manifests a progress in art and a delicacy of execution, which could not have been produced in the time of Solomon, even with Phoenician aid. In all the countries formerly occupied by this people there are not any examples of a wall in this style, while those resembling the architecture of Solomon are far from uncommon. We might reasonably suppose that Herod would increase the strength of the northern corner, as an outwork to the Antonia on the east; while the south-east corner might have been destroyed by the Chaldeans, being weaker than the rest owing to the existence of the great vaulted cistern within the _Haram_; and, as Nehemiah was no doubt unable to repair it in a manner befitting its position, Herod would rebuild it in his restoration of the above-named cistern, whose east and south sides are not formed by the rock, but by the outer wall of the Temple enclosure, and are made of great strength to withstand the pressure of the water. I have already explained by what marks I distinguish the walls which I attribute to Nehemiah, the Romans, and the Arabs[301]; examples of each can be readily found in the eastern wall of the _Haram_. From the side of a small sepulchral building (containing the ashes of Yacûb Pasha and his wife) to beyond the Golden Gate the masonry shews many signs of Arab restorations. Here may be seen columns of verd antique, porphyry and valuable marbles, built longwise into the thickness of the wall. Doubtless these formerly decorated some Christian edifices, and were placed in their present position when the city walls were repaired by Sultan Solyman. The principal object that attracts attention on the east side is the Golden Gate[302], which projects slightly from the line of the wall. The two outer doorways, as I have already said, are built up[303]; but for the sake of description we will for a moment imagine them opened. From the outside we see two round-headed arches each supported by two pilasters, built of stones of no great size, which are laid in mortar, without rustic work, and form a perfectly smooth face, in strong contrast with the genuine ancient blocks in the lower parts of the walls on each side, and at each corner. The two arches and their capitals are richly carved with leaves and other ornaments. The whole building is cased, except at the base, with Saracenic work of the date of Solyman; as I infer from the irregular masonry, the smallness of the stones, the occurrence of a Byzantine capital (out of its proper place) on the top of the façade, and many other minor ornamental details, bad in taste and execution, which are characteristic of that age[304]. Passing through the entrance, we find the piers and architraves of the doors composed of immense blocks, six in number, which resemble Jewish work. Their state of decay shews their antiquity, and they must have been exposed to the action of fire, being calcined and crumbling; for otherwise, from their great size and sheltered situation, they ought to have been in good preservation, like all the rest of the internal masonry of the gate; which I assign to the age of Justinian. The plan of the building is an oblong, the length being double the breadth, divided into two aisles by two large columns of grey veined marble and two half-columns, which, with the help of small pilasters, projecting slightly from the lateral walls, sustain the vaulting, composed of very narrow pointed domes; beneath this a magnificent entablature, carved in leaf patterns[305], is carried round the walls of the building. The west façade[306], inside the _Haram_, has a double doorway with round-headed arches, supported by a central column and two side pilasters. Their form and ornamentation resemble those on the east front. The outer roof is also a series of domes, which were built during some repairs about 60 years since. Not a few authors have attributed the architecture of this gate to the time of Herod, forgetting that Josephus states that the Temple and its cloisters were burnt and utterly destroyed by the Roman troops. How then is it possible that the walls, and still more the ornamental work, should have survived the fury of the soldiers? If the east cloister has so entirely disappeared, how is it that the gate, which stood in the middle of it, has escaped? Those few blocks in the piers of the door may be of the age of Herod, but not the rest of the masonry, and we cannot therefore on this evidence assign the whole building to that period. It is however very probable that they were found among the ruins of the ancient eastern gate and incorporated in the present. Nor can we believe that the two large monolithic columns were brought to Jerusalem by Herod. It is far more likely that they were sent by Justinian to adorn a spot sacred in Christian tradition as the place where our Saviour entered Jerusalem, among the shouts of one part of the populace, to keep that last Passover before he suffered[307]. I consider therefore that the present Golden Gate stands not only upon the site of the ancient east gate, but also upon its foundations, for we find its dimensions given in the Mishna, 'the east gate was 40 cubits long and 20 wide;' and a strong proof of the truth of this opinion is, that, on making an excavation near the north door, I discovered at a depth of 10 feet the foundations, of undoubted Herodian work. At the same time I saw that there have never been any steps leading up to the gate, and that a mass of rubbish is heaped against its east front, in the slopes of which are the graves of the Mohammedan cemetery. There is a small doorway closed with masonry a little to the south of the Golden Gate, and besides this nothing else remains to be noticed on the east side, except that the whole length of the wall is covered with creepers, which flourish here luxuriantly and do constant mischief; breaches are already formed in some places, but the guardians of the _Haram_ pay no attention to them; though in a few years they will not be so indifferent to the expense of the repairs, which will then be absolutely necessary. All the loop-holes were made in the time of Solyman. After the south-east corner has been turned, the whole wall, both in its foundations and upper part, exhibits the same solid and magnificent ancient masonry as on the east face. A few yards from the corner is a doorway with a pointed arch, now walled up, which I consider to have been made at the time of the Crusades, and possibly then called the Gate of the Valley of Jehoshaphat. We shall hereafter notice the purpose for which it was used. A little distance to the west of this, we see three plain round-headed arches, supported by four pilasters, whose masonry differs both from the older and newer work in the immediate neighbourhood. Their general character is Roman, and I believe them to have been built at the time of Justinian, to communicate with the vaults within the _Haram_; which I shall presently describe. Under the mosque _el-Aksa_ is a gate not only built up, but also partly buried[308]. The arch is cut in two by the city-wall, which here turns to the south. Its architectural features both constructive and decorative resemble those of the Golden Gate; so that I consider it also the work of Justinian. Under its arch is a grated window; by climbing up to this, it is possible to look into a vaulted gallery below the mosque. A stone, bearing the following inscription, is built slantwise into the wall above and turned upside down. TITO AEL. HADRIANO ANTONINO AVG. PIO P. P. PONTIF. AVGVR. D. D. No doubt it was picked up with many others in removing the ruins at the time of Justinian and built in here by the masons, and when the wall was again repaired in the reign of Solyman, the workmen, less careful and skilful than the former, placed it in its present position. The Mohammedans call this archway the Gate of the Prophetess Huldah[309], for what reason they cannot say, for they also consider it to have been the grand entrance to the stables of Solomon, and consequently hold it in great respect. I shall recur to this gate in my account of the vaults. I made several excavations in front of it, like those at the south-east corner, and after digging 10 or 12 feet through the rubbish, came upon the foundations laid in the age of Solomon, but could not discover anything to prove that a gate had then existed on this spot. Starting from the Aksa the city wall goes to the south, and then turns again to the west down to the Dung Gate. Throughout the whole of this angle the lower part of the wall is Roman work, the upper Saracenic, of the time of Solyman. Although this gate is evidently only a few hundred years old, it is usually pointed out by the guides as that entered by our Saviour, when he was brought from the garden of Gethsemane to the house of Caiaphas. Ignorance of architecture and of the plan of the ancient city has allowed this tradition to exist[310]. Entering, and forcing our way through a thicket of cactus, we regain the south wall of the Temple enclosure, whose lower parts date from the reign of Solomon. An excavation made at the south-west angle gave, first the masonry of Solomon, secondly that of the Crusaders, and above these that of Solyman[311]. The ruins south of the Aksa belong to the choir of Justinian's basilica, which was thrown down by an earthquake between the years A.D. 775 and 785. They now await the last stroke of the hand of Time to bring them to the ground, when they evidently must injure in their fall the south wall of the mosque; but the Mohammedan fatalists never think of averting this by timely repairs. The whole of the space between the walls of the city and the _Haram_ was probably, at the time of Herod the Great, covered by the amphitheatre erected by that king[312]. Near the south-west angle is a very remarkable fragment of an arch and its pier, built into the _Haram_ wall. Nearly all the learned writers who have noticed it, with the exception of the Rev. G. Williams, have considered these remains to belong to the age either of Solomon or Herod; I however venture to differ from them, and attribute it to Justinian; who, when building the neighbouring basilica, may have contemplated throwing a bridge over the valley between Moriah and Sion to facilitate the communication between the two sanctuaries on these hills. The work may have been left unfinished, because the plan was either changed or found impracticable. The blocks shew none of the characteristics of the work of Solomon or Herod, nor have they the same marked appearance of antiquity; nor does the masonry in any respect resemble the Jewish; the stones being laid with mortar. I cannot but think that if either of these kings had executed a work of such importance, the Bible and Josephus would not have passed it over in silence. We can scarcely imagine that so vast an arch, 375 feet in span, could have been built in those times; and if we suppose that the bridge crossed the valley with a series of arches, then traces of the piers, or at least of the stones that composed them, ought to be found among the rubbish below; also there should be some remains of it on the eastern slope of Sion; where nothing of the kind occurs. On this point I can speak with confidence, because when the Pasha requested me to inspect the city sewer, which runs down the valley to the Pool of Siloam, I availed myself of this fortunate opportunity to widen and deepen the excavation, and did not find the slightest indication of a bridge. Josephus[313] states that when Pompeius approached the city with his forces, the partisans of Aristobulus, on retreating to the Temple, cut off the bridge. He alludes to it again on other occasions[314], and to the tower near it, built by Simon to defend himself against John. What then has become of the ruins of this bridge and of the tower? Though now, as on Ophel and part of Sion, there may be open fields on the site of some parts of ancient Jerusalem, numbers of stones, as I have already described[315], are scattered about; why then does not the same thing happen in the Tyropoeon valley, where the great accumulation of rubbish would have buried the fallen blocks and preserved them from the action of fire? Besides, the rock exposed in the eastern slope of Sion is rough and rugged, and untouched by the chisel; there is no part of it that we can suppose to have supported a building. I have also excavated along by the side of it in the valley below and found nothing. I have examined the lower parts of the Arab houses, which some have imagined to be built upon its foundation, but all my investigations have confirmed me in my opinion that the bridge never stood upon this spot. Had it done so, why, as we see the pier on the east, do we not see some corresponding remains on the west; or if not these, the place where the spring-stones of the arch rested upon the rock? I believe the bridge mentioned by Josephus was near the present _Mekhemeh_ (the Mohammedan Court of Justice), which is on the west of the _Haram_, at the bottom of Temple Street, because at this point the valley is still crossed from west to east by arches, sustaining the conduit which brings the water from Etham into the Temple, and the ground south of this, on the opposite side, formerly occupied by the Xystus, has been levelled. The height of this bridge or dyke above the street is 38 feet on the south, and 20 on the north; which, it must be remembered, is not the true elevation of the work itself; because the ground has been raised on each side by the accumulation of rubbish in the bottom of the Tyropoeon. This, in my opinion, joined the Upper city to the Temple-hill in former times, as it now does. It is surely very improbable that the principal approach to the Temple from the west should have been placed at one corner, instead of in the centre of the enclosure; as would have been the case had the great arch formed part of a bridge while that building was standing: and when this was broken down, the communication with the Temple would not have been cut off, as the dyke would still have been a more direct and convenient road from the city. Before arriving at the Jews' wailing place, we come to the Gate _el-Mogarba_, leading to the mosque of the Mogarabins; a few yards to the north of which is a little rectangular plot of ground, surrounded by a low wall: after passing this I entered a dark chamber, in which was a doorway almost buried. M. Isambert[316] has attempted to identify this with one of the four western gates mentioned by Josephus[317]; but not having tested his theory on the spot, he is unaware that the difference of level between the outside and inside of the _Haram_ renders this impossible; moreover, the gate has evidently been made at a date long after the building of the wall. The Jews' wailing place is a small open plot; where a piece of Herod's wall is still seen between the outer wall of the _Mekhemeh_ and that of a private house (belonging to Abu-Saud): it is called in Arabic _Haï el-Mogharibeh_ (the wall of the Mogarabins). M. de Saulcy says of it: "Up to a height of more than 12 metres (about 39 feet) the original building has remained entire; regular courses of fine stones, perfectly squared, but with an even border standing out as a kind of framework, enclosing the joints, rise over each other to within two or three yards from the top of the wall. A moment's inspection is enough to ascertain, without any doubt, that the Jewish tradition is positively correct; a wall like this has never been constructed either by Greeks or Romans. We have evidently here a sample of original Hebraic architecture[318]. In the inferior courses the stones are on the average twice as wide as they are high; now and then, however, some square blocks happen to be laid between the long ones. The four inferior courses nearest the ground are formed of square blocks, with the exception of the last but one, which is composed of blocks three times as long as they are high. As the courses successively rise above the ground, the dimensions of the blocks decrease, and, lastly, every course recedes about one fifth of an English inch behind the surface of the one immediately below it. Beyond these walls (bounding the space on each side) the ancient construction extends about 38 feet to the right, and 36 to the left, or in the direction of the _Mekhemeh_. Again, the primitive wall is crowned towards the summit by several courses of hewn stones regularly disposed, but of small dimensions. These upper courses are of comparatively recent date, and their age cannot be referred to a period anterior to the Mohammedan conquest. On the face of the ancient wall appear large notches, which have been made at some undeterminable period, for the purpose of fixing a pediment over this part of the enclosure; these notches, hollowed out in the shape of a niche, that is to say, round at the top with a rectangular basis, are of different dimensions, perhaps they may have been made at the period of the rebuilding of the Temple by Herod[319]." From its delicacy of execution I consider this wall Herodian work; besides, I think it very unlikely that the Chaldeans, more barbarous than the Romans, would have left anything standing at Jerusalem: they would have pulled down all that the flames had spared. I consider the smaller masonry of the upper part to be of the time of the Crusades or Saracenic. Friday is the day on which the Jews chiefly assemble here in great numbers, to pray, to recite the Psalms of David, and bedew with their tears these remains of their former greatness. This privilege is granted to them on payment of a sum of money to the Effendi in charge of the _Haram_. This custom dates from a very early period; it is mentioned by Benjamin of Tudela in the twelfth century[320]. The stones in the lower parts of the walls of the _Mekhemeh_ are remarkable for their rough rustic work in high relief. They are not so large as those we attribute to the age of Solomon or Herod, but still appear ancient. I think they may belong to the Asmonean epoch, and have formed the basement of a tower, defending the Xystus bridge on the side of the Temple. The masonry in the upper hall of the time of the Crusaders, where the vaulting is supported by pointed arches springing from pillars, is evidently much more modern. According to Mohammedan tradition this is the Judgement Hall of Solomon, converted into an armoury by the Crusaders: it is certainly not improbable that it may have been a dependency of the Knights Templar. The large chamber below, which has undoubtedly been used as a cistern, as is shewn by the very strong cement in the walls, is now filled with rubbish. In the middle of the upper hall is a fountain, now and then supplied with the water of Etham; and on the left of the principal entrance (part of a restoration by Saladin or Solyman) an ancient sarcophagus, found in the Tombs of the Kings outside the Damascus Gate: it is a facsimile of that carried to Paris by M. de Saulcy, and now placed in the Gallery of the Louvre; it at present serves to hold water[321]. Close to the _Mekhemeh_ is the principal entrance into the _Haram_, which has two doorways, and is ornamented with groups of spiral columns supporting elegant capitals carved in leaf patterns, the work of Saladin. Before its west front is a fountain, an elegant specimen of ornate Saracenic work: its small basin, no longer filled with water, is an ancient sarcophagus of red Palestine breccia. From this spot up to the north-west corner the ancient foundations of the _Haram_ wall are concealed by Arab houses, and can only be seen here and there above the level of the ground; enough, however, is visible to shew that the old wall followed the line of the present enclosure from south to north. Returning to the Temple Street and going westward along the dyke, which, with the Rev. G. Williams[322], I consider to be the ancient bridge between Sion and Moriah, we see, after a few yards, on the right hand a small façade of Saracenic architecture, adorned with arabesques of excellent design; whose accurate execution deserves notice. It is a fragment of an ancient school, established by Saladin, the revenues of which are now exhausted, so that nothing else remains besides this building. A little further on we leave this street (called by the Crusaders the Bridge of S. Giles), by taking the first turning to the north, and find, after passing the corner, a stone embedded in the lower part of the wall of the first Arab house on the right hand, bearing an inscription, which however is of no importance. This street runs along the top of a vault which I have examined. It was constructed to form an easy communication with the Tyropoeon, and proves that in former times there was high ground on this spot. Going on northward we arrive at a Saracenic fountain, now without water; near it on the south is a passage leading into the central sewer, which here deviates a little to the east to regain the middle of the valley, and consequently passes under the bridge near the above-named school of Saladin. On the north of the fountain is an ancient Mohammedan bath rapidly falling to ruin, and near it the great gate of the Bazaar of the _Haram_, at the end of which is the _Bâb el-Katannin_ (Gate of the Cotton Merchants). The entrance to the Bazaar is a frontispiece of rude rustic work, which I attribute to the age of the Crusades. The interior is Saracenic, as is shewn by the architraves of the cells on each side, which were built for merchants' shops, but now are receptacles for filth. After passing the middle of the Bazaar, there is a bath on the south side called the _Hammam es-Shefa_, supplied by a spring rising at a great depth: its waters have an unpleasant taste; but we will speak more particularly of it presently. On the north, nearly opposite to the entrance of the bath, a little street leads to the _Bâb el-Kadid_ (Iron Gate) and the Convent of Blind Dervishes, (a philanthropic establishment of Solyman,) where singers in the mosque, suffering from this calamity, are still received. The first lane on the north of the Bazaar leads directly up to the _Bâb el-Kadid_; along each side are establishments in aid of the poor, but, as the revenues have been swallowed up, they are going to ruin, like the schools of Saladin, which are in the next street on the north, leading up to the _Bâb el-Nadhir_ (Inspector's Gate). Here, according to Mohammedan tradition, the Prophet alighted from his steed Borak[323], on his visit to the Holy Stone of Jacob. Near this gate, on the south, is a magnificent building, which from the various kinds of stone employed, the delicacy of its ornamentation, the regularity of its columns, and the harmony of all its parts, is an excellent example of Saracenic taste. It was erected by Solyman, and is said by the Mohammedans to have been the residence of his Sultana Rossellane. It is now gradually falling to decay, although a very small sum spent in repairs would make it last for centuries. Before leaving this side I need only remark that the arches, crossing the street down the Tyropoeon, shew that the houses on the west side of the valley are also in the precincts of the _Haram_ and consequently inalienable. Up to the time of Saladin and his successors, these belonged exclusively to the Jews; who, since then, have been gradually deprived of them by the law of might; and, in order to conceal the iniquitous usurpation, they have been thus joined to the enclosure of the _Haram_. Having thus described the outside of the Mohammedan sanctuary, I shall now conduct my reader within, and introduce him to places all as yet unknown to him, except one or two, which, from their connection with the exterior, I have been obliged to mention. In doing this, I shall not spend time over the minor details, which are explained by the Plan and its description[324]; but attend solely to the matters of greater interest, not forgetting the Mohammedan traditions. I have already, in describing the exterior, noticed all the important points on the north side, and therefore only call attention to the extent of levelled rock, continuous with that which forms a large part of the south wall of the barrack, and was, in my opinion, the north of the tower Antonia[325]. A short distance from the barrack is an octagonal oratory, surmounted by a dome, containing (according to the Mohammedans), a piece of the sacred rock, which was cut off by the Christians during the time of the Latin kingdom. I have been inside the building, and seen a stone; but it is too shapeless to enable me to form any opinion of the truth of the tradition. I think that the place has a vault beneath, and that probably the passage already mentioned, which was constructed by Herod as a communication between the tower Antonia and the east gate, passes by it. Above the pool of Bethesda rises the minaret of _Israel_, erected to commemorate the Patriarch's sleeping on Moriah; this, and the minaret of the _Serai_ at the north-west corner, are used for the especial purpose of calling to prayer the faithful of the rite _Hannefi_: both are founded on the rock, and near the latter the large Herodian masonry is still visible: they were built in the time of Omar, according to the Mohammedan chronicles; which I am disposed to believe, because I have seen, in the interior of the second, small holes, which may have been made for the fittings of Christian bells during the Latin kingdom. These would not be there had the minarets been built by Saladin, by whom however the second may certainly have been restored. A small Arab building abutting on the outer wall is the first thing to attract attention on the east side. In the middle of the room inside is a kind of pedestal, covered with rich carpets woven in different colours. According to the Mohammedans, this is the site of the throne of Solomon, and the place where the Book of Wisdom was composed, to which, in consequence, he will return at the Day of Judgement to assist his father David in judging the Israelites. We can see how highly the followers of the prophet esteem the place by the number of small tablets fastened to the window, as tokens of gratitude for some blessing received. To the south of this is the Golden Gate[326]; a small staircase on the north side conducts us to the top, which is an excellent position for a general view of the _Haram es-Sherîf_, the Valley of Kidron, the Mount of Olives, and the whole of Jerusalem. Here we see the truth of the words of Josephus[327], that "the city lay over against the Temple in the manner of a theatre." The Mohammedans say that on the Last Day the Prophet _Isa_ (Jesus) will descend from heaven upon this gate to judge the world, and will commit the Jews to the decision of David and Solomon, and the followers of Islam to the Prophet. Passing along the boundary wall to the south we come to a very narrow staircase built against it, leading up to a window from which the shaft of a column laid longwise projects for about 5 feet; beneath it is the deep valley of Kidron. This marks the position of the invisible bridge _es-Sirah_ and the 'Window of Judgement,' where Mohammed will sit on the Day of Judgement, and order all to pass the bridge, no wider than the edge of a sword; over it the faithful will run swiftly and enter Paradise; while the infidels, in trying to cross, will fall into the abyss of Hell open wide beneath them. I have seen not a few fanatics come to pray in a niche very near the window, and then step on to the column; and afterwards try to obtain the credit of having seen that which is invisible. In the south-east corner of the enclosure is a ruined mosque, with 14 arches, in two rows, supported by square pillars. This was formerly the place of prayer according to the rite _Hanbeli_. The keeper asserts that, in times long since past, there was a high tower on this spot; he is indeed not altogether mistaken; for, in the days of Herod, the cloister with its four rows of columns stood here; high enough to afford a beautiful view[328]. Just on the north of the site of this is a staircase leading down into a chamber lighted by loopholes in the outer wall of the _Haram_. After passing the upper doorway we have on the right hand a small aperture, through which we can look into the great vault, and see some of its many columns. In the south wall at the end of the chamber the keeper points out a marble basin in the form of a cradle, as the one which held the Infant Jesus, when He was brought to the Temple for circumcision; and shews the places occupied by the Virgin Mary and S. Joseph, and the two niches where stood the Prophets Zacharias and Ezekiel. The story is worthless, but the view of the grotto excavated partly in the rock and of the enormous blocks in the wall is very interesting. On quitting this place we observe a large terrace formed above the subterranean vault. I descended by a large hole close to the south wall of the _Haram_, and on arriving in the great chamber, saw a forest of columns supporting the roof, rising among heaps of earth and ruins. I believe that this immense building was originally constructed by Solomon, in order to increase the area of the platform of the Temple; and at the same time to contain water, which was used in such quantities in the service of the Sanctuary; the height of the vault, measured near the south-east corner, is 39 feet above the floor of rock; which I found after digging through a layer of earth. It is lower towards the north, for the rock rises there, as it does towards the north-west corner, where I had great difficulty in finding it, from the accumulation of rubbish. The whole building has evidently undergone restoration at different periods; as is shewn by its irregular shape and the condition and different kinds of masonry of the present walls. Of these the east and south walls (being part of the _Haram_ wall) are Herodian work; at the south-east corner, by the chamber of the cradle of Christ, which we have already visited, we see Roman work in the inner wall and in some masonry on the north, at which point it is evident that the size of the vault has been diminished; some other small walls in the interior belong to a much later period, perhaps that of the Crusades. The plinths of the numerous columns are rusticated in the Herodian style, but their shafts are Roman. Their length diminishes towards the north owing to the rise of the rocky floor towards the main mass of the hill on that side; which however is generally not visible from within, as it is faced with masonry. The whole vaulting, supported by semicircular arches, is Roman. I consider therefore that the last restoration was made by order of Justinian, but cannot allow that the whole building dates from that time, because it is not likely that his historian, Procopius, would have omitted to mention so stupendous a work; nor would there have been any necessity for that Emperor to enlarge this part of the area of Moriah. From within we plainly see the triple gate and the pointed arch, to which we drew attention during our circuit of the walls. The former is of the age of Justinian; but the quantity of earth and rubbish, now piled against it on the inside, renders it difficult to form an opinion on the purpose for which it was constructed. I believe that at that period the vault was not used as a cistern. The pointed arch was, I think, built in the time of the Latin kingdom, as a postern gate for sorties, and an entrance into the stables of the Knights Templar; which, from the small splayed loopholes in the south and east walls, the iron rings fastened to the masonry, and the small party walls and holes cut in the ground, I suppose to have been in this building. I was confirmed in this opinion by observing a door (built-up) on the west side of the vault which, I think, must have communicated with those under the mosque _el-Aksa_. The Mohammedan legend, that both these were the stables of Solomon[329] (as they still call them), probably took its rise from the use to which they were applied by the Crusaders. On excavating inside, near the ruined passage, I found three capitals of columns in white veined marble[330] of an elegant design and good execution. Returning to the open air and standing upon the great terrace, we see on what vast foundations the famous 'Royal Cloister' of Herod was supported. The mosque _el-Aksa_ is a large pile of buildings abutting on the south wall of the _Haram_. The principal axis of the edifice runs north and south, instead of east and west according to the general law of the Latin Church; consequently some authors have asserted that it was not built for Christian worship, but originally was a mosque. We will therefore examine its history. Some think it was the work of Constantine; but then Eusebius, his panegyrist, does not mention that he in any way evidenced any regard or care for Moriah. Others attribute it to Justinian; with these I agree. The idea of erecting this basilica, and dedicating it to the Virgin, was not conceived at first by the Emperor, but by Elias, Patriarch of Jerusalem, A.D. 501. As the Christians of Palestine had not the means of executing so great a work, they sought the aid of Justinian, through the Abbot Saba; and the Emperor not only gave the assistance asked, but also took care that the building should be worthy of the Christian religion: so we are informed by the monk Cyril of Scythopolis, a Greek historian, living A.D. 555, who embraced the monastic life under the rule of S. Saba. In the year 531 all difficulties were overcome, and this magnificent edifice completed. Its grandeur is recorded by Procopius[331], whose account is briefly as follows. The length of the building was greater than the breadth, which however was so great that they had difficulty in procuring rafters for the roof of sufficient length. This was supported by two rows of columns, one above the other, which were quarried in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, rivalling marble in beauty, and veined with red, resembling in colour the brightness of fire. Two of them, at the entrance of the Temple, were larger and more beautiful than the rest. He also mentions the great blocks of stone used in the work, and tells us by what means they were brought on to the ground. The whole of his description undoubtedly suits the mosque _el-Aksa_, although its exterior has been greatly changed; since there are now no traces of cloisters, atrium, or other buildings mentioned by the same historian. The two great columns are no longer to be seen; but it is not improbable that they are concealed within the two central piers of the porch. Those inside the basilica correspond to the above description, and by secretly chipping off bits of the plaster, with which all are now coated, I was able to ascertain that they are made of red Palestine breccia, a rock occurring in abundance on the west of the city, near the Greek convent of the Holy Cross. Antoninus of Piacenza[332], in the sixth century, saw the whole pile of Justinian's building in its glory. He speaks of the adjoining hospice, containing from 3000 to 5000 beds, wonders at the number, and praises the piety of the Monks and Nuns who served there, and states that the basilica of S. Mary was in front of the Temple of Solomon, and communicated with the basilica of S. Sophia, situated on the site of the Prætorium of Pilate. He also mentions that a stone was then exhibited inside it, bearing the print of our Saviour's foot. It is remarkable that a similar stone is now exposed to receive the reverence of the Mohammedans at the south end of the present mosque. It appears that the basilica was not greatly injured at the time of the Persian invasion, A.D. 614; as we find it open for Christian worship when the troops of Omar were besieging Jerusalem. The Khalif visited it after the surrender of the city to offer up his prayers within its walls, and ordered that thenceforth it should be devoted to the rites of his faith[333]. The Rev. G. Williams, in his learned and valuable work on the Holy City[334], tells us that towards the end of the seventh century the tenth Khalif, "'Abd-el-Melik covered its gates with plates of gold and silver, but it was soon stripped of its treasures in consequence of the poverty of his successors. During the Khalifat of his son Waled, the eastern part of the mosque _el-Aksa_ fell to ruin, and as he had no funds to repair it, he ordered the ruined part to be pulled down, and the price of the materials to be distributed to the poor. Forty years later, in the time of the second Abbasside Khalif Abu-J'afar-el-Mansur, the east and west sides were decayed by time, or injured by an earthquake, and as he could not afford to restore it, he stripped the gold from the doors, coined it, and applied the proceeds to the necessary repairs. A second earthquake shook down what he had rebuilt, and his son and successor el-Mahadi (A.D. 775-785) found the mosque in ruins. The character of the building was altered by this Khalif, whose taste was offended by its proportions, and he gave orders that its length should be diminished and its width increased. Again in the 452nd year of the Hejra (A.D. 1060) it suffered materially from the falling in of the roof." From the facts stated in this account we can see how greatly the basilica of Justinian has been altered, and understand the Saracenic features which now exist in the original building. The two aisles added to the older structure on the east and west, the demolition of the choir, and the erection of the south wall, belong to the great alterations made by el-Mahadi. The Crusaders converted it into a residence under the name of the 'Palace of Solomon,' and a portion of it was granted to the Knights Templar[335] by Baldwin II. Saladin restored the worship of Islam, and it is now used for the rite _Shaffi_. We will now proceed to an examination of the exterior and interior of the building itself. The façade has a porch with seven arches[336], corresponding to the seven aisles of the mosque itself. The centre arch is much larger than the others; all are acutely pointed. The form of the battlements crowning the walls, the details of the niches, and the ornamental painting characterise the architecture of this part as Saracenic. On entering the mosque the keeper points out the sepulchre of the sons of Aaron, opposite to the middle door. The central or more ancient part of the building retains traces of a cruciform Christian church, being a nave with two side aisles and a transept[337]; the dimensions of the different parts also agree perfectly with this plan[338]. The walls of the nave are supported by columns bearing Corinthian capitals, which are rather overloaded with ornamental detail, in the usual bad taste of Byzantine art. From these spring pointed arches, and above them are two rows of windows with semicircular heads, of which the lower range is open, the upper built up. The pillars supporting the walls and aisles on each side are square, and very plain, except on their faces to the east, which are relieved by projecting half-columns. The two outermost aisles on each side are much lower than the others, and shew in their rough walls a very different and later style of masonry, thus proving that they were added at a subsequent period. The transept is divided from the nave by a large pointed arch, and at their intersection is a dome, rising from a cylindrical drum supported by four pillars ornamented with shafts of verd antique with Corinthian capitals. The section of the dome is slightly ovoid and the drum has pointed windows, which prove that it must have been wholly rebuilt at a date later than the original foundation of the church. Its walls on the inside are adorned in the Saracenic style with arabesques, flowers, landscapes, and mosaics (executed during the reign of Selim I. and Solyman). This mass of ornament, though devoid of taste, when combined with the coloured glass in the windows, produces an agreeable and at first sight striking effect. Behind the south arch and under the dome in the south wall is the _Mikhereb_ of the Mohammedans, indicating the _Kibla_ or direction of Mecca. This is ornamented with small shafts of porphyry and verd antique; the wall being faced with slabs of very valuable marbles of different colours; the keeper asserts that the black stone in the middle was brought from Mecca, and was taken from that given by God to Abraham, as a token of His covenant with him. On the right of this is the _Minbar_ or tribune for prayers, a magnificent work in cedar wood, executed in former times by the carvers of Aleppo; it is called _Borkan-ed-din-Khadki_, and to the right of it, is the stone with the print of our Saviour's foot, mentioned above; to speak the truth, it requires a vivid fancy to see the impression. In the arms of the transept are fine columns of granite, verd antique, travertine, and lumachello[339], supporting capitals of different patterns and unquestionable antiquity. In the western arm, on the left hand, are two columns of verd antique, a small distance apart, called by the Mohammedans the 'Columns of Proof,' because, according to our guide, all who enjoy the favour of God can pass through the narrow space between them, but not those who are wicked. The worn state of their inner sides shews the great number of the faithful who have passed the test. This arm terminates in a long hall, whose low vaulted roof is supported by pointed arches springing from many-sided pillars; it is called the mosque of Abu-Bekr, but is really an ancient gallery built by the Crusaders. Our guide tells us that in their time it was used as an armoury, which is doubtless the truth, as the mosque _el-Aksa_ itself was converted into a dwelling-house. At the end of the eastern arm is a small vaulted hall, resting on the city wall and lighted by windows commanding a fine view of the slopes of Ophel, part of the Kidron valley, and the Mount of Offence with the village of Siloam. This chamber is supposed to be the place in which Omar prayed for the first time within the walls of the _Haram_: by the spot where he knelt there is a niche, ornamented with two columns of clouded grey marble, which have been inverted by the architect, so that the capitals richly carved with leaves serve as bases. This is called especially the mosque of Omar, as it continued to be the private oratory of the Khalif. On turning back to enter the main building, we see on the right a kind of chapel, wherein is a niche ornamented with marble, called _Bâb er-Rahma_ (Gate of Mercy), near it are the _Mikhereb_ of S. John (Baptist) and Zacharias. On quitting the mosque by the great northern door, and turning to the right, we find a flight of steps leading down to the subterranean vaults below it. These consist of two large corridors running below and parallel to the mosque. The floor slopes from north to south, and near the latter extremity there is a change in the level[340]. At the entrance they are separated by a wall entirely of Arab work, and farther on by an arcade supported by square pillars; the vaulting is not quite circular, being slightly flattened; it is very regular, and composed of stones of moderate dimensions, well chiselled with sharp edges. They are not of an uniform size, but nevertheless perfectly correspond with Roman work, as do the two pillars, and cannot belong to an earlier period; being laid with mortar and with great accuracy. The east wall is formed of oblong blocks, all of moderate dimensions and laid with mortar. The stones are well squared and smoothed by the hammer, without the least trace of rustic work; the surface of the wall is smooth and perpendicular to the ground and cannot be considered anything but Roman masonry. The west wall differs somewhat from the above in the form of its materials; these are large blocks of stone resembling in their size those attributed to the Herodian age. On some the rustic work remains, on others there are but slight traces of it, and after a very minute and careful examination, I think that there has been an attempt to destroy it on all, with the intention of smoothing the face of the wall: these blocks are all laid with mortar, but not arranged in regular courses; and the wall is perpendicular to the ground. It is quite evident that, though materials found among the extensive ruins have been used in constructing this wall, the present building is not of the age of Herod, still less of Solomon, but without doubt of Justinian. At the south end of the vault the two galleries unite, the line of the arcade dividing them being only marked by a large monolithic column and two half-columns; one attached to the last pillar on the north, the other to a wall on the south. The vaulting of this chamber consists of four hemispherical cupolas, divided by arches springing from the central pillar, with a shell ornament on the pendentives. Two doors, still remaining in the south wall, communicated with the outside. The one on the east is the Gate of Huldah, which we noticed during our survey of the exterior, inside it is marked by a marble pillar built into the wall; the other opens into a chamber, and is flanked by two marble pillars with elegant capitals[341]. The east and west walls in this lower portion of the gallery are a continuation of those described above, and of similar masonry; but the face of the south wall which divides the two doors is entirely formed by four great blocks, laid without mortar. This, then, together with the monolith and its capital[342], I consider a fragment of Herod's magnificent building; but I attribute the cupolas in the vaulting and the two doors to Justinian's restoration. It is very probable that the gates and the gallery were built in the days of Solomon, either as an entrance to the Temple from the south, or perhaps as part of the substructure of the palace of Pharaoh's daughter, which may have occupied this position. The whole was, no doubt, destroyed by the Chaldeans and repaired to the best of his ability by Nehemiah. It is very probable that the south gate and the galleries were rebuilt by Herod, when he undertook his great work of the restoration of the Temple, to form a communication between it (especially the Court of the Gentiles) and the south part of the city. We need not suppose that it was entirely destroyed when the Romans razed the sacred buildings, because, though the ruins which fell upon it might injure the vaulting, they would also cover and so preserve it. In the gate at the south extremity we recognise the Middle Gates of Josephus; the position of which is defined by the words of the historian: "the fourth front of the Temple, which was southwards, had gates in the middle[343]." Justinian was, I think, the person who repaired and adorned these gates, and rebuilt the vaults, to support the foundations of his basilica, and serve at the same time for a communication between Moriah and the south part of the city. The east wall of the galleries is underneath the row of pillars, on the east of the first side aisle in the same direction; that is, under one of the outer walls of the ancient basilica; while the west wall is exactly under the line running down the middle of the great nave. The architect must have _rebuilt_ them to serve for this purpose, and not simply availed himself of what was already there, because, as I have already said, the character of the masonry in the walls shews that it is not older than the age of Justinian. Let us now refer to the account given by Procopius[344], who, after stating that the Emperor Justinian had ordered a Temple, dedicated to the Virgin, to be built at Jerusalem on the most prominent of the hills, goes on to say, "The hills however had not sufficient space for the completion of the work according to the Emperor's order; but a fourth part of the Temple was deficient, towards the south and the east, just where it is lawful for the priests to perform their rites. Hence the following device was conceived by the persons who had charge of the work--they laid the foundations at the extreme of the flat ground and raised a building of equal height with the rock. When, then, they had brought it as high as the extremity, they placed over the intervening space arches from the top of the walls, and connected the building with the remainder of the Temple's foundation. In this way the Temple is in part founded on solid rock and in part suspended; the Emperor's power having contrived a space in addition to the hill." He also states that this is the only building in the city situated in this way. I agree with what the historian says of the want of space, on the south and east (where the ruined vault was), and that the persons in charge of the work built the side walls as described, but do not believe that they were the first persons to construct them; they found them existing, but in ruins, and made use of the excellent materials which were lying on the spot, to rebuild them to suit their purpose; repairing such parts as they found standing upright and firm. As I agree in almost every point with the opinion of M. de Vogüé, I quote his words[345]: "This gallery is a Byzantine building, and is roofed with two parallel barrel vaults, the inner sides of which are supported by a row of semicircular arches springing from square piers. The south end is covered by four domes arranged in a square, resting on pendentives; and the four arches dividing and supporting them spring from an isolated central column. This arrangement is characteristic, so that though the end of the building is ancient, and probably of the age of Herod, it is impossible to assign that date to a vestibule vaulted with domes. This portion of the passage has then been rebuilt at a comparatively modern period, namely that of the foundation of the basilica." The only point on which I differ from the above is, that I believe the monolith, the south wall, and perhaps some portion (in the lower parts) of the side walls of the end gallery to be of the age of Herod. Near the entrance, on the west side, I discovered a dark room; the Arab wall above mentioned has been built to enclose it, and, at the same time, conceal a doorway, leading into an underground passage, which runs to the west, and formerly came out inside the city, to the south of the _Mekhemeh_. It is possible that the doorway, half buried in the ground, near the Jews' wailing place, is its other extremity. I endeavoured to clear a passage to it, but was prevented by the mass of rubbish by which it had designedly been blocked up, and obliged to abandon my attempt; the keeper however assured me that I was right in my conjecture. There is also an aperture in the east wall, now closed with loosely built stones and rubbish, which seems to have been the entrance to a passage leading into the vault at the south-east corner of the _Haram_. In the west wall of the western corridor, just before reaching the steps leading down into the chamber of the monolith, is a small arch, rising about four feet above the ground. A Mohammedan tradition asserts this to be the entrance to an underground passage, leading to the Tomb of David; it is now however impossible to explore it. There is also a space in the east wall of the above chamber, formerly occupied by a doorway, which no doubt communicated with a passage into the vaults we have already visited, in the south-east corner of the _Haram_; it is exactly in a line with the door I pointed out in them. Hence we see how the stables were reached from inside the enclosure. Opposite to this doorway is another, in the west wall, leading into the vaults below the mosque Abu-Bekr or the armoury of the Templars. These are very likely the underground passages in which the Jews took refuge during a riot[346]; that they communicated with Mount Sion seems established by the account given by Josephus[347] of the attempted escape of the tyrant Simon from that place; who appeared on the spot where the Temple had stood, dressed in purple and white, in the hope of terrifying the Roman guard. This is also an additional proof that the architects of Justinian were not the original builders of these vaults. Returning to the outer air and going towards the south-west angle of the _Haram_ we see the mosque of the Mogarabins, or western Mohammedans. It is a plain edifice without aisles, with some buildings attached to it serving as a hospice for pilgrims; in which Abd-el-Kader resided during his visit to the city in 1857. On the west side of the enclosure are various buildings, chiefly of the dates of the Crusaders, of Saladin, or of Solyman; with a chapel dedicated to _Cobba-Moussa_ (Moses), a fountain for ablutions, and several small edifices which may be seen in the plan. The mosque _Kubbet es-Sakharah_[348] stands upon an irregular quadrilateral platform, raised above the general level of the _Haram_, consisting almost wholly of rock, and surrounded by a low wall intended (most unsuccessfully) rather for ornament than use. Abutting on it, and in different parts of the platform itself, are several small buildings, crowned with elegant domes, and applied to various uses; some for oratories or schools, or for interviews between the faithful and their spiritual advisers; others for houses for the readers of the Koran, dervishes, and the keepers of the mosque; others again for stores. Two or three flights of steps on each side lead up to the platform, which is regarded by the Mohammedans as a sacred place. The number of steps in each flight is not the same, owing to the differences of level in the general surface of the _Haram_. They are made of white Palestine breccia, and at the head of each stands an elegant arcade of pointed arches, with columns of different materials, such as granite, or verd antique, or marble of less value; these generally differ both in height and diameter, in their bases and in the patterns of their capitals. Hence I am led to suppose that they formerly belonged to one of the Christian churches, which the Mohammedans destroyed and robbed of their ornaments to decorate their own sanctuary. These slender structures are not all alike; some have four arches and three columns, others six or seven arches with a corresponding number of columns; but their general effect is very good. The whole of the platform is paved with large slabs of white Palestine breccia, concealing the rough surface of the rock; which I saw underneath when some slight repairs were in progress, and also in the houses abutting on the wall, and in the cisterns; there is therefore no doubt that this is the actual summit of Moriah. From this esplanade there is a fine view of the mosque[349], a structure whose lightness, elegance, and richness is surpassed by very few. Its plan is very simple: a circular drum, rising above a regular octagonal base, supports a pointed dome, whose form is enough to characterise the building as Saracenic. The upper part of the dome is slightly pointed, while the lower is almost imperceptibly contracted. Its gracefulness is thus increased, without loss of grandeur. It is covered with zinc; the drum is inlaid with small glazed tiles of different colours (called Damascenes by the Levantines), which, being made expressly for the purpose, bear on them arabesques and maxims from the Koran with other inscriptions, standing out clearly from a blue background. The octagon is faced with slabs of veined white marble for a height of five feet from the ground; and then incrusted with coloured bricks, which terminate in a cornice covered with Arabic inscriptions. The south-west face of the octagon is uncovered, and exposes the original rough wall; whose stones and masonry prove that the whole, without exception, is the work of Saracenic artists. All the doors and windows are pointed; but their original shape was slightly altered during the restorations in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; especially in the case of the windows of the drum, whose outside moulding is now square. Opposite to the Gate of David (on the east side) is a small building with a dodecagonal dome, supported by columns of valuable marbles with very old capitals. Their bases are of different heights, to compensate for the inequality in the length of the shafts. It is called _Kubbet es-Silsileh_ (the dome of the chain) or _Kubbet el-Berareh_ (the dome of justice), being, according to Mohammedan tradition, the site of the judgement seat of David, to which he will return on the Last Day[350]. After stamping on the floor and carefully examining the interior of this edifice, I have come to the conclusion that there is a vault below it, in the middle, which however is of no great size, and is very probably part of a conduit. The south door has a porch supported by eight columns of verd antique with Corinthian capitals; on the west, near to this, the Santon points out a slab of veined marble called 'the Bird of Solomon[351].' In my description of the interior of the mosque[352], I shall, in a great measure, follow the account of M. de Vogüé[353], with several additions and omissions. It is divided into three concentric spaces, by two arcades, the inner circular, the outer octagonal in plan. The first, which supports the drum of the dome, is formed by four large quadrangular piers and twelve columns; the second by eight piers and sixteen columns; these two outer galleries have flat ceilings of painted wood; the shafts of the columns are made of valuable marbles, the majority of verd antique. I think they may have been taken from Constantine's church of the Resurrection, when it was lying in ruins, after its destruction by Chosroes; for many of them have been broken, and are united again by iron hoops; others shew chips and bruises apparently produced by a fall; besides, they do not correspond one with another, either in diameter or in height. The history of the other Christian edifices in Jerusalem supplies us with not a few instances of a similar spoliation; while we have no record in the Mohammedan chronicles, that valuable foreign marbles were brought by them to the city; as was done by Constantine according to Eusebius. The bases of the columns in the inner range are Attic, those in the second are different, and of a debased style; very frequently the shaft rests on a cubical plinth of white marble without any base moulding. Their capitals are Byzantine, that is, resemble more or less closely an order which is a coarse copy of the Corinthian[354]. The arches of the inner arcade spring directly from the capitals of the columns; but the arrangement in the outer one is very peculiar. On the capitals is placed a large block, resembling a truncated pyramid (base square), supporting a horizontal entablature, from which springs a series of slightly pointed arches: their form and ornamentation are thoroughly Saracenic, as is the mosaic work over the arches[355]. The quasi-capitals of the piers are formed by an arcade in low relief, enclosing a series of palm trees, rudely executed. The drum is inlaid with mosaic of various leaf patterns. The upper part of the dome is profusely adorned with gilded arabesques on different coloured grounds. The shape of the building, its ornamentation in carved wood, mosaic, pictures and gilding; in a word, its whole appearance bears a Turco-Arabian character of various periods, more especially from that of Saladin to that of Solyman. In the centre of the mosque is a rock, rising above the floor, and occupying nearly the whole space under the dome, whose bare rough surface is strangely contrasted with the rich decorations surrounding it. This is _es-Sakharah_, the great object of the Mohammedan's reverence[356], which gives the building its name. Its highest part is some five or six feet above the pavement. No tool has ever touched its upper surface, but the north and west sides have been hewn vertical, and from the appearance of the work, I am inclined to think that it was done when the mosque was built by Omar. A circular hole is cut in its highest part towards the south-west, and on the south-east side is a doorway leading down into a rather large chamber within it, whitewashed, and lighted by the above-named hole. The Iman, who accompanied us, informed us that the rock is suspended in the air[357], and also that it has a great cavity beneath, and certainly by stamping on the floor and striking the walls a hollow sound is produced; but this is not to be wondered at, because, in order to give a more regular shape to the chamber, (as it is only a cistern,) they have built a slight wall within it all round, in front of the shelving sides. The hollow sound, heard on striking a large slab in the middle of the floor, is to be explained by the existence of a communication with a lower cistern; how I ascertained this fact I will presently relate. The Mohammedans themselves account for it by saying, that this is the well of the souls of the dead, called by them _Bir el-arruah_[358]. I consider it the cistern of the threshing floor of Araunah. The Turkish Iman related to us many legends connected with the inside and outside of this rock. The description of the plan will explain the shorter of these; the others will be found in the Notes[359]. On quitting the mosque by the south door, we find, opposite to us, a _minbar_ or pulpit, ornamented with small columns, and marbles of different colours. Saladin built it as a place from which to read prayers on days of great solemnity[360]. On the west of this, the spot is pointed out on which he slept after entering Jerusalem, and where he also remained to assist in the purification of the mosque. I have now finished my description of those places in the _Haram_, which can be easily seen or visited; but not of those below the ground, which we will presently proceed to examine; but before doing this, I will endeavour to apply to the _Haram_ area, the _data_, which history and Rabbinical traditions afford to us on the position of the ancient Temple. From the historical and other evidence, which I have now brought forward, it results that I consider _the rock of the Sakharah to fix, positively and precisely, the position of the threshing floor of Araunah, and, consequently, of the Temple of Solomon_. Starting from this as a definite point, I shall endeavour, not indeed to restore the sacred edifice in its minutest details, but to lay down on the existing area the position of the House itself, and the principal places in connection with it. Now the surface of the _Haram_, at the present time, is divided into three stages of different level. (1) The highest is the rock _es-Sakharah_; unquestionably the summit of Mount Moriah, which, doubtless, was left standing in a conspicuous position, as a perpetual memorial to posterity of the spot, where David offered the sacrifice, which God had so mercifully accepted. On this, then, I place _the altar of burnt offerings_. (2) The platform of the present mosque is to be regarded as the space levelled by Solomon to support _the House itself, with the Inner Court of the Priests, and the Great or Outer Court_, occupied by the people, during the performance of the sacred rites. (3) The lower plateau of the _Haram_ has been formed by the made ground constructed by Solomon; which was afterwards extended, especially at the time of Herod, to make a large and convenient space round the Temple; and was at that time called _the Court of the Gentiles_. Let us now proceed to examine in detail these three elevations, referring to the authorities whom I have already cited in my description of the Temples of Solomon and Herod[361]. I consider the _Sakharah_ to be the site of the altar of burnt-offerings, because it is very improbable that Solomon would have chosen any other position for it than that indicated by an Angel to the prophet Gad. Those who object are bound to explain why this rock alone was left in its natural rough state amid the splendour of the Temple. If it were not reserved for some purpose of the highest importance, it would never have been spared when everything around it was levelled. We shall now see that this site satisfies the requisite conditions. (1) _The altar was to be of unhewn stone, and not reached by steps._ Therefore the bronze altar of Solomon can have only been an ornamental casing for the rock. The shape of the _Sakharah_ is adapted for this purpose, and it has a regular slope on the south side leading up to the higher part; and, according to the Rabbinic traditions, this was the position of the inclined ascent. (2) _It was a square of twenty cubits._ The rock is large enough to admit of this and still leave room for the ascent. (3) There must have been _a capacious receptacle for its drainage_, as they burnt upon it the victims and their fat, and sprinkled the blood upon and around it. This was the cavern we have just visited, with the one below, which we shall presently describe. (4) _It occupied an elevated position_, as appears from both the Bible and the Rabbinic traditions; probably in order that the sacrifices might be seen by the people. The present site satisfies this condition. (5) There must have been _cisterns for water and drainage on the north side_ to wash the victims and cleanse the ground from blood, because there the Levites appointed for that duty flayed them, and had their chambers[362]. (6) _On the east side of the altar must be a 'place of the ashes,'_ where also the refuse of the victims might be cast. I cannot but think that this would be outside the above-named sacred courts; and in fact we find a connected system of cisterns to the west of the Golden Gate, which I believe were used for this purpose. (7) The great 'sea of bronze' was to the south-east of the altar, as we are told by the Mischna; therefore _in this direction there should be traces of the place from which it was supplied_. Now on the platform of the mosque, south-east of the rock, is a vault, and to the south of it many cisterns of water, one of which might have supplied the sea. These latter, I think, may have been in the great court; so that after the priests had purified themselves at them, they could enter the sacred enclosure. Therefore I conclude that the locality satisfies the conditions required by this position of the altar of burnt-offerings and the places in its neighbourhood; and we have only to see if the cisterns and vaults, mentioned above, are connected by subterranean passages, to admit of the flow of water or of blood, as the case may be. That this requirement is also satisfied, will be presently seen from the account of my investigations among them. I have already stated that I suppose the Temple and its sacred courts to have occupied the second plateau. The House itself was 60 cubits long and 20 wide, lying east and west; the porch in front on the east side was 10 cubits long. If then we circumscribe a square with a side of 20 cubits about the rock, facing to the four points of the compass, and produce its north and south sides westward, we inclose a space on the plateau large enough to admit a building of the required dimensions, and sufficient space is left even for the courts and buildings of Herod's Temple. We are told by Josephus that the Temple was not situated in the middle of the area on the summit of Moriah, but rather towards the north-west corner: a glance at the Plan will shew that this condition is satisfied. The same historian relates that the Temple of Herod was a square of 500 cubits; the place admits of this; consequently we may conclude that we are right in assigning this site to the ancient Temple. That the position of the third plateau has been rightly assigned, hardly needs demonstration. The made ground is still to be seen on the east side, and the levelled surfaces and projecting remnant of rock on the north-west; while we have already noticed the great works by which it was enlarged on the south. Hence the three levels of the _Haram es-Sherîf_ correspond with the three spaces occupied by the ancient Temple. It may also be as well to mention a plan of Solomon's Temple, set forth by some of the Rabbinical authors[363]. They circumscribe a square, with a side of 20 cubits, about the rock, which they also consider the site of the altar of burnt-offerings; about this they describe symmetrically another square, with a side of 180 cubits; then dividing each side into 9 equal parts, and joining the opposite points, the whole is subdivided into 81 squares, with the square about the rock in the middle. To the west of this they leave one square, and consider the next three in the same row to be the site of the House itself. The rows lying north, east, and south of the five squares mentioned above, are considered to form the Court of the Levites. (The square between the altar and the Temple they suppose to have been occupied by the porch and its approach, the walls of the building, &c.). Parallel to the east side of the above court, at a distance of 10 cubits, they draw a line, and consider the parts cut off on the west as the Court of the Israelites, and that farthest to the east as the Women's Court. Every one may form his own opinion as to how far this plan may agree with that of Solomon's Temple (with whose dimensions we are only partially acquainted); for my part I think that the spaces allotted to the courts are too small, and ought to be enlarged. In order that my investigations among the cisterns, pools, and conduits in this part of Jerusalem may be understood, I must call the reader's attention to the three following facts, which for the present I simply state, but of which I will hereafter give a more detailed account, with proofs of my assertions where they are necessary. (1) That water is brought into Jerusalem, and especially into Moriah, by a conduit from Etham. (2) That in the bath of the _Hammam es-Shefa_ is a spring of undrinkable water. (3) That at the bottom of the Kidron valley, to the south-east of the same corner of the _Haram_, is a spring called the Fountain of the Virgin. I will now enter upon the history of my discoveries, describing them in order of time, so that the reader may understand the manner in which the conclusions I have drawn from them were reached, and the various obstacles which I had to overcome. Before undertaking an investigation of the subterranean works on Mount Moriah, a task demanding so large an expenditure of time and money, and encompassed with so many difficulties, wherein, if discovered, I might be exposed to very great danger, without any hope of defence or escape, I considered how far it could be avoided by a careful examination of all that could be seen on the surface, by a study of the works on the subject, and by collecting all the information that was possible from ancient traditions and all other sources; but when all this was done, I found that I had not been able to form a clear idea of the hidden recesses of the _Haram_, of its ancient reservoirs and conduits for water, blood, and other purposes, or of the points where the latter entered or left the enclosure. I had indeed obtained a knowledge of many useful facts, but not of what I wanted, and was therefore obliged to wait until an opportunity occurred of making an accurate scrutiny of the place itself. This was long in arriving; but by patience and perseverance I at last succeeded in accomplishing my undertaking, as will be seen from the following narrative. I felt tolerably certain of the existence of a double-chambered cistern beneath the _Sakharah_, (called in the Rabbinical traditions _Amah_,) and had no doubt that it had been used to catch the blood of the victims; in accordance with the statement in the Mischna, that under the altar of burnt-offerings, to the south-west, was a conduit by means of which the blood sprinkled on it flowed into the Kidron Valley[364]. I had also seen on the north side of the platform of the mosque the openings of two cisterns; and the Mohammedan keepers assured me that the one to the north contained dirty water, but that the other was dry, and had been so for many centuries. I accordingly tasted the water of the former, and found it excellent; and therefore concluded that it was nothing but a traditional prejudice, derived from the fact that the place had formerly received the blood of the victims, which are said to have been slain there[365]. I have already stated that the cistern on the west of the Golden Gate appeared, in accordance with the _data_ in the Bible, a probable position for the 'place of the ashes[366].' I had also learned that some, especially among the Jews, were of opinion that the Pool of Bethesda was not only used to cleanse the victims for sacrifice, but also to receive the water which had served for that purpose, when the animals were flayed in the neighbourhood of the Temple; also that it was supplied from some pools on a higher level; and that, when it became necessary to empty it, the filth escaped by a conduit excavated in the rock, on the east, down into the torrent Kidron. Now I do not know whether there was a channel of communication from the Temple to the pool; but it is certain that there were upper pools[367], and that its waters would naturally escape into the Kidron. To establish this last point is impossible, from the quantity of rubbish that fills the pool, and the accumulation of earth outside the walls; but it is so obvious that it hardly needs demonstration. In the south-east corner of the pool there is an opening, which apparently belongs to a conduit, but it is now built up; and on the whole of the south wall, which is almost buried with earth, there are not any signs of other mouths. It was then evident that if the water came to it from the Temple it must enter either from higher ground on the west, or by the above opening. This however could not be proved without an examination of the interior of the _Haram_. The keepers of the mosque wished to persuade me that the water from the spring of the _Hammam es-Shefa_ flowed into the cistern beneath the _Sakharah_. Very frequently, on different days, during the deepest silence, I placed my ear on the great slab, in the middle of the chamber in the rock, beneath the mosque, but could not hear the slightest sound. I observed that the floor was paved with marble, and therefore frequently examined both it and the walls to see if they gave out damp; (if water had been flowing below, there would certainly have been some moisture;) but they were always perfectly dry, even during wet weather, so that this test induced me to reject the common notion that water ran beneath this place. Again, one day in the month of January 1857, during an excessively rainy season, and while a quantity of fallen snow was melting, I observed, on passing along the Kidron valley, a large stream falling down from the mouth of a conduit high up in the western bank of the torrent, nearly opposite to the Tomb of Absalom. I was delighted at the sight, and instantly resolved to enter the place as soon as the flow of water had ceased. However, on reflection, I abandoned the design; because I should have exposed myself to certain danger, since the hill-side at that place is almost vertical above, and excessively steep on both sides and below, besides being composed of loose earth that has been thrown down there and been accumulating for centuries. In course of time the opening was closed by a landslip, but the water still forced its way through in the rainy seasons of the following years. The question occurred to me, Can this be the mouth of the conduit of blood? It was however impossible to answer it without examining the ground, and this was impracticable by reason of the great expense of removing such a quantity of soil, and the fanaticism of the Mohammedans, who would never have allowed me to enter a subterranean passage possibly leading towards the _Haram_; to which place I had not then the right of entrance. My next information was derived from a brave old Bedouin, who had taken part in the war against Ibrahim Pasha. In the month of May of the same year he informed me, in the course of the story of his life, that underground conduits ran from the Fountain of the Virgin into the interior of the city and Temple; which he had once traversed with a company of Arabs in making a night attack on the city, in order to surprise the Egyptian troops at the gates and admit his own companions. I wanted him to give me more minute information, but he refused, even when I offered him money; and it was not until a later period that I obtained fuller details from a peasant in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem; of which I afterwards availed myself, as will be seen: but even in his case, in spite of bribes, I was obliged to content myself with listening, without verifying what was reported. In the month of September 1857, I was walking outside the east wall of the _Haram_, and stopped to watch an Arab who was digging a grave near the southern extremity of the cemetery. I entered into conversation with him, with a view of quietly examining his excavation; but on reaching a depth of three feet he stopped, as his work was finished; for the dead Arabs like the earth to lie light upon them. However, by a present I induced him to continue his labour; but after going down about 2 feet more, he again desisted, at the instigation of another workman, who in the mean time had come to bring him some food. A little more money set them both at work, and after sinking 2 feet lower, they came upon something hard, which on examination proved to be a wall, belonging, as I suspected, to a conduit; and by widening the excavation a little, we found the corresponding side wall at a distance of 3-1/2 feet, both being of great age. I would gladly have had them continue their work; but they were both tired, and also afraid of being seen digging so deep, in the company of a European and Christian; besides, the corpse was expected before long; so they partially filled up the hole as quickly as possible. I was however satisfied with what I had seen, and a few days after, having obtained permission from the Pasha, on some trifling pretext, I employed them, with two other workmen, to make an excavation opposite to the south-east corner of the _Haram_ (not being able to dig farther to the north on account of the graves); and after two days' hard work we found, at a depth of 11 feet, remains of a conduit resembling the former, and, like it, 3-1/2 feet in breadth. The walls were 2-3/4 feet high, but had been higher, the upper part having been destroyed. I thought that these were more likely to belong to the conduit for blood than the opening which I had seen in the Kidron valley, as that was too low relatively to the upper and middle levels of the _Haram_, and too far (being about 30 feet) above the bottom of the valley, which is now much higher than in former times; for I can hardly think that the blood and filth would be openly disgorged in a kind of cataract from the sewer. What a quantity of water would in that case have been required to transport the refuse of the victims from the front of the Temple, where, because of the Jewish law, they could never have been suffered to remain! Two points however had to be established, the proof of which was far from easy, before I could assert that the conduit for blood flowed into the Fountain of the Virgin; a place which might have been chosen, both because it was at a considerable distance from the Temple, and because the constant supply of water from the spring would carry on the refuse into the Kidron. These were, (1) whether the lowest part of the Fountain (which is reached by a long descending flight of steps) was above the bed of the torrent; and (2) whether, in the interior of the _Haram_, a conduit had existed, connecting the cistern beneath the rock _Sakharah_ with that on the west of the Golden Gate, and had gone from this point outside the wall, in a course agreeing with the traces I had already discovered. Accordingly I hired some of the peasants of Siloam, and made an excavation in the valley, to the east of the mouth of the Fountain, and ascertained that its lowest point was about 5-3/4 feet higher than the present bed of the torrent; which has been much raised by the rubbish accumulated during so many centuries, that is not only brought down by the stream itself from the north, but also falls in from the sides of the valley during the rainy season. This determined, I made a second excavation near the steps leading down to the Fountain, and at a depth of 16 feet found part of the bottom of the original pool, and a fragment of the side wall; and thus saw that the conduit might have emptied itself directly into this pool, into which the water flowed from the Fountain (situated 5 feet above it): whence the refuse descended into the Kidron 4-1/2 feet below, and so was carried away by the torrent. As the quantity of water supplied by the spring could never have been very large, it occurred to me that on special occasions, when a great number of victims was sacrificed, there would be some method of increasing the torrent to enable it to sweep away the refuse quickly; and at first I supposed that the water of the Pool of Bethesda was used for that purpose, but afterwards I found that it was not the only means employed. Had I been able, I should at once have followed up the subject, by investigations in the interior of the _Haram_; but all my attempts at that time proved ineffectual, and I was obliged to wait for a more favourable opportunity. I obtained another clue to the positions of some of the cisterns within the enclosure, during the summer months of 1857. I had frequently visited the ground between the city-wall and the south-west part of the _Haram_, in order to search for old coins, and was struck with the luxuriance of the vegetation there, even in the driest weather. On asking the farmer for an explanation of this, I obtained no other answer than that it was due to God's grace. I did not of course doubt that this was a sufficient cause; but at the same time I was desirous of finding a more natural reason; the more so because, on certain evenings, I observed that he drew a large quantity of water for his plants from a cistern near the south-west corner of the _Haram_. I therefore asked him repeatedly, and in all kinds of indirect ways, (as is necessary in dealing with Arabs,) if his cistern contained much water; but he always evaded my question, and I was never able to overcome his reticence or outwit his craft. Even the offer of money produced no effect, and subsequently he refused to allow me to examine its interior; still, although baffled, I felt certain that this cistern was supplied from another inside the _Haram_, which was the true 'God's grace.' I found afterwards, as will be seen, that I was quite right in my supposition. I had also frequently remarked, during the rainy season, that the water running down the street in the central valley flowed into a large opening on the east side, level with the ground, to the south of the fountain near the bazaar leading to the _Haram_. From this I inferred that it found its way into the sewer which passes along the valley at a lower level. Some old men, who had for many years been employed in the repairs of the conduits, told me that I was right, and informed me at the same time that from this opening it was possible to go along underground and come out inside the _Haram_, by a conduit which entered a cistern on the lowest plateau, situated on the west side near the south end of the platform of the mosque _es-Sakharah_, and filled by the water that had drained from the street. Such was the information that I had obtained concerning the underground works of the Temple, up to the end of 1857. It had not enabled me to arrive at any positive conclusion, and I was puzzled about the conduit for blood, because the Rabbinical writers made it begin beneath the sacred rock on the south-west, in which direction I had not been able to discover any traces of it. During the winters of 1858 and 1859 no great quantity of rain fell at Jerusalem, and the cisterns were in consequence not filled; so that in the summer months there was a scarcity of water. Under these circumstances Surraya Pasha ordered the conduit from Etham to be repaired, in order that it might supply the _Haram_. I availed myself of this circumstance, and entered many of the cisterns in that precinct, which were either almost or quite dry, under the pretext of inspecting them to see if they needed repairs. In the year 1856, when Kiamil Pasha was governor, the Turkish engineer, Assad Effendi, had restored the aqueduct, and I had assisted him as a volunteer, and had been able to offer him some useful advice; which was the reason that I was now employed. I will now relate my discoveries in connexion with this conduit, commencing at the point where it enters Moriah. It comes down by the dyke or bridge crossing the Tyropoeon, and at the present time empties itself into a small basin opposite to the entrance of the _Mekhemeh_; but formerly it flowed into a large reservoir, still existing in the lower part of that building, whence it went on into the Temple. This chamber is now disused, and filled with rubbish. Thus by their carelessness the Mohammedans lose the benefit of all the works of antiquity in Jerusalem. From the above-named basin two conduits branch out; the smaller and newer supplies water to the fountain in the middle of the _Mekhemeh_, and then rejoins the larger and older one (2-3/4 feet wide and 2-1/4 high), which, after passing under the _Bâb es-Salsala_, enters the _Haram_, and then, after running some little distance southward, turns off at an angle and goes to the fountain opposite the mosque _el-Aksa_, whence it proceeds to the great cistern called _Birket es-Sultan_. During the course of the work I observed that the quantity of water which entered the latter reservoir was less than that which arrived at the _Mekhemeh_; and on examination I found that the conduit had formerly kept on to the south, instead of turning to the east, and that its old channel still existed at that point, by which, although very much dilapidated and full of earth, a large part of the water was diverted into an ancient cistern, 29 feet deep, to the north of the mosque of the Mogarabins. Into this I descended, and found 6 feet of mud at the bottom; and after hard work ascertained that the water entering it from the conduit went out by another made nearly on a level with the floor, which was too much choked up to be passable, but which ran in the direction of the cistern of 'God's grace,' at the south-west corner of the _Haram_, so profitable to my friend the farmer. On the east side of the cistern of the Mogarabin mosque is the mouth of a conduit, walled up to a height of 3 feet from the vaulting. I saw some traces of it on the surface of the ground, but was unable to excavate; however, it was evident that it went into the _Birket es-Sultan_. We repaired the above-named corner of the conduit at present used, so that all the water might flow into the fountain of the Aksa, where it would have again been diminished before reaching the _Birket es-Sultan_, if we had not completely closed up the mouth of a very ancient conduit (3 feet in width and height), running northward and communicating with the lower chamber of the cistern below the _Kubbet es-Sakharah_, which was entirely cut in the rock, and covered with large slabs as far as the south staircase of the upper platform. The above remarks on the works in connexion with the conduit from Etham are sufficient for my present purpose, and I will now pass on to relate my discoveries in the different cisterns and conduits into which I descended. The water in the _Birket es-Sultan_ (Prince's Pool) was, at the time of my visit, a foot deep; the sides and vaulting, with the piers supporting it, have been hewn with great pains out of the rock. It is 32 feet in height. In the wall near the opening from the fountain are notches cut in the rock, obviously to be used as steps. There are two apertures in its west side, the one already mentioned as coming from the fountain, which almost touches the vaulting; the other, 4 feet lower down and blocked up, which is the end of the conduit coming from the cistern near the mosque of the Mogarabins. There is another opening on the north which I could not examine; it is under the vaulting. On the south-east, 4 feet below the vaulting, is an opening walled up, corresponding with the great chamber at the south-east angle of the enclosure, as I was able to ascertain by examining the north-west corner of that place, after removing a quantity of earth. On the south is another opening (now closed with Arab masonry), 3 feet above the floor, 3-1/4 feet wide and 3-3/4 high; the beginning of a conduit mainly excavated and vaulted in the rock, but for a short distance built with stones and roofed with large slabs[368], which I have traced with difficulty and labour along its whole course quite close to the Fountain of the Virgin. At certain points it is 5 feet wide and 3-3/4 high. It bears the marks of a very remote antiquity, and is, in my opinion, contemporaneous with the building of the first Temple. After discovering this, I found out the Bedouin peasant, who had on a former occasion told me of its existence, and he now did not refuse to be my guide along it, and, to tell the truth, I should not have been able to get on without him at some places, either from the accumulation of rubbish, or the earth, which every moment threatened to fall in, besides the great number of rats, reptiles, insects, and a thousand other nuisances which I encountered. I have traversed this passage three times and carefully examined it, and regret to say that from its age and tottering condition parts of it will soon fall into ruins. It is a great misfortune that a country possessing so much that deserves to be studied and preserved should be governed by a nation so unwilling to partake of European civilization. We will now examine the cisterns to the north of the mosque _es-Sakharah_[369]. On entering the northern one (29-1/2 feet deep) I found the floor covered with wet mud to a depth of about 1-1/2 feet. At the first glance I saw an opening on the south side, 3 feet wide and 4-1/2 high, half built up with Arab masonry, and after clearing away some of the stones, earth, and mud that blocked it up, I passed through it into another cistern in the same direction, 32 feet deep. These are both very ancient, and are wholly excavated in the rock; and I have no doubt that they belonged to the threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite. On the south and on the east of the deeper cistern are the openings to two passages; the first leads to a conduit (3 feet wide and 3-1/2 high), descending from the west; but after going a few feet along the passage we find another conduit of the same size as the above, coming from the south, and leading upwards into a double cistern, as I had always expected. The form of the lower chamber is an irregular sphere, about 22 or 23 feet in diameter, its floor is covered deep with dry mud with a few stones, (but rather too many for me to remove). On a careful examination I saw, at a height of 12-1/2 feet, the mouth of the hole leading to the upper chamber, about 6-1/2 feet in diameter and 4 feet long, and the marble slab, which we have already mentioned as covering it. This it was that the Santon struck with his foot or stick to prove the existence of the 'Well of the Souls' below! There is a conduit on the south, into which I entered through an aperture (now walled up), and by a very gradual ascent reached the other extremity at the fountain opposite to the mosque _el-Aksa_. The whole depth of the double cistern is 28-1/2 feet below the top of the rock, and 23-1/2 below the pavement of the mosque. The reader may imagine my joy at this result of my labours, so long desired and so anxiously sought, and the gratitude I felt to God for granting me this boon of ascertaining the position of the altar of burnt-offerings, and the cisterns and conduits for blood belonging to the ancient Temple; an ample recompense for all my toil. It is true indeed that after a most careful search I have not been able to find any opening on the south-west, in accordance with the statement of the Rabbinical writers; but for this time I trust my own eyes, and that suffices me. Returning to the nearer of the two cisterns on the north of the mosque, I went along the conduit, rising to the west, for a distance of 12 feet, beyond which I could not advance because of the soil in it. It runs exactly in the direction of the cistern, which is situated very near to the north-west corner of the net-work on the Plan[370]: this I afterwards endeavoured to enter, but found it filled with earth. The other opening, on the east side of the first-named cistern, is that of a descending conduit (about 3 feet wide and high), which I traversed for some distance, until I was eventually stopped by a number of obstacles; however, I ascertained clearly that it went towards the east. The above observations are the results of three visits, in which the short time I was allowed to stay, the frequent summons to depart, coupled with not a few threats when I resisted, prevented me from making farther investigations; but there is nothing more to be found there of greater importance than the things I have mentioned. On entering the cistern, excavated in the rock on the west of the Golden Gate, I found that it was 20 feet deep, and that on the west side was the mouth of the conduit, which I partially examined from the cistern north of the mosque _es-Sakharah_. I was able to pass along it for some distance on this side also, and found it to be 3-1/4 feet wide and 3 high. The only thing that now remained to be done was to find the conduit leading out of the cistern towards the east: and after a long search I had begun to despair, when a labourer, who was working at the south side of the chamber, told me that there were signs of an opening there; in a few minutes it was uncovered, and through it I entered into another cistern, whose floor was 4 feet below the level of the former; and on the east side of this was a conduit, 3-1/2 feet wide and 3 high, running towards the _Haram_ wall, which must have communicated with that the ruins of which I had found outside the east wall. I had thus completed a chain of evidence, which established the course of the conduit for blood, as laid down by me, at every point. Marks of another opening appeared above the soil on the south side of the same chamber, but I had not time to uncover it, being recalled into the first cistern by the discovery of another passage on its north side; through this I entered a series of cisterns, on a level of 3-1/4 feet above the central. In the last of these, at the north end, was the entrance to a conduit (2-1/2 feet wide and high), which sloped upwards in the direction of the Pool of Bethesda. It was impossible to follow it up, but from its direction, level, and design (as I will presently shew), it must have corresponded with the opening (walled up) to which I called attention at the south-east corner of the above Pool. Before proceeding to draw my final conclusions from the above observations, I must remark that it is untrue that the water flowing down the street of the Tyropoeon valley, at the time of rain, supplies the cistern (on the lowest level) at the south-west corner of the platform of the mosque. This (24 feet deep and wholly excavated in the rock) receives the water that has been used by the Mohammedans for their purifications, which is carried off from it into the great sewer in the Tyropoeon by a conduit on the west side. I shall discuss the springs of the _Hammam es-Shefa_ more fully in another place; at present I will only observe that the depth of the source is about 96 feet below the surface, consequently it is impossible that its waters could flow into the cistern of the _Sakharah_, and to the Fountain of the Virgin. The cistern in front of the east gate of the bazaar (excavated in the rock and 26 feet deep) has a conduit on the south, supplying the fountain for ablutions, near the Chapel of Moses. This is filled by the droppings from the terrace-roofs of the buildings on the east and west of it, as well as from the ground around it. On the platform of the mosque, near its south-east corner, is a cistern in the rock, whose depth I was unable to measure, as it is nearly filled up: from it two small conduits (of no antiquity) run in opposite directions, their openings being above the vaulting; that on the north-west catches the water dropping from the mosque, that on the east is intended to drain a part of the platform, but it is now useless; both are visible on the surface of the pavement. Lastly, the conduit parallel to the west and north walls of _el-Aksa_, was made to receive the water from that mosque, and carry it into the _Birket es-Sultan_. The remaining cisterns, plentifully scattered over the _Haram_, are for the most part useless. We see then that, while the Mohammedans pay no regard to the works of antiquity, they are equally careless about those which are of the highest importance to themselves. Having thus narrated the investigations I have made and the information I have collected, I will now state my conclusions on the connexions and purposes of these underground works. They are as follows: (1) That from the time of the building of the Temple the conduit from Etham has emptied itself into the cistern beneath the _Mekhemeh_, whence the water was conveyed into the Temple by a branching system of conduits, the chief of which I have traced. (2) That the cistern north of the Mosque of the Mogarabins was used as a reservoir to supply Ophel, where at the present time but few traces of these works are found. (3) The conduit leading from this into the _Birket es-Sultan_ must have been intended to carry away any excess of water, and also by this means to relieve that which now goes to the fountain, especially when it might be out of order. It is obvious that these filled the _Birket es-Sultan_, and consequently the great reservoir at the south-east corner of the _Haram_. (4) It is probable that the numerous cisterns on the west side may also have been fed by different conduits, but I had not sufficient time to ascertain this. If not, they might have been supplied by the drainings from the courts, the terrace-roofs of the cloisters, and the Temple itself[371]. (5) The fountain opposite to _el-Aksa_ is Saracenic, but not the basin in which it stands. This supplied water to the cistern under the altar of burnt-offerings, to cleanse it from the blood that flowed down from above. Hence the stream ran into the cisterns on the north, and thence into the 'place of the ashes' on the east, which I believe to have been the southernmost of the underground chambers; and from this it went outside the wall, and after passing along parallel to it, finally emptied itself into the pool near the Fountain of the Virgin. (6) In the 'place of the ashes,' in which they cast the crops of the birds, the entrails of the victims, and other refuse, a larger quantity of water would be needful, especially at times when the sacrifices were numerous; and I suppose that the conduit from the Pool of Bethesda was constructed to augment the supply; also I fully believe that if I had found time to uncover the apertures on the south of the 'place of the ashes,' and on the north of the _Birket es-Sultan_, and to examine the cistern on the south-east of the _Sakharah_, I should have discovered that this cistern (where I place the 'bronze sea') was supplied from the _Birket_, and discharged its waters into the 'place of the ashes.' Was there then also a conduit on the north of the great reservoir at the south-east corner communicating with the opening on the south of the 'place of the ashes'? I sought for it without success owing to the accumulation of earth, the want of time, and the continual interference of the Mohammedan guardians of the _Haram_, who believed, as I suppose, that I was seeking for treasures, when, on the contrary, I was spending my savings. If, after the sewage had reached the pool by the Fountain of the Virgin, there was still need of a further supply of water to sweep it away, that could be brought by the long conduit from the south side of the _Birket es-Sultan_, by the conduit at the east end of the Pool of Bethesda, and especially by a conduit, which, starting from the west extremity of the Bridge, runs down the Tyropoeon to the Fountain of the Virgin, along which the whole stream from Etham might be diverted, if necessary. I have not mentioned this before, but will give a fuller description of it in another place. The conduit on the west slope of the Kidron valley, nearly opposite to the Tomb of Absalom, which I saw discharging so much water in 1857, may possibly have been another means of augmenting the supply, and may very probably (although I have not been able to prove it) communicate with the great reservoir at the south-east corner of the _Haram_, and have occasionally been used to lay it dry. I have now arrived at the end of my researches on Mount Moriah, and leave the subject, trusting that some other explorer may find more frequent opportunities and more favourable circumstances for examining this venerable spot; and thus carry further my discoveries, and correct any errors into which I may have fallen. FOOTNOTES: [171] Note I. [172] Note II. [173] Plates XI., XII. [174] Gen. xxii. 2-14. [175] Note III.; Gen. xxviii. 10-12. [176] Gen. xxxv. 1-15. [177] 2 Sam. xxiv; 1 Chron. xxi. [178] 1 Chron. xxii. 1. [179] Ant. VII. 13, § 4. [180] 2 Sam. xvii. 18; Jer. xli. 8. [181] Plate XXVII. [182] 1 Maccab. vi. 32, 33. [183] Note IV. [184] 1 Kings v. 18. [185] 2 Chron. ii. 13, 14. [186] 1 Kings v. 10, 11. [187] 2 Chron. ii. 16. [188] 1 Kings vii. 10, 11. [189] 1 Kings vi. 7. [190] Jewish War, V. 5, § 1. [191] Ant. VIII. 3, § 9; Jewish War, V. 5, §§ 1, 2. [192] 1 Kings vi. 1, 38. [193] Note V. [194] Ant. VIII. 3. [195] Palestine, pp. 289-292. [196] 1 Kings vi. 2, 3. [197] 1 Kings vi. 17-20; viii. 9. [198] 2 Chron. iv. 9. [199] 2 Chron. iv. 9; Ezek. xl. 17. [200] 2 Chron. iv. 1; Ezek. xliii. 13, 18. [201] Note VI. [202] 2 Chron. iv. 2, 5, 6. [203] 1 Kings vii. 38. [204] 1 Kings vii. 38; 2 Chron. iv. 6; Lev. i. 9. [205] 1 Kings vi. 5; Ezek. xlii. 13. [206] Lev. i. 5, 11, 16; xiv. 11, 12. [207] Ezek. xl. 40, 41, 42, 46. [208] 1 Kings xiv. 25, 26. [209] 2 Kings xiv. 13. [210] 2 Kings xii. 4-14; 2 Chron. xxiv. 4-14. [211] 2 Kings xxv. 9. [212] 2 Kings xxv. 11, 12, 22, 23; Jer. xl. 6. [213] Jer. xl. 12. [214] 2 Kings xxv. 25. [215] 2 Kings xxv. 26; Jer. xliii. 7. [216] 2 Chron. xxxvi. 22, 23; Ezra i. 1; v. 13. [217] Note VII. [218] Ezra vii. 8, 9. [219] Ezra iii. 8, 12, 13; Haggai ii. 3. [220] Ezra iv. 1-24. [221] Ezra iv. 24; v. 1, 2. [222] Ezra vi. 15-17. [223] Ezra vi. 3. [224] Haggai ii. 3; Ezra iii. 12. [225] Ant. XV. 11, § 1; Note VIII. [226] 1 Maccab. i. 20-23, 35, 36, 41; Ant. XII. 5, §§ 3, 4. [227] 1 Maccab. iv. 41-59; Jewish War, I. 1, § 1. [228] 1 Maccab. xii. 35-37. [229] 1 Maccab. xiii. 50-53. [230] Ant. XIII. 6, § 7; Jewish War, I. 3, § 3. [231] Ant. XIII. 11, § 2; Jewish War, I. 3, §§ 3-5. [232] Ant. XIV. 4, § 2; Jewish War, I. 7, §§ 1-3. [233] Ant. XIV. 16, § 2. [234] Ant. XV. 11, § 2. [235] S. John ii. 20. [236] S. Mark xiii. 1, 2. [237] Ant. XV. 11, §§ 3-7; Jewish War, V. 5 (the more minute account); Note IX. [238] Palestine, p. 551. [239] Ant. XV. 11, § 3. [240] Ant. XIII. 6, § 7; Jewish War, V. 4, § 1. [241] Middoth, I. 3. [242] Ant. XV. 11, § 5. [243] Ant. XV. 11, § 3. [244] S. Matt. xxi. 12. [245] Note X. [246] Mischna, 2, § 6. [247] Mischna, 2nd part, Treatise _Yoma_, c. III., § 10; Babylonian Talmud, same treatise, fol. 37. [248] Exod. xx. 25; Deut. xxvii. 5, 6. [249] Mischna, Treatise _Yoma_, c. III., § 1. [250] Ezek. xl. 39, 40. [251] 2 Maccab. ii. 4-7. [252] Mischna, Treatise _Yoma_, c. V., § 2, and the Rabbinical traditions in the Babylonian Talmud, same treatise, fol. 54. [253] Jewish War, V. 5, § 1. [254] Note XI. [255] Jewish War, V. 5, § 2. [256] Ibid. V. 5, § 8. [257] Ant. XV. 11, § 7. [258] S. John ii. 20. [259] Jewish War, V. 5, § 8. [260] Jewish War, V. 11; VI. 1. [261] Note XII. [262] Jewish War, VI. 6, § 2. [263] Ibid. VI. 9, § 1; VII. 1, § 1. [264] Note XIII. [265] S. Matt. xxiv. 2. [266] Note XIV. [267] Note XV. [268] Note XVI. [269] Note XVII. [270] Note XVIII. [271] Note XIX. [272] Note XX. [273] Adamn. de Locis Sanctis, Lib. I. c. 1, ap. Acta SS. Ord. Bened. Tom. III. Part 2, p. 304: "Cæterum in illo famoso loco, ubi quondam Templum magnifice constructum fuerat, in vicinia muri ab oriente locatum; nunc Sarraceni quadrangulam orationis domum, quam subrectis tabulis et magnis trabibus super quasdam ruinarum reliquias construentes vili fabricati sunt opere, ipsi frequentant; quæ utique domus tria hominum millia simul (ut fertur) capere potest." [274] Note XXI. [275] William of Tyre, Book I. c. 12. [276] Note XXII. [277] Note XXIII. [278] Note XXIV. [279] Note XXV. [280] Note XXVI. [281] Plate XI. [282] S. John v. 2. [283] Plate XII. [284] Plate XIII. [285] Ant. XIII. 11, § 2; Jewish War, I. 3, § 3. [286] Note XXVII. [287] Page 20. [288] Plate XIV. [289] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2; 5, § 8. [290] Ibid. V. 11, § 4. [291] Ibid. V. 5, § 2. [292] Ibid. V. 5, § 8. [293] Ant. XV. 11, § 7. [294] Plate XV. [295] Plate XVI. [296] See Ch. I. p. 15. [297] S. John v. 2-9. [298] Plates X., XVIII. [299] Plate XVII. [300] Note XXVIII. [301] Plate X. [302] Plate XVIII. [303] Note XXIX; Page 7. [304] Plate XXIX. See the details of the Golden Gate. [305] Plate XXVII. [306] Plate XIX. [307] Note XXX. [308] Plate XX. [309] 2 Kings xxii. 14. [310] Note XXXI. [311] Plate XXI. [312] Ant. XV. 8, § 1. [313] Ant. XIV. 4, § 2; Jewish War, I. 7, § 2. [314] Jewish War, VI. 6, § 2; 8, § 1. [315] Page 23. [316] Guide d'Orient. Description des Environs du _Haram-es-Sherîf_. [317] Ant. XV. 11, § 5. [318] In my opinion, of the date of Herod. [319] Narrative of a Journey round the Dead Sea, Vol. II. pp. 100, 101, (edited by Count E. de Warren). [320] Note XIII. [321] Plate LVIII. [322] Holy City, Vol. II. pp. 43, 392. Second Edit. [323] Note XXXII. [324] Plate XI. [325] Plate XIV. [326] Plate XIX. [327] Ant. XV. 11, § 5. [328] Ant. XV. 11, § 5. [329] Mejir-ed-din, Mines d'Orient, Vol. II. p. 95. [330] Plate XXIV. [331] De Edific. Justin., Lib. IV. c. 6. [332] Note XXXIV. [333] Eutychius, Annales, II. 246. Dielal-ed-din. Kemal-ed-din. Mejir-ed-din. [334] The Holy City, Vol. I. p. 318. Second edition. [335] Note XXXV. [336] Plates XXIII., XXIV. [337] See M. de Vogüé's work, Les Églises de la Terre Sainte. [338] Plate XI. (Plan). [339] A variety of marble, generally of a dark brown colour, full of fossil shells, exhibiting beautiful iridescent colours, due to the nacreous matter of the shells; sometimes deep red or orange, when it is called fire-marble. [340] Plate XXIV. [341] Plate XXV. [342] See details, Plate XXIX. [343] Ant. XV. 11, § 5. [344] De Ædificiis Justiniani, Lib. V. cap. vi. (Translated in Rev. G. Williams' Holy City, Vol. II. p. 369). [345] Les Églises de la Terre Sainte, par le Comte Melchior de Vogüé, p. 272. He also quotes the Rev. G. Williams in confirmation of his opinion. [346] Jewish War, V. 3, § 1. [347] Jewish War, VII. 2, § 1. [348] Plate XI. [349] Plate XXVI. [350] Note XXXVI. [351] Note XXXVII. [352] Plate XXVII. [353] Les Églises de la Terre Sainte. [354] Plate XXIX. [355] Note XXXVIII. [356] Note XXXIX. [357] Note XL. [358] Note IV. [359] Notes XXXIX., XL. [360] Note XLI. [361] Pages 48, 49, 53, 54. [362] Levit. i. 11; Ezek. xl. 35-38. [363] See the enclosed space, covered with cross lines, about the Mosque of Omar, Plate XI. [364] Mischna, 2nd part, Treatise _Yoma_, c. 3, § 1. [365] Ezek. xl. 39-41. [366] Levit. i. 16. [367] Jewish War, V. 11, §§ 4, 5. [368] See the Conduits, Plate X. [369] See the sections, Plate XII. [370] Plate XI. [371] Note XLII. CHAPTER IV. THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION, AND THE HOSPITAL OF S. JOHN, WITH THEIR ENVIRONS--HISTORY OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE FROM THE DEATH OF CHRIST TO THE PRESENT TIME--GENUINENESS OF THE SEPULCHRE--GOLGOTHA--EXAMINATION OF THE EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH--RUINS OF THE HOSPITAL. After the publication of the works of the Rev. G. Williams, Professor Willis, and M. de Vogüé, on the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the fruits of so much learning and research, it is perhaps rash to undertake to write upon this subject; still, as I only enter upon its history so far as it concerns things now to be seen and the explanation of my own investigations, I venture to apply myself to the task; requesting the reader, who is desirous of fuller information, to study the works of these authors[372]. If I may happen to differ from them on any point, I do not intend to discuss their theories, as that would occupy too much time, but simply to state my own opinions, which have been formed after a most careful examination of the place by different means, during a period of eight years. My principal aim is to establish the genuineness of the site now reverenced as the Sepulchre of Christ, and to point out the position of Calvary in its neighbourhood; therefore I begin from this point; the more so, because the identity of the present tomb is disputed, and those who disbelieve in it lean especially on the assertions, that its situation with reference to the ancient city disqualifies it; as it is within the circuit of the walls, instead of without in accordance with the Jewish law; and that every trace was swept away by the destruction of the city by Titus, and the alterations of Hadrian; so that the basilica of Constantine did not cover the real Sepulchre of Christ. We proceed then to examine the question. The place of our Saviour's Passion undoubtedly was outside the city, in accordance with the Jewish law, as is proved by the words of S. John[373]: "This title then read many of the Jews: for the place where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the city." According to the positions which I have assigned to the walls, Golgotha was at that time without the city, being very near the second line formed by the walls of Solomon and Hezekiah; for it must be remembered that the third line was not yet built, because King Agrippa I. did not arrive at Jerusalem till A.D. 42, some years after the death of Christ, and the work commenced shortly afterwards. The fact that a large crowd[374] followed our Saviour also makes it probable that the place was near the city, for as the next day was the Sabbath and 'an high day[375],' and as it was about the sixth hour when He was brought forth to the people[376], and the ninth when He died[377], they would have had to return home to prepare the Passover, and not have had time to go any considerable distance. It is not indeed in my power to state the exact distance of Golgotha from the city, but at any rate I am certain that it was far enough off to comply with the legal requirement, that sepulchres should be 50 cubits from the outside of the wall[378]. It was very probable that it would not greatly exceed this distance, as the enraged populace would be likely to place the cross where those in the city could glut their eyes with the spectacle. In tracing the course I have assigned to the second wall, I sought for its remains on the spot, being guided by the testimony of Josephus, without any desire of adapting it to the present position of Calvary; which indeed (if admitted) is in my favour, as shewing that there were gardens outside my gate _Gennath_[379], in accordance with the words of the Evangelist[380], "Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid." Therefore I firmly believe that the body of the Redeemer was laid in the sepulchre now under the great dome of the Church: but of the locality assigned to Calvary I will state my opinion presently. As, however, there are some who contest this assertion, I must support it by the aid of history and tradition. It is not probable that either the Heathens, Jews, or Christians, would lose sight of the Sepulchre of Jesus; for each, though from very different motives, would have reasons for remembering the grave of One whose teaching had introduced a new era into the world, and who had left behind Him such zealous preachers of His doctrine. Now the body was obtained from Pilate and entombed by Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, men of note among the Jews, before the eyes of the women who had followed our Saviour from Galilee[381]. It is then not likely that this new tomb, belonging to one of them, would ever be forgotten by any of these persons. We know that the Chief Priests and Pharisees obtained a guard of soldiers to watch the tomb[382], who were at the spot when Christ arose[383]. It is then very improbable that the Sepulchre would be forgotten by that generation. The number of the disciples augmented so rapidly in a very short time after the Resurrection, that neither the sect itself, nor the life, history, teaching, or prophecies of its Founder, could fail to be remembered. We find it asserted in the Talmud[384], that the sentence against Jesus Christ was proclaimed during forty days, and all who could bear evidence in His favour were invited to come forward. If then this story be true, it shews that the Jews did not deem Him an insignificant person. The Romans, so much more highly civilized than the Jews, would be alive to the important effect that the Saviour's teaching was likely to produce on Paganism, and so would not regard His death and the place connected with it, without interest. But even if the Jews and Gentiles had been slow to recognize the importance of the new doctrine, surely its disciples would remember, and at the least regard with affection, the scene of the redemption of the human race by the death of their Lord and Master. Can we believe that S. Paul would not have conducted his new converts to this spot on his visit to Jerusalem; that S. James, first Bishop of Jerusalem, (murdered by the plots of Ananus[385] A.D. 62,) and S. Peter, would be ignorant of it? Consequently there can be no doubt that the spot must have been well known when the Christians, led by Simon their Bishop, retired to Pella[386], A.D. 66, to escape the troubles that were about to fall on their doomed city. From A.D. 70 to A.D. 135, the year of Hadrian's visit, Jerusalem lay in ruins; but still it was not entirely deserted, since we know that he drove the inhabitants away, to make room for his colony of Roman veterans[387]. The garrison which Titus had left on Sion to prevent any attempts at rebuilding the city, would not have interfered with those who came peaceably to dwell near the ruins of their Temple, or the scenes hallowed by the Redeemer's Passion. Again, from S. James, the first Bishop, to the days of Hadrian, and thence to Constantine, there was an unbroken succession of Bishops of the Holy City[388]; so that it is impossible that the situation of the Sepulchre should not have been correctly indicated by tradition to the first Christian Emperor. Indeed, from the time of Hadrian the place was marked in a manner that prevented all possibility of mistake, as we know from the words of Eusebius[389]. "For impious men in former time, or, to speak more correctly, the whole race of demons working by their hands, were eagerly desirous of overwhelming in darkness and oblivion that sacred monument of immortality, to which the angel, flashing forth light, descended from heaven; and rolled away the stone from the stony hearts of those who thought that the living (Christ) was still lying among the dead; bearing good tidings to the women, and rolling away from their hearts the stone of unbelief in the life of Him Whom they sought. This Cave of Salvation, then, certain godless and impious men purposed to destroy utterly, deeming in their folly that they could thus conceal the truth. So having gathered together from different quarters a great quantity of earth, they covered up the whole; and then having raised it on high and heaped it up with stones, they concealed the Divine Cave under this large mound. Then as if nothing further remained, they in very truth constructed above the ground a grim sepulchre of souls; erecting a dark recess of the shades of the dead to the unchaste goddess Aphrodite.... (The Emperor) inspired by a Divine Spirit, and having invoked God's help, commanded that place to be cleansed, which had been pointed out to him; hidden though it was by unclean materials cast upon it by the plots of enemies; not overlooking it though delivered over to oblivion and ignorance.... And as soon as the order was given, the works of deceit were thrown from on high to the ground, and the buildings of error were pulled down and destroyed, together with their statues and demons. Nor did the vigour of the Emperor rest here, but he ordered the materials, wood and stone, to be taken and thrown away as far as possible from the place." From these passages it is evident that the Emperor Constantine found the true position of the Holy Sepulchre, and erected over it a magnificent basilica, which is described by the same author[390]. The work was commenced A.D. 326, and completed A.D. 335. The present position of Calvary does not however rest upon the same indisputable evidence as that of the Sepulchre, as there are no marks of antiquity nor any other internal evidences to support its claim. The testimony of the Evangelists proves beyond question that it was near to the Sepulchre, but gives us no clue to its position relative to that place, nor tells us whether it was on a plain or a hill, on smooth ground or on rocky. It seems very probable to me that the Cross would be erected on a hill, in order to make it as conspicuous an object as possible. The present Chapel of the Calvary, wherein are shewn the hole in the rock made for the foot of the Cross, and (at the distance of three feet towards the south) the fissure caused by the earthquake, are indeed on higher ground than the Sepulchre; but we must presently examine whether this elevation is natural or artificial. I will now only remark that the hole is too small to admit a post large enough to support the weight of a man, and is perfectly round; though it is very unlikely that the executioners would have taken the trouble to make the shape so regular. The holes in which the crosses of the two thieves were planted are not visible, although the Greek monk in charge of the Calvary pretends to indicate their position. Abbé Mariti[391], who saw them before Oct. 12, 1808, writes as follows: "The Arabs call the penitent thief _Leuss-el-Jemin_, which means the thief on the right hand; the position of the cross of the impenitent thief is on the left. If then our Lord was crucified with His face to the north, the other two crosses would not have been in the same line with His; and the distance between the holes compels us to suppose that they were placed at right angles to it." The remark is correct, and I assert, in addition, that the present Calvary is not large enough for three crosses to stand upon, being about nine feet wide; therefore I regard the story, at any rate so far as concerns the two side crosses, as a mere fable. It is impossible to examine the rock cleft by the earthquake, as it is only visible at the bottom of an aperture about three inches wide and two feet deep; all the rest of it being encased in slabs of marble. Its shape therefore cannot be ascertained, but by examining the place we shall see how far it extends. It is difficult to say whether the level floor, raised about two feet above the pavement, on which are pointed out the hole that supported our Lord's Cross, the positions of those of the two thieves, and the fissure produced by the earthquake, is one entire block or not. As the bare rock is only visible at the hole of the Cross and the fissure, we should suppose that it extended over the whole plateau; but a close scrutiny gives rise to the suspicion that these blocks have been brought from some other position and placed here. The platform is only about nine feet from north to south, and five from east to west, so that it would not require a large mass. My opinion was confirmed by observing that two piers are built on the north and south of the platform, and that on the east there is a wall separating the Golgotha from some of the rooms of the Greek convent, and on the west the inlaid pavement of the chapel. This arrangement suggested to me that either the piers and wall rested upon the rock, or that it was altogether wanting beneath. In order to determine this point I examined the Chapel of Adam, situated under the Golgotha, and reached by a descending staircase on the west. Here it is not difficult to ascertain that the aforesaid piers and wall go down below the level of the floor, and that the vaulting is entirely constructed with masonry. The fissured rock, seen from above, is in the east wall; it is protected by a strong iron grating, which renders it impossible to see whether it goes down to the level of the floor, or how far it extends to the north and south. This however may be inferred without difficulty, for on the south there is a wall, and beyond that an apartment belonging to the Greeks, and on the north, another wall, and then the open space inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. On the west is the stone pavement below the wall supporting the grating, which is 3-1/2 feet above the floor. The rock is therefore concealed, but so far as we can see, it does not appear to descend to the floor. Hence the only direction in which it could extend is the east; but here, on the other side of the rock, which cannot be more than 5 feet thick, is a wall separating it from an ancient staircase, belonging to the Greeks, leading to Calvary. It seems then very improbable that after levelling all around so completely, they would have left, to exhibit the mark of the Cross, a fragment of rock which could not stand without the support of walls. I cannot believe this, and am therefore compelled to suppose that the rock is only a piece of the true Golgotha, brought and placed here for the veneration of the faithful, no doubt at the time of Constantine. A farther proof that this block is not in its natural position, but has been brought from another place, is that its mineral character differs from that of the native rock, preserved in its original roughness in the remains of an ancient cistern in the Chapel of the Invention of the Cross, a little to the east of Golgotha. Far better would it have been had S. Helena and Constantine left the Sepulchre and Golgotha as they discovered them. Far more strongly would the rough rock and the unaltered scenes have spoken to the heart, than all the ornaments they lavished upon it, and those which now load and disfigure it! From a mistaken notion of reverence they wished to adapt the ground to the basilica, and not the basilica to the ground; thus laying the foundation of all the doubts and contests that have since arisen. For my own part I am inclined to think that Golgotha was on the west of the Sepulchre, because we still see, at a little distance in that direction, some elevated rock in the Syrian chapel, whence it gradually rises westward up to the Christian bazaar, presenting the same mineral (calcareous) character as the block on Calvary. If it were in this direction, it would not only comply with the data of the Bible, and be more than fifty cubits from the walls, but also be on high ground, so that the execution could be seen from a large part of the city; whereas the present site is too near the wall and is in a low situation, so that even though we allow that the ground may now be somewhat lower than it used to be, it would be visible to a very small portion of the city. As there were no strong natural features to mark the spot, and as this side has frequently been devastated during the sieges of Jerusalem, one place may easily have been mistaken for another in the same neighbourhood, so that the tradition on this point is of little value. Therefore, although I do not positively assert that the present position of Golgotha is not the true one, I think that the evidence of the place itself is not sufficient to render its identity unquestionable. Let us now resume the history of the Sepulchre. Chosroes II., king of Persia, A.D. 614, completely destroyed the magnificent buildings erected by Constantine, took captive the Patriarch, and carried off the wood of the Cross (kept as a relic at Calvary); but through the intercession of the conqueror's wife, a Christian and sister of Maurice, Emperor of the East, the faithful were allowed to rebuild the holy places. A monk, named Modestus, successor of the Patriarch Zacharias, was enabled, by the assistance of the Emperor Heraclius and John the Almsgiver, Patriarch of Alexandria, to erect again four churches in less than fifteen years; but they were much inferior to the originals. During this period Heraclius conquered the Persians, recovered the Cross, and replaced it in Calvary with his own hands. More than one description of the sanctuaries built by Modestus has come down to us; the most interesting is that of Arculf, who visited them; they were called the Church of the Resurrection, the Church of Calvary, the Church of the Invention of the Cross, and the Church of the Virgin[392]. These were respected by the Khalif Omar, A.D. 636, but, according to the Mohammedan chronicles, the conqueror took possession of the columns and other marble ornaments which were lying about in the ruins of Constantine's magnificent buildings, and ordered them to be worked into his new mosque _es-Sakharah_. He granted freedom of worship to the Christians, and his example was followed, if not surpassed, by Harûn er-Rashîd alone (A.D. 786-809), after whose death they suffered many persecutions; and their churches, especially that of the Resurrection, were plundered and greatly injured. The dome of that church was repaired by the Patriarch Thomas, in the reign of El-Mamûn, with timber brought from Cyprus[393]. Hakem Biamr-Illah, Fatimite Sovereign of Egypt and Syria, ascended the throne A.D. 996, and began an incessant persecution against the Christians. In the year 1010 he ordered the total destruction of the churches of Jerusalem. His barbarous decree was executed, and all the buildings erected by the Patriarch Modestus were ravaged and burnt[394]. A second time the persecution was arrested by a woman, Mary, the mother of Hakem, who obtained permission to rebuild the churches in the same year that they were destroyed. The work was commenced, but proceeded slowly for the want of funds; for when Daker or Daber, successor of Hakem (through the influence of Romanus Argirius), ordered that the injuries done to Jerusalem should be repaired, and that the wall should be restored by the inhabitants at their own expense; and assigned one quarter of the expense to be borne by the Christians, they were so heavily burdened by this additional demand, that the works at the churches were interrupted. It was not till A.D. 1048 that, with the help afforded by Constantine Monomachus, the sanctuaries were completed according to the plans of Modestus, in the reign of the Egyptian Khalif Maabad-Abutamin Mustansir-Billa. They are described by Sæwulf, who visited Jerusalem during the years A.D. 1102 and 1103[395]. The numerous pilgrimages, which were made annually to the Holy Sepulchre after A.D. 1048, kindled a wide-spread enthusiasm in Europe and a strong excitement against the Mohammedans, who had made themselves masters of the Christian Holy Places. These found their vent in the Crusades, and the soldiers of the Cross, who took possession of Jerusalem, acquired the sanctuaries in the condition in which they had been left by Constantine Monomachus; and it was not till A.D. 1130 that they united them under one roof, nearly as they are at the present time[396]. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre was not altered by Saladin on his regaining the city, A.D. 1187. It was polluted and injured by the wild tribes, especially by the Kharismian hordes, A.D. 1244; but in 1555 when Father Bonifacius of Ragusa was Guardian of the Holy Land, the whole building was repaired and the great dome restored at the expense of Philip II., King of Spain; as appears from the testimony of some valuable documents preserved by the Commissary General of Madrid and the convent of S. Saviour at Jerusalem. About the year A.D. 1607, Sultan Ahmet I. ordered the whole church to be destroyed, and a mosque erected on its foundations, by a decree inflicting the punishment of death upon all who attempted to prevent its execution. One man alone had the courage to raise his voice against it, Girolamo Capello, Venetian Ambassador at Constantinople, whose nation, from its powerful navy, was more highly respected by the Sultan than any other. By his firmness and energy, he got the order revoked, and the punishment denounced against all who tried to carry it into effect, or inquire into the reason of its revocation. About a century later the great dome was again restored by help of contributions from Spain. The cost would appear incredible, if it were not established by authentic documents, and the chronicles of the Holy Land, still preserved in the convent of S. Saviour at Jerusalem. These state that, in order to obtain a firman from the Porte (which was opposed and retarded during 21 years by the Greeks, who hoped to procure it for themselves), and to complete the restoration 400,000 colonnati (about £92,000) were expended. A firman was obtained from the Porte, A.D. 1757, by the Greeks, excluding the Latins, partly or wholly, from some of the sanctuaries, including even the Holy Sepulchre, which was sold to the Greeks by the Grand Vizier Regib Pasha. France had already proclaimed her intention of protecting her Church in the East, and the Chevalier de Vergennes was charged with maintaining the rights of the Latins at Constantinople; but, notwithstanding, the places then lost were never wholly recovered. On the 12th October, 1808, a great part of the church was consumed by a terrible fire, caused by the Armenians; and the Greeks obtained permission from the Porte to repair the damage. An ignorant architect, who has had the audacity to record his name, which however I will not help to perpetuate, completed the work of destruction, by pulling down, or covering up, the interesting remnants of Byzantine and Gothic architecture, which the flames had spared. The tombs of the Latin Kings of Jerusalem (of which I will speak presently) were demolished by the Greeks on this occasion; who however try to make us believe that they were destroyed by the fire. I conclude this sketch of the history of the building, by stating that the great dome is in danger of falling in[397]. Year by year it becomes more and more dilapidated, and the large holes in it, caused by the want of a covering of lead[398], admit the wind and the rain, so that the floor below is sometimes flooded to a depth of five or six inches (as happened in 1857 and 1860), causing so much annoyance to the Priests, that the services have to be performed under umbrellas, and rendering it impossible for the congregation to remain without injury to their health. It has long been hoped that France, the official protector of the place, would put a stop to these trials, and undertake the work of repair: and in 1862, France, Russia, and the Porte, came to an agreement, and the works appeared to be on the point of commencing, as the architects of the three nations at Jerusalem had consulted together; but some disputes on the question of ownership arose between the Greeks and Latins, and the whole matter has been adjourned. While the question is slowly dragging on at Constantinople, it is far from improbable that the dome will fall, and it will be a very fortunate thing if this happen without loss of life. I will now accompany the reader round the outside and inside of the church, and point out and remark upon the chief objects of interest connected with the building; referring him to the Plans and their description for those of less importance[399]. Before the façade of the church is an oblong open court[400] paved with large slabs of Palestine breccia, which are all cracked, apparently by the action of fire; no improbable cause, when we remember how many Christians have suffered martyrdom by burning on this spot[401]. On the south side is a number of bases of columns arranged symmetrically, shewing that an arcade, if not a porch, formerly stood here. A flight of three steps leads down from these, and the rest of the area is perceptibly lower than the ground on the south, west, and north, and very slightly than that on the east. I remark this to shew, that as the place is in a hollow, it might have been used for a garden, but not for public executions. Below the pavement is the rock, which lies at the same level under the interior of the church, and under the floors of the buildings on each side, east and west. The cistern at the south-east corner of the place is a stronger proof that it was not used for executions. The court is bounded on the west side by the chapels belonging to the Greek convent of S. Constantine; and at the north-west corner is the bell-tower, erected between the years A.D. 1160 and A.D. 1180, and mutilated A.D. 1187 by the loss of the lantern which originally surmounted it. The Greeks have made rooms in it, which are now occupied by the monks[402]. On the east side is the Greek convent of S. Abraham; on the ground-floor of which are two chapels, one belonging to the Armenians and the other to the Abyssinians: through the latter the roof of the chapel of S. Helena, on the east, can be reached. Inside the convent of S. Abraham the Greeks point out to the credulous the spot where Melchizedek planted the first olive; on which one of those trees is still growing. They also shew the spot where he made the first bread, and that on which Abraham offered up his son Isaac. The architecture of the south façade of the church belongs to the twelfth century, and the work was evidently left unfinished. From what remains it is difficult to deduce the architect's original plan. The position of the bell-tower might lead us to suppose that there would be another corresponding with it on the opposite (eastern) side; but then the Chapel of the Agony, with its precious contents, would be covered over, together with the part below the Golgotha, which must of necessity have been mutilated, if, as would seem probable, other doors had been made into the church. Let us however examine the building which is still left to us. On the level of the ground are two doorways, and above them two windows with arches similarly pointed[403]. The arches of the doorways are composed of three archivolts finely carved, which spring from three columns of verd antique, placed in the re-entering angles of the piers of each door[404]. The capitals of these columns, which are skilfully executed, are a Byzantine imitation of the Corinthian order. The design of the cornice running along the top of the whole façade is also ancient. The bas-reliefs on the lintels of the tympana of the two doors are too well wrought to be the work of the twelfth century. The profiles of the figures on that above the western door are admirably executed, as well as their attitudes; they represent several scenes from the Gospels, as the entry into Jerusalem, the raising of Lazarus, and the Last Supper. The outlines of the leaves, flowers, fruit, birds, and men, on the other, are exquisite. The eastern doorway is built up; the other is the only entrance into the church, and consequently accidents frequently happen there during the Easter season[405]. By the side of the closed doorway is a staircase leading into the Chapel of the Agony, which is a square in plan, and is built against the south wall of the Calvary, communicating with that sanctuary by means of a window which has replaced an ancient door. This chapel was formerly a small ornamental terrace-roof, which served as an antechamber to the Calvary. Tradition asserts that the Emperor Heraclius brought back the true Cross into the church through this entrance. The Latins believe that the Virgin Mary remained upon this spot during the Passion of her Son whence its name is derived. The Greeks call it the Throne of S. Helena, but cannot give any reason for doing so. The rock does not lie immediately underneath this chapel, but there is a small oratory, dedicated to S. Mary of Egypt, which proves that the rock is not met with in any place round the present Calvary, but only on its summit. In the lower cornice of the Chapel of the Agony, towards the entrance to the oratory, is a carving of two four-footed animals (ideal monsters), which, in my opinion, is a _chef d'oeuvre_, and, like all the other ornaments on the outside of this chapel, well worth notice. Besides the two doors in the above façade, the church had another on the west opening into Patriarch Street (the Christian bazaar). This, owing to the difference in level, gave access to the lower gallery of the great rotunda; it is now closed up. It is first mentioned by Edrisi, A.D. 1154, that is, some years after the choir had been finished by the Crusaders[406]. There is no doubt that it was made between the years A.D. 1140 and A.D. 1150. It is ornamented by two columns with capitals, from which springs a pointed arch closely resembling those in the south façade[407]. There appears to have been another entrance from the terrace of the Abyssinians on the east side, because a doorway can be seen there, apparently of the time of the Crusades, which is now built up. I may also remark that the terrace-roofs over the church are divided (as is shewn by the Plan) between the Greeks and the Mohammedans, and that the latter have the right of entering the gallery under the dome in the great rotunda. The Latins are now anxious to close the door communicating with the roof, but the Greeks are unwilling to allow it. Hence have arisen disputes that will greatly retard the repair of the dome, which at one time seemed likely to be commenced without delay. Most certainly the terrace-roofs of the church ought not to be private property, but should wholly belong to the edifice; and when this change is brought about, which will not be done without much difficulty and great firmness, there will be fewer dissensions, and the church will not be allowed to fall to ruin. But it is now time to take my reader within the building. On entering the church we see on the left side of the door a chamber constructed of masonry, which is used as a _divan_ by the Mohammedan guard, placed there to keep the keys and put down any tumults that may arise in the building. The presence of these men not unfrequently hurts the feelings of the Christian pilgrim, who is indignant at finding Mohammedans in possession of the Holy Sepulchre, and is the more offended by seeing them sitting there at their ease, gossiping, smoking, and drinking the coffee supplied to them by the various religious communities occupying the church. To the stranger, who is unacquainted with the real state of affairs, it must, I allow, appear most unseemly; but a longer residence in the country would shew him that it is in reality wisely ordered, because these men do not enter into the disputes which so frequently arise between the different sects of Christians, and thus are able to appease strifes, and act with a moderation and forbearance, which would be impossible to any member of the contending parties. Indeed, there is much need of these at the Easter season, when the pilgrims are thronging to or from the different services. Formerly these guards demanded a considerable fee for admission into the Sepulchre; and not only the religious communities resident in the city, but also strangers who came to visit the Holy Places, were obliged to pay a certain sum. The whole of the money thus received was applied to the support of the poor in the Hospital of S. Helena (of which I shall presently speak). The charge is however no longer made, but they are glad to receive a small present from any one who enters the church at an unusual time. This they never refuse, provided they can obtain the consent of one of the religious communities on the spot. On the right of the entrance is a staircase leading up to the Calvary, built against the door which is walled up from the outside: it belongs to the Latins, but they have no power to prevent any one from using it. A little further on is the entrance of the so-called Chapel of Adam (belonging to the Greeks), which, as I have already said, is situated under the north wing of the Calvary, and shews, at its east end, the fissure in the rock rent at our Saviour's death. Zuallardus, who visited Jerusalem A.D. 1586, states that this place was dedicated to S. John, but no one at the present day knows when the change was made. An altar, built of masonry, stands in the middle of the chamber at the east end. On its south side is a small hole, into which the pilgrim inserts his hand to touch the rock enclosing the skull of Adam, while a Greek monk relates to him that it was brought there by Noah, before the Flood began. The whole chamber is worth notice, because before the conflagration of 1808 it contained the tombs, which covered the dust of Godfrey of Bouillon and his brother Baldwin[408]. These monuments were removed by the Greeks, with the intention of destroying a conspicuous and obvious proof that the Sepulchre had once belonged to the Latins alone. The remains of the Latin kings however were not profaned, but were deposited, (as I was informed,) in a recess in the chamber on the south of the chapel under the south wing of the Calvary, where now the Greek guardian of the Sepulchre sits to receive the offerings of the pilgrims, and present them in return with trifles blessed within the walls of the Sanctuary. It is to be hoped that when Russia and France have completed the restoration of the dome, the Greeks will bring them forth from their hiding-place, and erect over them new monuments bearing the old inscriptions. On quitting the Chapel of Adam we find, at a short distance, a slab rising about six inches above the ground, called the Stone of Unction, because it is believed that on it the body of our Saviour was wrapt up with spices for burial. According to the monks, the actual stone cannot be seen, as it has been covered up to preserve it from the pilgrims, who would have carried it away piecemeal for relics. The account is plausible; but it is hard to understand how the spot could have been identified after the great changes wrought by the savage vandalism of Hadrian. Sanutus[409], who wrote in the fourteenth century, mentions this stone, but places it in the middle of the choir belonging to the Greeks. It is the joint property of the Latins, Greeks, and Armenians, who keep lamps and tapers constantly burning, that bear the devices of the community to which they belong. Passing over some unimportant objects, which are sufficiently described by their titles on the Plan, we enter the western part of the church, in which is the rotunda supporting the great dome[410]. This, as I have already said, is an example of the usual bad taste of the Greeks at Jerusalem. Its heavy and clumsy architectural features are not worth a description, and it is to be hoped that at the next restoration of the church, this structure will be replaced by one more worthy to cover the Holy Sepulchre. On the ground-floor of the rotunda are some chambers occupied by the monks of the different communities to which they belong, together with three passages leading up to the lower gallery, and another going to the so-called tombs of Joseph and Nicodemus. The two galleries above are divided among the different religious communities. The whole of the lower one, except the three central arches on the west, belongs to the Greeks, and the greater part of the upper to the Latins; the Armenians possessing the last six arches towards the east on the south side. The property of each party is marked by pictures attached to the pillars. Above the upper gallery are windows, some grated, the rest built up. The former look upon the terrace-roof, which belongs to the Greeks, and are employed by them; the latter used to communicate with a chamber in the building called the Hospice of Saladin; these were closed not many years ago. The dome is surrounded by a gallery belonging, as I have said, to the Greeks, and at the top, in the middle, is a circular opening enclosed by an iron grating, to prevent the Mohammedans who occupy the neighbouring houses from throwing anything into the building. However, the miracle-mongers relate that Jesus Christ was recalled to life from this place, and that no human power can ever close it up. Certain it is, that if the architect at the forthcoming restoration does not find some other means of admitting air and light into the dome, (no difficult task,) he will be obliged to leave an opening there, at any rate not less than the present; and the rain will continue to flood the pavement below, and injure the health of the Priests and acolytes who pass their time there. In the middle of the rotunda is the monument of the Holy Sepulchre[411], also an ugly Greek edifice of the date 1810. It is cased with Palestine breccia of a yellowish and reddish colour, which is found abundantly in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem; it takes as good a polish and produces the same effect as marble. A small rude chapel, belonging to the Abyssinians, rests against the west end of the building; it was erected between the years 1537 and 1540, when the Franciscan fathers, then the sole guardians of the Sanctuary, were prisoners at Damascus. At the east ends of the north and south walls of the monument are two oval openings; these are chiefly used in distributing the Holy Fire on Easter Eve; that famous and scandalous ceremony by which the Greeks and Armenians profane the Redeemer's Tomb. The upper part of the monument is a flat terrace-roof, and at the west end of it is a small tasteless dome, covering an opening that communicates with the lower chamber of the Sepulchre; this, as well as the other at the east end, has doubtless been made for ventilation and for the escape of the smoke from the lamps and tapers, which are kept constantly burning within: but, as every object in the church must have its legend, the monks relate that from the first Christ was raised, and by the second the angel departed, who had rolled away the stone from the Sepulchre. Round the terrace-roof are holes, by which the rain, falling from the opening above, runs off by drains into a cistern inside the Latin convent, to the north of the rotunda. Before the door are a number of standards for candles, belonging to the Latins, Greeks, and Armenians. In the upper part of the front at the centre, is a picture belonging to the Latins, who, as first, have the right of performing service inside the Tomb. The Greeks, as second, are on the right, and the Armenians on the left. On great solemnities the different communities adorn the space allotted to them with gold and silver lamps and flowers, so as nearly to cover the whole façade. A large awning is extended over the building, and whenever a new one is necessary, as was the case in 1859, these three communities share the cost and divide the old one. With their portions the Greeks and Armenians recover the greater part of their contributions from the Oriental pilgrims, who are most anxious to possess a scrap. We will now proceed to examine the interior of the Sepulchre. Directly on entering the door we see on either hand two staircases, constructed in the thickness of the east and side walls, and leading to the terrace-roof. That on the north belongs solely to the Latins; the other to the Greeks, who however are bound to allow the Armenians to use it on certain occasions. Within are two chambers; the eastern is called the Chapel of the Angel, the western is the actual Tomb in which our Lord's body was laid. The former of these two is undoubtedly built upon the rock, which I saw and touched immediately under the marble pavement, when some slight repairs were being made. Its walls, where they can be seen in the side staircases and the two apertures mentioned above, are of masonry, but the other parts are concealed by a casing of slabs of Palestine breccia. In the middle of this outer chamber is a small pedestal, which (according to tradition) marks the spot where the angel sat after rolling away the stone from the Sepulchre[412]. In the building are a great number of lamps, supplied by the Latins, the Greeks, and the Armenians; two only belong to the Copts. The upper part of the walls of the Tomb itself is also masonry, but the lower is formed by the native rock. I have been able to ascertain this for myself at two points; one at the small entrance-door, which is entirely hewn in the rock, and the other in the interior of the Chapel of the Abyssinians, in which, after purchasing the privilege, I was on several occasions shut up, so that I worked undisturbed, and was able to see the rock at a height of about four feet above the ground. As the interior of the building is covered with slabs of marble, it is at the present time quite impossible to succeed in discovering the rock from within; and I did not attempt it, being satisfied of its existence by the testimony of most trustworthy witnesses who had seen it during the repairs in 1808 and 1810. One of these was the Franciscan father Tryphon, who died at Jerusalem in 1857, at the age of 86; another was an aged Greek monk, an Archimandrite, of the great convent of S. Constantine. From the information supplied by them, and from my own observations, I have drawn the line of the rock in the section-plan of the present tomb. In confirmation of the accuracy of my informants, themselves men of education, I can bring forward the following extracts from the accounts of various authors and pilgrims in former times. Arculf[413], who saw it in the seventh century, thus describes it: "It was a small round room, hewn out of the solid rock, which could contain nine men standing in prayer side by side. The roof was about a foot and a half above the head of a tall man; on the east side was a small door. The tomb, properly speaking, was hewn in the north wall of the room. It was formed by a bed seven feet long, large enough to hold a man stretched upon his back, placed under a low recess hewn in the rock. It might be termed a sarcophagus open on one side, or a small grotto with the opening to the south; the lower edge of the bed was three palms above the ground. The rock was red veined with white, and still bore the marks of the tools by which it had been hewn out." From the numerous notices of it during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, I select that of Willibrand of Oldenburg[414]. "The rock ... which, still uninjured, and cased with marble, is exposed in three places to the touch and kisses of pilgrims." It was visited during the fifteenth century by Breydenbach, who writes as follows[415]: "The cave, in which is the Lord's Sepulchre, is wholly cased with marble on the outside, but inside is the native rock, just as it was at the time of the burial." In the beginning of the present century it was seen by Abbé Mariti, before the fire of 1808; his account[416] agrees with those just quoted, and confirms the testimony given me by eye-witnesses. It seems then impossible to deny that the Tomb of Christ still exists upon the traditionary site, and that it in all respects resembles one of those sepulchral chambers, hewn in the rock, which can be seen at the present day in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem[417]; in which the corpse is extended upon a shelf, under an arched niche, excavated in one of the side walls of the tomb, some little distance above the ground. The arch above the shelf is indeed no longer to be seen, because it has been destroyed, perhaps during Hakem's reign: but the two side walls, which supported it at the head and foot of the shelf, still remain, and, encased with white marble, form the altar at which the Priests celebrate mass. It would be more satisfactory to the incredulous if this covering were removed, but if this were done the rock itself would not long remain. Each traveller and pilgrim would practise every possible device in order to obtain a fragment as a relic; and it would be a hard matter to persuade the Eastern pilgrims, and above all others, the Americans, to keep their hands off it. But still, although the rock is concealed, a strong proof of the existence of a tomb is afforded by the shape of the entrance, which has every appearance of the doorway of a sepulchral chamber, and closely corresponds with that leading to the Tombs of the Kings, which was closed with a large elliptical stone, still to be seen on the spot[418]. I consider however that its height has been since increased, in order to make a more convenient entrance; because it is now higher on the east than on the west, while in all the ancient sepulchres still existing the interior is higher than the exterior. We may then observe with what rigorous exactness the words of the Evangelists are verified by the appearance of the Tomb. S. Matthew[419] relates that an angel "_rolled_ back the stone from the door," using the precise word which would express the way in which the stone now at the Tombs of the Kings would have to be handled. S. Mark[420] relates that when Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James were on their way to the Sepulchre to embalm the Lord's body, they asked among themselves, "Who shall _roll us away_ the stone from the door of the Sepulchre?" and that, "when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away, _for it was very great_; and entering into the Sepulchre they saw a young man _sitting on the right side_," who shewed them the place where Jesus of Nazareth had been laid. The stone certainly would be _very great_, if it resembled that at the Tombs of the Kings; and without entering the sepulchral chamber they would be unable to see the angel and the place where the Lord had been laid, (on the _right_ side of the Sepulchre where it is now shewn,) both by reason of the thickness of the wall, in which the doorway was made, and because the niche was rather on one side of it. S. Luke[421] also speaks of the rolling away of the stone, and the necessity of entering the chamber before they could see that the Lord's body was not there. S. John[422] also mentions that the stone was removed, and describes the manner in which S. Peter and the other disciple looked into and entered the Sepulchre; just as would still have to be done, if the door had not been enlarged. Had not a pious vandalism been allowed to work its will from the age of Constantine to the present day, no one would be able to deny the existence of the Sepulchre; for all objections would be met by the presence of the outer chamber, which was also excavated in the rock, as in many examples still remaining in the neighbourhood of the city: but unhappily those parts of it which had escaped the injuries done by Hadrian, were completely swept away at the time when the first basilica was built, in order to isolate the Tomb itself, and exhibit it as an object of veneration in the centre of the rotunda. This can be inferred from the words of Eusebius[423]: "Is it not surprising to see this rock standing alone in the centre of a level space, with a cavern inside it?" S. Cyril, in the fourth century, writes more expressly; "For 'the cleft of the rock' he calls the cleft which was then at the door of the Salutary Sepulchre, and was hewn out of the rock itself, as it is customary here in the front of sepulchres. For now it appears not, the outer case having been hewn away for the sake of the present adornment; for before the Sepulchre was decorated by royal zeal there was a cave in the face of the rock[424]." Therefore, from the above evidence, we may draw the following conclusions: that an ancient Jewish sepulchre exists at this place, that over it Hadrian erected a temple to Venus, and that consequently this is the identical tomb in which the body of our Redeemer was laid. Within the Sepulchre itself, above the shelf, are three paintings; that in the centre belongs to the Latins, that on the right to the Greeks, and that on the left to the Armenians. In front of these the three communities place a certain number of tapers, vases of flowers, crosses, and other objects; and when they differ about the arrangement of these things, or of the numerous lamps which hang in the middle of the vault, that is to say, whenever one of the parties transgresses in the slightest degree the limit assigned to it by the Sultan's firman, or the agreements between the Convents, a quarrel soon breaks out; clamour, yells, and threats, are heard in the Sanctuary itself; and the combatants sometimes do not separate without broken bones. These scenes, however, are now becoming more unfrequent. In the middle of the west side of the rotunda is the entrance of a chapel belonging to the Syrians, and through the south wall of this we pass into a small grotto, hewn in the rock, in which are some tombs said to have been made by Joseph of Arimathea, after he had given up his own; in these he and Nicodemus are said to have been buried. On the truth of the tradition I express no opinion; but certainly the existence of the rock above the level of the ground, and still more the presence of the tombs, is a strong proof of the genuineness of the Holy Sepulchre. Both here[425], and in the neighbouring chapel, the rock on rising from the floor mounts towards the west; thus indicating the lower level of the excavations round the Sepulchre. The tombs shew that the place must have been outside the walls before Agrippa traced out his new line on the north, because, as I have already observed, the Jewish law did not allow them to be among dwelling-houses. The antiquity of these tombs is placed beyond question by their shape, and by the marks left by the tools of the workmen who excavated them, which perfectly correspond with those that may still be examined in the numerous burying-places in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem. I must not omit to mention that two of the above-named tombs are very small; these have been begun, and left unfinished before reaching their full size; and any one who will take the trouble to visit the Tombs of the Judges[426] will see that they were excavated and completed in the same manner as these so-called Sepulchres of Joseph and Nicodemus, and that the same kind of instruments were used, of which I shall presently speak more particularly. I mention the Tombs of the Judges, because sepulchres may there be seen in different stages, finished and unfinished, of which there is no other example near Jerusalem. To the east of the rotunda is the Chapel of the Greeks[427], forming the great nave of the church, in which the rock is found immediately below the marble pavement. Its most remarkable feature is its regularity and uniformity. On the east is the Iconostasis, dividing the 'Holy of Holies' from the rest of the church. This, together with the side walls, is profusely gilded and covered with pictures and other ornaments, producing at first a striking effect, which however is soon effaced by the bad taste, evident not only in them, but also in the two Patriarchal thrones made of Palestine breccia. Above the choir rises a dome supported by four massive piers; a rude iron gallery runs round the drum, and it is lighted by four windows on the level of the Greeks' terrace-roof. The exterior of the drum is crowned by a cornice, apparently supported by little corbels ornamented with various incised carvings, for which many have sought symbolical interpretations; but, in reality, they are only fanciful Græco-Saracenic decorations. All the outer surface of the dome is covered with strong plaster to render it weather-proof; and a small spiral staircase winds outside to the summit, whence a fine panoramic view may be obtained, which gives the visitor a good idea of the topography of the ancient city. Inside the church a small pedestal rises from the middle of the pavement containing a stone ball encircled by crossing hoops, which is believed by the Eastern Christians to be the centre of the world. The idea that Jerusalem was at the centre of the universe has long prevailed among both Jews and Christians, founded, perhaps, on the words of Ezekiel[428], "Thus saith the Lord God, This is Jerusalem: I have set it in the midst of the nations and countries that are round about her." It is alluded to by Dante[429]: Now that horizon had the sun attained, By the high point of whose meridian clear Jerusalem with golden light is stained. The Greeks, undoubtedly, placed the pedestal to mark the centre of the Church of the Resurrection. Returning into the rotunda, and going out of it towards the north, we find the Latin Chapel, at the place where our Lord is said to have appeared to Mary after his Resurrection. It stands above the general level of the church; and the rock is found below its pavement, extending northward under the Latin Convent, where it rises toward the west; so that if the buildings were removed, it would be seen united to that at the tombs of Joseph and Nicodemus; thus affording another proof of the levelling made around the Sepulchre by Constantine. Inside the chapel an altar is pointed out, containing a fragment of the column, to which, according to tradition, our Lord was bound when He was scourged. By a door on the north we enter the Convent of the Franciscans, the guardians of the Holy Places. It can accommodate twelve monks and some pilgrims; but is unhealthy, being damp and ill ventilated. Leaving this chapel, and passing along the north aisle of the church, we find on the east, behind the Greek Church, a staircase leading down into the Chapel of S. Helena[430], belonging to the Armenians, the south side of which is partly formed by the rock. From the middle of it rises a dome, supported by four columns (of Egyptian granite) with Byzantine capitals[431], and surrounded by a terrace-roof occupied by the huts of the Abyssinians. Near the north-east corner of the chapel is a wooden altar, concealing a doorway, now built up; it communicated with a building called the Prince's House, which I shall presently notice. In the south-east corner is a kind of little balcony (erected by the Armenians in the 17th century), where, according to a false tradition, S. Helena stood while the workmen were seeking for the cross in the neighbouring cistern. This chapel was united to the main building by the Crusaders. In the south wall is a staircase, the steps of which are hewn out of the rock, though they are now covered up with stone slabs; it leads into a vault in which the Saviour's cross is believed to have been found, together with those of the two thieves, after lying hid there for 293 years. The legend is strongly supported by very ancient Eastern traditions. The interior, entirely excavated in the solid rock, corresponds in form with the cisterns so abundant in Jerusalem, and the holes still remain by which the water entered or was drawn out. The rock is a soft limestone, and differs from the fragment on the top of Golgotha; therefore I am inclined to believe that there is no connexion between the latter and this in the Chapel of the Invention of the Cross. The rough rock in this chamber, untouched and unaltered, appeals to my heart at least, far more than all the other places, buried as they are beneath marble and decorations; and I cannot but think that it would be a noble work to sweep away all obstructions in the present Church of the Holy Sepulchre, to clear the ground, and again expose the bare rock over the whole area; and, defending the Sepulchre itself against the elements with a dome, to enclose the whole with a cloister in a solemn and appropriate style of architecture. If this were done, the original appearance of the ground would be in some measure restored, and the Golgotha and the Sepulchre, the true trophies of Christianity, would be visible to all; unbelievers would be convinced by the evidence of their senses; and while all would be obliged to admit the genuineness of the sites, each one would be free to meditate in his own way upon the teachings of the very place consecrated by the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of his Redeemer. Will this hope ever be realized? Never, I fear; for then the present Church would cease to be the source of a large revenue, derived from the purses of ignorant and credulous pilgrims, who pay to obtain a blessing, or to secure a place at the distribution of the Holy Fire, or at some other ceremony, or to pass a night in the Sanctuary[432]. I now pause to consider and describe, more fully than I have hitherto done, the present appearance of the Calvary. The Golgotha is a platform supported by vaulted arches of masonry, reached by two flights of steps, one close to the entrance of the church, the other near the Stone of Unction. The latter belongs to the Greeks, but they allow it to be open to all. The whole area is divided into two chapels, north and south: in the former, called 'The Adoration of the Cross,' is the place where the cross was erected (as I have already said); it belongs to the Greeks; the latter, belonging to the Latins, is called the Chapel of the Crucifixion, because it is generally believed that on that spot the Saviour was nailed to the cross. In this the altar is well worth notice, as it is ornamented with a casing of bronze, on which are sculptured in bas-relief eight different scenes from the Passion of our Saviour. Its original shape has been altered, though without injury to the general effect, for it was made four-sided, as it was intended to be placed as a kind of fence round the Stone of Unction; but the Greeks would not allow anything belonging to the Latins to be used in their possessions, lest it should give their rivals a footing there. It is therefore now arranged as three sides of an oblong. It was given by Ferdinand de Medici, as is shewn by the following inscription on a plate at the foot of the altar: "The gift of the piety of Ferdinand de Medici, Grand-duke of Tuscany, 1588." The same inscription also occurs on the cornice surmounting the upper part of the altar. The carving is admirably executed; it is the work of Domenico Portigiani, a Florentine friar of the convent of S. Mark, and a pupil of the famous sculptor John of Bologna; as is recorded by the following inscription, placed beneath the name of the donor: "Made by Fra Domenico Portigiani, a friar of the convent of S. Mark at Florence in the province of Rome, in the year 1588." The arms of the Medici are sculptured at the four corners, and on the shield is a Cardinal's hat, because Ferdinand was already invested with this dignity in the year 1588. Having now finished the description of the interior of the church, I proceed to make some remarks upon the monks of the different communities who dwell there, and upon the pilgrims (especially the Orientals) who visit it. The monks of the Greek, Latin, Armenian, Coptic, Abyssinian, and Syrian communities have different chambers in the church, in which they live in order that they may keep constant watch over the Holy Places, and offer up continual prayer and praise to God. Though the space belonging to the Latins is roomy, it is nevertheless unhealthy from the constant damp, caused by the rain-water falling through the ruinous terrace-roofs above, which they cannot repair, as these do not belong to them, but to some Mohammedans. The owners are very jealous of their property, which brings them in an easy and ample revenue from the sums paid by the Latin and Greek convents, in the hope of abating the nuisance of the water. The Greeks and Armenians are better housed in their upper chambers, as the terrace-roofs above them do not belong to Mohammedans, and can therefore be easily repaired; but in their lower rooms they suffer with the Latins. The three poorer communities are exposed to constant damp, both from the bad repair of the dome, and from the situation of the church itself, which stands on low ground, commanded on all sides by higher buildings. All this, however, does not hinder the monks from being very eager to enter the place, and from leaving it with great reluctance when they are succeeded by others; and the pilgrims eagerly seek permission to remain, if only for one or two nights. The Latins give a chamber and bed to each visitor inside their convent, but the same comforts cannot be obtained among the other communities, both from the numbers that throng together, their station in life, and also the Eastern custom, which allows men and women to be crowded together in the same place without distinction of sex. Hence it comes to pass that from the end of October to Easter the galleries round the great dome belonging to the different sects (with the exception of the Latins), though close to the Holy Sepulchre, are crowded, almost every night, with pilgrims, who, after fervent prayer, eat, drink, sleep, smoke, and make coffee there, as they would do in an inn; nay, impelled by deep ignorance and blind fanaticism, carry into effect certain vows, which I cannot more particularly describe without offending my readers' modesty. In this way the Eastern pilgrims behave, and would do still worse, did not their father confessors and the monks in charge of the place, who are furnished with sticks and whips, make frequent use of them to maintain order. It is a well-established fact, and one of daily recurrence, that the rude Eastern pilgrim prays in the interior of each Holy Place, and then when he has gone away a few yards, forgets the sanctity of the building, and acts as he pleases. He may therefore often be seen in any part of the church, talking and discussing his private affairs with his friends; especially if it be a rainy day, and he can enter without payment. But this is nothing, absolutely nothing, in comparison with the scenes at the services before and during the Easter festival; especially when all the religious communities coincide in keeping it on the same day. The noise, the clamour, and the confusion are inconceivable; in one corner they are praying, in another walking about, laughing, and jesting. Sometimes it happens that the Latins are performing a noiseless service around the Sepulchre, and the Armenians are yelling like madmen, as they sing in their chapels; while the nasal tones of the Greeks ring through the building, and the frantic howls of the Copts and Abyssinians split the ears. If a procession takes place, it rather resembles a riot; the banners rise and fall, the tapers bespatter the spectators, the Turkish soldiers with fixed bayonets clear a way for the officiating Priests, the attendants belabour the noisier bystanders with sticks; some struggle for places and tumble over upon those below them; and all is a scene of pushing, struggling, and tumult, so that it is a lucky thing when quarrels do not ensue. Sometimes the jealousy of the rival sects breaks out around the very Sepulchre of Christ, and then occurs every frantic act that a senseless and barbarous people can commit. In times past it was not uncommon that lives were lost; either by suffocation in the dense crowd as it pressed to go out by the only door, at the conclusion of the services, or even by blows received in the fights. The clergy of Jerusalem know this by sad experience, and yet take no steps to put a stop to it, though it would not be difficult. The Greeks and Armenians will not abandon the ceremony of the Holy Fire[433] on Easter Eve, through fear that the number of pilgrims would decrease; since the greater part of them come to the city simply and solely to witness this so-called annual miracle. The Latins still continue to represent on the evening of every Good-Friday the descent from the Cross, and the interment of the Saviour's body; though, in Jerusalem, from the number and nature of the spectators of different religious sects, the scene is almost comic; when it is not rendered tragic by furious and sometimes fatal quarrels[434]. Whoever has visited the place at the Easter season will I am sure forgive me this description; and I venture to give the following advice to any one who has not, that if he is going there from a religious motive, he had better keep away at that time; but that if he is actuated simply by curiosity, he should not omit to go there; in which case he will admit the truth of my information. If during the last few years the services have gone off more quietly, and the quarrels been less violent, it is due to the careful oversight of Surraya Pasha, and the energy he has displayed in quelling the rising tumults. It is a thing much to be desired, that in this nineteenth century, the causes which excite the scandals and strifes around the sublimest of monuments, the Tomb of Christ, should be at last abolished. I conclude this subject by pointing out what are the most frequent causes of these furious disputes between the monks who occupy the Sepulchre. Since the church is divided among the different communities, each guards his rights with the utmost jealousy, and quarrels about the smallest trifle. A nail driven a little too much on the one side or the other of the boundary line, a slight repair of a wall or pavement without the consent of all the parties interested, a candlestick knocked down or taken away from a Sanctuary, a sweeper trespassing with his broom on the property of another sect, and dusting where he has no business, excites long and bitter recriminations, which are only put a stop to by the interference of the local authorities, and sometimes of the governments that protect the different religious bodies. After this somewhat long digression we will go on to consider the neighbourhood of the Church of the Resurrection. On the east is the terrace-roof above the Church of S. Helena, the exclusive property of the Abyssinians; to the west of this are some houses belonging to the monks, who also possess some wretched dens on the south, abutting on an old wall, in which is an arcade of five arches, supported by four pillars with plain capitals; over this runs a cornice, above which are five pointed windows of the time of the Crusades. From some notices in Greek manuscripts preserved in the convent of S. Saba, it appears that a church was erected on this spot by S. Helena, in honour of the Holy Cross; but this present building, if standing at that time, could not have escaped the ravages of Chosroes II. of Persia and of Hakem; and we must therefore refer it to a later date. Accordingly I perfectly agree with the opinion expressed by M. de Vogüé in his chapter on the Hospital. This author thinks that the Church of S. Mary Latin occupied this position, a building with a single nave; and this is strongly corroborated by a passage in the Gesta Francorum[435], which asserts distinctly that the first Crusaders found it at the south of the Church of the Invention of the Cross, and a stone's throw from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. He therefore considers these ruins to belong to a building erected in the middle of the twelfth century, on the site of a church built by the merchants of Amalfi in the eleventh century; when it was found necessary to establish a church, with a convent and hospice to receive all the women who came as pilgrims, in order to keep them separate from the Hospice of S. Mary the Great, presided over by monks, at the south of this, which I shall presently notice[436]. The plot of land on which are the ruins of S. Mary Latin was acquired by the Russians in 1858. In 1860 they began to clear away a quantity of rubbish and earth, the accumulation of centuries, in order to lay the foundations of a house for the Consulate; and, in the course of the removal, fragments of walls and buildings were found of an earlier date than the Crusades. History informs us that some houses were erected on this spot by native labourers for the Amalfi merchants; and in accordance with this we do not find in these remains that precision and perfectness of execution which characterizes work executed with European aid. I endeavoured to connect the walls with the mutilated building; but I found it impossible to restore them sufficiently to draw out a plan of any sort; the ruin wrought by time and man is too complete. I have already mentioned that some remains of an ancient Jewish wall were found during the excavations in this same plot of land, and now add that, below it, near to the street on the east, there seems to have been a portico, some fragments of columns of black granite having been found there. M. de Vogüé, who arrived at Jerusalem after my departure, and during the progress of the excavations, will no doubt have made further discoveries; and it is to be hoped that before long we shall have them described by so able and learned an explorer. The 'House of the Prince' is a house to the north of S. Mary Latin, shewing on the exterior architectural features of a period before the Crusades; these, however, have all disappeared from the interior, where now nothing is to be seen but some party-walls of Arab workmanship, built at different periods, most of them not long ago, in order to divide it into small separate tenements. It belongs to the Franciscan convent, which gives free lodging there to the poorest of their nation. How and when it obtained its name I have not been able to ascertain: there is, however, a tradition that Godfrey of Bouillon occupied it during his short reign; this is not improbable in itself, but is unconfirmed by history; and William of Tyre[437] states that the palace of the Latin king was near the Temple on the south side; meaning by the Temple the present area of the _Haram es-Sherîf_. In a manuscript belonging to the Franciscans (preserved in the Convent of S. Saviour) we find that "from the House of the Prince to the Sepulchre was a subterranean passage, through which they went to the Church of the Sepulchre." From this I was led to examine the spot, and found, on the west side of the house, an aperture level with the ground leading into a subterranean passage, bearing the appearance of antiquity; but it was so filled up with rubbish that I was unable to examine it thoroughly; nevertheless I believe that it communicated with the Chapel of S. Helena, just at the doorway now walled up, and that its entrance is covered by the altar nearest to the north-east corner. On the west of the House of the Prince is a Coptic convent, built upon a part of the land formerly occupied by the Canons of the Holy Sepulchre; its chapel is worth a visit; it is of the twelfth century, and no doubt was originally either the refectory or the dormitory of the ecclesiastics. From the interior of this convent the open court in front of the Church of the Resurrection can be reached, by passing through a chapel at its north-west corner. Returning through the entrance gate into the street (which I call Prince's Street) we come to the so-called cistern of S. Helena, on the left hand. We enter a chamber serving as a refuge to some poor Abyssinian families; the inner walls are ancient, together with the small doorway on the north, by which we begin to descend a dark and most ruinous staircase, that 'craves wary walking;' however, after going down thirty very awkward steps, we enter the vault, and the staircase at once becomes perfectly regular, so much so as to appear more like the way into a comfortable house than into a cistern; for each step is 5 feet long, 1-1/2 wide, and about 8 inches deep. The staircase (including its vaulted roof) and the whole reservoir are excavated in the rock. The latter is about 86 feet long, 72 wide, and 52 high. I was able to examine it thoroughly in September, 1858, when it was dry. Holes are made in the vaulted roof and walls, through which it is supplied by rain-water from the terrace-roofs of the neighbouring houses and from the street to the north. This I ascertained by descending into it during a time of heavy rain. There are some small openings on the south-east to carry off superfluous water. The construction of this is attributed to S. Helena (like everything else in Palestine); but its magnitude induces me to consider it Jewish work of an earlier period. Besides, what motive could she have had for making it? It could not be for want of a reservoir; there were plenty of them at Jerusalem then as now; and it is not likely that she would have wasted money to no purpose, when there were so many works of benevolence and greater utility, on which she knew well how to spend it. In the north-west corner of the Plan[438] is the mosque of Ibrahim, situated in the interior of the _Kanki_, called the Hospice of Saladin; because he richly endowed it to enable it to entertain the Mohammedan pilgrims to the Holy City; and at the same time erected the minaret, which is still standing, and restored the entrance-gate. During the time of the Crusaders it was the palace of the Patriarch of Jerusalem, whence the adjoining street is called Patriarch's Street. The lower parts of its walls on the north and west are ancient and strongly built; but the upper as well as the interior of the building, have greatly suffered from wretched Arab alterations, so that it is difficult to form any idea of its former internal plan. In the Christian bazaar on the west the wall throughout its whole height and the pilasters are unquestionably of the date of the Crusades, together with the chambers within on the ground-floor and story above; as is proved by their pointed arches, with the columns and capitals supporting them. They are now used as storehouses for the grain received by the governor: and as the Hospice has no longer any revenues, it will before long become the property of one of the Christian communities. The staircase inside at the north entrance is the only part of the building that retains its former grandeur uninjured. Let us now turn our attention to the Hospital. The visitor, on quitting the court in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre by the door at the south-east corner, enters a small street[439], and passing along this to the east, comes, after a few yards, to a great doorway with a semicircular arch, standing on the south side of the way, and adorned with figures representing the twelve months of the year; above the arch some traces of a lamb, the emblem of the Hospitalers of Jerusalem, can still be distinguished[440]. This gateway is now walled up, and very much hidden by the accumulated earth; and before the year 1858 it was impossible for any one to go along that way without suffering from nausea, besides wetting his feet with the foul mire, and encountering a pack of savage hungry dogs that haunted the place--nuisances caused by a tannery. The court within and the buildings round it were as bad as the street; so that the place was hardly fit to be visited, being covered with carcases of animals and the most abominable filth. The inhabitants of Jerusalem are indebted to Surraya Pasha for the removal of this pestiferous evil; and the Christians above all, who have thus obtained a decent approach to their principal Sanctuary; and can visit, not the prison of S. Peter, as the ignorant guides call it, but the remains of the time of the Amalfi merchants and the Knights Hospitaler of S. John; of which I will now give a brief account. The amicable relations between Harûn er-Rashîd, Khalif of Bagdad, and Charlemagne, were of the utmost advantage to the Christians at Jerusalem, and induced the French Monarch to send large gifts thither, A.D. 810, in order to restore the churches, to build hospices, and purchase lands for their endowment. The monk Bernard, who visited Jerusalem in the year 870 A.D., writes as follows[441]: "On our arrival at Jerusalem we were entertained at the hospice of the glorious Emperor Charles, where all are welcomed who visit the place from a devout motive and speak the Latin language. To it is attached a church in honour of S. Mary, with a noble library, due to the care of the same Emperor, with twelve houses, fields, vineyards, and a garden in the valley of Jehoshaphat. In front of the hospice is the market, &c." This establishment was inhabited by Benedictine monks. In the year 1010 A.D., Hakem, Khalif of Egypt, destroyed this building, as it was near the Church of the Resurrection; but when it was rebuilt, another hospice, together with the Church of S. Mary, was also founded. William of Tyre states[442] that "certain merchants of Amalfi, who had obtained the favour of the Governors of the cities of Syria by importing useful and needful goods and by their quiet and peaceable conduct, obtained permission from Belfagar (Abu-'l-Giafar?), Sultan of Egypt, to rebuild a monastery in the Christian quarter to receive pilgrims, minister to the sick, and practise every kind of charity." To this building and the church, which they dedicated to the Virgin Mary, they attached offices for the inmates, together with a public market, in which any one could establish a shop on paying a rent of two pieces of gold to the Patriarch and his clergy. This was opposite to the Church of the Resurrection, and a stone's throw to the south of the Church of the Invention of the Cross, as I have already said[443]. When the buildings were finished these merchants placed in them an Abbot with his attendant monks, and as these performed the service in Latin, while the rest of the clergy in the place followed the rites of the Greek Church, their church obtained the name of S. Mary Latin[444]. Afterwards the monks assigned to an order of nuns a convent which they had founded outside their property to the north, and dedicated to S. Mary Magdalene; giving it the name of S. Mary Latin the Less; but these institutions always bore the name of 'Latin[445].' In course of time the number of pilgrims became larger, so that the monks were obliged to increase their accommodation, and built a hospital and another church to the west, which they dedicated to S. John, Patriarch of Alexandria, called 'the Almsgiver,' from the noble liberality with which he had succoured the Christians who had taken refuge in Egypt, when Palestine was invaded by Chosroes II. This new foundation was supported by abundant alms, collected in Italy by the help of the Amalfi merchants. When the Crusaders made their triumphant and bloody entry into Jerusalem, they found the convents of S. Mary Latin in the above situation, and quite uninjured[446]. The hospital at that time was presided over by a monk named Gerald, and the nunnery by a noble Roman lady named Agnes[447]. When the Latin kingdom was established, Gerald found fellow-labourers in his works of benevolence; who, together with him, were distinguished by a black dress, relieved by a white cross on the breast, and devoted themselves to the relief of the sick, the poor, and the pilgrims. Such was the origin of the Fraternity of S. John. Agnes adopted the same rules, so far as concerned the ministrations among the poor, and the two communities chose S. John the Baptist as their joint protector[448]. So long as the brothers were poor and few in number, they remained under the rule of the Abbot; but when they found means, and had obtained powerful protectors on account of the eminent services they had rendered, they spurned his jurisdiction (about A.D. 1113), and between the years 1118 and 1159 formed themselves into an organized body, respected for their prowess in arms as champions of the Faith; and their white and black flag, an emblem of the faith they professed and the death they menaced to its enemies, waved over many a glorious field in Syria. The knights, being compelled to quit Jerusalem after its capture by Saladin, removed to Margat, then to S. Jean d'Acre, between the years 1187 and 1192; afterwards they remained about twenty years in the city of Limasol in Cyprus; thence they went to Rhodes (A.D. 1309-1522); and being driven from that island by the conquests of the Turks, they established themselves at Malta, and took the name of the country they had adopted. During the earlier part of my stay in Jerusalem (1855-6), a certain member of the order, a man of a chivalrous and philanthropic spirit, was desirous of re-establishing it upon its primitive footing; but the obstacles in the way of his project appeared so great, that the attempt was soon abandoned. His intention was to obtain possession of the property that had formerly belonged to the knights; a matter itself of the greatest difficulty, as the land was divided among several owners (the Greek convent having the largest part), who would not give up a foot without the fullest compensation. It now remains for me to say a few words about the present condition of these buildings. The Plan[449] shews the positions of the Hospital of S. John, of S. Mary the Great, and S. Mary the Less, with reference to the Church of the Resurrection. All three in the present day are but heaps of ruins; only a few walls remain standing, the greater number being so completely buried under a mass of earth and rubbish, that little or nothing can be ascertained about their ancient arrangement. We will however examine their exterior and interior. On the north side, towards the north-west corner, are some regular Arab cottages; and going eastward from them, we come to a minaret, built in the fifteenth century, in memory of the spot whereon Omar offered up prayer, instead of entering the Church of the Resurrection. Before the erection of the minaret, Khahab-ed-Din, nephew of Saladin, built a mosque called _Derkah_[450] on an adjoining plot of land; this had so completely fallen to decay, that but a few fragments of its foundations were remaining in 1855; over which the Mohammedans, actuated rather by fanaticism than religious feeling, built the slight octagonal monument called the Mosque of Omar. Opposite to the Church of the Resurrection is the Greek convent of Gethsemane; in the lower part of its walls are some fragments of ancient work. After this all along the little street (except at the decorated entrance) are small ill-built shops, covered with a great heap of earth, which often slips down during the rainy season. Inside these shops a careful search will discover some poor fragments of antiquity; such as mutilated capitals, broken bases, and carefully worked stones, built into rough Arab masonry. The east side exhibits similar cottages from the north-east corner as far as the door leading into the bazaar, which, together with the others near it on the east (though all are in the most neglected and ruinous condition), shews signs of antiquity in the walls and vaulting. I consider them to be the work of the Amalfi merchants, restored at a later period by the Crusaders. In the shops occupied by the braziers, on the west side of the bazaar bounding this plot of land, are some old passages which communicated with the interior of the hospital; but now many of them are walled up or obstructed with ruins. I managed however to get through certain of them, after some trouble, in order to reach the building near them on the west. At the eastern end of the south side are small houses and Arab shops; which however soon give place to the building now called from its use the Corn Bazaar; which in its well-laid walls, pointed arches, and solid vaults, shews plainly the work of the Hospitalers. I endeavoured to enter by the north side, where at the present time the stalls are placed, but was prevented by the accumulated earth; however I was able to ascertain that piers and vaulted roofs still remain in the northern part of the bazaar. The sentence of death is executed on criminals in this place. Going thence up the street westward, we see on the north side a row of fine columns, supporting grand pointed arches, now closed with Arab masonry. In the wall are doors opening into vaulted chambers like those in the bazaar. These were formerly the storehouses of the hospital; they now belong to different owners, the Greek convent possessing the largest share. The arcade towards the west is broken by a very high common Arab wall, enclosing the south side of the Greek convent of S. John Baptist; the entrance to which is in the Christian bazaar, which bounds the Hospital on the east. All the interior of the convent is modern Arab masonry, but some debased Corinthian capitals are built irregularly into the façade of the church; some more are to be seen in other parts, placed upon ancient bases of columns. These were discovered when the convent was enlarged towards the east. The crypt of the church, reached by an external staircase on the south side, is an uninjured building of the Hospitalers; in its east wall is a doorway with a pointed arch, closed to prevent the earth falling in. The rock lies about two feet below the pavement, and was discovered nearly at the same depth to the south of the convent, when the Prussian hospital was built; so that the correspondence of these levels proves the nonexistence of Dr Robinson's Tyropoeon. Going northward along the Christian bazaar, we come to a Turkish bath on the east side, supplied during a large portion of the year from the pool commonly called the Pool of Hezekiah[451]. The refuse water is carried off by a conduit, emptying itself into that which runs along the Street of David. I have examined it at the two ends, and also in the interior of the convent, through the kindness of the Greek Prior. Its lower part is hewn in the rock; but the side walls and vaulting belong to the period of the Crusaders; it is too narrow to be traversed. From the bath up to the north-west corner are storehouses and wretched buildings, all of the commonest Arab work. The present entrance into the precincts of the Hospital is near the western end of the northern side. Within, a spacious plateau meets the eye, formed by the earth which has accumulated at different periods; in the north-east corner is a very ruinous building; on the east it is bounded by the vaults of the bazaars below; these are very dilapidated and covered by a luxuriant vegetation of creeping plants, which daily makes the ruin worse; on the south are the fallen terrace-roofs of the ancient halls mentioned above; in the south-west corner stand the walls of the Convent of S. John; on the west, the low walls dividing it from the little gardens, terraces, and Mohammedan houses; and on the north, what we have already described. The plateau itself, on which there are no houses, belongs to the Greek Convent of S. Constantine; the building on the north-east is the property of the Governor, and in 1858 would have been sold to the Greeks or the Armenians, if M. Edmond de Barrère, the French Consul, had not actively interposed to prevent it, in the hope that it might one day be restored, if not to the knights of Malta, at least to France. Let us then enter it. Its plan is that of a poor convent with an inner court, round which still runs a cloister on the level of the ground; though it has been transformed by the tanners, who have made the space between each pair of pillars into shops. The upper floor of the cloister is perfect, with the cells within. Opening into it on the south side is a long hall, little injured, which was probably the refectory; and parallel to this are two smaller chambers, in a tottering condition[452]. On the north of the convent[453] are some ruins of a church, sufficiently perfect to give us an idea of its ancient form. It had three apses at the east end; the southern of these is still standing; the fragments of the others are nearly covered by heaps of earth, as are portions of the side walls. We can ascertain its original length from a part of the west wall, which is still standing, though enclosed in a mass of Arab cottages, against which are the remains of two piers with their bases perfect. From these ruins I can infer that the church was divided into a nave with two side aisles. I consider the remains, both of the convent and of the church, to be the work of the Amalfi merchants. Their architecture, proportions, and masonry are too contracted and insignificant to be of the period of the Crusaders, who however undoubtedly built the great entrance gateway, and perhaps restored the church; this latter point, however, cannot easily be determined, as the building is in such a ruined condition. Close to the apse still standing is a door, leading into a long dark chamber, which is exhibited as the prison in which S. Peter was confined by Herod Agrippa I. The tradition is worthless, and not so old as the time of the Crusaders; who, on their entry into Jerusalem, found on Mount Sion a church dedicated to the imprisonment of S. Peter, standing on the supposed site of the prison. The place may be considered to be the sacristy of the ancient church, which communicated with the convent. At the present time there are some richly ornamented capitals within it of excellent workmanship, together with some cornices; all however are out of their proper places, being either built into the walls or lying on the ground. These ruins belong to the church of S. Mary the Great. All authors previous to the fifteenth century are unanimous on this point. John of Würtzburg[454], who visited Jerusalem in the second half of the twelfth century, states that "near the Church of the Hospital of S. John is a nunnery in honour of the Virgin, almost close to the end of the church; it is called S. Mary the Great." This, formerly the monastery, was now inhabited by the Sisters Hospitaler under the charge of an Abbess, and was a dependency of the Grand Master of the Order. Agnes was the foundress, as I have already said; and she was succeeded by other ladies of rank: two of whom are mentioned by William of Tyre[455], one called Sibylla, the other Stephania, a daughter of Jocelin (Senior) Count of Edessa. The ruins of S. Mary the Great have been preserved because Saladin founded a hospital there, which he richly endowed; but its revenues are now exhausted. It is not fifty years, since a philanthropic Mohammedan of Jerusalem endeavoured to re-establish the charitable foundations of Saladin, but the managers have again squandered the property. It is now quite deserted and has become a receptacle of filth, waiting every day to be applied to some other purpose. Let us now look for the position of the Hospital, which is well defined[456]. It occupied a piece of land bounded on the north by the court in front of the door of the Holy Sepulchre and by Palmers Street[457], formerly the Tan-yard Street; on the west by Patriarch Street, or the Christian bazaar; and on the east and south by a small street which, beginning from Palmers Street, opposite to the Sepulchre, ran southward between the convent of S. Mary the Great and the Hospital, and turning to the west led into Patriarch Street[458]. The principal buildings, with the church, were erected between A.D. 1130 and 1140, under the superintendence of Raymond of Puy, Grand Master of the Hospital. William of Tyre relates that they were so large, especially those opposite to the door of the Church of the Sepulchre, that they surpassed it in magnificence; besides which they had a large peal of bells, whose sound drowned the voice of the Patriarch when he was preaching on the Calvary. No part of these splendid buildings now remains perfect; all are a mass of ruins, or covered with earth and Arab cottages. Sir John Maundeville, who visited Jerusalem A.D. 1322, found the hospital still standing, and states that it was supported by 124 columns of stone and 54 pilasters built into the wall[459]. I was therefore very anxious to examine the ground in the hope of finding some remains of these. I carried on excavations for many days in various directions: I forced my way with great difficulty from vault to vault; but found neither fragments of columns nor capitals, only very many pilasters. I discovered a large crypt by chance; for the ground gave way under my feet, and I fell into it; but it was so filled with earth that I could not explore it. When the Greeks remove the ruins in order to build upon this site, it may be possible to discover some remains of the ancient walls, and perhaps to make out something about its arrangement. FOOTNOTES: [372] Note I. [373] S. John xix. 20. [374] S. Luke xxiii. 27. [375] S. John xix. 31. [376] S. John xix. 14. [377] S. Matt. xxvii. 45, 46. [378] Mischna, 4th part, _Bava-bathra_, c. II., § 8. [379] Page 30. [380] S. John xix. 41. [381] S. Matt. xxvii. 60, 61; S. Luke xxiii. 55; S. John xix. 38, 39, 41, 42. [382] S. Matt. xxvii. 62-64. [383] S. Matt. xxvii. 66; xxviii. 4. [384] Treatise Sanhedrim, fol. 43 (Venet. edit.). [385] Ant. XX. 9, § 1. [386] Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. III. 5. [387] Ibid. IV. 6. [388] Note II. [389] Euseb. Vita Constant. III. 26, 28. [390] Note III. [391] Histoire de l'État présent de Jer. ch. IV. [392] Note IV. [393] Eutychius, Ann. Tom. II. pp. 421-423. [394] So William of Tyre reports, Lib. I. c. 3, but Cedrenus attributes their destruction to Azis, father of Hakem. I am inclined to credit the former, because, according to historians, Azis shewed kindness to the Christians, having married a wife from among them, the sister of John, Patriarch of Jerusalem, (Dositheus' History of the Patriarchs of Jerusalem); while all agree in depicting Hakem as a savage bloodthirsty tyrant; so that it is in the highest degree improbable that (as some assert) he restored the churches destroyed by Azis. Cedrenus betrays his own mistake when he says that Azis burnt the patriarch and the church together, A.D. 968; whereas he did not ascend the throne till A.D. 975. [395] Note V. [396] Note VI. [397] Plate XXXI. [398] Note VII. [399] Plates XXX., XXXIV. [400] Note VIII. [401] As for example, Maria the Portuguese, a nun of the third order of S. Francis, A.D. 1578, and Cosimo of Granada, a Franciscan friar, A.D. 1559. [402] For details of the capitals of the columns in it see Plate XXXVI. [403] See M. de Vogüé's excellent description, Les Églises de la Terre Sainte, p. 199 et seq. [404] Plates XXXII., XXXIII. [405] Note IX. [406] Note X. [407] Plate XXXVI. [408] Note XI. [409] Liber Secretorum Fidelium Crucis, Lib. III. pars 14, c. 8; Note XII. [410] Plates XXXIV., XXXV. [411] Plate XXXV. [412] S. Matt. xxviii. 2. [413] Mabillon, Acta Sanctorum, Sæc. 3, pars 2. [414] Itinerarium Terræ Sanctæ in Leo Allatius, Symmikta, ed. 1653, p. 147. [415] Itinerarium Hierosolymitanum, p. 40, ed. of 1486. [416] Note XIII. [417] Plates LVI., LIX. [418] Plate LVI. [419] S. Matt. xxviii. 2. [420] S. Mark xvi. 1-6. [421] S. Luke xxiv. 2, 3. [422] S. John xx. 1, 4, 5, 6. [423] Euseb. Theoph. See Lee's translation, p. 199, Camb. 1843. [424] S. Cyril, Catechet. Lect. XIV. (Library of the Fathers, Vol. II. p. 169). [425] Plate XXXIV. (section). [426] Plate LIX. [427] Plate XXXV. [428] Ezek. v. 5. [429] Inferno, II. 1 (Wright). [430] Plate XXXV. [431] Plate XXXVI. [432] I except the Latins from this reproach. [433] Note XIV. [434] Note XV. [435] Gesta Francorum expugnantium Hierusalem (Gesta Dei per Francos, Tom. I. p. 573, ed. 1611). [436] Les Églises de la Terre Sainte. De Vogüé, pp. 249, 262 et seq. [437] Lib. XII. c. 7 (Gesta Dei per Francos, Tom. II. pp. 819, 820, ed. 1611). [438] Plate XXX. [439] Note XVI. [440] Plate XXXVII. [441] Recueil de Voyages et de Mémoires publiés par la Société de Géographie. 4to. Vol. IV. p. 789. [442] Lib. XVIII. c. 4 (Gesta Dei per Francos, Tom. II. pp. 933, 934, ed. 1611). [443] Page 125. [444] Note XVII. [445] William of Tyre, Lib. IX. c. 18 (Gesta Dei per Francos, Tom. II. p. 773, ed. 1611). [446] Albert of Aix, Lib. VI. c. 25 (Gesta Dei per Francos, Tom. I. p. 281, ed. 1611). [447] William of Tyre, Lib. XVIII. c. 5 (Gesta Dei per Francos, Tom. II. p. 935, ed. 1611). [448] See Sæwulf's description, Note V. [449] Plate XXX. [450] Mejir-ed-Din, p. 123. [451] Plate XXXI. [452] Plate XXX. [453] Plate XXXVIII. [454] Descriptio Terræ Sanctæ. Pez. thes. anecd. noviss. Vol. I. pt. 3, col. 526. [455] William of Tyre, Lib. XIX. c. 4 (Gesta Dei, &c. Vol. II. p. 958). [456] De Vogüé, Les Églises, &c. p. 251. [457] Note XVI. [458] Note XVIII. [459] Early Travels in Palestine. Bohn's Ant. Libr. p. 168. CHAPTER V. INVESTIGATIONS IN THE VIA DOLOROSA (OR THE WAY OF THE CROSS). THE RELIGIOUS AND OTHER REMARKABLE BUILDINGS IN IT OR IN ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD AND IN THE REST OF THE CITY, TOGETHER WITH ALL THE CONVENTS OF THE DIFFERENT RELIGIOUS COMMUNITIES. The _Via Dolorosa_ is the street our Saviour is supposed to have passed along on his road from the Prætorium to Calvary. The following is the course assigned to it by the only tradition which mentions it. It begins in the street which passes by the northern side of the barrack of the _Haram_[460], and goes westward till it meets the central valley (Tyropoeon), which it follows for a short distance southward; it then turns along the first street to the west, and after going through the Judgement Gate, must have again turned to the south a short distance beyond it, (opposite to the little street running to the north,) in order to reach the Church of the Resurrection, just at the north-east angle inside the Chapel of S. Helena. The last part of its course, if this were its course, is now entirely covered by the buildings of the Greek Convent of S. Charalampes. The present Via Dolorosa is divided into fourteen stations: these are visited with religious care by pilgrims, because they are asserted to be the very places at which the last scenes of the Passion of Christ were enacted. They are as follows: (i). Prætorium of Pilate (Barrack of the Haram); _Jesus condemned to death_. (ii). Site of the 'scala sancta' (near to the north-east corner of the Barrack); _Jesus given His Cross to bear_. (iii). A column lying on the ground south of the Austrian hospice (at the north-west corner of the Armenian Catholics' property); _Jesus falls the first time_. (iv). South-west corner of the same property (a little street leading to the house of the Governor of the city); _Jesus meets His mother_. (v). A stone built into the south wall of the street going up to the Judgement Gate; _Simon the Cyrenian assists Jesus to bear the Cross_. (vi). The house of Veronica (in the above street); _Veronica wipes the face of Jesus_. (vii). The Judgement Gate; _Jesus falls the second time_. (viii). A small aperture in the wall of the Greek Convent of S. Charalampes (west of the above gate); marking the spot where _Jesus beheld the women weeping_. (ix). A column lying on the ground by the Copts' convent (at the north-east corner of the Church of the Resurrection); _Jesus falls the third time_. (x). A mark on the pavement at the south side of the platform of the Calvary (before the window opposite to the Chapel of the Agony); _Jesus stripped of his garments_. (xi). A small square of mosaic work before the Latin altar (also in the south part); _Jesus nailed to the Cross_. (xii). A hole at the east end of the north side of the platform of the Calvary, beneath the Greek altar; _Place where the Cross was erected. Death of Jesus_. (xiii). In front of the last station (six feet from the Greek altar); _Jesus taken down from the Cross_. (xiv). _Sepulchre of Jesus Christ_, under the middle of the great dome. This is the description of the stations given by the Latins; but the Greeks and Armenians do not agree with them about all the places; and I attach importance to this fact, since the Greeks have lived in the city for the longest time; and this difference of opinion on their part very much diminishes the value of the tradition. I said that the sole authority for the Via Dolorosa was tradition; because neither the Bible, nor Josephus, nor the configuration of the ground, afford us any positive _data_ to aid in identifying the present road with that trodden by our Saviour on His way to Calvary; and the tradition is of very little weight, as I will presently shew. Let us then consider in detail the places mentioned above. The Prætorium of Pilate is noticed by the Evangelists, who, however, do not say exactly where it was situated. However, with the help of Josephus I have been able to ascertain its position. In the third chapter[461] I shewed that the tower Antonia occupied the north-west corner of the _Haram_[462], and that the rock which rises high in the south wall of the barrack was the _north_ side of that fortress. Hence the Prætorium, which was inside the tower[463], cannot be identified with the barrack, which stretches across the greater part of the valley that formerly defended the Temple on the north, and divided it from Bezetha[464]; and consequently is outside the Antonia, and so cannot be on the site of the Prætorium. This therefore I consider to have stood on the surface of rock now exposed at the north-west corner inside the _Haram_ wall[465]. The tradition relating to the Prætorium is very ancient. The Pilgrim of Bordeaux, A.D. 333, says, in his description of the city: "As you go from Sion to the Neapolitan gate, on the right in the valley below are walls where was once the palace of Pontius Pilate." I think that these walls were founded, at least in part, on the rock exposed in the south side of the present barrack, or else he would not have been able to see them; and since this was the north side of the tower Antonia, it is quite possible that they belonged to the Prætorium, and perhaps the projecting rock was mistaken for walls; a thing which is not improbable, since S. Cyril[466] (in the fourth century) in mentioning the Prætorium states that 'it is now laid waste.' Antoninus of Piacenza found there (in the seventh century) a church dedicated to S. Sophia[467], but whether this was built by S. Helena or Justinian I do not know, since it is not mentioned by Eusebius or Procopius. It is more probably the work of the Emperor, who erected other buildings of this kind on Moriah, while the former paid no particular attention to the place. A historian of the first Crusade writes as follows[468]: "The Flagellation and the Coronation (with thorns) of Jesus Christ, within the city, receive the reverence of the faithful ... but it is now not easy to ascertain their true positions; because, above all other reasons, the whole city has been so often destroyed and even razed." It follows then from this passage that the Christians, about eight centuries ago, had doubts of the truth of the tradition. John of Würtzburg, and other authors of the twelfth century, place the Prætorium on Mount Sion, which shews that the traditions at that time were uncertain and confused. From the end of the twelfth century all have agreed in recognizing the barrack as its site. The author of the _Citez de Jherusalem_[469] clearly indicates its present position: "A little in advance of this street (that of Jehoshaphat, for so the street leading to S. Mary's Gate was then called) was the house of Pilate. On the left hand in front of this house was a gate leading up to the Temple." Quaresmius[470] states that in his day the remains of a church built on the Prætorium were to be seen, consisting of the choir and some of the side-chapels with traces of paintings. Of this only a few fragments now remain in an inner court of the barrack. From these _data_ it follows that the site of the Prætorium has been known since the fourth century, and that no doubt by tradition; but as there was a great accumulation of ruins upon the place, the position could only be fixed by what remained uninjured, namely the rock; and it might very easily happen that in course of time it should be placed to the south instead of the north of this mark. My opinion as to the position is supported by Josephus, and is not contradicted by the expressions in the authors before the Crusades; for the 'standing walls' could only be on the rock, and the 'waste place' of S. Cyril within the north-west angle of the _Haram_. An ancient chapel within the barrack is pointed out as the spot where Jesus was crowned with thorns; possibly it was originally dedicated to the Passion of the Redeemer. Its plan is a square, the length of a side being about 16 feet; above it rises an octagonal dome, supported by a drum of the same shape. Four sides (alternate) of the octagon are replaced in the lower part by small pointed arches, in order to adapt this form of the drum to the square plan of the building. A pointed doorway in the south wall leads into a small square chapel, with a niche on each side. The arrangement of the arches, the form, and the ornamentation of the building, resemble Roman architecture; but the work shews it to be of the period of the Crusades. Quaresmius[471] is the first to mention this chapel; no notice of it occurring in any author anterior to his time. It is now used as a storehouse of barley for the artillery-horses. Turning to the east on leaving the barrack, we find in its north wall a doorway built up; half of which is Saracenic work in red and white stone. Through it our Lord is believed to have left the Prætorium; and the staircase which was transported to the Church of S. John Lateran at Rome is said to have been the very one by which he descended. When I examined this door at the end of 1854, its lowest part was two feet above the level of the street, having a semicircular step built into the pavement, which was pointed out as a fragment of the sacred staircase. I was surprised that the Christians had not taken care to remove it; especially as they had had an opportunity when the barrack was built by Ibrahim Pasha, who would have readily granted their request. In 1857 the military commandant constructed a raised footpath (one foot high) along by the barrack-wall, and the step was covered up without any one making the slightest attempt to preserve it. The tradition about this place is very untrustworthy; the configuration of the ground does not confirm it, and the Bible does not mention that our Lord ascended or descended any staircase. The present street runs entirely over accumulated rubbish, which at this point is 16 feet thick above the old level of the valley, so that the door must at that time have had a flight of at least 28 steps to form a communication with the bottom of the valley; and the lowest part of the door itself is 15 feet below the level of the inner court of the barrack, which would require 25 steps more; so that altogether there must have been some 53 steps in all. This would not be an unlikely approach to a barrack, but it is most improbable that the Antonia would have had such a weak point in its defences on the most important side as this stone staircase would have been. The valley which divided Moriah from Bezetha has been entirely overlooked by the believers in the 'Scala sancta.' Again, it is well known that the Prætorium was in the interior of the Antonia; how then could this door be in the Prætorium? If the Antonia be placed outside the north-west corner of the _Haram_, then the Prætorium would have been in the valley, and the fortress could not have been defended on the north, in the way Josephus says it was; and if (as I think) it be placed inside the enclosure, then the gate and staircase could never have occupied the positions now assigned to them. Again, we are told that all this part of the city was utterly destroyed; therefore the Prætorium too must have been swept away, and its ruins have helped to fill up the valley. In fact, the door now shewn is only a fragment of some work of the time of Saladin or Solyman. Nearly opposite to the door of the 'Scala sancta' is a little opening with an iron grate; this is the entrance to the Chapel of the Flagellation; and beneath the altar in the middle they point out the exact place where the Redeemer was bound to a column to be scourged. Here Quaresmius[472] saw a small but handsome and well-preserved chapel, which had been used as a stable by Mustafa Bey, son of the Governor of the city. Abbé Mariti, who visited it A.D. 1767, says[473], that he saw "a large square hall, covered by a high vaulted roof; the façade resembled that of a church or oratory, and though the walls were very black, traces of pictures could still be discerned on them. They assert that the Saviour was scourged on this spot, but I do not see on what grounds. As this building is in a way connected with the Prætorium, many have given credence to this tradition; though, as I believe, it is only founded on the reverence felt by the Christians for that chamber, which no doubt induced them to build there a chapel in memory of the Flagellation. Many miracles are said to have been performed here. The people of Jerusalem, both Christian and Mohammedan, relate stories about them, which remind us of the mediæval legends. The Mohammedans have converted the place into a stable." The above shews that the tradition itself is not ancient. The Franciscan monks relate that the chapel and the adjoining land, occupied by the hospice, were given to them by Ibrahim Pasha, and that they restored and enlarged the chapel in 1839, aided by the liberality of Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria; but that the expense of laying the foundations was very great, as they were extremely deep, especially on the south side. The place therefore now pointed out beneath the altar cannot be the exact spot where our Saviour stood, because of the great quantity of earth above the rock. How, too, can this site for the Flagellation be reconciled with the position of the 'Scala sancta' or of the Prætorium? It is quite impossible that they can have been connected together in former times, because of the above-named valley. The size also of the tower Antonia is an obstacle, for each of its sides was only half a stadium, whereas, if we accept the traditional site for the Flagellation, the Prætorium alone must have been nearly of that size. The present chapel is dedicated to the Flagellation, and is in no way remarkable: the few remains of antiquity it possesses have been covered over with whitewash, excepting some capitals built into the side walls, which appear to be Roman work. Quitting the above place and following the road westward, we arrive at the arch of the 'Ecce Homo,' called at the time of the Crusades the 'Porta Dolorosa[474].' It is so named because it is believed that from it our Lord was shewn to the people by Pilate[475]. I have already proved[476] that the arch is much too modern to admit of this being the case; and if it were so, it seems impossible that the place should have been passed over in silence by Eusebius at the time of the Empress Helena, and by other authors after him, like Antoninus of Piacenza, Willibald, and Bernard the Monk. How is it that the writers before the time of the Crusades do not mention it? Had there been any tradition of the kind, it would never have been omitted (at least if they believed in it): so that it seems certain that the belief sprung up during the Crusades, the origin of it, no doubt, being that the arch was at first regarded as dedicated to the Passion of Christ. I have already stated, and now repeat it, that, for military reasons, the Jews would never have allowed this arch to stand during the siege, and that if they had, it would not have escaped the Romans. An author of the present day has attempted to interpret the letters carved on two stones in the north pilaster on the west side; but with regard to that, I will quote the words of the Abbé Mariti[477]. "They have assured me that about sixty years ago (i.e. before 1767) these words were read TOL...TO..., and at a still earlier period TOLLE TOLLE CRUCIFIGE EUM. Others assert that they have read thus TO. C. X. For my own part I have only been able to make out a single O in a clear Roman character; but the stones on which the letters are carved are so much injured that they will soon crumble away, and thus put a stop to all conjectures." As then only one letter could be deciphered at the time of Abbé Mariti, I hope to be believed when I say that even this is now indistinct. But even if the inscription was rightly read as above, that is no proof that the arch was standing in our Lord's life-time; it establishes no more than that some one carved the inscription in remembrance of an event which unquestionably happened in the vicinity. On some high ground to the north of the arch of the 'Ecce Homo' are a ruinous mosque and a minaret, which are approached by the little street running along the east side of the new buildings of the Daughters of Sion; this, according to tradition, is the site of the palace of Herod Antipas, to which Pilate sent our Lord to be judged by the Tetrarch of Galilee[478]. I have carried on many excavations in order to examine this spot, and have discovered stones of the Herodian period in the lower parts of the walls, besides others scattered about among the ruins, or built into the masonry, and therefore think that this is really the site of the palace; and that it must be the place from which Antigonus went to visit his brother Aristobulus by the way of the subterranean passage, Strato's tower, in which he was murdered[479]. It appears probable that a church was erected here during the Latin kingdom, but it has been so much altered that now it can hardly be recognized. No writer before or after the Crusades mentions it, but the remains, and their position with reference to the subterranean passage and the Antonia, induce me to believe the tradition. Returning to the arch, and going along the street westward as far as the central valley, we come on the south side to the Station of the First Fall of Christ. The Evangelists make no mention of any falls; but, from reading their narrative, we may well suppose that, worn by the sorrow and agony of that night, He fell many times: still to the faithful heart and thoughtful mind all additions to the sublimity of the Gospel narrative are offensive, while they cannot be instructive to the man in whom these qualities are wanting. Some yards from this spot, rather to the west, are the ruins of a church, perhaps of the date of the Crusades; said to be on the spot where the Virgin Mary swooned at the sight of her Son's sufferings; to record which a chapel was erected, bearing the name Chapel of the Virgin's Swoon. This had already been destroyed in the time of Quaresmius; but it appears that afterwards the Mohammedans repaired it, converting it into a mosque. The upper part has again fallen to ruin; in the lower is the Agency of the Austrian Lloyd. Following the street southward from the Station of the First Fall, we come to the spot pointed out as the place where the Virgin Mary met Jesus. There is no mention of this circumstance in the Evangelists; it is therefore only a tradition; and how can it be true of a place in a street which has only existed a few centuries (as is shewn by the houses on each side), and runs over a mass of ruins? Moreover, in this direction the Roman armies under Pompeius, and again under Titus, made their attacks on the Temple; it is therefore very improbable that after the time of the latter there would be any traces of a street left. When Hadrian rebuilt the city he set up idols in the principal sacred places to insult the Jews and Christians; and we may therefore believe that, in laying out the streets afresh, he would have swept away every trace of the tradition, if any had then existed. Close to the station, on the south, is a great pointed arch with delicately executed details, supported by two well-built piers. It dates from the Crusades, and very probably was the entrance to some religious building, erected to commemorate one of the events of the Passion; or perhaps a convent may have been at this place. Arab houses are built on each side of it facing the street, so that nothing can be made out there. I entered these to see if I could ascertain anything, but my examination produced little result, because an Arab wall completely masks it; while a number of small longitudinal and transverse party-walls, all of Arab work, have entirely transformed the appearance of the place. However, in these I found some polished stones, and fragments of ornaments, with mutilated capitals and broken columns; all proofs of the existence of a building of the time of the Crusades. Perhaps a nunnery[480], dedicated to S. John, once stood on this spot, belonging to the Benedictines of Bethany, and used by them as a refuge in time of war. Here the guides not unfrequently point out the house of the beggar Lazarus, opposite to the arch; and also shew the palace of the wicked Dives, at a little distance to the south in the same street. This is a house built of different coloured stones. These 'Jerusalem antiquarians' have converted the parable into a historic fact, and so endeavoured to preserve the traces of the dwellings! I suppose they think that the poor men "full of sores" were of more importance in former times than now. There are still numbers of lepers, who, from morning to evening, wait outside the Jaffa Gate to beg; and many give them an alms, but who now ever bestows a second thought on them, or would remember where they lived? The 'palace of Dives' is a handsome building of the sixteenth century, erected by the liberality of Solyman for a hospital. It is still used for the same purpose by the soldiers belonging to the garrison; but if not soon repaired, it will share the usual fate of Mohammedan government property, and fall into ruins. The Evangelists tell us that Simon the Cyrenian aided our Lord in bearing His Cross, but do not mention the place where he encountered Him[481]. It very probably was near the present Station, or a little to the south of it, as he no doubt entered the city from the country by the North Gate or Gate of Ephraim (now the Damascus Gate). A small stone built into a modern Arab wall marks the place. We must, however, remember that this street runs upon a mass of rubbish 17 feet thick, as I discovered during the repairs of the sewer; so that the actual site of the meeting is covered up. This remark also applies to the next station. The Mohammedans and Jews are wont to throw dirt at the stone, when they see Christians kneeling before it, so that one frequently finds it necessary to make the fanatics undo their work, reminding the former that Isa (Jesus) was one of their prophets, and the latter that it is no longer the time to renew the ancient scenes of persecution. I mention this to shew how serious quarrels frequently arise in Jerusalem, which are not appeased without much difficulty. The Evangelists make no mention of Veronica. Much has been written upon this point: some considering her to be the sick woman who was healed by touching the hem of the Saviour's garment[482]; others, a lady of noble birth named Berenice, whose name was changed to Veronica after she became a follower of Christ; deriving the word from Vera-icon (true image)! The tradition of Veronica and the Holy Napkin dates from a very early period in the history of Christianity; as do the different Holy Napkins, which are in existence in various places. In 1854 the walls (Arab work) of the House of Veronica were in a ruinous condition, and were entirely rebuilt by the Mohammedan owner. I then discovered that its foundations rested on made ground, so that they were of no very great age. On digging down for the rock, to lay the new foundations, the workmen came upon large stones, which I consider to be the remains of the second wall of the city, not of any former House of Veronica. Further on the street is arched over, and in the side-walls are remains of ancient masonry. Here some place the House of the Wandering Jew! This tradition however (or rather legend) is not accepted by the Christians of Jerusalem. The number of stones of ancient Jewish workmanship in the lower parts of the wall and inside the buildings on each side, and the position in the line of the second wall, in its course from the Antonia across the Tyropoeon, lead me to think that the Gate of Ephraim formerly stood exactly on this spot. The pointed arches in the doors half buried in the accumulated earth seem to shew that some building occupied this site in the time of the Crusades. Tradition asserts that the sentence of death was affixed to the Judgement Gate, by which the condemned criminal went out on his way to execution, and that as our Lord passed by here He fell the second time. Adrichomius holds that the name is derived from its being the place where the Sanhedrim assembled to pronounce sentence, but he gives no reason for their meeting there rather than in any other place. I consider that probably it was called the Gate of Ephraim[483] previous to the building of Herod's wall, and that the name was afterwards changed. The Evangelists make no mention either of it or of the second fall of Christ. Our Lord's meeting with the 'daughters of Jerusalem' is mentioned by S. Luke[484], but, owing to the circumstance that Titus attacked the second line of walls from this side, it is obvious that, even if the event happened in this neighbourhood, all traces of the exact spot must have been swept away in the changes that the place has undergone; so that the tradition is valueless. The station of the Third Fall needs no comment. With regard to the Calvary and Sepulchre I have already expressed my opinion in the fourth chapter. I believe the other stations to be in the neighbourhood of them, so that while I cannot undertake to fix their exact position, I do not absolutely refuse to give any credence to them. I hold, therefore, that the present Via Dolorosa is only a representation of the true one; and regard it in the same way as I do the Stations in Churches; that is, as a useful agent in arousing religious feelings, and bringing to remembrance the solemn scenes of the Redeemer's Passion. The changes wrought in the city at its destruction by Titus and rebuilding by Hadrian, and the numerous alterations at other times, the accumulation of rubbish, and, above all, the impossibility of the position of one part of the street, lying, as it would do, in the north ditch of the Antonia, seem to me insuperable difficulties in the way of establishing the identity of this with the road trodden by our Saviour. That I believe to have commenced on the west side of the Antonia, and to have followed the line of the present street of S. Helena's Hospital up to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Along this, in my opinion, the Stations might more reasonably be placed; for, whatever theory be adopted about the tower Antonia, the difficulty of the valley cannot be explained away. I now pass on to consider the other buildings, religious and civil, in the city; and with this view conduct my reader to S. Mary's Gate, from which point we will begin our examination. Near the gate is the Church of S. Ann, now belonging to France. When I first saw it in 1854 it was used as a shelter for the Governor's horse-soldiers, while the courtyard, all strewed with ruins, was frequented by camel-drivers, who tethered their beasts there, so that it had become covered with filth: and as the Mohammedans took no care of the fabric, it became more ruinous every day, without any attempt at repairing it, even so far as was necessary to keep it in use for a stable. Since the year 1761 it had been abandoned by the Mohammedans, because (as they said) shrieks and howls were heard every time that they went there; and in 1767 they were so fully persuaded of this, that the Santon himself, who was in charge of the place, offered the keys to the Franciscans, by whom (after due consideration of the consequence of accepting them) they were refused. It was then entirely deserted, except that the monks, by permission of the Pasha, continued to celebrate mass in it on the Festival of the Conception, and on that of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary, who (according to them) was born there. So matters went on until in 1856 M. de Barrère happily thought of endeavouring to obtain it for the Roman Church, and was so well seconded by his government at Constantinople, that his hopes were realized; for on October 19, 1856, the Sultan granted it to France, and on November 1, M. de Barrère took possession of the building with all formality, receiving the keys from Kiamil Pasha. The repairs were begun about a year ago, and soon Jerusalem will possess a new church, one of the finest in Palestine. Having given this preliminary account, let us examine into the history of its foundation and its vicissitudes. Some think that it was founded (as usual) by S. Helena; but of this we cannot be certain, as it is not mentioned among the churches built by the Empress, which, according to Nicephorus, exceeded thirty in number. "Moreover this woman, the mother of the Emperor, most pleasing in God's sight, founded more than thirty churches in these Holy Places[485]." In the seventh century the pilgrims speak of a church of the Nativity of the Virgin near the pool 'Probatica.' S. John of Damascus[486] writes thus: "The Virgin was brought forth in the house of 'the Probatica,' of Joachim;" and again, in the First Oration on the Nativity of the Virgin[487]: "Happy be thou in all respects, O Probatica, ancient temple of the seed of Joachim, but now a church!" Phocas mentions it in his description of the remarkable places of Antioch and Jerusalem. Other authors, from Sæwulf to William of Tyre, name it, and all agree in placing it on the same spot, and repeating the tradition; but none of them give us any certain clue to the history of its foundation. As every one expresses his own opinion on this point, I will follow the general example[488]. That the church was in existence before the Crusaders entered Jerusalem is evident from the Arabian historians; for Abulfeda tells us that under the rule of the Khalifs, before the Franks gained possession of Jerusalem, the Church of S. Ann was converted into a college for public instruction[489]. Again, Sæwulf visited it A.D. 1103, that is, in the first four years of the Latin kingdom, when as yet they had not thought about building churches. William of Tyre[490] relates that three or four nuns inhabited the adjoining convent; which is also a proof of its existence previous to the Crusades; because so small a number of sisters would not have had the means of building such a church. Now the remarkable edifices which were erected during the whole period of the Latin kingdom are recorded by several writers; and many manuscripts of this age have come down to us. Considering the importance of this Sanctuary (the supposed birthplace of the Virgin), and the station in life of those who there dedicated themselves to the monastic life under the rule of S. Benedict, we can draw but one conclusion from their silence; namely, that the present building is older than the Crusades. But further, Arda, wife of Baldwin I., being repudiated by her husband, entered the convent A.D. 1104, and liberally endowed it. William of Tyre[491] speaks of her munificence, and also of the unseemly manner in which she quitted the place. Why then does not he mention the church? Jueta or Gioeta, daughter of Baldwin II., in 1130, dedicated herself to the monastic life, and lived in the convent until that of S. Lazarus at Bethany was finished, which was built for her by her sister Milisendis. On this occasion also William of Tyre[492] mentions the buildings, but not the church. M. de Vogüé[493] writes as follows: "Towards the middle of the twelfth century, John of Würtzburg expresses wonder at the number of the nuns (who followed the rule of S. Benedict), and at their devotion; and mentions the church; meaning, I think, on this occasion, the church now remaining." I cannot agree with this opinion, for the reason that, had the church been rebuilt, the author would not have omitted to mention it, since it would have been one of the first buildings erected under the Latin kingdom. If the plates be examined[494], I need not enter into details, as they will be found sufficiently clear; but will only call attention to the shape of the church (a trapezium)[495]; a plan which I think prevents us from attributing it to the time of the Crusaders. I am therefore induced to consider it as originally a Byzantine building, which was restored by them. From Plate LXIII. we see that the Church of S. Cross has the pointed arch like that of S. Ann, and is still plainer[496]. Now the former was standing when the Persians under Chosroes II. invaded the country; as is stated by Georgian manuscripts in the Greek convent of S. Constantine at Jerusalem. Hence the presence of pointed arches does not forbid us to suppose that S. Ann's Church was also built before the Crusades. M. de Vogüé[497] says "that the last two western piers (inside the church) are much more massive than the rest, and were intended to sustain bell-towers." With this I do not agree, because the difference in size is imperceptible; indeed, perhaps they are even smaller than the rest: and further, I do not find the walls at the north-west and south-west corners sufficiently strong to support towers; on the contrary, through their weakness they have fallen greatly to ruin; and lastly, I find no traces of them on the roof. Until then stronger arguments are brought forward than have hitherto been, I retain the opinion expressed above; which is, I believe, sustained by history and the place itself. In the church we must not omit to notice the dome as belonging to a date posterior to the original building, but a little prior to the minaret at the south-west corner, a large part of which is still standing. When Saladin took Jerusalem, A.D. 1187, he established various institutions for the Mohammedans; and among others founded a school, A.D. 1192, in the Church of S. Ann, after repairing the injuries caused by the destruction of the neighbouring convent. The Arabic inscription on the entrance-gate on the west records this event. It runs as follows: "In the name of God, kind and merciful! All the blessings ye enjoy come from God! This sacred _Medresse_ (School) has been founded by the victorious King, our Master, Salah-ed-Din, Sultan of Islam, and of the Mohammedans. Abul Muzafar Yusef, son of Eyub, son of Sciasi, has given life to the empire of the Head of the Faithful. May God bless his victories, and pour out His bounty upon him, in this world and in the next. This institution has been founded for the doctors of the rite of Imam Abu-Abdallah Mohammed, son of Edris-es-Shafei. May God grant him mercy. The year five hundred and eighty-eight[498]." This school was deserted in the fifteenth century, owing to the want of means to carry it on, caused by malversation on the part of its managers. We have seen what its condition was in 1767. In 1842 Tayar Pasha entertained the design of re-opening the school, and with that view ordered the interior to be repaired, and the minaret to be built. The latter however was never finished, because the builders and stone-masons of Bethlehem (some of whom told me the circumstances) got on slowly with the work, and even threw many of the stones prepared for building into the cisterns; acting thus because they were unwilling to see a place sacred to Christians profaned by the Mohammedans. By examining the spot, I proved the truth of the workmen's story; for I found a quantity of prepared materials in a cistern on the west, and also in another on the south of the church. Into these I descended before the place was examined by the three French architects who were sent, one after the other, to Jerusalem to begin the repairs; which are now progressing well under the superintendence of M. Mauss, a young man of distinction and great promise. Within the church, under the choir, is a crypt in which the rock is exposed. There, according to an old tradition, was the abode of S. Joachim and S. Ann; and there the Virgin Mary was born. It was already known in the seventh century, and the first who mentions it is S. John Damascenus[499]. It is difficult to see what authority can be found to establish the truth of the tradition. It is doubtful whether the Virgin was born at Jerusalem or Nazareth; but even supposing she was born at the former place, why did S. Ann live in a crypt? Surely there were houses in Jerusalem! I think that the church was simply dedicated to S. Ann. We find in a manuscript, preserved in the Latin Convent of S. Saviour, that a passage formerly ran from this church to the Tomb of Mary in the Kidron Valley; but all my attempts to discover its opening into the interior of the church were unavailing; perhaps it may be buried under the ruins of the Convent. In the Tomb of Mary, at the extremity of the western arm of the cross, there is a doorway closed with masonry, which cannot be seen from the outside, because of the accumulation of earth. In 1858 a Greek monk was working in a plot of land on the western bank of the Kidron Valley, at no great distance from the tomb, and found a cistern, very long from east to west, hollowed out in the rock, its walls being covered with a strong cement. When I heard of this I went to examine it, and by striking the walls inferred the existence of two openings, one on the east, the other on the west. Perhaps they communicated with the subterranean passage; and the reason why they are in these positions, may be that the cistern was made by widening the passage which was already on the spot. I trust that the architect in charge of the restoration at S. Ann's Church may be able to discover these subterranean passages. I do not describe the insignificant remains of the Convent of Benedictine nuns, because they possess nothing of interest. Not a capital nor a shaft of a column is to be found among the shapeless fragments of ruins, which reveal nothing of their former splendour, nay, not so much as whether they could have been ever beautiful. The Church of the Magdalene (called _Maïmonieh_ by the Arabs) is situated to the north-west of the Church of S. Ann, and to the south-east of Herod's Gate. According to tradition it stands on the site of the house of Simon the Pharisee, where the penitent sinner washed the Saviour's feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. S. Luke[500] does not mention the place at which this circumstance occurred. The three other Evangelists[501] state that it happened at Bethany, so that I cannot admit the truth of the tradition without denying that of the Bible; consequently I consider the church as only dedicated to the memory of the penitent Magdalene. All that now remains of this building is the porch, part of the choir, and the side walls, which are left standing at irregular heights above the ground; everything else is a heap of ruins, overgrown with creeping plants; and in the middle a potter carries on his craft of making pipes, water-pots, and the like. It is commonly said to be the property of the Greek Convent, but I am not certain whether this is true. I removed the rubbish from the interior to search for the remains of pillars, in the hope of being able to ascertain the plan of the building; but my labours were fruitless, and I must therefore refer my reader to M. de Vogüé's work[502], only observing that the Church of the Magdalene does not (as he asserts) belong to the same class of churches as that of S. Ann, for the former is a rectangle in plan, the latter a trapezium. For the rest I highly appreciate the labour he has bestowed upon the subject; but, as I have not been fortunate enough to verify his discoveries in my subsequent visits to the spot, I cannot say whether the church belongs to the era of the Crusades, or to an earlier period. I cannot however admit that it can be called a French work[503], because the Crusaders were not French alone, but of many different nations. The same author writes, "The only contemporaneous documents which we possess relating to the Magdalene Church are in the account of John of Würtzburg, and in the Cartulary. He tells us that it was served by the Jacobite monks. 'Near the city-wall, not far from S. Ann's on the north, is the Church of S. Mary Magdalene, occupied by the Jacobite monks. These assert that it stands on the site of the house of Simon the Leper.... A cross marked on the pavement of the church indicates (according to the same monks) the spot where Mary knelt at the feet of Jesus[504].' The Cartulary contains the title of an agreement[505] between the Latin Canons of the Holy Sepulchre and the Jacobite monks of S. Mary Magdalene. The document is not dated, but from the signatures it must have been written about A.D. 1160. After Jerusalem had been taken by the Saracens the church was converted into a school, and was called _Maïmonieh_, the name it still bears among the Mohammedans. 'The school of _Maimun_' (writes Mejir-ed-Din) 'near to the gate of the city called Sahera, was formerly a Greek church (i.e. Christian): it was endowed in 593 (A.D. 1197) by the Emir Faris-ed-Din-Abu-Said-Maimun, son of Abdallah-el-Kasri, treasurer of King Salah-ed-Din.'" Let us now consider the testimony quoted above. John of Würtzburg undertook his journey after the middle of the twelfth century, and found the Jacobites already established in the Magdalene Church. Now if the church had been built by the Crusaders, the pilgrim would have been sure to mention it, nor would they have been likely to give it up to the Jacobites. I believe that the Canons allowed it to remain the property of the Jacobites, because it had originally belonged to them. It also appears to me that the names of the Canons must be exactly known before it can be proved, on the evidence of the signatures alone, that the agreement was made in A.D. 1160. Again, why are the words of Mejir-ed-Din[506], 'a Greek church,' necessarily to be taken as equivalent to a Christian church? I maintain that Saladin and his followers were too well acquainted with the difference between the Latins and the Greeks to make this slip in a public document. I am therefore inclined to believe that the church had been built before the arrival of the Crusaders, and that possibly it might have been injured during the siege, and repaired afterwards by the Jacobites, who were for that reason allowed to retain it. I cannot adopt any other theory, because I am unable to understand the Crusaders giving a church to the Jacobites, who were considered heretical after A.D. 541, because they maintained that there was but one (the divine) nature in Christ, and were therefore called Monophysites. On the east of the Chapel of the Flagellation is an ancient chapel, called _Deïr Addas_ by the Mohammedans, and by the Christians, the Chapel of the Nativity of the Virgin. It is now used as a warehouse. There is no mention of it in any ancient documents; and it is very small, being not more than 16 feet wide, with a dome about 10 feet in diameter. Perhaps it is owing to its insignificance that there is no dispute about the founders. Its masonry shews that it is older than the time of the Crusades. On the north of the Austrian hospice is the ancient Church of S. Peter, now converted into a mosque, and kept by the dancing Dervishes. Its plan consists of a nave with two side aisles of equal length, terminated by semicircular apses; they are divided by two perfectly plain piers on each side, sustaining a vaulted roof, with sharp groins, and supported by pointed arches. The total length of the building (inside) is 40 feet 2 inches, the nave is 10 feet wide from pier to pier, while the north aisle is 5-1/2 feet, and that on the south, owing to an irregularity in the wall, is a little narrower, being about 5-1/4 feet. It is difficult to assign a date to this church, because it is not mentioned by ancient authors, and is built in a mixture of several styles. Some think that it belonged to the order of the Knights of S. Lazarus, whose mission was to succour and cure, if possible, the lepers. From this order has arisen that of S. Maurice and S. Lazarus of the kingdom of Italy. On returning to the central valley we find, exactly at the vaulted passage under the house of Dives, a street rising westward (which I consider to have been the true way of the Cross,) and on the south side of it is a building (several centuries old), of Saracenic architecture, having doorways elegantly ornamented with arabesques and mosaics, and with white, red, and black stones found in Palestine[507]. This is considered, by the Christians, to be the hospital built by the Empress Helena; and it is said by tradition to have been erected before the church of the Resurrection, in order to accommodate the labourers engaged upon it, and to have been afterwards devoted to the reception of poor pilgrims. I admit the truth of the tradition, but not that the present building is of that date, for it is entirely Saracenic work. The Mohammedans call it Tekhiyeh el-Khasseki-Sultane (Convent of the favourite Sultana), and from documents which they possess in the _Mekhemeh_ concerning the registers of landed property, it is clear that it was built by the Sultana Rossellane, the favourite consort of Solyman the Magnificent, who established there a hospice for the poor and the pilgrims. It is shewn by the same authorities that the Sultana had obtained large revenues from the Sultan for the support of this charity, consisting of an annual tax paid by the villagers of Bethlehem, Bethany, and Beitjala, together with the fees paid by the Christians on entering the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This fact is also confirmed by an Arabic inscription on a stone built into the wall near the entrance to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, at a height of 8 or 9 feet above the ground. This charitable foundation is still daily at work, but on a reduced scale, owing to its diminished income. I think, then, that this charity may have been commenced by S. Helena (whence its name); then continued by the Latins after her death, and during the Crusades; and kept up by the Mohammedans after their conquest of Jerusalem, till it was finally enlarged and enriched by Rossellane; who also built large rooms there, and resided in it herself to minister to the poor and destitute; as is stated in the Mohammedan traditions, and in the chronicles preserved in the mosque _Kubbet es-Sakharah_. We will now take a survey of its exterior and interior. At the first glance the negligence of its managers is evident; for a grand and magnificent building, the finest in the city, which, if in good order, would be very useful to the Governor of the place, is becoming every day more ruinous, without any attempt being made to repair it. In 1859 Surraya Pasha was desirous of restoring it, and commissioned me to make a plan, which he afterwards forwarded to Constantinople; but he was not seconded by the higher authorities, and in course of time the place will fall down, unless (as is much to be desired) it be purchased by one of the wealthier Christian communities. During my investigations in the interior I found the rock, which in one part forms a slope rising westward, in which place steps are to be seen four feet wide, but not more than two inches high. These, I think, may be the remains of the street that went up to Golgotha; because it is in the direction of the south-west corner of the tower Antonia (as placed by me). The north façade is built of well-wrought stones of different colours, skilfully laid with even joints, especially in the door-posts, where lead is employed instead of mortar. By this side the guides generally conduct the visitor into the building. On the ground-floor on the east are shewn several chambers, where the food, distributed among the poor, is prepared. One, of great size, has a well constructed vaulted roof supported by piers: it is occupied by horse-mills, which grind the corn for the establishment; but the millstones are almost useless, the fittings broken, and the horses only are excellent, as they belong to the managers, and therefore work little, and feed well. In another place the bread is made and baked, and is by no means bad. The chamber next the oven is used as a granary; in this are two large brass caldrons 6 feet in diameter and 5-1/2 deep, which are no longer used, being too large. The place which serves as a kitchen is remarkable for its architecture and its central dome; and I believe that originally it was a bath-room; it is now all begrimed with dirt, the pavement is broken, and only one caldron (5 feet in diameter and 4 deep) over a large furnace is in use; four others are seen as a reproach to the managers, who keep them unworked, and leave them to be destroyed by the damp, so that they may then sell them as worthless. In the one in use a quantity of wheat is boiled, and after being seasoned with good oil, is distributed among the poor, each of whom also receives from two to four loaves. This dole is given to all who apply for it, without regard to their religion. On the great Mohammedan festivals a good piece of meat is also given to each, with plenty of rice and honey, which are furnished by the wealthy proprietors, who have made their fortunes out of the hospital. As this building is assigned to S. Helena by the Christians, so also are the caldrons. What excellent brass they must be to have lasted in use from A.D. 326 to the present time! In order to mount to the upper story it is necessary to leave these rooms and go to the door opening into the street, more to the west. Let the visitor now beware where he sets his foot, for a heap of filth covers up several steps of the stairs, which are flooded in winter with rain-water from the ruined terrace-roofs, and infested by vermin in summer. It is therefore better to go round by the central valley to the south gate, and so avoid the nuisance. I speak from experience. On the south is a fine pointed doorway, with well-carved ornaments in good relief, leading into a spacious hall, in which are medallions containing good arabesques. Beyond this is a very large court surrounded by a cloister with pointed arches, which also have arabesques in their details. The hall, the cloister, and the court, are now only used to shelter the camels and horses of the first comers; consequently they are in a filthy state, and their ornaments are daily being destroyed. A spiral staircase in the north-east corner of the hall leads to the upper floor, where is a Gothic window of two lights, with a marble column as mullion, crowned by an elegant arabesque capital. After going over this floor and mounting to the roof, we see the remains of a splendid apartment with all the requisites of a Mohammedan _Harem_[508]; but here care is necessary to avoid a fall. The view from the summit of the terrace is far from uninteresting; the whole _Haram es-Sherîf_ is well seen, with a considerable extent of the central valley, the hill Acra (as placed by me) full in view, and also Bezetha, separated from Moriah, and rising above it. Here the student and the archæologist will form a good idea of the topography of the ancient city; and the descriptions of Josephus, especially with reference to Acra and Bezetha, will be readily understood. Opposite to S. Helena's Hospital on the north is a Saracenic house, apparently of the same date, which is in a very unsafe state. In the south façade is a great number of delicately wrought and interesting arabesques. It is used by certain Mohammedans, who meet there for prayer. They belong to an order of Dervishes, who are very free from fanaticism, and employed in doing good. When I speak of the convents belonging to the different sects, I will give a fuller account of them. To the south of the House of Dives is seen on the east side of the road the front of a Saracenic fountain[509], which (as is stated by an inscription) belongs to the age of Solyman. To avoid repetition, I may mention that all the fountains in Jerusalem, so far as regards their ornamentation, belong to the same epoch. It is now dry, because the revenues, destined to supply it with water and repair its conduit, have been absorbed by their former managers. Keeping along the valley towards the south we come to a street leading up to Temple Street; following this westward, we find on the left, after a few yards, a Saracenic doorway, the ornamental details of which are elegant and well executed[510]. It was the entrance to a boys' school for Mohammedans, founded by Omar, and afterwards enriched by Saladin; but a mass of ruins is the only memorial remaining of their liberality. Near this gate on the west is a street; and at the beginning of this, an opening in the ground covered with a large slab, giving admission into a passage leading to the Fountain of the Virgin in the Kidron valley; of which I shall speak again at greater length. Opposite to the above-named gate is an ancient edifice, which, from the masonry, may be attributed to Saladin or Solyman; it is called by the Mohammedan chronicle the Hospital of Omar. I have examined the interior, and it appears to me, from the arrangement of some of the principal walls, to have been a church in the days of the Latin kingdom, most probably the Church of S. Giles, mentioned by various writers of the time of the Crusades[511]. The Saracenic architecture in its façade may have been the addition of one of the two above-named Sultans, and shews how rich the neighbourhood of Jerusalem is in fine coloured stones, which take a polish like marble. Many of these are fastened together with lead without mortar. This building might be thoroughly restored for a small sum of money; but it is involved in the same destiny as all the other ancient buildings belonging to the Mohammedans in Jerusalem, and unless it be sold will soon be a heap of ruins. In a small street on the west of the above is an ancient edifice, which shews the hand of a skilful architect in the regularity of its façade, and the arrangement of its inner walls. The wall of the former consists of small stones with deeply-cut rustic-work up to the level of the first floor; along which runs a very plain cornice beneath a row of square-headed windows, also crowned with a projecting cornice. The remainder of the façade is constructed of polished stones accurately laid. In the ground-floor rooms, now converted into offices, are the shafts and capitals of columns, and from the general appearance of the building we may infer that it has been a chapel. Local traditions state that it once belonged to the Germans; and it is not impossible that it may have been a dependency of the establishment that afterwards gave birth to the Teutonic order of knights. Returning to the Hospital of Omar, and following the small street opposite to it, we arrive, after crossing the central valley, at the spot on the western wall of the _Haram_, where the Jews (as we have already mentioned[512]) come to bewail the calamities of their nation. The stranger who visits the place when the unhappy sons of Israel are gathered together there, returns saddened by the sight of their grief. Ceaselessly swaying their bodies from side to side, they utter their prayers in a wailing chant, broken by sighs and sobs, as they kneel among the ruins of their departed grandeur, a feeble and waning remnant in their fatherland. This continual motion, as I was informed, is in memory of the wandering of their ancestors, during the forty years that elapsed between their exodus from Egypt and their entry into Canaan. Having easy access to the _Haram_, and the power of introducing any person with me, I several times offered to take various Jews into the place, and shew them the true remains of the Temple of Solomon and of Herod; but they always refused for the following reason. When the Temple was destroyed a great number of holy vessels were buried in the ruins; therefore every Jew in the Holy City refrains from visiting the sacred enclosure, for fear of treading upon their dust, and so confines himself to lamenting outside the wall. If one of them enters the _Haram_ (so they told me), he is excommunicated by the chief Rabbi, and expelled by the whole body as a sacrilegious person. All rules, however, have their exceptions, and so has this; for Baron de Rothschild and Sir M. Montefiore, on the occasion of their visit to Jerusalem, obtained permission from the authorities and entered the _Haram_. This greatly displeased many of their brethren, who grumbled loudly at it in secret; but the excommunication was not fulminated; perhaps because they remembered that these gentlemen had liberally aided in supporting them in times past, and were likely to do so for the future; and consequently thought it would be very foolish to offend them by an act of ignorant fanaticism. Returning by the same street, we will now enter the Jewish Quarter and visit the synagogues. The great ancient synagogue may be compared to a vaulted cave; the way into which is down a badly constructed and worse kept staircase. Some piers which were formerly ornamented with wood-carvings and gilding (of which some slight traces still remain) sustain the roof of these subterranean chambers, many parts of which threaten to fall down. They are lighted by the feeble rays that struggle through the broken panes of the closely grated windows. The place is always damp, both from its low situation, and from the water which runs into it during the winter-rains by the staircase, the windows, and the leaky vaulted roof. Round the upper part of the chamber latticed wooden galleries are built; but these are so separated one from another, and so patched from repeated repairs, that they look more fit to be fowl-pens than seats for the women, who seem to me to occupy a very dangerous position. Below are shattered, rotten, worm-eaten benches, haunted by swarms of voracious fleas, which are occupied by the men. At the end of each chamber is a kind of wooden cupboard, with more or less tasteless ornament about it, in the middle of which is the tabernacle, usually covered with a torn curtain, which on festival days only is replaced by another, given by some European benefactress. The tabernacle contains nothing but a copy of the Scriptures, written on parchment rolls. The tables of the law are kept with a holy veneration in the principal of these chambers, wrapped up in a purple cloth embroidered with gold. While the services are going on, each Israelite has upon his head a piece of striped blue and white woollen cloth, edged with a cord, which hangs down from each corner. Many also wear a little box on their foreheads in which a copy of the ten commandments or of some other passages of Scripture is enclosed[513]. When the Rabbins unroll the parchment before the worshippers, each draws near to touch it reverently with the end of one of the cords of his veil. The sad and solemn psalmody of the Doctors of the law, answered by verses of the Bible recited by all the people, with sighs and every manifestation of profound grief, produces a feeling of compassion for this unhappy remnant of Israel, whose constancy and resignation under so long and heavy a burden seem to deserve a better fate. What I have said of this synagogue may also be applied to the rest, which, as they are smaller, so are they more inconvenient, and in a still more ruinous condition. During my stay in the city a new synagogue was built on the eastern slope of Sion, called the Polish. It rises majestically, and its dome dominates over a large portion of the city, but I know too well that it will not last long, as its foundations are bad; because the master-mason who directed the work had not sufficiently examined the ground, and so mistook its nature. They were laid in a great measure on ancient walls, which, not so much from ignorance of their existence, as from a mistaken economy, were not properly examined. Therefore when the new walls were finished, and the greater part of the dome completed, cracks, caused by a settlement, appeared all along the building. Consequently it became necessary to strengthen the foundations and to modify the design of the façade by closing up arches and windows, and using iron tie-rods. At present it seems likely to stand for some years; but not for a long period, as its materials and masonry are not very strong. A German synagogue on the east of the Polish, reached by threading a labyrinth of dirty lanes, is now being repaired. Those in charge of the work have begun to restore the façade, over which they have wasted a great quantity of money in loading it with useless ornament; and have paid no attention to the interior, which, in my opinion, should be the first consideration: consequently they are now at a standstill for want of funds. There are other small synagogues in the Jewish Quarter, but these are not worth notice, being only rooms used for that purpose. Quitting the Jewish Quarter by its south side in order to reach the Sion Gate, we come upon the Armenian property, and stop a little to examine their churches. In the outer wall of the Convent, close to the Gate of David, is a small chapel, said to occupy the site of the house of Annas the High-Priest, father-in-law to Caiaphas[514], whither our Saviour was brought after he had been made prisoner at Gethsemane. The tradition is not very old, and is of little value, because, after so large a part of the city towards the south has been destroyed, and the whole greatly changed by the ravages of Titus's army and other causes, it is highly improbable that the site of a house can be exactly fixed. Adrichomius[515] says of this chapel, "the house of Annas, father-in-law to Caiaphas, where afterwards the Church of the Holy Angels was built." It is small, but divided into a nave and two side aisles by two pillars, which sustain the vaulted roof. Outside this chapel, near the wall, is a very old olive-tree, which gives rise to the Arab name _Deir-Zeitun_ (Convent of the Olive). It certainly is not so old as the time of our Saviour, as it could not have escaped the ravages of the Roman troops, and besides, is growing upon a thick mass of rubbish. The Armenian monks relate that the Saviour was tied to it when he was brought to the High-Priest's house; and in consequence of this legend, the Christians (especially those of the East) hold the tree in great veneration, and think themselves happy if they can procure a little piece of it. On this point I may adopt the words of the Abbé Mariti[516]. "In order to check the rush of devotees upon this tree, and to preserve the advantages resulting from it, the Armenians have surrounded it with a wall to prevent the faithful from approaching near to it. Of its fruit they make rosaries, which they present to pilgrims, who requite the donors with large gifts. In order to increase the fervour of devotion they keep a lamp burning near the tree, the oil of which is said by the monks to have worked miracles;" and therefore has a ready sale among the credulous. The Church of S. James the Great, one of the best in Palestine, belongs to the Armenians. Its founder is not positively known, but it was certainly built after the departure of the Crusaders from Jerusalem. It is generally thought that it was one of the Spanish Kings, probably Peter of Arragon, who in 1362, being on terms of amity with the Sultan, gave large gifts to the Holy Land. The name of the church (after the patron Saint of Spain), and tradition, are in favour of this supposition. After the Mohammedan conquest of the city, the Armenians doubtless occupied it and the adjoining convents, but it is stated in Jerusalem (by the Franciscans) that in the time of Ibrahim Pasha, A.D. 1837, when the Armenians were obliged to prove their title to certain parts of the convent and church by producing documents, they had none in their archives, and, under false pretences, came to the Franciscans to see if they had preserved any. This would shew that they had some doubt themselves to their right to the property they enjoy. However, one of their members (a respectable Armenian from Constantinople) to whom I mentioned this, asking him whether it were true, asserted that they had, besides firmans of Omar Kotab, of Saladin, and others, one from Mohammed himself. This he affirmed with shouts and gesticulations, and with every sign which an Oriental uses to impress his hearer with a belief in his veracity. He promised to shew me this document, but some how or other never found an opportunity, although, unquestionably, the monks do exhibit it to credulous pilgrims. The church is well worth notice. It is said to stand on the spot where the Saint was martyred[517], but it would be difficult to prove the truth of the tradition. The façade[518] is very plain, and of later date than the rest of the building. It has a porch where the Easterns leave their shoes before entering the doors; both from reverence, and to avoid injuring the marble pavement and rich Persian carpets. In the upper part of the porch is a gallery, occupied by the women during service, so that they are separated from the men. The interior is divided into a nave and two side aisles, of different dimensions, by four large piers, and is lighted by a graceful dome. On the walls are pictures, which are very remarkable both from the subjects and style of painting; for example, in depicting the souls in purgatory, the artist seems to have had before his mind one of Dante's divisions of Hell. There is a profusion of gilding and mosaic work; the latter is admirable, being composed of the different breccias abundant in the country. The design of the inlaid work of mother-of-pearl and tortoise-shell is remarkably good; and, in a word, the whole church is kept in such excellent order, that it is an honour to its owners. On the right hand we find, on entering, a small chapel richly ornamented with marble and inlaid work, where the supposed spot of the Saint's martyrdom is shewn. The Latin monks are permitted by the Armenians to celebrate mass here on the festival of the Saint. On the same side, but nearer the entrance, is the treasury, which is worth a visit, not so much for the gems it contains as for certain Armenian antiquities, among which the most remarkable are some sceptres of the ancient kings, and a staff made of a single piece of amber 3-1/2 feet long. A piece of the true Cross, three inches long and as thick as the third finger, enclosed in a casket enriched with precious stones, is preserved among the numerous relics. The Latins assert that it belongs to them, and was appropriated by the Armenians when they were exposed to persecution. In the Chapel of S. Miazim is a box containing three large stones, which the monks exhibit with great reverence, stating that one came from Mount Horeb, another from the Jordan, and the third from Mount Tabor. Thus far I can believe them; but, in order to render them more marvellous, they say that they formed part of the twelve stones which the children of Israel set up in the Jordan[519]. The Armenians had discovered this fact before A.D. 1628, because it was related to and believed by a certain Alberto Follesi, a Florentine of that date. They have the property of foretelling rain and wind. On leaving the Church of S. James, and following the street to the north, we find, on the right, a small arch opening on to a street running eastward; and going some little distance along this, we see, on the left, a ruined chapel, which, at the time of the Crusades, was the traditional site of S. Peter's prison[520]. Keeping along the street which turns to the north we reach the Syrian convent, in which is a church said to stand upon the site of the House of S. Mark, whither S. Peter went on his release from prison[521]. Here a font is shewn, which is asserted to be the one used for the Virgin Mary. Besides this there is nothing else remarkable within. It is really surprising how the Christians at Jerusalem have preserved all the traditions of the most ordinary localities, and been able to discover the exact spots after all the changes and injuries the city has undergone! Behind the English church and near the English hospital is the small Church of S. James the Less; its plan is an oblong of 32 feet by 19. The choir, with a cornice running round it on the inside, is still to be seen. It is said to occupy the site of the ancient House of S. James. The English church was built in 1841. It is a cruciform Gothic building, which style (in my opinion) is altogether out of place in Jerusalem. The interior is not remarkable. The services are performed with propriety, and it is the only church free from the insect-plagues of Jerusalem, and in which the visitor can pray undisturbed by noise or laughter; because the number of worshippers is small, and the Eastern Christians are not attracted there by any pomp or ceremony. I may venture to add, that perhaps this latter circumstance is the reason why the number of proselytes does not increase in proportion to the benevolent exertions of the Jews' Society. Both its members, and the zealous missionaries who from time to time sojourn in the country, should not be ignorant of the nature of the spirit with which they daily have to deal in the East, and should know that the greatest obstacle to their success is the severe form of their religion. The Oriental dislikes reading, and is averse to hearing sermons, which he either does not understand or is wearied by. He is more gained over by the eye than by the ear, and is with difficulty persuaded that a priest in a black gown or plain white surplice can be as important a person as one of his 'Papas,' who wears a magnificent vestment in the church, shouts and chants loudly, and makes a thousand signs of the cross, and as many genuflexions. More ceremony and a more elaborate ritual would contribute greatly to the success of the English missionaries, whose excellent organization and conduct deserves all praise. Nearly opposite to the above is the citadel of Jerusalem, called the Castle of David, or of the Pisans. I have already spoken[522] of all the objects of antiquarian interest which are to be seen there; and have nothing to add beyond expressing my surprise at the carelessness of the government in suffering every part of it to fall into decay. The garrison of the city is not quartered there, but only a guard is posted at the entrance, to prevent any one from going inside who is not furnished with an order from the Commandant of the place. The reason of this strictness is that part of it is used as a powder magazine; and besides, some cannon are kept there, most of which are useless, as they have been spiked or battered. Formerly various pieces of armour of the time of the Crusades, which had been found in the neighbourhood of the city and in other parts of Palestine, were preserved here, but the collection has been dispersed. Some of the principal officers of the garrison thought fit to represent to the department of artillery at Constantinople, that it would be a good plan to dispose of them, as they were articles of no value. The requisite order was quickly given, and then, according to the usual custom of the government, the money was kept back from the exchequer and used for private purposes. The traveller who mounts to the top of the tower will be well repaid by the general view of the surrounding country. The scenery is unattractive and almost saddening; ranges of arid hills enclose the city, white with bare faces of heated rock, whereon no herbage grows. Both near and far these are dotted over with ruined Arab cottages, with little mosques and tombs; and when the eye turns aside to range over the intervening fields, it finds nothing more pleasing on which to repose. Everywhere is barrenness, everywhere desolation; below there seems to lie a city of the dead rather than of the living; around, a land of tombs rather than of men. Going from the citadel along the street toward the north-west we arrive at the Latin Convent of S. Saviour, within which is the parish-church of the same title. On each side two pillars supporting the very low vaulted roof divide the nave from the two side aisles. In front of the high altar rises a little slightly-depressed dome, and opposite to it is the choir with well-carved stalls. The size of the building in length and breadth is also very small in comparison with the number of people frequenting it. For many years past the monks have had a plan for enlarging it; but they have always been prevented from carrying their design into effect by the prohibition of the authorities; and so the Latins have to suffer from heat or damp according to the season of the year. It is therefore to be hoped that the place will soon be made more commodious. Besides the churches and chapels which I have already noticed, many others are indicated either by ruins, or tradition, or history (especially by the chronicles of the time of the Crusades[523]); but as they are now destroyed, or at least no longer used for worship, and their remains are not of any interest, I pass them over in silence. It is stated[524] that at the time of the Crusades the Christians possessed as many as three hundred and sixty-five churches and monasteries in Jerusalem. I now proceed to mention those convents which still belong to the different religious communities, the number of which is far below that just mentioned. The Latin Convent of S. Saviour is the chief and greatest of those belonging to the Guardians of the Holy Land. Here dwell the Superiors of the Friars Minor of the Order of S. Francis; and consequently from it orders and instructions are issued to all the rest of the convents, which are dependencies of the Holy Guardianship, in Constantinople, Egypt, Cyprus, Syria, and Palestine. The site of the building is one of the best in Jerusalem, as it stands on the highest part of Mount Gareb, near the north-west corner of the city-wall, and there looks down upon the greater part of the city. It resembles a castle rather than a convent; but this is due to the additions made by the monks during the three centuries it has been in their hands, rather than to its original design. The first abode of the Franciscans was on Mount Sion (which I will describe in speaking of the 'Coenaculum'), but being dispossessed by the Mohammedans A.D. 1550, they were obliged to occupy a place on the same hill, called from its smallness the 'Oven.' In course of time, being assisted by contributions from Europe, they hired from the Georgians the Convent of S. Saviour (then called _Deir 'Amud_, Convent of the Column), where they established themselves on a surer footing inside the city. This they afterwards purchased from the proprietors, A.D. 1559, by the favour of the Sublime Porte, who imposed on them hard conditions[525]. The price of the ground was 1000 sultanins (about £120), and that of the buildings 1200 Venetian sequins; but as the property was much too small they obtained permission to increase it, A.D. 1561, and again on other occasions, and so gradually brought it to its present condition. The earliest part of the convent is that which is round the church. There are two entrances, a large door on the south side, and a small one on the west; both are strengthened and defended with iron, a necessary precaution in a country where the power of self-defence is requisite in case of popular tumults; which now, however, very rarely occur. By entering the great door we can visit the ground-floor of the convent, in which we find many large cisterns, hewn in the rock, and supplied by the rains. When there is a drought in the country, the poor Latins, and not seldom the Mohammedans, draw their supplies of water from these. Here we see all the offices required by a great convent that entertains and supports a large number of pilgrims, such as gardens and courts, stables, extensive cellars, storehouses for food, wood, and charcoal, horse-mills, ovens, and forges; shops for carpenters, turners, shoemakers, and wax-candles; a dispensary well supplied with medicines, and zealously and efficiently served, always liberally open to all comers; and lastly, a printing-press, which though small is admirably managed, and annually publishes books on religious subjects in Arabic, Latin, Italian, and other languages; the type being cast on the premises. In the upper story are the monks' cells, the apartment of the Guardian of the Holy Land, and that of the Procurer General, an infirmary, reserved for the brethren, workshops, in some of which the vestments are made, in others the clothing of the monks; a shop where the manufactures of the Holy Land are sold, such as rosaries, shell-work, crosses, and the like[526]; a library containing some most valuable manuscripts and many excellent books; and finally, the Church of S. Saviour (mentioned above), with the adjoining sacristy. In this a very great number of objects are preserved, valuable not only for the intrinsic worth of the precious metals and jewels which they contain, but also for the work of the artists who made them. These are but rarely shewn, and the more splendid have not seen the light for years. They are the gifts of many of the European courts in past and present times, and of countries which have had a love for the Holy Land. The convent ordinarily contains about fifty inmates, clerics and laics; but can hold a much greater number; as in fact it does at the Easter festivals. The Latin Patriarchate is a house belonging to the Franciscans, which was intended for a hospice. In 1859 the foundations of the new Patriarchate were laid near the north-west corner of the city. It is not yet finished, but before long Jerusalem will possess a good new house, which, while convenience is not sacrificed to vain show, will be internally well arranged. M. Valerga himself drew the plan. Opposite to the Latin Convent of S. Saviour on the south, is that of the Sisters of S. Joseph, who have been lodged in two native houses, altered to receive them. The interior is very confined and damp, and in consequence unhealthy. The poor nuns, in number fourteen, suffer with resignation, waiting until it please Heaven to grant them a better abode, and with that a wider field for their benevolent labours in the instruction of poor girls. To the north of the arch of the 'Ecce Homo' is the Convent of the Daughters of Sion, which I have already mentioned[527]. It is a new building, the interior of which might have been very well arranged, but the plans of the architect were continually altered by the changeableness of a person who had that power. We, however, must not deny to him the merit of having introduced into Palestine this excellent order, whose members came thither with the object of converting the Jews, but at present are occupied in educating orphans. The Greek Catholic Convent is near the Jaffa Gate, and is inhabited by two or three 'Papas,' whose Bishop usually resides at S. Jean d'Acre. Internally it is in no respect worth notice. The church is a very large modern room; and on its south wall is a singular picture representing the Last Judgement, Paradise and Hell; angels are contending fiercely with devils, and the condemned struggling with the righteous on the banks of a river, whereon Charon is rowing his boat. The seven mortal sins are also unmistakeably represented. The painting is not fitted for the walls of a church. The Armenian Catholics have at present only a single monk in Jerusalem, a good and energetic man. As the representative of his co-religionists he purchased in 1856 a plot of land containing the third station of the Via Dolorosa, and bounded on the south by the fourth station. This he would not have been able to acquire, had he not been aided by the alms of his party and the support of M. de Barrère, the French consul, who, as usual, earnestly pressed his cause with the local authorities. The property was utterly neglected by the Mohammedans so long as it was in their possession, and considered to be the ruin of an ancient bath; the eastern part was used as the Pasha's stable. A church, convent, and hospice for pilgrims, will soon rise upon the spot; and I trust that in removing the ruins they will discover some traces of the second line of walls, which I believe to have passed over this ground. The central Convent of the orthodox Greeks is that of S. Constantine, which is situated on the west of the Church of the Resurrection. Attached to it, on the north side, is the Patriarch's house, which has no architectural merit, but is well arranged and comfortable, with a good garden. The convent itself, though very large, is no better than a labyrinth of cottages of different sizes and heights, which have been bought from time to time and joined together as best they could. It is therefore full of court-yards, large and small, lanes, passages, and flights of steps; and has also a small but well-kept garden, near the sacristy. Inside is an excellent dispensary, and all the offices and workshops, which this Royal Convent requires, not only for its own purposes, but also for the use of all its dependencies, especially those in Jerusalem. The chapel is dedicated to S. Constantine; it abuts against the rotunda of the Holy Sepulchre, and is of great antiquity. It is adorned as well with pavements of valuable marbles, as with original pictures, curious specimens of Byzantine art; and possesses a great number of sacred silver vessels and magnificent vestments. There is also a very ill-arranged and dusty library, rich in Greek, Arabic, and Georgian manuscripts, and in ancient Byzantine books; but they are rarely examined, consequently the rats and worms are more attentive to them than the monks. They cannot be seen without the permission of the Patriarch or his deputy; nor can the treasury, which is full of ancient works of Byzantine art, given by Russia and every other country in which the members of the Greek church are found, and the cry of Jerusalem is heard. I have never seen it, nor am I aware of any other traveller who has. In the lower parts of the buildings, on the east, the native rock appears, which is a continuation upwards of that seen inside the Church of the Resurrection, at the tombs of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. The parts of the convent near the Holy Sepulchre, and to the east and south, enable us to understand the words of William of Tyre[528] concerning the Hospitalers, "That during the disputes between the Canons and the Knights, the latter shot arrows out of their own convent into that of their adversaries." In fact, the Canons then inhabited the south-east part of the present Greek convent, as well as the church, and the part behind to the north of it. There are fifty monks in the convent, and six Bishops, besides Archimandrites, Priests, and laics; about eighty in all. They are distinguished by the title of Monks of the Sepulchre. Besides these is a large number of boys who attend upon the Papas and the church, and wear the monastic dress; and many servants taken from the people of the city. In addition to the convent of S. Constantine, the Greeks possess many other convents in Jerusalem. These are, S. Demetrius, S. George of the Hospital, S. Michael the Archangel[529], S. John the Fore-runner, S. George of the Hebrews (in whose church is an ancient Byzantine mosaic pavement), S. Charalampes, S. Abraham, S. Nicholas (where an ancient Georgian church is worth a visit, as well as the printing-office, which publishes good reprints of books in excellent type), the succursal of Gethsemane, and a new convent by the Damascus Gate. Each of these is under the government of a Prior, who performs service in their respective chapels, and, at the season of pilgrimages, entertains strangers sent to him from the great convents; by whom, as I will explain presently, his revenues are chiefly supplied. The nunneries are, Megala Panagia (Great S. Mary's), S. Theodore, S. Basil (near the position I assign to the tower Psephinus; the Dead Sea is visible from its terrace-roofs); S. Catharine, Micra Panagia (Little S. Mary's), and S. Euthymius[530]. The females who come on pilgrimage to the Holy City are entertained in these. The Prioresses and the sisters are taken from the lower orders, and many of them act as servants in the convents of the Priors and Papas. The principal Armenian convent, to which the Patriarchate is attached, is on Mount Sion. Its great extent, its situation, its many advantages, its excellent masonry, and, above all, its admirable internal arrangements, render it unquestionably the best establishment in the city. It may be compared to a fortress, without ditches indeed, yet strong enough to defend itself against an attack of the populace or of the peasants in case of a riot. Its terrace-roofs command an extensive panorama, and would supply an ample space for exercise to the monks, even without the large courts and gardens enclosed within its walls. The latter are the best in the city, and contain some majestic cypress-trees, and some cedars, which the vivid fancy of the Easterns attributes to the age of David. This belief is shared by the pilgrims, and slips of them never fail to fetch a high price. The west front of the convent is European work, of the same date as the church. The Armenians assert that it was erected by Spain for a hospital or hospice; but nothing certain is known on this point. The Patriarch's apartment is most comfortable and well appointed. The library is well kept. Many of the books are of no great value; but there are some important manuscripts and rare liturgies. The printing-press is well managed: they print in Armenian, Arabic, and sometimes Turkish characters, and publish reprints of ancient liturgies and tales, but no books of any size. The full complement of monks, including the laics, together with the Patriarch and two Bishops, is from forty to fifty. This number is necessary in order to supply the services of the Church of the Resurrection, the Sepulchre of the Virgin, and the Convent of Caiaphas outside the Sion Gate. The interior of the Syrian convent is not remarkable. It is a plain ordinary Arab building, but outside it on the north is a great pointed arch entirely built up, called by the Orientals the Gate of S. Mark's House, at which S. Peter knocked. As the arch and its foundations are of the date of the Crusades, I of course do not believe the legend. The Syrian Bishop has two or three monks, who assist him in performing the church services and in receiving pilgrims. Some houses near the church belong to the English mission, and are inhabited by the missionaries and other persons attached to it. They are neat, but do not call for special mention. The Prussian mission possesses a house near the Judgement Gate, occupied by the Pastor who has the spiritual charge of the mission, and another, near the English church, inhabited by deaconesses, who are engaged in the instruction of girls (as I shall presently explain), and in rendering charitable aid to the sick. The Coptic convent is on the north of and near to the Pool of Hezekiah; it is a plain Arab house. Its inmates are far from clean, and the visitor generally carries away unpleasant reminiscences of their dwelling; they also possess another house near the north-east corner of the Church of the Resurrection, of which I have already spoken[531]; as well as of the miserable dens that shelter the Abyssinians. The convent of the Kusbeck Dervishes stands against the south end of the arch of the Ecce Homo. With the exception of their chief, they are engaged in work in Jerusalem, and spend the money thus earned in pilgrimages to the Mohammedan sanctuaries. They are sober, prayerful, peaceable men, free from the vice of fanaticism. When I was superintending the buildings of the Daughters of Sion I had good opportunity of learning their character. Even at the time of the massacres of Lebanon I never saw them shewing signs of joy. Their chief is an intelligent and very moderate man. The convent of the Dancing Dervishes is on the summit of Bezetha (as I call it), next to the ancient Church of S. Peter, which I have already mentioned. Inside and outside, especially in the lower part, we see remains of the Crusaders' work. At the present time there are only two inmates, who are more disposed to good than evil. Its minaret commands a view of Jerusalem, and of the whole length of the Tyropoeon valley, from which the topography of the ancient city is far more readily understood than from any description or plan. The Howling or Lancer Dervishes, as I call them, do not live in a community, but very frequently assemble in a house opposite to the Hospital of S. Helena, which may be considered as their convent. Many of the principal Effendis of the city belong to this order. The badge of membership is a necklace of wooden beads round the neck, and a long staff with an iron lance-head in the hand. They were founded by an old Mohammedan santon, an inhabitant of the neighbourhood of S. Jean d'Acre, who came to Jerusalem in 1856 to preach a course of sermons. When these dervishes hold their meetings, or are coming from them, they sing at the top of their voices in the streets, from which practice I have given them their name. Their distinctive marks might lead us to mistrust them, but in difficult circumstances they have proved themselves worthy of confidence; so perhaps I did wrong when I was hard-hearted enough to break the lance-handle of a country dervish, who met me on the Jaffa road, and demanded a _bakshish_ rather in the tone of a soldier than of a monk. I made him amends by repairing his lance, and gave it back to him, comforting him with the assurance that it would be as good as ever for the next traveller he met. The Jews have no establishments where the Doctors and Rabbins live in common, so that I pass over in silence their dwellings, which are destitute of everything except neatness. I believe that I have now gone through all the buildings in the interior of Jerusalem without exception, and have only to speak of the waters; but these I shall leave for another chapter, and consider them after I have described the neighbourhood. FOOTNOTES: [460] Plate II. [461] Page 64. [462] Jewish War, V. 5, § 8. [463] Ibid. V. 5, § 8. [464] Ibid. V. 4, § 2. [465] Plate XI. [466] S. Cyril. Catech. Lect. XIII. (Libr. of Fathers, Vol. II. p. 163). [467] Holy City, Vol. II. p. 375. [468] De Vogüé, Les Églises de la Terre Sainte, p. 299, quoting from Gesta Francorum expugn. Hierus. Bongars. p. 573. [469] Quoted by De Vogüé, p. 299. [470] Elucidatio Terræ Sanctæ, Lib. IV. Pereg. 6, c. 2, Vol. II. p. 181, col. 2, ed. 1639. [471] Ibid. [472] Elucidatio Terræ Sanctæ, Lib. IV. Pereg. 6, c. 5, Vol. II. p. 196, col. 2, ed. 1639. [473] Hist. de l'état présent de Jérus. Ch. XIII. [474] Note I; Plates XII., XIII. [475] S. John xix. 5. [476] Ch. III. page 60. [477] Histoire de l'état présent de Jésus. Ch. XIII. [478] S. Luke xxiii. 7-11. [479] Jewish War, I. 3, § 3. [480] M. de Vogüé (Les Églises de la Terre Sainte, p. 304) states that it is mentioned in the Citez de Jherusalem. [481] S. Matt. xxvii. 32; S. Mark xv. 21; S. Luke xxiii. 26. [482] S. Matt. ix. 20. [483] Nehem. xii. 39. [484] S. Luke xxiii. 28. [485] Nicephorus, H. E. Lib. VIII. c. 30. [486] De Fide Orth. Lib. IV. 14. Quoted by Quaresm. E. T. S. Lib. IV. Pereg. 3, c. 12., Tom. II. p. 103, col. 2, ed. 1639. [487] C. 11 (cf. c. 6), also quoted by Quaresm. Ibid. [488] See De Vogüé, Les Églises, pp. 233, et seq. [489] Note II. [490] Lib. XI. c. 1. Gesta Dei, Vol. II. p. 795 (ed. 1611). [491] Lib. XI. c. 1. Gesta Dei, Vol. II. p. 795 (ed. 1611). [492] Lib. XV. c. 26. Gesta Dei, Vol. II. p. 887 (ed 1611). [493] Les Églises, &c. pp. 242, 243. [494] Plates XL., XLI., XLII. [495] I was the first person who made a plan of it before it came into the possession of France. [496] Note III. [497] Les Églises, &c. p. 235. [498] i.e. of the Hejra, corresponding with A.D. 1192. [499] De Fide Orthodoxa, Lib. VI. c. 5. [500] S. Luke vii. 37, 38. [501] S. Matt. xxvi. 6, 7; S. Mark xiv. 3; S. John xii. 1. [502] Les Églises de la Terre Sainte, p. 292. [503] Ibid. p. 294. [504] John of Würtzburg, c. VII. [505] Cartulary, p. 221: "Between the Latin Canons of the most glorious Sepulchre and the Jacobite monks of S. Mary Magdalene." [506] Mejir-ed-Din, p. 123. [507] Plate XLIII. [508] The part of a house assigned to the females of a family. [509] Plate XLIV. [510] Plate XLIV. [511] La Citez de Jherusalem: see De Vogüé, Les Églises, &c. pp. 303, 439. Furnus S. Egidii in vico Templi. Cart. p. 331. [512] Ch. III. page 72. [513] A custom derived from a literal interpretation of Deut. vi. 8. See also Prov. vi. 21; vii. 3. [514] S. John xviii. 13. [515] Adric. No. VIII. (Quaresm. E. T. S. Lib. IV. pereg. 5, c. 14, Tom. II. p. 172, col. 2, ed. 1639). [516] Mariti, p. 82. [517] Acts xii. 2. [518] Plate XXXIX. [519] Josh. iv. 9, 20. [520] M. de Vogüé, Les Églises, &c. p. 304. [521] Acts xii. 12. [522] Ch. II. p. 29. See also Note VIII. to the same chapter. [523] See De Vogüé, Les Églises, &c. pp. 303, 304. [524] By an anonymous Greek writer in Scriptt. Hist. Byzant. XXV. c. 12. Ed. Venet. 1733. [525] Note IV. [526] Note V. [527] Ch. III. p. 60. [528] Lib. XVII. c. 3 (Gesta Dei, &c. Tom. II. p. 933). [529] Note VI. [530] Note VI. [531] Ch. IV. page 126. CHAPTER VI. EXCURSIONS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF THE CITY ON THE EAST, SOUTH, AND SOUTH-WEST--THE VALLEY OF KIDRON, CALLED ALSO THE VALLEY OF JEHOSHAPHAT, WITH ITS MONUMENTS AND REMARKABLE PLACES--THE MOUNT OF OLIVES--BETHPHAGE--BETHANY--THE VALLEY OF HINNOM--THE MOUNT OF EVIL COUNSEL--SOUTH-WESTERN PART OF THE VALLEY OF GIHON--MOUNT SION--CHRISTIAN CEMETERIES--TOMB OF DAVID, AND SUBTERRANEAN VAULTS--THE COENACULUM--THE HOUSE OF CAIAPHAS--THE GROTTO OF S. PETER--THE LEPERS. As we go out of the eastern gate, called S. Mary's and also S. Stephen's Gate, we see on the left-hand a pool, by name _Birket-Hammam Sitti-Mariam_ (the Pool of the Bath of our Lady Mary). The origin of this name is that it receives the waters of the ditch outside the eastern wall, and then by a conduit supplies a bath inside the city, near the Church of S. Ann. This bath is a favourite with the women of Jerusalem, who attribute to it miraculous virtues; but unfortunately they can only profit by them for a few days in the year, as the neighbouring cisterns and the pool, instead of retaining the water, allow it to escape; since the reservoir and conduits are in a ruinous condition, and the proprietor of the bath is too blind to his own interest to repair them. On the right of the gate, as we go out, we see a Saracenic monument, which is daily falling to ruin[532]. Some of the Arabs believe that it was built over a sepulchre; others, that it is a monument to mark the spot where the Khalif Omar pitched his tent after traversing the Valley of Jehoshaphat. Whichever be the true account, it ought to be preserved. But the Mohammedan makes no effort to arrest the ravages of time. Hence a large portion of the Kidron valley is seen at a glance, especially that part which is called the Valley of Jehoshaphat[533], a name derived from the tomb attributed to that king, which is covered with earth on the east of that of Absalom. Adamnanus, the historian of Arculf's travels, is the first to mention the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and his description agrees with that given by Willibald, another author of the eighth century[534]. The celebrity of this valley is due to a belief, widely spread among both Christians and Mohammedans, that it will be the scene of the Last Judgement. This has arisen from the words of the prophet Joel, "I will also gather all nations, and will bring them down into the valley of Jehoshaphat, and will plead with them there for my people and for my heritage Israel, whom they have scattered among the nations, and parted my land"[535]; and again, "Let the heathen be wakened, and come up to the valley of Jehoshaphat, for there will I sit to judge all the heathen round about[536]." In this same valley many of the ancient Jews, both high and low, have been interred, and the custom still continues; for they possess a cemetery extending along the eastern bank of the valley, while the two on the western belong to the Mohammedans. It appears that the Christians have also used the place for the same purpose, since, in November 1856, when the Greeks were cultivating a plot of ground on the western bank of the valley, a short distance from the tomb of Mary, they found a well-executed slab of Palestine breccia, on which a cross and the following words were carved: "The monument which contains Stephen and Juliana." On its removal the two skeletons were found. As the work went on, fragments of stone, stone crosses, and human bones were found, unquestionable proofs that it was the site of an ancient Christian cemetery. It is then certain that this valley has long been used for the cemetery of the city, as it is at the present day. In the reign of Josiah mention is made of the "graves of the children of the people[537]." Urijah, who was slain by Jehoiakim, was "cast into the graves of the common people[538]." Adrichomius[539] says that "it received the corpses of the common people and of the great." I believe that the ancients had a reason in selecting this place rather than any other for their graves, which was that the winds do not usually blow strongly from this quarter in Palestine, and therefore the effluvia from the cemetery would not be borne into the city, but would be confined to the lower parts of the valley. It is then to this, also called the Kidron Valley, from the Arab name _Wady Kedron_, that I conduct the reader, in order that we may examine it thoroughly. After descending by the road nearly to the bottom of the slope, we come to a bare patch of yellow limestone-rock, said to be the spot were S. Stephen was stoned. The tradition however does not rest upon a probable foundation, and is more recent than the time of the Crusades; and as no mention is made in the Bible[540] of either the gate or the direction of the place where the Proto-martyr suffered, I must be allowed to doubt its truth. It however is so firmly implanted in the minds of the pilgrims of the different sects who visit the place, that their eyes are able to discover the Saint's effigy on the rock itself; and they forget that even if it had been sculptured there, it would have long ago disappeared under the hammers of the devout believers, who have for some centuries made a practice of breaking off fragments as relics. Several writers have demonstrated the worthlessness of the tradition, by shewing that from the fifth century to the close of the Latin kingdom at Jerusalem, the place of the Saint's martyrdom was believed to be outside the present Damascus Gate, which then bore S. Stephen's name[541]. It is not known for what reason this name was in the fourteenth century transferred to the east gate, which, during the Crusades, had always been called the Gate of Jehoshaphat. Near this pretended site of the Saint's martyrdom is the opening of a cave, which some consider to have been the entrance into the vaults of a church, erected by the Empress Eudoxia. I endeavoured to clear it out, but was prevented by the quantity of stones and earth it contained; however, I was able to ascertain that it had been an ancient cistern, and did not present any indications of the presence of tombs. I think that the letters at the opening, now scarcely visible, are the work of pilgrims. Eudoxia's church was a little distance from the Damascus Gate (as I will presently explain); and the steepness of the rocks and the unevenness of the surface here precludes us from believing that this can have ever been the site of a church, and there are no traces of ancient walls, nor hewn stones lying about, to shew that any building has been erected here. Following the road eastward from this point, we arrive at the dry bed of the Kidron torrent, crossed by a small stone bridge, the lower part of which is evidently very ancient. Above this is some masonry of the time of the Crusades, and the rest, including the arch, is old Arab work. In the present day the Kidron is only full of water after a heavy fall of rain, and quickly becomes dry again as soon as this ceases. Kidron is a Hebrew word, meaning 'darkness;' derived either from the former depth of the valley down which it flowed, or from the circumstance that its ancient bed was narrow and choked with projecting rocks, or from the cedar-groves, which some believe to have once flourished upon the slopes of the valley[542]. This torrent is famous in both the Old and New Testament. David crossed it in his flight from his rebellious son Absalom[543]; Asa burnt and destroyed an idol here[544]; Hezekiah and Josiah, in restoring the worship of God, cast down here the uncleanness from the Temple and the broken idol altars[545]. Our Saviour frequently crossed it on his way from the Mount of Olives and Bethany; especially it is mentioned on that night when he went to the garden of Gethsemane[546]. At the present day the Kidron is a means of discovering antiquities, in the following way. In the spring of 1855, after a heavy rain-fall, I noticed that some peasants of Siloam were examining the mud which had been brought down by the torrent. I approached them, and learnt that they were searching for old coins. I at once determined to imitate them, and every year at the time of the heavy rains went to the Kidron with a couple of men, and constructed small dykes to retain the mud; and when the water had fallen, I riddled the soil thus deposited, and always found coins; sometimes of considerable value, such as shekels, medals of Alexander and Antiochus, and of others[547]. The reason that these things are found in the Kidron is that the rubbish from the city, and especially from Mount Moriah, was from the earliest periods thrown down the western bank of the valley; consequently all the ground on that side is artificial and not well consolidated; so that the heavy rains wash down the earth into the torrent, together with the objects hidden in it. There is no difficulty in the process, and the supply is by no means exhausted; so that any collector of Jewish coins may profit by the above description. After crossing the bridge just mentioned, we see, immediately on our left hand, a cubical building, three of whose sides are buried in the ground, while the façade[548] (on the south) is uncovered. Before this is a little open platform reached by some steps[549]. It is said to cover the tomb of the Virgin Mary, but we have no evidence which enables us to fix the date of its erection. An examination of the tomb itself would lead us to suppose that the buildings around it were contemporaneous with S. Helena: for it is a small chamber hewn in the rock, which I have seen on the inside and outside of the eastern wall, in the lower parts (close to the ground), and underneath the marble slabs covering the Greek altar, which has been constructed upon a shelf along the chamber-wall, originally made to support a corpse, exactly like that in the Sepulchre of Christ. It is, then, beyond all question, an ancient Jewish tomb; and at the erection of the church the rock was hewn away all round, in order to detach it from the main mass (which is seen close by), and isolate it in the middle of the building; just as was done at the Holy Sepulchre. We may therefore infer that this work was contemporaneous with that at the Church of the Resurrection, and that it was executed by order of S. Helena[550], as is stated by Nicephorus Callistus, an author of the fourteenth century. I hold that S. Helena began the work, but did not complete it, because at this time not only was the traditionary site of the tomb a matter of dispute, but also the question of the Assumption of the Virgin was as yet undecided by the learned; a point which was not settled till after A.D. 431, when it was declared by the third General Council, held at Ephesus, that the tombs of the Virgin and S. John were in that city. Besides, if S. Helena had erected a building over the tomb, I cannot account for the silence of Eusebius, the historian of that Empress and her son Constantine, upon that point. I am confirmed in my opinion, that S. Helena did not do more than commence this work, by the fact that neither S. Jerome nor S. Epiphanius, who visited and described Jerusalem, make any mention of this as a sanctuary. Had it then existed, they would not have omitted to name it; especially since, in the fourth century, the belief was widely spread that the Virgin had not died, but had been borne away by the Angels into heaven in her bodily form; and therefore these authors would not have neglected so important a matter as her tomb. Consequently I do not assign the building to the time of Helena. In course of time, when all questions concerning the Assumption were settled, the Sepulchre of Gethsemane rose in importance; and in the fifth century a church was standing there, which we find mentioned for the first time by S. John of Damascus[551], in connexion with the following incident. The Empress Pulcheria, wife of the Emperor Marcian, was anxious to obtain the corpse of the Virgin to be the chief treasure of the church, which she and her husband together had erected in honour of the Mater Dei, in the district Blachernæ (Constantinople)[552]. Juvenal, Patriarch of Jerusalem, arrived at the capital of the Empire on the occasion of the Council of Chalcedon, held A.D. 451, and had an interview with the Empress, who asked him to search in the church at Gethsemane, which was erected over the spot where the Virgin was buried; and if he discovered the sacred relics, to transport them to Constantinople[553]. The Patriarch, however, answered that the tomb was empty, and that the place was regarded with veneration, because the body of the Virgin had been deposited there for a few days. Indeed, at that time it was commonly believed that she had lain three days in the grave like her Son[554]. We have therefore to enquire who founded this church mentioned by Pulcheria. The authors of the eighth and ninth centuries are silent upon this point, and one only of the tenth, Sayd-Ebn-Batrik (an Arabian) says, that it was the Emperor Theodosius II. Hence Quaresmius[555] conjectures that the monument was built between the years A.D. 429 and 457. This would explain the silence of S. Jerome, who died A.D. 420. Antoninus of Piacenza[556], A.D. 600, speaks of the Holy Virgin's house, whence, he says, she was taken up into heaven. A short time after, A.D. 614, it was plundered by the Persians under Chosroes II.[557] The Khalif Omar, A.D. 636, found the church built over the Sepulchre, and twice visited it for prayer. It was still standing at the end of the seventh century, when it was seen by Arculf, who gives the following description of it: "The lower part, beneath a wonderful stone flooring, is a rotunda. The altar is on the eastern side, and to the right of it there is the hollow Sepulchre of S. Mary in the rock in which she once rested after her burial.... In the upper and round Church of S. Mary four altars are shewn." These words clearly prove that the present church is not the one seen by Arculf: since in that there were two rotundas, which have now disappeared. This is also proved by the following fact, that, in the seventh century, when the Khalif Abd-el-Melik was erecting the great mosque of the _Kaaba_ at Mecca, he commanded the columns to be cut away from the Church of Gethsemane, but rescinded the order owing to the prayers of certain Christians of high rank, who promised some other marbles; so that the church was preserved for that time[558]. In the eighth century it was seen by Willibald[559], who mentions, but does not describe it; and says that the tomb did not contain the corpse of the Virgin Mary, but was dedicated to her burial. He states distinctly that it was in the valley of Jehoshaphat. Bernard the Wise[560], A.D. 870, saw the rotunda, and the tomb within it, and says,--"Besides, in that very village (Gethsemane) is the round Church of S. Mary, where is her sepulchre; which, though unprotected by a roof, is never wetted by the rain." The account shews that it was then in a very ruinous condition. From this time until the arrival of the Crusaders we have no further mention of this monument; and the first to notice it again is Sæwulf, A.D. 1103. At that time service was performed by monks wearing a black habit, of the order of Cluny[561]. "These," according to M. de Vogüé[562], "gave to the church in the valley of Jehoshaphat the form which it has retained up to the present day." But, I ask, did the church of Sæwulf contain the same rotundas as that which Arculf visited, and Bernard saw in ruins? The want of evidence makes the question a difficult one, because in such an interval of time they might have fallen to the ground, or have been altered during the persecutions of Hakem, A.D. 1010. We may then suppose that it might have been repaired, or entirely rebuilt, and its plan changed at that time. If the Khalif had found it standing, he would probably have respected it, on account of the reverence felt for it by the Mohammedan women; which protected it in the days of Saladin, and continues to do so at the present day. Again, Sæwulf relates that, during the siege, A.D. 1099[563], all the churches without the city were completely destroyed. How then did he find it standing in 1103? Were the monks of Cluny installed there at once and enriched by Godfrey[564], so that they were able to rebuild it in four years? Had this been the case, surely Sæwulf would have mentioned it. "The anonymous author of the _Gesta Francorum expugnantium Hierusalem_, who wrote in 1106," M. de Vogüé goes on to say[565], "also states that in his time the church built over the Virgin's tomb by the early Christians was quite in ruins." Now if we are to believe this author, we cannot accept the statement of Sæwulf as exact, that all the churches were destroyed. Consequently, I hold that the monks of Cluny rebuilt it after, not before this time. I think that the plan of the church in the fifth century was not very different from the present one, because I believe that the great work of making the stairs was executed when the first building was erected, in order to reach the tomb which was situated, as we have seen, low down, being covered, by the lower rotunda, mentioned by Arculf, with the other above it. In confirmation of this, we find mention made of a platform before the building in the year 1100, (perhaps the present one, though it might be somewhat larger,) which was enclosed by a cloister, where were buried Werner de Gray, cousin of Godfrey, who died at Jerusalem in the month of May, A.D. 1100, and the Knight Arnulph, Prince of Oudenarde, who was slain by the people of Ascalon in 1107[566]. Therefore, I consider this platform to be the only natural entrance into the subterranean church, as it still is. With regard to the building of the present walls, and particularly of the vaults, and to the alterations in the plan with reference to the tomb, I agree with M. de Vogüé, that the monks of Cluny rebuilt the church early in the twelfth century, availing themselves (at least in my opinion) of the ancient foundations. Since that period it has been noticed by many authors; and from their remarks it is evident that the work of the monks has not been changed. Indeed Edrisi, A.D. 1154, describes the church under the name of Gethsemane; stating that it was a mile distant from the Gate of Jehoshaphat, and was a very large and handsome edifice. Here M. de Vogüé very justly remarks, that this expression could not have been applied to the ruins seen by the author of the _Gesta Francorum_. John of Würtzburg[567] minutely describes the interior of the church as it was during the twelfth century. The Sepulchre of Mary, he says, was situated in the middle of a cave, with a 'ciborium' over the sacred remains. He also tells us very clearly how the monument was isolated, and in what way this had been effected; and that it was covered with marble, and with many ornaments in gold and silver. He also mentions some inscriptions that were in the church, with many other points of detail. The description of the church given by John Phocas, A.D. 1185, is not less distinct, and is equally applicable to the present monument[568]. "The church, which stands about the tomb of the Mater Dei, is beneath the ground; it has a vaulted stone roof, is prolonged, and rounded at its extremity. The Sepulchre is placed like a tribune, in the middle. It is excavated out of the rock in the form of a rectangle, and the vaulting is with sharp groins. Inside a kind of bench is hewn out of the eastern wall, of the same rock as the monument; on this the Virgin's body was laid, being brought hither from Mount Sion by the Apostles." In the time of the Latin kingdom a monastery was erected close to the church for the monks who officiated therein. This is frequently mentioned by the historians of the time of the Crusades, in the Cartulary of the Holy Sepulchre, and by Sebastian Pauli, who gives the names of the different Abbots, with dates. One of them, Julduinus, in 1126, was a witness to a deed of gift from Hugo Lord of Joppa (Jaffa) to the Hospital of S. John, in which he is called Abbot of S. Mary's in the Valley of Jehoshaphat[569]. When Saladin took Jerusalem, A.D. 1187, the Saracens utterly destroyed the convent, and used the stones to repair the city-walls[570]; but they spared the church, owing to the reverence with which the Mohammedans (especially the women) regarded the mother of Isa (Jesus). The church then from the time of the Crusades, up to the present day, has not been altered; as is proved by the descriptions of Willibrand, Brocardus[571], Marinus Sanutus, and others, in the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, who all agree on this point. Sanutus[572] states that it was only lighted by an aperture in the vaulted roof, on the side of the Mount (of Olives), and by the staircase; as all the other openings were closed up. Therefore for the last five centuries it has remained in its present condition. After A.D. 1187, the church was for a long time abandoned; and the Christian pilgrims, who desired to visit it, were obliged to obtain the keys from its Mohammedan owners; but, in the year A.D. 1363, it was ceded to the Friars Minors of the Observance[573] by the Sultan of Egypt, at the request of Joan, Queen of Naples. At the same time they obtained permission to rebuild a convent; which is a strong proof that the convent of the monks of Cluny no longer existed. This design, however, was not carried into execution for want of funds. Owing to various difficulties the Franciscans were unable to take possession of their sanctuary before the 30th of March, 1392. The only effect of this concession was to give them the right of performing service in the church, for the Mohammedans were still its owners. This privilege excited the jealousy of the Eastern Christians, who strove by intrigues, backed by large bribes to the authorities in Constantinople, to deprive the Latins of the sanctuary; to whom it rightly belonged, not only by the treaty of 1362, but also as it had been built by the Crusaders. Eventually all the Eastern Christian sects obtained the right of using the place; the Latins, however, retaining the exclusive privilege of performing service in the tomb itself. This also was abrogated by the artifices of the Greeks in 1740; but afterwards the Sultan restored it by a firman to its former owners. Thereupon their enemies, by the aid of calumnies and bribes to the ministers of the Sublime Porte, not only succeeded in retaining possession of the tomb, but also in obtaining the keys of the whole building; which they now hold, enduring with resignation the presence of the Syrians, Armenians, and Copts, who occupy small chapels in the interior of the church. The Latin monks retain the right[574] of performing service during certain days of the year, especially on the Assumption of the Virgin; but they do not avail themselves of it, and justly protest, whenever they have a good opportunity, against the iniquitous usurpation to which they have been subjected. Let us now proceed to examine the exterior and interior of the building; noticing those parts that are of greater importance, and leaving the explanation of the rest to the Plates[575] and their descriptions. The church has unquestionably been buried by the accumulation of the soil around it; which has partly been deposited by the water running down the slopes of the hill, and by the Kidron torrent; and partly raised by the quantity of rubbish cast down here from the city. I have already said that the church was originally built in a low situation, as is shewn by the great staircase, the platform in front of it, and the windows and doors in it; which prove that it was formerly lighted from without. It was enclosed by an outer wall, whose remains may still be seen projecting from the surrounding earth. This was no doubt erected chiefly with a view of protecting the building against streams of rain-water and land-slips, and preventing its windows from being obstructed. It has however proved an inadequate barrier. The terrace-roof is apparently in the usual style of the country, being nearly flat. It is covered with a strong cement, but this is not sufficient to keep the damp out of the vaults, because it is so overgrown with vegetation, that it resembles a field more than what it really is. In the interior of the church we see, on the right hand, a door, now closed up, which, in the days when the Latins had possession of the place, communicated with the Grotto of the Agony by an outside passage, which was not, as many assert, subterranean. I am convinced of this, because I have carefully examined the grotto, and found that it has no other entrance than the one still in use, which is now reached by a passage leading from the north-east corner of the platform. This passage is much later than the church, as it was made by the Franciscans about the middle of the eighteenth century, when they were wrongfully compelled to give up the tomb to the Greeks[576]. After descending some steps we come to two chapels; the one on the right dedicated to the tombs of S. Joachim and S. Ann, the other on the left in honour of the tomb of S. Joseph. Most of the monks of all the sects and the ignorant guides inform the stranger that the saints themselves are buried here. On this point neither the Bible nor history give us the slightest clue, either to the time, place, or manner of their deaths, or to the spot where they are buried. The tradition is worthless, as it only dates from the fifteenth century, and has never been mentioned by any author of importance before or since; but only by those who, for the sake of making a book, and acquainting the world that they have been at Jerusalem, publish all that they hear without any inquiry into its truth or falsehood. I maintain that it is impossible these can be the tombs of the parents of the Virgin, because there is not an atom of rock in any part of the place where they stand, not even in the ground; and the tombs themselves are constructed of masonry. Besides, the shape of the two chapels shews that they were built to contain sarcophagi, in which probably (as Abbé Mariti and M. de Vogüé assert) the bodies of members of the families of the Latin kings were deposited. This opinion is confirmed by the testimony of William of Tyre[577], who says: "The Lady Milisendis of blessed memory, who will be a member of the angelic host, lies buried in the Valley of Jehoshaphat on the right hand of the descent to the tombs of the blessed and undefiled mother of the Lord, the Virgin Mary, in a stone crypt guarded with iron gates, and near to an altar; whereon acceptable daily sacrifices are offered to the Creator, for the repose of her soul, and for the spirits of the faithful departed." This description is as plain as it can be, and does not say one word about the parents of the Virgin Mary. In this chapel the staples and hooks can still be seen by which the iron gratings were hung, until no doubt they were carried off by the Mohammedans. Descending still lower almost to the bottom of the steps, we find on the left hand a small doorway leading into a chamber quite dark, with walls of masonry, which is now used by the Armenians as a sacristy. It has a tesselated pavement, and was, I believe, formerly used as a mortuary chapel. Quitting it we enter the transverse arm of the cross, which lies east and west. In the eastern arm[578] the tomb of the Virgin stands by itself, as I have already described it. Near it on the south is a small niche, especially allotted to the Mohammedans, who visit the place for prayer, as I have often seen. This is the only Christian church in Jerusalem in which the Mohammedans abstain from smoking, or from using it, if needful, as a place for conversation; a mark of respect which they do not pay to the Sepulchre of Christ. Inside the north wall, near the tomb, is the grotto, from which water falls down in drops; this is carefully caught by the Greeks, and sold to visitors with the reputation of possessing many virtues. I tasted it in 1857, when I was making a plan of the building, and found it very good[579]. Opposite to the great staircase is the northern arm of the cross. This has been divided by the Greeks into two stories by means of a wooden floor; the lower serving for a sacristy, the upper for the chamber of the lay-brother who takes care of the place. Here also we find a window, closed with masonry, because it is blocked up on the outside with the accumulated earth. At the extremity of the western arm is the walled-up doorway, which I mentioned[580] in speaking of the subterranean passage, said to exist between the Church of S. Ann and this place. The description annexed to the Plan will shew the places where the different religious sects perform their services, and the other points of detail; therefore I pass on at once to the Grotto of the Agony[581], which came into the keeping of the Franciscans A.D. 1392, together with the Tomb of the Virgin, and is still held exclusively by them. This is said to be the scene of the Agony of Christ on the night before He suffered[582]. It is true that the Evangelists make no mention of a grotto; but tradition and its situation are in favour of this place. Its situation, I say, because it is a stone's throw (according to S. Luke) from the place (also traditional) where the three Apostles awaited him. The tradition is very ancient, and I firmly believe that the Apostles themselves informed the first converts both of this spot and of that where our Lord was betrayed to those who came to take Him prisoner. It seems impossible that His followers would forget the incidents of that night. Gethsemane was outside the city on the slopes of the Mount of Olives, across the Kidron; and its position is clearly defined[583]. We must also remember that there have never been at Gethsemane the same materials for the enemy to lay waste and destroy as there were within the city; so that the spot would not here, as elsewhere, be concealed under ruins and earth. There was a church at the Grotto of the Agony (perhaps built by S. Helena) which is mentioned by S. Jerome[584], as follows: "Gethsemane is the place where the Saviour prayed before His Passion; it is on the spurs of Mount Olivet; a church is now built over it." Not a vestige of this church now remains. In the seventh century Arculf[585] saw the Grotto, and thus describes it: "In the side of Mount Olivet is a certain cave, not far from the Church of S. Mary.... In it are four stone tables, one of which near the entrance of the cave in the interior is the Lord Jesu's. To which little table His seat is fixed, where He was sometimes wont to recline, together with the Apostles, who sat together at other tables." Epiphanius Hagiopolita, towards the middle of the eleventh century, states that "near the Tomb of the Virgin, is the holy grotto to which Christ retired with His disciples[586]." Now though these two authors do not mention that our Lord withdrew to this place to pray, still that does not contradict the fact, and we may naturally suppose that the Saviour selected a spot which was already well known, and where perhaps he had been wont to teach. Therefore I identify their grotto with that of S. Jerome, which I consider to be the Grotto of the Agony. Sæwulf tells us that it was known by this name before the arrival of the Crusaders; and during the Latin kingdom there was a church there dedicated to S. Saviour, as we find stated in the Citez de Jherusalem[587]: "In front of this church at the foot of the Mount of Olives is a church in a rock, which men call Gethsemane--there was Jesus Christ taken. On another part of the way, as one goes up towards the Mount of Olives as far as a stone's throw, is the church called S. Saviour. There did Jesus Christ pass the night in prayer before He was taken, and there did He let fall the blood-drops from His body as though it had been sweat." All these testimonies, then, go to prove that this is really the Grotto of the Agony. The Plan and Section will make clear its interior, which is excavated from a limestone rock. The Abbé Mariti, who visited it April 30, 1767, endeavoured to discover the inscription mentioned by Quaresmius[588], which Father Nau[589] asserts that he read above the larger altar on the north; but as he could only find some illegible traces of letters, he extracts the inscription from the works of Quaresmius; it ran as follows: HIC REX (SAN)CTUS SUDAVIT SANGUINEM... SEPE MORABATUR DU C... MI PATER SI VIS TRANSFER CALICEM ISTU A ME. Quaresmius also states that the Crusaders adorned the vaulted roof with paintings, traces of which he saw. These were also seen by Mariti, but were then nearly obliterated by the action of time and damp. They have now been destroyed by the repairs effected by the Franciscans. Let us now visit the Garden of Gethsemane[590], which is exactly a stone's throw distant from the Grotto towards the south-east. The entrance-gate is at the south end of the east wall. Gethsemane was a little village, with a garden close to it, to which Jesus was wont to retire[591]. The name is interpreted to mean 'rich earth,' from _Get_ (earth) and _sman_ (rich): by others it is rendered 'olive-mill.' Either of these explanations is appropriate; for the land is very good, and especially suited to olive-trees, which are planted all about the neighbourhood. I cannot say they are cultivated, because the Arabs take no trouble with them after the first planting. The garden belongs to the Franciscans, and a few years ago was enclosed with a wall, in order to preserve its eight old olive-trees from the injuries of ignorant vandalism or mistaken piety. These are highly valued, because their stumps, or at any rate their roots, are believed to have been there at the time of our Saviour's Passion. I do not think this can be said of their trunks, because I think that they could not have escaped at the time when all the wood for a considerable distance round Jerusalem was cut down by the Roman army during the siege, A.D. 70[592]. They are even respected by the Mohammedans, as is shewn by their exemption from the tax, which every fruit-tree pays to the Government[593]: their owners being charged only eight bushels for all the trees. The monks to whom they belong satisfy ordinary pilgrims with flowers grown in the garden, with a few leaves or little slips of the olive, but give to their benefactors and to persons of distinction rosaries made with the fruits, and oil extracted from them. Outside the south-east corner of the garden-wall a rock is pointed out as the place where the Apostles, Peter, James, and John, fell asleep[594], and where Judas betrayed his Master. The tradition attached to this spot is very ancient; it is mentioned by the Pilgrim of Bordeaux[595], A.D. 333. Sæwulf also mentions it, A.D. 1103, but without alluding to any buildings in connexion with it. The Crusaders, however, certainly erected some memorial there, which is noticed by Brocardus[596], A.D. 1230, under the name of the Chapel of Gethsemane, "placed on a rock on the side of the Mount of Olives, under which the Apostles were overcome by sleep." At a later period Phocas calls it 'the sleep of the Apostles.' Some slight ruins are now seen there, consisting of dressed stones, shafts of columns, and jambs of a door; unmistakeable indications of a chapel. The original one indeed may have been destroyed in 1187, but it must have been rebuilt, because an old Bethlehemite (aged 86) assured me in 1856 that he remembered to have seen there the remains of a small building, inside of which was a stone stained with blood. This I have no doubt was a piece of yellow Palestine breccia with red veins, which abounds in the country. I do not, however, pretend to fix the exact spots in this locality at which the different circumstances of the Agony happened, but simply follow the tradition which in this instance is of great weight. We will now proceed southward along the east bank of the Kidron, down the so-called Valley of Jehoshaphat. No other spot is better fitted than this to excite high and solemn thoughts in the hearts of even the most indifferent. It is in truth the valley of meditation, of tears, and of death. No living creature disturbs the visitor who comes to muse in its mournful solitude. A city buried under its own ruins, a torrent-bed without water, a few trees with bare branches or but a scanty foliage, naked rocks, barren mountains, mounds of rubbish formed by fallen buildings, graves all around, broken tombs, monuments of martyrs or of prophets, and lastly, the place of the Agony of the Son of God, make up a scene that overpowers the mind with emotion and compels it to solemn reflexion. The eye, at its first glance towards the slope of the mountain, is arrested by a large space of ground full of graves, each of which is covered by a single stone. Here is the Jewish cemetery. To fill a little trench in this spot numbers of Jews leave their country, and, regardless alike of the toils and costs of the journey, and of the hardships they have to undergo, flock eagerly to Jerusalem to end their days within its walls, and sleep their last sleep in the land of their fathers. Each stone bears an inscription; and among them are some of considerable antiquity, dating from the year 1296. This field of the dead was enlarged in 1858 by the Jews, with the assistance of their European brethren: it therefore stretches away for some distance eastward, rising up the southern slopes of Olivet. Each year they do some work in order to prepare the ground for burials; and by this means, in 1859 and 1860, they found bases, shafts, and capitals of columns, and a considerable number of large dressed stones, on the eastern summit of the mountain. These are, undoubtedly, the remains of some Christian memorials, which were destroyed by the Mohammedans in their successful attacks. When Abbé Mariti visited the Holy City in 1767, the Jews paid a sequin per diem to the Governor as rent for the ground, and in addition each grave was purchased separately. The tax to the Pasha is now no longer exacted, but a payment is made to the Sheikh of the village of Siloam, who nominally takes care of the ground: the graves, however, are still bought, but the price is paid to the Jewish administration, who ask more or less according to the rank of the deceased and to the position chosen. On the slope above the Kidron, to the west of the cemetery, are four ancient monuments, called the tombs of Jehoshaphat, Absalom, S. James (also called the Retreat of the Apostles), and Zacharias. We will visit these one by one. First is the tomb of Jehoshaphat, standing at the north-east corner of the vestibule excavated in the rock, which surrounds the tomb of Absalom[597]. The Bible[598] tells us that King Jehoshaphat was buried with his fathers in the city of David, consequently his name has been wrongly given to this tomb. It is indeed possible that he may have caused it to be made, but there is no evidence to prove this. In 1858 only a very small portion of its frontispiece was visible, owing to the accumulation of earth brought down by the rains, and to the heaps of stones, placed there by the Jews to prevent any one from entering it; because they sometimes bury therein the corpses of those who have paid a high price for a place of such distinction, and left enough property to satisfy the greed of the Sheikh of Siloam, who otherwise would not allow them to fulfil the wishes of the deceased. Accordingly I gained over the Sheikh, and during the night, with the aid of some of his peasants, not only laid bare the whole frontispiece, but also opened a small passage to the interior, into which I made my way. However, I was soon driven out again by the insupportable stench from the corpses. Nevertheless, I was determined not to be conquered; I bought permission to enlarge the hole, and some hours later entered again; and though two corpses, in the last stage of decomposition, lay almost across the doorway, I made a sketch of its plan, which will be found sufficiently exact, measurements excepted. These I had not time to take; the reeking mud of bones, rotted by the infiltrated water, emitted an overpowering odour; besides the day was at hand, and before it came the passage must be closed again. The frontispiece, however, was left exposed. The tomb is entirely excavated in the rock, and its frontispiece, 10-1/2 feet long, is in the same style as that at the Sepulchre of the Judges[599]. I will reserve my opinion of its ornamentation till I have described the three other monuments. Dr Isambert[600], of Paris, states that a Roman Catholic missionary, who entered it in 1842, found there a very ancient copy of the Pentateuch. Surely he forgets that the Jews have been in the habit of burying in this place for some centuries, so that his 'very ancient Pentateuch' would not have escaped them! Besides, this book was probably only a Synagogue roll, imperfect copies of which are often buried near the corpses of the Rabbins[601]. Mr Finn, then Her Britannic Majesty's Consul at Jerusalem, informed me that he had learnt from some Jewish traditions that the true position of the tomb of Jehoshaphat was 20 feet to the west, and nearly in front of that of Absalom. Being desirous to verify this statement, I took some labourers, and explored all that part; but found everywhere nothing but solid rock, without the slightest trace of any work. Let us now proceed to examine the Tomb of Absalom, the most elegant and magnificent of those in the neighbourhood of the city. It is a cubical monolith, each side being about 20-1/2 feet. The tapering columns of the lower part support a Doric entablature, consisting of an architrave, a fillet, and a frieze ornamented with triglyphs (with guttæ) and pateræ on the metopes, above is an Egyptian cornice. All this lower part is hewn out of the solid rock; the rest is masonry[602]. The total height of the monument is 52-1/4 feet, and that of the monolith about 20 feet. These measurements are only approximate, owing to the quantity of small stones, which have raised the general level of the ground, and are difficult to clear away. On the east side is the opening through which the corpses were introduced[603]. It is very small, and was in all probability formerly closed by a stone in the manner usual with the Jews; but I have not been able to determine this point, because the monument is almost buried on that side, and I was reluctant to encounter the expense of removing the earth, and the vexations to be undergone in obtaining the permission. There is a breach in each face of the cube. I entered by that on the north, and found myself in a small chamber, 8 feet square, containing many stones that have been thrown in from without. In the northern wall is a sepulchral niche, and another in the western. In the southern is the opening to a staircase, which would no doubt have led me, had I been able to enter it, to the Tomb of Jehoshaphat. The heaps of small stones, round about the outside of the monument, increase daily, because the Jews, Christians, and Mohammedans, who pass by, hurl a stone at it to mark their abhorrence of David's rebel son. This custom has prevailed for a long time; for Surius[604] relates that it was in force in his days, and that every one on throwing his stone cried out, "At the villain, at the barbarian, at the murderer, who made war against his father!" I believe that the origin of this was, as we are told in the Bible[605] and Josephus[606], that the servants of Joab took the body of Absalom down from the tree, and casting it into a deep dark crevice, covered it up with so great a heap of stones, that they formed a kind of sepulchral mound. This took place in the wood of Ephraim, on the other side of Jordan[607]; it is therefore evident that Absalom was not buried in the present monument. The monolithic portion may indeed date from his time, but the upper story is much later; for we read[608], "Now Absalom in his life-time had taken and reared up for himself a pillar, which is in the King's dale: for he said, I have no son to keep my name in remembrance: and he called the pillar after his own name: and it is called unto this day Absalom's place." There can be no doubt that this part of the Kidron valley was called the 'King's dale,' because we find the 'King's garden[609]' here, which establishes this point. With regard to the monument, Josephus[610] fixes its site by saying that "Absalom had erected for himself a white marble pillar in the King's dale, two stadia distant from Jerusalem, which he named Absalom's Hand, saying, that if his children were killed, his name would remain by that pillar." The white marble is the breccia of Palestine, which can be worked and polished like marble. The monolith supporting the pillar is left, but the rest is gone, perhaps having been destroyed by Joab, when he returned to Jerusalem with his victorious army. I therefore believe this to be the pillar of Absalom mentioned in the Bible, especially as it is two stadia distant from the city. To the west, and almost opposite to the monument just described, is a little bridge over the Kidron. An uncertain tradition points out this as the place where Jesus crossed the stream on His way to the house of Caiaphas, and also shews on a rock close by the impression made by His knees as He fell. There is no mention of this in the Bible; it is named by Quaresmius[611]. This road, from the garden to the so-called house of Caiaphas (on Sion), is commonly called the 'road of the Capture.' The topography of the ancient city is unfavourable to the story. A few yards to the south of the Tomb of Absalom is the Retreat of the Apostles, or, according to some, the Tomb of S. James[612]. The Arabs call it _Diwan Faroon_ (Divan of Pharaoh); but they cannot tell for what reason. The outer porch is supported by two columns and two pilasters, sculptured from the rock in which the whole monument is excavated. The porch is about 31 feet wide and 9 deep. In the northern wall is a door, leading by a staircase up into the rock above the sepulchral chamber. In the eastern wall is another door leading into the principal room, a square of 13 feet, into which three smaller chambers open, containing each a niche for a corpse. In the south wall of the vestibule is a square door, leading into a corridor connected with the monument on the south. Tradition relates that S. James and the ten other disciples concealed themselves here on the night when our Saviour was taken prisoner in the garden of Gethsemane, and that they remained here until the day of the Resurrection, when He appeared to S. James[613]. Hegesippus[614] says that S. James was buried near the Temple, and that a monument was raised to his memory, which remained until Hadrian rebuilt the city. The Roman martyrology tells the same story. M. Mislin observes, that this site is not opposed to the tradition, because it may be said to be near the Temple; since, at the time of the Saint's death, they did not bury within the walls of the city. On this point I leave the reader to form his own opinion. I myself do not vouch for the tradition; although the Saint may possibly have been interred here, even if the tomb was not originally constructed for him. The Tomb of Zacharias is a monolith, hewn out of the mountain; so excavated that there is a passage five feet wide round all the sides, except of course the western. Each of its faces is 17-1/2 feet long, decorated with two columns in the middle, and two half-columns each attached to pilasters at the corners, all forming part of the same block[615]. Around it is a number of Jewish graves, which make it impossible to determine its true elevation; but the height of the portion visible above them is 19 feet. The decoration is not completed in every part. On the eastern side the columns are only rough-hewn, and not finished off as on the three other sides. Inside the monolith is a sepulchral chamber connected with the corridor from the Tomb of S. James. This Zacharias is thought to be the son of Jehoiada, who was slain by king Joash between the temple and the altar[616]; with whose death the Jews are reproached by Christ[617]. So the Jews at the present time believe, consequently they hold the place in great veneration, and pay very highly to be interred after death anywhere near it; which is the cause of the accumulation of stones round it. The Pilgrim of Bordeaux calls it the Tomb of Isaiah, and Benjamin of Tudela the Tomb of Hosea. To the south of this is another tomb almost buried, on which however two columns can be distinguished. By partially uncovering it I ascertained that it was an ancient monument. It might be supposed to be that of Hosea, but I will not undertake to prove it. I am very much disposed to think that the piece of ground containing these four monuments may be the garden of Uzza, in which Manasseh and Amon were buried[618]; or, at any rate, that they were tombs intended to receive the remains of members of the royal family, or of men of distinction in the country. I refer my readers to the excellent description of the four monuments in M. de Saulcy's work[619]. I think that when they were first constructed they were without decorations, and that they were elaborated at a much later period; because on them we find the Greek and Egyptian styles of architecture; consequently I attribute this part to the time of Herod. Dr Robinson[620], struck with the similarity between these and the rock sepulchres of Petra, in the mixture of Grecian and Egyptian architecture, considered the decorations to be perhaps contemporaneous with the Herods, who were of Idumæan origin, or possibly to belong even to the era of Hadrian. Following the road southward along the Kidron we arrive at the Fountain of the Virgin, on the west bank of the torrent. This is highly esteemed by both Christians and Mohammedans, who believe (according to an ancient tradition) that the Virgin Mary used to frequent it to draw water and wash the clothes of her Divine Son. The latter have an oratory, where, after ablutions in the fountain, they offer up their prayers to the mother of Isa (Jesus). A small mosque stood here in the sixteenth and seventeenth century, but even its ruins have now disappeared. The Arabs call the place _Aïn Sitti Mariam_ (Fountain of our Lady Mary), and also _Aïn um-el-Deraj_ (Fountain of our Lady near the steps). It is at the extremity of an excavation in the rock, reached by 28 steps, which, as I have already said[621], have been constructed owing to the rise of the ground. These are divided into two flights by a chamber with a pointed vaulting (Crusaders' work), which is 9-1/2 feet wide and 10-1/4 high. The lower grotto is 26 feet deep, the water flows into a basin 16 feet long, 6 wide, and 7 deep; and from this to the upper pool of Siloam through a subterranean conduit. I shall consider this conduit and the intermittent flow of the fountain in the chapter on the waters. Popular superstition attributes the interruption of the stream to a dragon, that lives concealed at the source, and arrests its course in quenching his thirst. It is also commonly believed that the water is supplied by reservoirs under the _Haram_, which is not far from the truth, as we shall see. On our way from the fountain to the Pool of Siloam we follow the bed of the torrent for a little way, and then take the road skirting the western bank of the valley. This leads us to a small pond adjoining the western corner of the pool situated almost at the south extremity of Ophel, at the end of the Tyropoeon Valley. This pool is frequently mentioned in the Scriptures. Isaiah speaks of its 'waters that go softly[622];' Nehemiah[623], of the wall of the Pool of Siloam; S. John[624], of the man born blind, who was sent to 'wash in the Pool of Siloam.' Josephus frequently names it, especially in one of his addresses to the besieged Jews, when he tells them, as a sign of God's anger, that the Fountain of Siloam, which before the siege had ceased to supply them with water, now gave forth plenty to the Romans. He tells them also that the same thing took place during the siege by Nebuchadnezzar[625]. On the last day of the Feast of Tabernacles the people went with great solemnity to draw the water of Siloam, and brought it to the altar, where it was mingled with the wine of the sacrifices; in remembrance of the water which God had given them in the desert by the rod of Moses, and to entreat Him to send down rain on the new-sown seed. At this festival our Lord was present when he cried, "If any man thirst, let him come unto Me and drink[626]." The Talmud[627] asserts, "whoever has not seen the joy of that day has never seen joy." In the evening those who were the wisest and most highly cultivated of the nation assembled together in the vestibule of the Temple, and sang to the music of instruments before all the people; they danced, clapped their hands, and jumped about in a disorderly manner, and the applause was tremendous. This was done in remembrance of the dance of David[628]. From this we see in what esteem the waters of Siloam were always held; and it did not diminish after the prevalence of Christianity. The Bordeaux Pilgrim, A.D. 333, writes thus, "At the bottom of the valley on the left-hand, near the wall, is a pool, which is called Siloa. It has a portico of four bays, and there is another large pool without." S. Jerome[629] mentions the intermittent flow of the water: "But we, above all, who live in this province, cannot doubt that the Fountain of Siloam is by the lower slopes of Mount Sion, which flows not steadily, but bubbles forth at uncertain intervals, and comes with a loud roar through the hollow parts of the earth to the caves of very hard rock." This description appears at first sight to contradict the words of the Prophet Isaiah, who speaks of 'the waters of Siloah that go softly.' The two, however, may be easily reconciled; for the waters ordinarily flow quietly into the pool; but when the peasants dam up the outlet in order to retain the stream for irrigating their gardens, the current rolls along noisily. I made the experiment in 1861, when an Arab Effendi, Jusef Bachatip, requested me to examine whether there was a sufficient supply of water to work a corn-mill. Nicephorus Callistus[630] states that "S. Helena constructed wonderful works at the pool which is called Siloe." I doubt this; the stones still remaining there, and the inner walls, indicate a higher antiquity than the time of her visit to the city; moreover, I think that if she had built anything, the Bordeaux Pilgrim would have mentioned it; and we know that the place was highly regarded by the Jews. It is also remarkable that he says nothing of a church, while, in A.D. 600, Antoninus of Piacenza[631] relates, "There is a basilica there, within which are latticed enclosures, in one of which men bathe in order to receive a blessing, in the other women; and in front of the door is a great pool, made by the hand of man, in which the people bathe at certain hours." S. Boniface[632] adds, that the basilica was dedicated to S. Saviour the Illuminator. In the beginning of the eleventh century Albert of Aix[633] writes, "At that place, where there is a square walled building like a cloister, in the middle of which a little stream is received." He, however, does not mention a church, nor does John Phocas, who confines himself to saying, that he saw the columns and the vaulted roofs which adorned and surrounded the source, without mentioning the basilica; and afterwards adds, "It would be easy to repair the ruins of the sacred fountain, but no one touches or puts his hand to them, and so they are going day by day to ruin, like the buildings at the other Holy Places[634]." Certain eminent authors of the present day assert that in the fourth or fifth century the pool was covered by a church. This I cannot admit, because I find no mention of it in S. Jerome and Phocas. Antoninus of Piacenza must have mistaken the porches for a basilica; and we know from his other descriptions that he is by no means to be trusted; while those who have followed him have been misled by his words, and by the shafts of columns and other ruins in the neighbourhood. During the siege of Jerusalem, A.D. 1099, Raymond d'Agiles[635] gives the following account of what happened at the fountain of Siloam: "Whenever the fountain began to flow, the Christians flung themselves into it one on the other, and very often perished along with their cattle. It was thus choked with the bodies of men and animals who had fallen into it." This does not prove the goodness of the waters[636]; for we know from Tudebode[637], that water was so scarce during the siege, that the pilgrims went a distance of six miles to fetch some though bad and offensive, in little leathern vessels which they had made of the hides of oxen and other animals (after the custom of the country). This water, corrupted though it was, was sold at such a high price, that a crown would not buy enough to quench a single man's thirst. If, then, men were in such want as to drink this water, they would be very glad to get that of Siloam. Saladin compared this stream to the rivers of Paradise; but as it is the only naturally flowing stream to be seen in Jerusalem, and as it irrigates the luxuriant gardens of Siloam, and also in times of drought is valuable to the city for many purposes, we can understand the feeling that produced this Oriental exaggeration. In his time a small mosque was built near the pool. Let me now describe its present appearance. It is an oblong pool, exhibiting everywhere signs of neglect. Earth and stones slip down into it from the higher ground all round, and partly fill it. The peasants of Siloam, whose gardens are irrigated by its waters, are sometimes obliged to clear it out, but the work is done carelessly. Its dimensions are 52 feet in length, 19-1/2 in breadth, and 20-1/4 in depth. The revêtement is a modern restoration, and in it are incorporated shafts of grey granite columns, the fragments of the above-named portico. At the north-east corner of the reservoir is a small arch with a flight of steps, which are in a ruinous state. This leads down into a little basin, into which the conduit (3 feet wide and about 12 high) from the Fountain of the Virgin empties itself. This explains why the stream in the Pool of Siloam is intermittent, like that at the Fountain, and also the etymology of the word, which signifies 'sent[638].' There is an opening at the north-east corner, by which the water flows to the gardens of Siloam through a conduit excavated in the rock, opposite to the south end of Ophel. An examination of the interior of the pool disclosed to me the ancient passage by which the water ran down into the lower pool. The latter I have already stated to be, in my opinion, the Pool of Solomon, mentioned by Josephus[639] in his description of the first wall of the city. Here, according to the Pilgrim of Bordeaux and Antoninus of Piacenza, the Christians resorted to bathe at certain times. It is now a cultivated garden; for the earth brought down by the rains from the higher ground has completely filled it up. The Arabs now call it _Birket el-Hamra_. Coins are frequently found by the peasants among the earth in the interior; which have been brought down and deposited there by the conduits flowing from the city. At the south-east corner of Solomon's Pool are some ruins, consisting of shafts and broken capitals of columns, walls and dressed stones of Jewish workmanship. In the middle stands a very old forked mulberry-tree, said to mark the spot where the prophet Isaiah was sawn asunder. According to a tradition received by both the Jews and the Christians, Isaiah was put to death in the early part of Manasseh's reign, and his body was buried under an oak near to the Well Rogel[640]. I do not admit the identity of Siloam and Rogel, which Abbé Mariti[641] tries to establish; but consider it improbable that the mulberry should mark the place of the martyrdom, and the oak indicate the tomb. The position of the latter I do not attempt to fix, as there are many burial-places near Rogel, but none with the proper tree. The Mohammedans hold the site of the martyrdom in great veneration, and go there to pray. It also serves as a place of assembly for the villagers of Siloam, when they want to discuss any matter of interest. From this point we see at one glance the gardens of Siloam, which I have already identified[642] with the King's gardens of former times[643]. The inhabitants are indebted to the little stream flowing from the upper pool for the rich crops of vegetables produced by the plots of land, once the favourite haunts of Solomon's wives. Then they must have been more abundantly irrigated than they now are; and very probably the King constructed the lower pool for this purpose. His humble successors still reap large profits from the ground, though with a diminished supply of water; all of which they bestow on the plants, reserving none for their own persons. Following the course of the valley, we leave the mouth of the Valley of Hinnom, on the right, and before long arrive at the Well of Joab or Job, called by the Arabs _Bir Eyub_, and still known by the name of the Well of Nehemiah, or of the Sacred Fire[644]. No one knows what connexion this well has with Joab or Job; but a tradition relates that when Nebuchadnezzar took Jerusalem, the Priests concealed the sacred fire here in order to save it from profanation; and that, on their return from the Captivity, it miraculously blazed forth, at the prayer of Nehemiah, from the mud which had been found in the hiding-place[645]. When the truth of this story was proved to the satisfaction of the King of Persia, he enclosed the place, and made it holy. Nehemiah "called this thing Naphthar, which is as much as to say, a cleansing, but many men call it Nephi[646]." This I believe to be the ancient _En-Rogel_, which was on the frontier of Judah and Benjamin[647]. Here David's spies, Jonathan and Ahimaaz, stayed to watch the progress of Absalom's rebellion[648]; and here again the partisans of Adonijah assembled, under the pretext of a banquet[649]. Josephus, in his account of this conspiracy, tells us that the fountain was in the King's garden. At a distance _Bir Eyub_ appears like a ruined house; but, on approaching it, we find a quadrangular basin and some ruins, with a frail structure over the well, and a Mohammedan oratory. In summer it contains little water, but during the winter-rains it is not only full, but even overflows into the Kidron. If this do not happen, it is considered by the inhabitants a bad omen for the coming season; but when it does, a fertile year is expected, and the whole country rejoices. The water escapes from the well by a conduit in its east wall, which disappears in the ground after a distance of 60 feet. The description of its interior, of the supposed phenomenon of intermittence, and of my investigation on this point, I leave to the Chapter on the Waters; contenting myself at present with stating, that I have examined the well to the bottom without finding any trace of a spring. On the first appearance of the desired prognostic of prosperity, the peasants of Siloam, who, as nearest to the spot, consider themselves its owners, fill earthen vessels from the overflowing stream, and bear them to the conventual bodies and persons of distinction in the city, receiving in return the omnipotent _Bakshish_. Then the townspeople flock together there; tents are pitched, and little refreshment booths improvised; parties of pleasure are made up; pipes and coffee circulate briskly, while Arab music and dances enliven the festive scene. Infirm men and women are carried thither, and dip the soles of their feet in the water; mothers bathe their babes in it, to restore them to health; horsemen exhibit their own skill in riding and the activity of their fine steeds, in the swollen waters of the Kidron: and when the rains are abundant, the merriment is kept up for 15 days. This is the only occasion on which the melancholy inhabitants of Jerusalem give way to rejoicing; and even that is in the midst of tombs and tokens of sorrow, in the supposed Valley of Jehoshaphat, because they see the waters of the Kidron flowing, which then, and then only, is in reality a torrent. Here ends the Valley of Jehoshaphat, or, as it may be called, from the Fountain of the Virgin to this well, the Valley of Siloam. Let us then follow the path on the north of _Bir Eyub_, and ascend the Mount of Offence[650]. This is only the southernmost part of the Mount of Olives, separated from the main mass by the road from Jerusalem to Bethany. Its summit is supposed to have been the scene of the idolatrous rites of the concubines of Solomon, and of the King himself, and some of his successors. Here are a few fragments of ruins, possibly the remains of the heathen temples; but beyond these there is nothing worthy of notice, except the fine view. On the western slope of this hill, near the Kidron, is the wretched village inhabited by the Mohammedan peasants of Siloam, called _Kefr Silwan_, probably from the waters of that name in its vicinity. It is a strange combination of cottages, built on a vertical rock, and of great sepulchral caves, now used as dwelling-places or granaries. These caverns formerly afforded shelter to monks and hermits. John of Würtzburg[651] writes thus: "The same valley has more caverns on all sides, in which holy men lead a solitary life." It has now a population of about 300, none of whom can strictly be termed poor, as they are employed in carrying into the city the water of _Bir Eyub_ for domestic use, and that of the Fountain of the Virgin and of the Pool of Siloam for buildings. Some cultivate their gardens and plots of land on the eastern slopes of Sion, and many are hired as escorts for pilgrims to the plains of Jericho, when they are not otherwise engaged as thieves or robbers; professions in which the village has attained much celebrity. They also profit by the generosity or timidity of the Jews, extorting from them _bakshish_, when they come to bury a corpse, or visit the grave of a relation. At the north end of the village is a monolithic monument, whose architecture resembles the Egyptian[652]. It is a square in plan, and is entirely detached from the rock. Within are two chambers. M. de Saulcy considers it to be an Egyptian chapel, constructed by Solomon to receive the remains of his wife, Pharaoh's daughter. To this opinion I incline, as I cannot find any more satisfactory explanation of it. S. Luke mentions a tower in Siloam[653]; but whether this was near the pool or the village, we do not know; probably the latter, as it then would have served as a watch-tower and keep, or even as an ornament, seeing there were some other buildings on the Mount of Offence. Leaving the village we will ascend the Mount of Olives, which we have already described[654]. In order to examine its chief points of interest more easily, we will return to the Garden of Gethsemane, whence two roads mount the western slope. The northern presents nothing worthy of remark, except that close to its outset is a rock, where the Virgin is said to have appeared from heaven to S. Thomas, who was sitting there lamenting that he had not been present at her assumption, and to have presented him with her girdle. We will therefore select the southern path, though it is more rugged and in worse repair than the other. As we ascend, we pass an Arab house in the form of a tower; but no traditions are attached to it. Beyond it, about half way up the mountain, is a mass of buildings wholly Arab, which are pointed out as marking the spot where Jesus wept over Jerusalem. I do not believe that the event occurred anywhere in this neighbourhood, because the Evangelist[655] tells us that our Lord was coming from Bethphage and Bethany; and therefore, in all probability, He had ascended the road leading from these places up the eastern slope of the mountain. Then, when first the city rose before them, I believe that the disciples and the multitude began to rejoice and praise God. It is said also that this happened when He was 'at the descent of the Mount of Olives[656],' and the place now shewn is a considerable distance below the summit. Some rely upon the words, 'when He was come near He beheld the city, and wept over it,' to authenticate this locality; but though these words may possibly shew that the place of the weeping was in advance of the first-named spot, still I cannot admit that this would have happened on the southern road (which then, in all probability, did not exist, as it is rather a goat-track than a foot-path), or that our Saviour would have departed from the ordinary road. Surius relates that a church stood on this place, under the name 'Dominus flevit,' which was built by the early Christians, and destroyed by the Turks. I do not deny that a church may have been there, but that does not prove the authenticity of the spot. Godfrey of Bouillon is said to have pitched his tent there. Certainly, if this be true, he did not select so convenient a situation for examining the city as the summit to which I now conduct my reader. The mountain has three summits in a line lying north and south. The northernmost, which joins on to Mount Scopus, is known by the name of Viri Galilæi; on it we find a large cistern and some ruins, apparently the remains of a watchtower. The guides call them the ruins of a convent, and not improbably one belonging to the Syrians stood here at the time of the Crusades, as is shewn by the following passages: "Near the Mount of Olives, on the left, is a monastery of the Syrians[657]," and "there is a place suited for a camp, and buildings seem to have been there. On the summit there is a cistern, and the whole place is delightsome[658]." The name of Viri Galilæi is given by the inhabitants of the country, who believe that the two men clothed in white stood there and addressed the Apostles, "Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven[659]?" The legend is obviously inadmissible, as the vision evidently occurred at the place of the Ascension[660]. The more probable reason, according to Quaresmius[661], is, that a house stood there bearing that name, which was so called because it was frequented by the Galilæans when they visited the city on the occasion of any festival. The second and highest summit is the one traditionally pointed out as the place of the Ascension[662]; in accordance with the words of the Acts of the Apostles[663], "Then returned they unto Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is from Jerusalem a sabbath day's journey." Some consider the account in S. Luke's Gospel[664] opposed to this belief, where it is said, "He led them out as far as Bethany." But as the Mount of Olives is in the district of Bethany, the Evangelist may very well have put the whole for the part; so that there is no reason why we should not accept the site at present known as the scene of the Ascension. The third summit is the Mount of Offence, of which we have already spoken. The name of Olivet is derived from the olive-trees, which are still cultivated upon its slopes, though now in very small numbers. Mariti[665] says, "it is still known by the name of the Celebrated and Holy Mountain[666]." Quaresmius and Ludolph[667] remark that in some ancient versions of the Acts of the Apostles, we find in ch. i. ver. 12, the 'Mount of the Three Lights' instead of the 'Mount of Olives.' Both of them explain the origin of this name to be that during the night these three summits were illuminated on the west by the light of the fire on the altar of the Lord, which was kept always burning, and in the morning on the east by the beams of the rising sun, before they fell upon Jerusalem. Reland asserts that from its three eminences it is called the Mount of the Three Summits. By a chain of fire-signals from this mountain the Israelites used to communicate to their brethren in distant lands the appearance of the new moon before the Passover. On one occasion the Samaritans, in order to deceive the Jews, lighted similar fires at the wrong time, for which reason the Jews were afterwards obliged to send messengers. The Talmud relates the manner in which these fires were made. "How did they raise the flames on high? They took long wands of cedar and reeds and pitchy wood and tow, and bound them together with a thread. And one, after ascending the mountain, lights this, and tosses the flame hither and thither, and up and down, until he sees another doing the same on the next mountain; and so on to the third. But from what point did they first raise the fire on high? From the Mount of Olives to Sartaba; from Sartaba to Gryphena; from Gryphena to Hauran; from Hauran to Beth Baltin; and he who raised the flame on Beth Baltin did not retire from it, but tossed his torch hither and thither, and up and down, until he saw the whole Captivity blazing with fires[668]." "The Samaritans also once raised the fires at the wrong time, and so deceived Israel." (Gloss.) Sozomen[669] relates that, on the seventh of May, A.D. 331, a remarkable prodigy manifested the glory of God to the inhabitants of Jerusalem. A luminous cross, far brighter than any comet, was seen above the Valley of Jehoshaphat, reaching from Golgotha to the Mount of Olives. This vision lasted for several hours, and was seen by all the people, who ran to the church to celebrate the praises of Him who had thus testified to the truth of the Christian faith. Tancred, on the arrival of the Crusaders before Jerusalem, ascended this mountain alone to reconnoitre the place, and was attacked by five Mohammedans, whom he discomfited single-handed. Hither too the Crusaders came in procession to pray for victory from the Lord of Hosts, before they assaulted the walls. In the reign of Baldwin II. the Mohammedan chiefs with their bands assembled here with their troops in order to assault the city; but the Christian warriors attacked and dispersed them, slaying a great number, and the rest were destroyed by a band who sallied forth from Nablous. During the reign of the Latin kings the mountain was covered with churches, chapels, and cells for monks and hermits. Hence remains of these are constantly found. Let us now examine the summit bearing the name of the Ascension; and relate the history of those monuments, of which some traces still remain, or the sites of which are known. The mountain is crowned by a small village, clustered round a mosque and minaret, and extending a little eastward. Its cottages are miserable dens, but in their walls, ordinary as they are, fragments are seen, generally mutilated, which appear to have belonged to buildings of a higher architectural character. In front of the village (called _Jebel Tor_), on the west, the Greeks and the Armenians possess a plot of ground, in which they have found, while working there, some pieces of ornamental work, such as cornices, capitals, and the like; together with some large cisterns, which are also common in other parts. On the Greek property towards the north, an ancient wall was found in 1860, which from its masonry appears to me to have formed part of a Roman intrenchment. I refer it to the epoch of Titus, when the tenth legion was encamped here, and the soldiers were ordered to fortify themselves[670]. On the western slope is a small plateau, occupied by a Mohammedan cemetery, from which there is a beautiful view; but in order to enjoy this thoroughly it is necessary to ascend the minaret. This marks the spot from which the Lord ascended into heaven. It is now covered by a small mosque, in which the Mohammedans come to pray, shewing thus how greatly they also reverence the place. Before examining it, we will notice the surprising panorama visible from the minaret. To the west the Holy City is spread out before us[671]. We look down the Valley of Jehoshaphat from its head on the north, to where it joins the Tyropoeon and the Valley of Hinnom; we can distinguish the hills of Jerusalem itself, and so understand its ancient topography. What thoughts arise as the eye roams from the plateau of the _Haram es-Sherîf_ to the Castle of David, from Golgotha to Sion, from Bezetha to Gareb! The scenes of the Old and New Testament, the histories of so many different nations, the punishment of the elect people, are brought home to mind and heart; while we feel moved to repeat the words of Jeremiah, "How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of people! how is she become as a widow! she that was great among the nations, and princess among the provinces, how is she become tributary[672]!" "Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, which is done unto me, wherewith the Lord hath afflicted me in the day of His fierce anger[673]." To the north is mount Scopus, the village of _Neby Samwîl_ (Prophet Samuel), and the mountains of the ancient land of Ephraim, combined with those of Samaria. Towards the east, the eye, after traversing the desert hills and mountains of Judah down to the plains of Jericho and the deep basin of the Dead Sea, is arrested by the range of the Arabian mountains; the hills of the land of Gilead appear on the north, lower down those of Ammon, and still further to the south, Nebo rising above the other summits of Moab. Seen through the pure light their sides are tinged with colour too beautiful for description, and testing to the utmost the painter's skill. To the south rise the gloomy herbless slopes of the distant heights of Bethlehem. To the south-east is the Hill of Evil Counsel, the plain of Rephaim, and the Convent of S. Elias, across a nearly desert tract of country. The whole panorama is a picture of desolation. Let us now visit one by one the spots connected with incidents in sacred history. First is the place occupied by the small mosque, called by the Mohammedans the Mosque of the Ascension[674]. Eusebius[675] relates that "the mother of Constantine, in order to do honour to the memory of our Lord's ascension, erected some magnificent edifices on the Mount of Olives. First she raised on the summit of the mountain a Sanctuary of the Church of God." Hence we see that the first basilica on this site was built by S. Helena; but of that no traces now remain, nor has any description of it come down to us. S. Jerome alone gives us to understand that it was circular in plan. "For the church, in the middle of which are the foot-marks, was built on a circular plan and most beautiful design[676]." He also, as well as many other fathers of the Church, relates that the upper part of the dome could not be closed, because our Lord rose from it, and that the marks of His footsteps on the ground could never be covered up with marble[677]. This basilica was no doubt destroyed, A.D. 614, during the invasion of Chosroes II., but was rebuilt during the first half of the seventh century by the Patriarch Modestus[678], and the original plan was retained. Arculf[679], who saw it in the same century, has left us a detailed notice of it. "On that Mount Olivet no place appears loftier than that from which the Saviour is said to have ascended into heaven, where stands a great circular church with three cloisters round it, with chambers above them. The interior chamber of this circular church is without a roof, and lies open to heaven under the air; in the eastern part of which is an altar protected by a narrow roof. Now the inner house has no chamber placed above it, in order that from the spot, where last He placed His sacred feet, before He was borne in a cloud to heaven, the way may be always open, and stretch away into heaven before the eyes of the worshippers.... Moreover, there is a continuing testimony that the dust was trodden by God, in that the traces of His steps may be seen ... and the earth retains the mark as though stamped with the impressions of feet. In the same place is a great brazen cylinder opening outward (_ærea grandis per circuitum rota desuper explanata_), the height of it being up to a man's head; in the middle of which is a rather large hole, through which the prints of the Lord's feet may be plainly seen marked in the dust. In that cylinder also on the west side a kind of door is always open, and through it those who enter can easily approach the sacred dust, and, by stretching out their hands through the aperture of the covering, can take particles of the sacred dust. On the west side of the upper part of the aforesaid rotunda are eight windows with glass lights; and the same number of lamps is suspended by cords within over against them; each being hung neither above nor below, but as it were part and parcel of the window, directly behind which it is seen. The brightness of these lamps shining through the glass is so great, that not only is the western side of Olivet adjoining the church illuminated, but also the greater part of the city of Jerusalem from the bottom of the Valley of Jehoshaphat is lighted up in the same manner." Willibald's description confirms, in every respect, that of Arculf. We do not know precisely what became of the building at the time of Hakem's persecution, A.D. 1010, but it seems probable that the Khalif destroyed a considerable part of it; because, when Sæwulf visited the place, A.D. 1103, he saw a small tower supported by columns, and surrounded by a court paved with marble. The altar was inside, placed on the rock; and there was another altar to the east in the choir a little distance from the columns, where the Patriarch celebrated mass on Ascension-Day. In the first half of the twelfth century the Crusaders rebuilt the church on this site, and added a convent occupied by Canons of the Augustinian order[680]. Their habit was white[681]. I only give the Plan of the present building, as there are not sufficient remains to enable me to reconstruct that of the Crusaders, and I but partially accept the conclusions which M. de Vogüé has drawn from the testimony of Quaresmius[682]: "The ancient church was a regular octagon in plan: all the bases of the corner pillars still remain; it is easy therefore to determine its perimeter. The octagon forming the base of the plan is inscribed in a circle 111-1/2 feet in diameter. The building has not been laid out with much accuracy, as the length of the sides of the octagon (measured on the outside) vary between 39-1/4 and 42-1/2 feet[683]. This fault proceeds from a want of exactness in the execution; since it was evidently the intention of the architects to construct a regular building, to recall by its polygonal form the ancient rotunda whose ruins it replaced. There is a similar want of regularity in the bases[684]; some are larger than others without any apparent motive.... The bases of the columns sustaining the inner rotunda have entirely disappeared; but they existed in the time of Quaresmius, who has placed them in his plan equidistant from the centre and the inside wall ... a wall of rubble-work, no doubt pierced with windows, connected the corner piers. Nothing remains of this except some shapeless fragments of its substructure. The examination of these fragments induces us to suppose that the original wall did not run in straight lines, but was rather circular in form[685]. In this uncertainty I prefer to follow the indication of Quaresmius[686], who doubtless was able to see quite enough of the original building to ascertain its general plan. He says distinctly that was octagonal. 'The lower parts of the walls are left, as well as some bases of columns and foundations, from which we can infer how magnificent it was. Externally it was an octagon in form, and inside was an ambulatory, supported by one row of columns.'" From an examination of the spot I am induced to believe that Quaresmius could not have seen much more than now remains; and therefore cannot say whether he imagined or really saw the octagon. In the latter case I suppose that its ruins have perished since his time; and therefore M. de Vogüé cannot have seen the fragments of the 'wall of rubble-work connecting the piers.' I do not deny that his restoration of the church deserves careful consideration, and probably conveys a true idea of the building: but I believe that it cannot be restricted to the present dimensions, and that we can place no reliance upon the bases of columns and walls now remaining, because they have been arranged according to the caprice of the Mohammedans, as was most convenient. This I will presently explain; however, the Plan itself will shew it. The church erected by the Crusaders was destroyed by the Saracens, A.D. 1187. "Others indeed devastated the most holy Mount of Olives, where the Lord, as we read in the Gospels, was often wont to pray ... on which a church is built, on the spot where our Lord Jesus Christ was taken up into heaven on the fortieth day after His resurrection. In the middle of this a structure of wonderful roundness and beauty is erected, where the Lord placed His feet[687]." The Mohammedans appear to have built the present mosque from the materials of the ancient church: the dome is now closed[688]. Willibrand of Oldenburg[689], who visited Olivet A.D. 1211, states that an infidel Saracen had erected an oratory in honour of Mohammed over the ruins of the Church of the Ascension. M. de Vogüé thinks that the Chronicler is mistaken in saying that this was in honour of the Prophet, and not of the Ascension, and that the date of the building is from 1200 to 1240. No Christian community has ever had exclusive possession of the place. A Mohammedan Santon is in charge, who for a present will open the doors to any one wishing to visit it. Consequently, on Ascension-day the monks of all the Christian sects resort thither, each party celebrating mass on the spot marked on the Plan. The Greeks occupy the most distinguished position, after the site occupied by the mosque; for there, according to tradition, the Apostles stood as our Lord ascended. Travellers have all spoken about the prints of our Saviour's feet (especially Abbé Mariti and Monsignor Mislin); with regard to these, as they are unsupported by the Bible and the decrees of the Church, I venture to declare that they are only representations of footsteps carved by some sculptor. The truth of miracles in the abstract I do not impugn, but for this there is no evidence. The Mohammedans preserve in the mosque _el-Aksa_ one of the impressions, which also came from Olivet. I defy the keenest observer to say which is the mark of the right foot and which of the left. I do not believe in the instantaneous fusion of the rock; it is only an Oriental invention; and we find frequent instances of a similar kind among the different religious bodies in the East; such as the other foot-prints of the Saviour, those of the Virgin at Bethlehem, those of the Angel Gabriel, the impression of the body of the Prophet Elias, the turban of Mohammed and his foot-print, and a thousand similar stories. Therefore I say, with Mariti, 'Let him believe that wishes to believe;' and am sure that I offend not against God and religion in rejecting such old wives' tales. Let us now glance at some other points of interest. At the south-west corner of the buildings surrounding the Church of the Ascension is the Grotto or Tomb of S. Pelagia; over which a church used to stand. She was a native of Alexandria, who went to Antioch in search of pleasure; and as she was graceful, fair, and frail, was soon noted among the gallants of that place, who called her 'the Pearl.' However, one day she listened to a sermon preached by Nonnus, Patriarch of Antioch, which so affected her, that, abandoning her former life, she went to inhabit the grotto on Mount Olivet, which still bears her name; and so completely disguised herself, that she was known to the hermits who lived in the other caves in the neighbourhood by the name of the monk Pelagius. Her sex was not discovered till she was laid out, before being buried beneath the spot where she had lived. The Jews call this place the Tomb of the Prophetess Huldah; for what reason they do not themselves know. The Plan[690] exhibits the interior, half of which is vaulted with masonry, the rest excavated in the rock. Tradition asserts that our Lord frequently retired to this grotto to instruct His disciples; accordingly a church, built by S. Helena in honour of this event, occupied this spot before that dedicated to S. Pelagia. So we are informed by Eusebius[691]. "And she also built a church lower down at that very cave, where (as the true and holy utterances of God testify) the Disciples and Apostles were initiated in all sacred mysteries." The Pilgrim of Bordeaux writes, A.D. 333, "Thence you ascend Mount Olivet, where the Lord taught His Apostles before His Passion. There a basilica has been built by order of Constantine[692]." Why does the Pilgrim pass unnoticed the Church of the Ascension, so plainly indicated by Eusebius? Possibly the church of the grotto, a kind of dependency of the place of the Ascension, may have been the only part of the works completed at the time. Leaving the Grotto of S. Pelagia, and going towards the south-west, we find a cistern near to an olive-tree, which is shewn as the place where our Saviour taught the Apostles the Lord's Prayer. Formerly there was a church here, as the following passage tells us: "In which place (i.e. Olivet) the Lord was wont to instruct His disciples and all who flocked to Him out of the city. And there He is said to have taught His disciples the Lord's Prayer[693]." Not a trace of the church is now left; and I cannot accept the tradition, as it is contrary to S. Matthew's Gospel[694], which places the scene of this event in Galilee; S. Luke[695], indeed, says our Lord repeated the prayer 'in a certain place,' this may have been in Galilee or at Bethany, but not, I think, at Jerusalem. A short distance from the above, to the east, is a cavern, wherein the Apostles are believed to have composed the Creed. Here formerly stood a church, dedicated to the twelve Apostles; as is shewn by the ruins still remaining, and those which are dug up there from time to time. The Rev. G. Williams[696], in 1842, saw twelve niches in the walls, six on each side: these I never found; for the barbarous peasants of Olivet have completely destroyed them, in order to use the stones in building their cottages, after first breaking them in pieces so as to remove them more easily. The tradition about the Creed is of no value. Adrichomius[697], indeed, says, "the most probable opinion is, that the Apostles met together in the Coenaculum in Sion to compose the Creed." On the summit, not far from the place where the Lord's Prayer is said to have been pronounced, the spot is pointed out where our Lord stood when He predicted the Last Judgment[698]. This tradition is, like the others, worthless. Descending towards the south in the direction of the Mount of Offence, we arrive, a few yards from a path leading to Bethany, at a field, in which is the so-called Tomb of the Prophets[699]. We enter this cave by a small aperture approached down a broken flight of steps. The Plan and Sections render it unnecessary for me to describe its internal arrangements. I will only mention that in certain parts, especially in the piers, we find masonry, which has been added in order to strengthen the piers of rock which had crumbled away, and so become incapable of supporting the vaulted roof. The place is called by the Arabs _Kubur el-Umbia_. Hither the Hebrew pilgrims come to lament and pray, believing, according to a tradition commonly received by them, that they are the burying-places of the Prophets. We will therefore see whether the Bible confirms this belief. Though they are called the Tombs of the Prophets, the names of those who have been buried there are not known; for the greater number and more distinguished Prophets were not interred near Jerusalem. The difficulties attending on this tradition are well put by M. Nau[700]. "They point out the place where, as they say, the Prophets are buried. But what Prophets? Isaiah is buried elsewhere, under Mount Sion; Jeremiah at Alexandria, whither his remains were removed by Alexander the Great from Tahpanhes in Egypt; Baruch, his secretary, went to Babylon to console his countrymen in their captivity, and lies there. Ezekiel, after being cruelly martyred by being dashed against rocks over which he was dragged by the Jews, or (as others say) by horses, to which he had been fastened, was buried in the sepulchre of Shem and Arphaxad. Daniel ended his days at Babylon, either by a natural death (according to the common opinion), or (according to an ancient manuscript of the Emperor Basil, preserved in the Vatican) by decapitation, together with his three holy companions, at the hand of a certain Attalus. His remains were removed from Babylon to Alexandria, and thence to Venice. Hosea was buried at Behemot in the tribe of Issachar, Joel at Bethor, Amos at Tekoah, Obadiah and Elisha at Sebaste, Jonah at Geth, Micah and Habakkuk near Eleutheropolis, Nahum at Begabar. Thus the burial-places of the greater number of the prophets are elsewhere: but still we may suppose that some of the others may have been interred in these tombs; for example, Zephaniah, Haggai, Malachi, and many others of the Messengers of God, mentioned in Holy Scripture, who have not left any writings, as Gad, Nathan, Ahijah the Shilonite, and others. It is enough for some of these to be buried here, in order to give the place a claim to its name. It is also possible that the Jews may have collected the remains of their more distinguished Prophets, and placed them in these tombs on the Mount of Olives." No more need be said to shew how slight are the grounds for the traditional name. It is indeed possible that the words of our Lord may refer to these tombs: "Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! because ye build the tombs of the Prophets, and garnish the sepulchres of the righteous[701]." "Woe unto you! for ye build the sepulchres of the Prophets, and your fathers killed them[702]." Certainly I do not consider these tombs to be as ancient as many others in the Valley of Kidron and Hinnom and on the north of the city, which we shall presently examine. Quitting the Mount of Olives, let us take the path running eastward, which will lead us to the ancient village of Bethphage, so well known in connexion with the Redeemer's entry into Jerusalem. It formerly belonged to the Levites employed in the Temple. Origen, in his treatise on S. Matthew[703], explains the word to mean House of the Jaws. S. Jerome[704] speaks of it as follows: "When He had come to Bethphage, to the House of the Jaws, which is a village belonging to the Priests, and a type of (Christian) confession, situated on the Mount of Olives." Again, in the account of S. Paula's journey[705], he says, "After she had entered the Tomb of Lazarus, Mary and Martha, she saw the hospice and Bethphage, the 'Village of the Jaws,' which were the priests' portion." Others interpret the word 'House of Figs,' and the Easterns assert that it means 'House of the Rock in the Valley.' The position of the place is certainly in favour of this last signification, as just there the valley is divided into two branches by a rocky hill. At the present day there are no traces of the church, which is said to have stood there, or even of the village itself; nothing is seen but bare rock, broken here and there by patches of badly tilled ground. Quaresmius[706] gives an account of the long procession which used in his time to be made on Palm Sunday, "When the Guardian of the Holy Land, with his attendant monks, had reached the spot, he preached to the people: then a deacon chanted the Gospel for the day. At the words, 'Jesus sent two disciples, saying unto them,' two monks fell on their knees in front of the reader, who continued, 'Go into the village over against you, and straightway ye shall find an ass tied, and a colt with her; loose them and bring them unto me.' Then the two departed and brought an ass, on which the Guardian mounted, while the bystanders spread their garments and olive-branches in the way, and so the procession started for Jerusalem, chanting as they went, 'The sons of the Hebrews brought branches of olive,' and proceeded to the city." Even in the time of Quaresmius nothing remained of either the church or the village. I could wish that some of the ceremonies still performed in the Holy Sepulchre, had, like this, fallen into disuse. After descending from Bethphage for about half a mile by a very steep and stony path, we come to the village of Bethany. It may perhaps be asserted, that this way going from the Mount of Olives through Bethphage and Bethany was not in existence in former times, and is rather a cattle-track than a road, but it is mentioned by S. Epiphanius[707]: "Then he (Marcion) does not give any account of His journey from Jericho until He arrives at Bethany and Bethphage. But there was an ancient road which led from Jerusalem by Mount Olivet, which those who traverse these regions are acquainted with." Therefore it is evident that this road was more ancient than that which went from Jerusalem to Bethany by the Mount of Offence. The former is the one which we suppose our Lord to have traversed on His triumphal entry into Jerusalem, and on other occasions. Bethany was a Jewish fortress on the eastern slope of Olivet: it was the home of Lazarus and his sisters[708], and is frequently mentioned in the Gospels[709], being the favourite resort of Jesus and His disciples. The position of the village is incontestably fixed by history, tradition, and the locality itself. We are told by S. John[710] that Bethany was about 15 stadia, or nearly 2 Roman miles, from Jerusalem, and the present village is that distance. We may fairly suppose that the house of Lazarus must have been of considerable size from the allusions to it in the Gospels[711], and consequently it and the village could hardly have been destroyed without leaving some ruins to mark the spot; and therefore the tradition would be preserved until the fourth century, when monuments were erected by the Christians on the sites connected with the life of Christ. It is then only necessary to examine into the accuracy of the tradition during the first three centuries; but here the same arguments that we used in the case of the Sepulchre of Christ may be applied to Bethany, and especially to the Tomb of Lazarus. The present condition of the place may also persuade those who distrust tradition, for there are still very many ruins there, and consequently must have been more in the first ages of Christianity. If it be urged that they are the effects of the ravages of the Saracens on the work of the Crusaders, I admit the objection to be partly true, but reply that the eye can readily distinguish these from the more ancient Jewish remains. In a word, there is no other place on the eastern slope of Olivet, which so perfectly fulfils all the requisite conditions, as the present village of Bethany: and even its Arab name _El-Azirieh_ still retains that of Lazarus. The Mohammedans themselves so fully believe that this is the scene of the raising of Lazarus, that they come as pilgrims from distant countries to supplicate health for themselves and their sick children, in faith that if they touch the rock of the tomb their prayers will be granted by God. In 1859 some labourers discovered, at the distance of a few yards from the village, to the east, near the road going to the Jordan, a wall which had all the characteristics of ancient Jewish work of the age of the Herods. Its shape and position seem to indicate that it had formed part of an enclosure; the continuation of which was observed a little to the south, and also to the north-west of the Arab houses. Near it a great quantity of materials of the Herodian epoch were discovered, scattered about in the ground, with several deep cisterns entirely excavated and vaulted in the rock, full of fragments of ancient masonry. These also occur in other parts of the village. After carefully examining the boundary wall, wherever it could be found, I have arrived at the conclusion that the traditional House and Tomb of Lazarus are outside it. Thus the objection often brought against them, that they are inside the village, in opposition to the Jewish law, does not apply. For a long time past the peasants of Bethany have been accustomed to find dressed stones in their fields, which they have either broken up, in order to carry them away easily into the city, or have burnt for lime. If, then, we do not suppose the ancient village to have been there, I do not see how we can explain the presence of these remains. The eastern part of the present village occupies a portion of the old site, and the western was built when memorials were erected by the Christians over the Holy Places. Bethany is now a wretched spot, consisting of about forty cottages, built on ruins and heaps of rubbish. A short distance from the entrance to the village, on the west, is a splendid ruin, the remains of a building of considerable size, which is shewn as the House of Lazarus. To the east of this, among the houses, is the mosque[712], and near it the Tomb of Lazarus. The houses of Martha, Mary, and Simon the Leper, are also shewn by the natives; but as these exhibit no signs of antiquity, and the first two are obviously improbable, I pass them by without further notice, to consider the Tomb of Lazarus. This, like most of the Jewish sepulchres, consists of two underground chambers, namely, a vestibule and a tomb properly so called. The latter is entirely excavated in the rock, while the former is of masonry, together with the walls of the staircase leading down to it, which dates (according to Mariti[713]) from the beginning of the seventeenth century; that is, from 1612 to 1615, when Father Angelo of Messina was Guardian of the holy mountain of Sion, and built this approach to the tomb. Mariti adds, that it was made because the ancient one was in the adjoining mosque, formerly a Christian church. With this I cannot agree, because, after examining the interior of the mosque, I have been unable to find any trace of a communication with the inside of the tomb; and in the interior of the latter there are no signs of a walled-up door, to give access to this supposed passage. The locality has undergone so many alterations, that it is now impossible to fix the relative positions of the church and the tomb; but the former must have been different in plan and in dimensions from the small mosque, which, as I believe, retains few, if any, remains of the ancient Christian church. The tradition indicating this spot as the scene of the miracle is as early as that of Bethany itself. The Pilgrim of Bordeaux, A.D. 333, writes, "There is a crypt there, where Lazarus, whom the Lord raised, was laid." He does not allude to any building erected there by S. Helena, therefore I doubt the truth of the following statement of Nicephorus Callistus[714]: "Thence having gone on to Bethany, she erected a noble temple to Lazarus the friend of Christ. That place is two miles from Jerusalem." S. Jerome[715] (who died A.D. 420) speaks of this tomb and of a church there, but does not say that it was built by the Empress Helena[716]. At a later period the tomb and church were seen by Antoninus of Piacenza and Arculf; the latter of whom "visited at Bethany a certain small field surrounded by a great olive-grove, on which stands a large monastery, and a large church built over the cave, from which our Lord raised up Lazarus after he had lain dead four days[717]." Bernard, the Wise[718], writes thus: "Thence we proceeded to Bethany on the descent of Mount Olivet, where is a monastery whose church marks the Tomb of Lazarus." This place is also mentioned by Sæwulf, so that tradition and local evidence bring it down to the epoch of the Latin kingdom. The tomb must have been altered by the Crusaders, whose work we recognize in the vestibule leading into the sepulchre; but we have no record of the general appearance of the exterior of the church after their restoration. We see, therefore, that an unbroken tradition has been attached to this tomb from the beginning of the Christian era to the present day. Let us now visit the ruins of the so-called House of Lazarus, which are a short distance to the west of the tomb. All that we can distinguish here with certainty is the ruin of a square tower, the masonry of which is of the time of the Crusades. The presence of a quantity of small white tesseræ encouraged me to excavate inside its walls, when I found in its foundations stones with rude rustic-work; and in removing the rubbish, saw some other stones in which were holes, apparently made to receive lead or iron clamps, to bind them together. Hence I consider that the Crusaders' building partly rests upon ancient Jewish foundations; and that it is not by any means improbable that this is the actual site of the House of Lazarus. The walls and portion of the tower now remaining are the ruins of a hospice, which was rebuilt by Queen Milisendis[719] in the first half of the twelfth century; the original building (dating from the sixth century and visited by Antoninus of Piacenza) having been destroyed by the Saracens. Milisendis obtained for this purpose the church of Bethany, and all the land belonging to it, from the Canons of the Holy Sepulchre, giving them in exchange the town of Tekoa, near Bethlehem. The deed of exchange, dated on the nones of February 1138, is preserved in the Cartulary of the Holy Sepulchre[720], and also the bull of Celestine II., A.D. 1143, confirming it[721]. The queen considering that the convent, being in a lonely situation and a considerable distance from the city, would be in danger of attack in case of war, built there with squared and dressed stones a very strong tower, containing the necessary offices, as a refuge for the nuns, until succours arrived from Jerusalem[722]. This it is whose ruins we now see. She also amply endowed the convent, assigning to it the revenues of Jericho and its dependencies, with many other gifts, recorded by William of Tyre in the passage just cited. The same author goes on to inform us that when the work was finished, Milisendis established there a community of Benedictine nuns, presided over by an abbess, "an aged and venerable matron, of approved piety," after whose death, "returning to her (original) purpose, she placed her own sister, with the consent of the Lord Patriarch and assent of the sisterhood, at the head of the nunnery;" giving at the same time yet more gifts, such as chalices, books, and other ornaments used for ecclesiastical purposes; nor did she cease all her life according to the desire of her heart, and for the sake of her sister, whom she specially loved, to shew kindness to the place. The name of the first abbess was Matilda[723]. Juveta is mentioned as abbess of the nunnery of S. Lazarus at Bethany, in a contract for the exchange of some rents between her and the nuns of the Hospital of S. Lazarus at Jerusalem. It bears the date A.D. 1157, in the reign of Baldwin III. After the witnesses' signatures we find written, "All these things were confirmed in the presence of Queen Milisendis." To the document a seal is attached mentioned by Paoli[724]. In the middle of it is the figure of a lady, partially effaced, holding against her breast a book bearing a cross. The legend is JUDITTA ABBATISSH. On the reverse is our Saviour recalling Lazarus to life, with the legend RESUCTATIO LAZARI. On the invasion of Saladin the nuns retired to S. Jean d'Acre, and the convent was destroyed, since which period it has remained in ruins. Thus, having completed our examination of Bethany, let us return by the road passing on the south of the Mount of Olives. This was the ancient military way from Jerusalem to Jericho and the left bank of the Jordan, and is still the usual route to the same places. Traces of the old paving are yet to be seen at certain points. Near the Mount of Offence the local guide stops the visitor to shew him the fig-tree which withered away at our Lord's command[725]; and, if he is well up to his work, will not forget to point out the tree on which Judas hanged himself. But let us enter the Valley of Hinnom. This was the boundary-line between Judah on the south and Benjamin on the north[726]. The Arabic name is _Wady er-Rabab_, the Hebrew, _Ge-Hinnom_ or _Ben-Hinnom_ (the valley of the son of Hinnom). The bloody rites of Moloch[727] and Baal gave it its evil fame, which were celebrated more especially in the place called Tophet[728]; this was, according to Jerome, the lower (eastern) part of Hinnom. S. Jerome[729] asserts that Christ was the first to use this word in the sense 'hell;' an application which the abominable idolatrous rites that had been enacted there rendered most appropriate. The Prophet Jeremiah frequently mentions Tophet, but one passage is very remarkable from the manner in which its fulfilment is evident at the present day. "Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that it shall be no more called Tophet, nor the valley of the son of Hinnom, but the valley of slaughter: for they shall bury in Tophet till there be no place[730]." Now, whichever way we turn, our eyes rest on tombs, many broken as the nation that once profaned this spot: so that no one can tread these rocks heedless and unmoved. To the south of the Valley of Hinnom is the hill, called by the Christians the Hill of Evil Counsel, because of a legend, that in a village on its western side, all trace of which has now disappeared, was a house belonging to Caiaphas; where the Priests and Pharisees assembled to compass the capture and death of Christ. Pompeius encamped upon its summit after he had taken Jerusalem[731]. The Arabs call it _Jebel el-Kubur_ (Mount of the Tombs); a most appropriate name, as it is in reality one great necropolis; now, however, inhabited by many peasants of Siloam, who have housed themselves and their crops in some of the sepulchral chambers, and converted others into cisterns. We will visit all the more interesting objects which we meet as we ascend from the Well of Job. At the bottom of a narrow trench, sloping steeply downwards, is a frontispiece[732], decorated with a triangular pediment, with a trefoil as finial, above a small doorway. On each side of this is a pilaster; these are still visible, though partly covered with soil. The interior[733] has this peculiarity, that the arches forming the roofs of the sepulchral niches are not very nearly semicircular, but extremely depressed; and a trough-shaped cavity or sarcophagus takes the place of the shelf for the corpse; an arrangement which does not occur in the tombs on the north of the city, or in the Kidron Valley. While I was engaged in making my Plan, I found a great number of bones in the interior; and in the chamber furthest to the east four perfect skeletons, which I discovered must have been placed there a few months before. I consider these tombs, as well as the others so common in the vicinity, to be more recent than those which are found elsewhere in the neighbourhood of the city; certainly they did not exist in the time of the Jewish kings, when Tophet was considered an accursed place. I think that they were excavated during the Asmonæan period, as the prejudice against the site might by that time have diminished. The simple but careful ornamentation of these tombs, the whiteness of the surface, and the absence of certain marks on the stone, characteristic of the instruments of the earlier period, all lead me to the same conclusion. A few yards to the west of the last tomb is another remarkable for its elaborate façade[734]. This is of the Doric order. The frieze is divided by triglyphs, having eight metopes, each charged with a patera of a different pattern. Some traces of fresco painting are still seen on the soffit of the vestibule and in the inner chambers, which induce me to think that it has been used as a chapel. According to tradition the Apostles concealed themselves here also after our Saviour was taken prisoner; and at a later period S. Onuphrius lived and died here in retirement. For this cause it was converted into a chapel dedicated to this Saint, and it is still visited by the Greeks once a year to offer up prayers. Schultz considers it to be the monument of Ananus the High-priest; a point in the wall of circumvallation constructed by Titus[735]. As its decoration is probably of the Herodian age, I agree with him. On the west of this we find, after passing Aceldama, a tomb[736], which gives us a good idea of what the Sepulchre of Jesus was formerly like. When Constantine embraced Christianity, this hill, as well as the others, was occupied by anchorites, who lived in the tombs and caverns. So we are told by Antoninus of Piacenza[737]. "Within the very sepulchres are the cells of the servants of God, wherein many virtues are displayed." So again we find in the Geography of Edrisi: "Near this are a number of houses excavated in the rock, inhabited by pious hermits[738]." Almost half way up the hill is a building which has retained the name Aceldama (Price of Blood[739]). An uninterrupted tradition identifies this with the Potter's field, bought as the burial-place of strangers[740]. This place recalls to the mind one of the most sublime prophecies of Jeremiah[741], of which it may have been the scene; when he broke the potter's earthen vessel before the ancients of Israel, crying, "Thus saith the Lord of hosts, Even so will I break this people and this city as one breaketh a potter's vessel that cannot be made whole again"--words which still are fulfilled by Jerusalem and the Jews. In the field is a great subterranean chamber, excavated in the rock, enclosed by a wall supporting a vaulted roof, and pierced by holes, through which the corpses were let down. In the lower part of the west side is an aperture formed in the rock, perhaps to admit servants to gather together the ashes after the corpses were consumed; but of these no traces can now be found. In the interior on the south side is a great pier made out of the rock, and strengthened with masonry, which divides the chamber into two on that side. Nicephorus Callistus attributes this monument to S. Helena[742]. After examining the walls I have come to the conclusion that they are of two periods, the first that of S. Helena, to which I refer the inside wall, especially in the lower parts; and the second that of the Crusades, which is the date of the part above ground and the vaulting. At that time the Hospitalers interred here those who died in the Hospital, as we learn from the following passage: "On the left hand the valley had a charnel-house called Chaudemar. Therein they cast the pilgrims who died in the Hospital at Jerusalem. This piece of land, where the charnel-house lay, was bought with the money for which Judas sold the dear Jesus Christ, as saith the Evangelist[743]." A church also stood on this spot, as is shewn by a document entitled, "Archives of the Hospitalers in the year 1143," in which we find, "I William, by the Grace of God, Patriarch of Holy Jerusalem ... proclaim that I have granted for ever to the Hospital which is in Jerusalem, a certain church, situated in the field called _Achel-demach_, where the bodies of strangers are buried; together with all the land, divided by the ancient Syrians in our presence." No trace now remains of this church, but it was probably built over the vault, and was only a consecrated room to be used as a mortuary-chapel. Popular superstition attributes to the soil of Aceldama the property of consuming the corpses buried there in twenty-four hours; for which reason it was carried away to be used in Christian burial-places. S. Helena transported 270 ship-loads to Rome. The Pisan Crusaders on their return from Syria brought back a great quantity of it, which was deposited on their Campo Santo, A.D. 1218. I was anxious to test the truth of the belief, and so buried at a depth of four feet the body, not indeed of a human being, but of a lamb. After eight days I disinterred it, and unfortunately for my sense of smell, found that although I had carefully selected a piece of natural ground free from rubbish, the experiment was unsuccessful; I am therefore driven to conclude that the soil has lost its former virtue. I also filled a box with the soil, and placed therein birds, small quadrupeds, and reptiles; but in all cases the flesh was consumed slowly. I also planted flowers in some of it, at my own house, and found that they flourished perfectly. Many persons have laid much stress on the fact that a great quantity of broken earthenware vases has been found about Aceldama, which they have considered to be of great age, and proofs of its former use; but in what part of the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, and indeed of all the towns and villages of Palestine are not similar remains found? Hewers of stone, labourers, shepherds and many others, pass whole days away from their houses, especially in places where there are tombs, and always bring with them vessels of water, many of which get broken from time to time; a circumstance which accounts for these fragments being found especially in the neighbourhood of the more populous cities. From Aceldama we can ascend to the top of the hill to visit the ruins of _Deir-Kaddis-Modistus_. This appears to have been an ancient convent, at the time when the anchorites inhabited the caverns. Now we see a Mohammedan tomb, and two Arab cottages, erected by the Greek Archimandrite, Nicoforus, who has purchased a large estate there; and in a few years the mountain-side, after so many centuries of sterility, will be again fertile. When these were being built, I often visited the place, and noticed that, as the rubbish was cleared away, some remains of ancient Jewish and Roman walls were discovered; the occurrence of which, renders it not at all improbable that a fortress occupied the position in the time of the Maccabees. We descend the Hill of Evil Counsel to the Bethlehem road, and follow this northward till we reach the valley of Gihon on the north-west. On our left is a new mulberry plantation, in the middle of which stand a small tower and the beginning of a house, all the work of Nicoforus, who intends to establish here a spinning-mill for silk. This spot is _Kasr el-Asfur_ or _el-Ghazal_ (House of the young sparrow, or of the gazelle)[744]. Here we find many cisterns entirely excavated in the rock, and a quantity of hewn rock, still bearing marks characteristic of the ancient tools. Dressed stones and fragments of walls of the Jewish period are not unfrequently found here by the labourers, when digging deep to bring the ground under cultivation; but unfortunately the Archimandrite is not as fond of archæology as of farming; and these remains are blown up with gunpowder to gain two or three inches more soil for the roots of a tree, so that the traces of ancient works, of the highest importance in determining the former topography of the neighbourhood of the city, are thus obliterated. A little to the north of _Kasr el-Asfur_ is a large plot of land enclosed by a new Arab wall, on which stands a long building, certainly not remarkable for its good architecture and internal arrangement. It is a hospice for Jews, founded in 1858 by Sir Moses Montefiore of London, with the assistance of others professing the same creed. It has been erected to supply lodgings for the poor, where they may enjoy a purer air than they do in their own quarter of the city. Behind the principal building, to the west, Sir Moses Montefiore erected a wind-mill, which would be of the highest value to the whole country if only its advantages were understood; but the Arabs still prefer using their own miserable hand or horse-mills, which spoil their flour, to the trouble of carrying the grain this short distance from the city. In time, no doubt, they will perceive the obligation they are under to this philanthropic Israelite. In the lower part of the valley, to the east of the above-named establishment, is a very large pool excavated in the rock, except on the north and south side, where its waters are retained by walls. It is the largest in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, and bears the name _Birket es-Sultan_ (Prince's Pool). It is so called because the popular belief is that it was originally constructed by David or Solomon, and afterwards repaired by various sultans. An Arabic inscription on the frontispiece of a fountain (now dry) to the south, called _Aïn el-Melik_, informs us that it was restored by the Mamaluke Sultan el-Melik en-Naser-Mohammed, between the years 693 and 741 of the Hejra (from 1294 to 1340 A.D.). It was also repaired by Sultan Solyman I. in the sixteenth century. Owing to a mistake made by Bonifacius[745] it has been wrongly supposed to be the Pool of Bersabeë (Bathsheba), where the wife of Uriah the Hittite was bathing, when she was seen by David. This is however obviously contrary to the words in the Bible[746], that "David walked upon the roof of the King's house, and from the roof he saw a woman washing herself, &c." Besides, it is in the last degree improbable that a woman of good reputation would bathe in a pool by the side of a public road. It is more likely that it bears the name of Bethsabeë or Bersabeë, because it is at the beginning of the road leading to the city of Bersabeë[747]. I have no doubt that this is the 'lower pool' mentioned by the Prophet Isaiah[748]; but I shall discuss this question in the Chapter on the Waters, and give an account of the aqueduct, which runs along its western side, and then after turning eastward goes to Sion. In the middle ages it was repaired by one Germanus, as the following passage shews: "When they had descended the mount," it is told in our account of the thirteenth century, "they found a pool in the valley, called Germanus' Pool, because Germanus constructed it to catch the water that descended from the hills when it rained; there the horses of the city used to drink[749]." It is true that the above quotation asserts that Germanus made the pool, but I understand this only to mean repaired; because it is far too great a work to have been undertaken in the time of the Crusades, simply to form a watering-place for horses, when other ponds in the neighbourhood of the city would have served for this purpose. It is also mentioned in the Cartulary of the Holy Sepulchre in the year 1177. The pool is now dry, and even after rain the water does not remain in it, although it could be restored for a small sum. During the harvest the farmers dry and thresh out their crops in it. Hence we return to the city by ascending the rough road leading up to that part of the wall enclosing Mount Sion, which bears the name of _Abraj Ghazzah_ (towers of Gaza), and after passing the south-west corner of this, we arrive on the plateau of the hill, which is occupied by a cemetery, divided among the different Christian communities in Jerusalem. At the south-east corner of this stands a group of buildings, known by the names of the Tomb of David and the Coenaculum. A small dome, surmounted by a crescent, marks the position of the former[750]. That this is the site of the tomb of the Royal Psalmist and his successors, I trust to shew by the aid of the Bible, of history, of tradition, and of local evidence at the present time. We find the following passages in the Bible: "David took the stronghold of Sion, the same is the city of David.... So David dwelt in the fort, and called it the city of David[751]. So David slept with his fathers, and was buried in the city of David[752]." Again, after the death of the Psalmist, several of his successors are mentioned as being buried "with their fathers in the city of David[753]." But this is not all; in the Book of Nehemiah[754] we find "the gate of the fountain repaired Shallum ... and the wall of the pool of Siloah by the King's garden, and unto the stairs that go down from the city of David. After him repaired Nehemiah ... unto the place over against the sepulchres of David, and to the pool that was made, and unto the house of the mighty." From this it is clear that the wall, in coming from the direction of the King's garden and the pool of Siloam, mounted the eastern slope of Sion as far as the Tomb of David, and that the 'pool that was made' is _Birket es-Sultan_, and possibly the 'house of the mighty' may be the citadel. Hence the Tomb of David must have been well known to the Jews of later ages. Again, Josephus[755] states that Solomon buried great treasures in his father's tomb, and that Hyrcanus the High-priest broke open the tomb and took therefrom three thousand talents. This happened about 129 B.C. In another place[756] we find, "As for Herod, he had spent vast sums about the cities, both without and within his own kingdom, and as he had before heard that Hyrcanus, who had been king before him, had opened David's sepulchre, and had taken out of it three thousand talents of silver, and that there was a much greater number left behind, and indeed enough to suffice all his wants, he had a great while an intention to make the attempt; and at this time he opened the sepulchre by night and went into it, and endeavoured that it should not be at all known in the city, but took only his most faithful friends with him. As for money he found none, as Hyrcanus had done, but that furniture of gold and those precious stones that were laid up there, all which he took away. However, he had a great desire to make a more diligent search, and to go further in, even as far as the very bodies of David and Solomon; where two of his guards were slain by a flame that burst out upon those that went in, as the report was. So he was terribly affrighted, and went out, and built a propitiatory monument of that fright he had been in, and this of white stone, at the mouth of the sepulchre, and at a great expense also." This took place about the year 12 B.C. Had the tomb been outside the walls, it is less likely that it would have escaped destruction in the various sieges of Jerusalem; and the account just cited produces the impression that it was within the city. S. Peter[757], addressing the Jews, says, "Let me freely speak unto you of the patriarch David, that he is both dead and buried, and his sepulchre is with us unto this day." This brings us down to the year 34 A.D. Dio Cassius[758] states that part of the Tomb of David fell down of itself in the time of Hadrian, which was considered by the Jews to be an evil omen. S. Jerome[759] also informs us that it was visited by the Christians, when he says to S. Paula and S. Eustochium her daughter, "When shall we be allowed to enter the Sepulchre of the Redeemer, and to pray in the Tomb of David?" He does not indeed expressly say that it was within the city, but we may infer it from his mentioning it together with the Sepulchre of Christ, and not alluding to it when he describes the visits to the Sanctuaries in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem. This evidence brings us down to the fifth century. The Jewish tradition also on this point is of real weight, because it has never placed the tomb otherwise than on Sion, outside the present city-walls, though without fixing its exact position. Benjamin of Tudela[760], who wrote A.D. 1173, relates that about fifteen years before his arrival at Jerusalem one of the walls of the oratory on Mount Sion fell down, and that while it was being repaired two of the workmen went on with their labour while the rest were absent, and broke away a stone that formed the mouth of a cavern; into this they agreed to enter in search of treasure, "and they proceeded until they reached a large hall, supported by pillars of marble incrusted with gold and silver, before which stood a table with a golden sceptre and crown. This was the Sepulchre of David, King of Israel.... They further saw chests locked up, the contents of which nobody knew, and were on the point of entering the hall when a blast of wind like a storm issued forth from the mouth of the cavern, so strong that it threw them down almost lifeless on the ground. There they lay until evening, when another wind rushed forth, from which they heard a voice like that of a man calling aloud, Get up and go forth from this place." Now I do not attempt to deny that this story may be false or greatly exaggerated, but at any rate it proves that the Tomb of David was clearly pointed out by tradition at that time as being on Sion. A Florentine lady, Sophia degli Arcangeli, erected a hospice containing 200 beds near the Coenaculum, in the year 1354, to entertain pilgrims to the Holy City, and then began to excavate on Sion a subterranean chamber to bury the Latins who died during their visit. When the work was commenced in the Latin cemetery, near to the boundary of that belonging to the Armenians, the ground gave way, and a great underground cavern appeared. For this reason the attempt was abandoned lest it should lead to disputes with the neighbours. Now this fact does not give us any indication of the place of the Tomb of David, but it proves the existence of a cavern, such as is now seen, with its opening on the west side of Sion. This then especially occupied my attention, as I thought it would afford the means of determining the Tomb of David, which all the Jews now in Jerusalem unanimously assert to be on Sion. They do not indeed generally assign any exact position to it, not I believe from ignorance, but from religious scruple; some however less anxiously cautious, say that it is on the site usually pointed out, namely at _Neby Daûd_, which is the Arab name for the eastern part of the building attached to the Coenaculum. Quaresmius[761], who was Guardian of the Holy Land in 1630, and visited the tomb with the interpreter of the Latin convent, assures us that nothing remains under the present place. I allude to this to shew that the tradition of the tomb being near the Coenaculum was also current among the Franciscan monks. Before bringing forward my own investigations, and the conclusions derived from them, I quote the words of M. Mislin[762]: "I visited the Tomb of David, April 1, 1855. It was three o'clock in the afternoon; Kiamil Pasha and the chief personages awaited us in a small court, the entrance to which is on the left-hand side of the great doorway. We at once descended by a staircase of only six or eight steps into a low vaulted chamber, which, so far as I can judge, is situated exactly under the Church of the Institution of the Eucharist, of which it is only the crypt. No doubt it was one of the three churches, placed one on the other, mentioned by Fabri[763]. 'It had consecrated places on three different levels, namely a crypt underground, a church above ground, and over that another decorated tabernacle.' After passing through the vestibule we arrived at the part corresponding with the single nave of the church above. Here however the nave is divided into two by a row of massive piers of rock in the middle, supporting the vaulted roof. The latter half, or rather part of this crypt, for it is smaller than the other, is separated by a transverse railing, and is itself divided by another railing at right angles to the former, so as to form two spaces at the southern end of the chamber. The entrance is by that on the right hand, and the tomb occupies almost the whole of that on the left. When we had entered the former chamber, which I will call the _Mihrab_, because in it is the niche for prayers, ... the place in which we were was very dark, and the neighbouring chamber was worse; so that all that we could see on the other side of the railing separating us from it, was a carpet, which was not enough to satisfy our curiosity. Kiamil Pasha remarked to the Sheikh that we were come to see the tomb; he then opened the door with a very good grace. The Pasha kneeled down and pressed the fringe of the carpet covering the tomb to his mouth and forehead for a moment, and then allowed us to examine it at our pleasure. Before us was a sarcophagus about seven feet high, and twelve long. It was covered with seven very rich carpets. The upper was blue silk with large deeper coloured stripes; it was worked over with texts from the Koran. In the middle of the sarcophagus there is also a square piece of stuff richly embroidered, with a gold fringe; on it also are texts from the Koran, worked in gold thread. It was the gift of the Sultan Abdul-Medjid. The second carpet is bright blue with flowers worked in silver thread. The others are well worn and less rich than these. From the roof a canopy of silk is suspended, striped white and blue. The Sheikh who accompanied us raised a corner of the carpet, so that I was able to touch the sarcophagus; but owing to the many folds of the cloth, I had great difficulty in forming an opinion of its shape and material. Observing that I was not yet satisfied, he then took courage and raised the whole of the carpet from the part where there was the best light. By this means I saw the entire front of the sarcophagus, which appeared to me to be made of unpolished grey marble. In the middle was a medallion of darker colour, and I asked its meaning. The Sheikh informed me that it marked the position of the Prophet's navel. I examined the walls; they are covered with earthenware tiles with a blue pattern on a white ground. Bronze lamps are placed here and there around the tomb. Near the door, on the left hand on going out, is a chain suspended from the wall, with oblong links. The Sheikh told me it was a model of one made by David himself.... The Mohammedans act wisely in keeping this tomb concealed, in order to invest it with some importance." The last is an unfortunate remark; the Mohammedans, and especially the Sheikhs who are in charge of the place, know very well what they are about, as I will presently shew. I visited the chamber described by M. Mislin in February 1859; having obtained admission from the same Santon in return for certain services I had rendered him, also by bribes and presents at various times, by the recommendation of Surraya Pasha, and by having won the good will of the Mohammedan families who occupy the houses about _Neby Daûd_; most of whom let out horses and beasts of burden for hire, and were under obligations to me for recommending them to travellers. For all these reasons, and after much expenditure of money and patience, I gained entrance into the Sepulchre of David, visited his pretended tomb, and made the observations I am about to describe. The description of M. Mislin is very accurate, but I am able to make the following additions to it: (1) Under the earthenware tiles in the chamber of the sarcophagus, I discovered, by means of an examination made from the outside, the walls of an ancient Jewish building, combined, in the parts above the floor, with masonry of a later date, which has been introduced during repairs. This is to be found especially on the east and north sides. (2) The sarcophagus is not of unpolished grey marble, but of whitish Palestine breccia, called marble by the ancients, from its resemblance in working and polish. The greyish colour is due to its age, and perhaps also to the bad light or to the shade cast by the upraised carpets on the small part of it that was examined. (3) The medallion does not mark the position of the Prophet's navel, as the Sheikh said, but is a simple decoration attached to the sarcophagus; it is repeated on each of the other sides. Neither is it of darker marble, but as it is continually kissed by devotees its colour has been altered. (4) The form of the sarcophagus is a rectangular parallelepiped, formed of different blocks of breccia well fitted together without mortar. The lid is _à dos d'âne_[764], of several pieces of stone; at least so it appears at each end, but in the middle and on the top I have been unable to detect the divisions. All this shews that it is not a real sarcophagus, but only an imitation or cenotaph erected on the spot to conceal something below. (5) On lifting up the mats at the corners of the chamber and near the tomb, I found that the pavement is laid upon the rock, which corresponds in its nature with that exposed all about the upper part of Sion. I carefully examined the north side and the base of the monument, in the hope of discerning signs of an opening, but in vain. When I asked the Sheikh for information on the point, he appeared surprised at my question, and from that moment endeavoured to get me out of the place as quickly as possible; and under the circumstances I had no choice but to comply. I did not, however, believe that I had visited the Tomb of David, but was convinced that there was below or on the north side of the chamber containing the sarcophagus, a communication with the true tomb, which must be excavated in the solid rock; and, like all the other very ancient sepulchres, consist of many chambers, in which were sarcophagi, differing in their arrangement from those at the Tombs of the Kings and Judges, on the north of Jerusalem[765]. I accordingly determined to descend into the vault, which I have already mentioned as having an opening on the western side of the hill[766]. After I had descended a steep sloping plot of land, I found some steps forming the commencement of a staircase cut in the rock; which, however, is now almost covered with soil, ashes, and bones. Below was a huge vault, which I perceived to run under a large portion of the cemetery above; and so understood how it was that they came upon it in excavating a burial-place in 1354. It is now almost full of bones, which are thrown in whenever they are found in digging graves. As I unfortunately made the examination in the rainy season, it was not very successful; the water had soaked through and run down into the interior, so that I was impeded by mud composed of wet soil, ashes, and bones; and I do not know whether I should have been able to extricate myself from the fetid quagmire, if I had not had two men with me, and taken my usual precaution, when visiting an unexplored place, of fastening a rope round my body. Consequently I was obliged to wait for a better opportunity. At the same time I examined the ground in the neighbourhood of the opening, and not only found the rock all round it at a slight depth, but also ascertained that it had once been larger, and had been reduced in size by masonry, so that it could be closed with a stone. The rock, when uncovered, shewed traces of the iron tools with which it had been wrought, and also exhibited the small holes made to admit clamps of iron or lead to fasten down the stones that were laid upon it. These marks have brought me to the conclusion, that this must have been the entrance into the Tomb of the Jewish Kings, and that here Herod erected his monument in order to render the place secure. Hence the sarcophagus, which is called David's Tomb, is only a representation of it, after the usual custom of the Mohammedans, who indeed have another repetition of it in wood on the upper floor; which is placed there to content the believers who come to pray, and saves the Sheikh the trouble of conducting them down into the lower chamber. It may not be out of place to observe here, that I made a report to Surraya Pasha, that the principal causes of the constant fevers in Jerusalem were the shallowness of the graves on Sion, which were so dug to avoid coming upon this vault by going too deep; and the presence of this charnel-house. At the same time I proposed a plan by which, at a small expense, the sepulchres of Aceldama might be restored, and the remains of the corpses removed to them; a change which would have produced the best possible effect on the sanitary state of the city. The Pasha understood this, but unfortunately, owing to the number of previous formalities which were requisite, the execution of the design was almost impossible. I must confess that the public good was not my only motive on this occasion, as the opportunity it would have afforded me for making researches, and excavating inside the cavern, would probably have furnished me with most valuable information to aid in identifying this place with the Tombs of the Jewish Kings. In the month of May in the same year I was able with much difficulty to examine, to some extent, the above-named cavern: not indeed as thoroughly as I could have wished, but as far as circumstances would allow. I was obliged to remove a quantity of skulls, masses of bones, and other materials, and this with the help of only one European servant; as I was unable to find any other assistant, owing to the disgusting nature of the labour. It was further impossible to get help from the Arabs, who would not have aided me for any price that I could have offered, and who would very likely have embroiled me with the inhabitants of _Neby Daûd_. By little and little, on many days, I was able to make a Plan of the place[767]; I do not claim for this very strict accuracy as regards the measurements, but its shape and bearings are to be trusted, up to the part where it narrows on the east. Although I saw the beginning of the corridor on the east, I was unable to enter it, as it was quite filled with rubbish, and I have only inferred its junction with the chamber containing the sarcophagus which passes for David's Tomb. I found over a large part of the cavern the marks of the tools used in excavating it. At some places there appeared to be the upper parts of doorways; these perhaps might be entrances into other vaults; the mass of rubbish however made it impossible to determine this. I also thought that the vaulting was supported by piers; but was unable to satisfy myself on this point, as what I saw might have been caused by a settlement of the ground above that had brought the roof into contact with the rubbish accumulated inside, which was in such quantities, that I could not without great labour have distinguished the one from the other. As then I cannot conceive this great work undertaken for any other than an important purpose, I believe that it is the vestibule of the Tombs of the Jewish Kings; but of course to establish this we must wait until the rubbish is cleared out of it. It is in the fortress of Sion, the city wherein David dwelt, and no other place in Jerusalem agrees so well with the _data_ of the Bible and Josephus, and with tradition, as this position, which has in its favour every argument derived from the configuration of the ground. I hope to be able to renew my investigations here; but if unhappily I am prevented from carrying my intention into effect, I recommend archæologists to devote themselves to the subject; trusting that in that case they will find that I have directed them to the real tombs of the Jewish Kings on Sion. Let us now consider the 'Coenaculum;' the name of which is derived from the belief that it is the place where our Saviour ate the last Paschal supper with His Apostles. The Bible[768] tells us no more than that it was a large upper-room, but the tradition is of very great antiquity. It asserts that here the Apostles met after the Resurrection, when the Saviour shewed them His wounds; that here He ate before them, and breathed on them that they might receive the Holy Ghost[769]; that here Thomas was convinced[770], and Matthias elected an Apostle[771]; that here the Holy Ghost descended on the day of Pentecost[772], and the first converts were added to the Church by S. Peter[773]. A church must have been erected on this spot at a very early period, for S. Epiphanius[774] says, with reference to Hadrian's journey in Palestine: "He found Jerusalem levelled with the ground, the Temple itself destroyed and trodden under foot, save only a few houses, and a certain small Christian church which had been built upon that spot on which the disciples, after that the Saviour had ascended into heaven, assembled together in the Coenaculum." We read in the Catechetical Lectures of S. Cyril[775]: "The Holy Ghost, who spake in the Prophets, and who on the day of Pentecost descended on the Apostles in the form of fiery tongues, here in Jerusalem in the Upper Church of the Apostles." This shews that the church was divided then, as it now is, into two floors. It is not known who built it. Nicephorus Callistus[776], an author of the fourteenth century, attributes it to S. Helena; but Eusebius does not mention it, and the Bordeaux Pilgrim only says: "Continuing along the same road up Mount Sion, you may see the place where was the house of Caiaphas the priest; and to this time the column still remains where they scourged Jesus." S. Jerome[777], in his Itinerary of Paula, writes thus: "The column was shewn there, supporting the portico of a church, stained with the Lord's blood, to which He is said to have been bound and scourged. The place is pointed out where the Holy Ghost descended upon one hundred and twenty believers." In the year 415, on Dec. 26th, the remains of the Proto-martyr S. Stephen were transported to the Apostles' Church, during the patriarchate of John[778]. Antoninus of Piacenza, Arculf, Willibald, and Bernard the Wise, in the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth centuries respectively, mention the basilica on Sion[779]. Arculf describes its plan without details as a regular parallelogram of considerable length. We do not know whether the church, described by these authors, was the same as that spoken of by S. Cyril; but it is very probable that, owing to the persecutions suffered by the Christians, the fabric was destroyed and rebuilt more than once. At any rate, by the end of the eleventh century it had entirely fallen to ruin, as we find from the Gesta Francorum[780]. The Crusaders rebuilt it, and though their church no longer exists, we possess an accurate description of it by the authors of the twelfth century. I abbreviate this from the work of M. de Vogüé[781], who has derived it from the anonymous writers of the manuscripts of Vienna and of Paris, and from John of Würtzburg and John Phocas. "The church was composed of two parts: the lower, consisting of a nave and two aisles, with barrel-vaults, was terminated, like most of the buildings of the period of the Crusades, by three apses at the east. In the apse most to the north was an altar, supposed to mark the place where the Virgin died.... That on the south was supposed to indicate where Christ appeared to His disciples after His Resurrection. In this lower church, sometimes called the crypt in the middle ages, they say that Our Saviour washed the Apostles' feet. The upper church had a groined roof, with a central dome. This was the Coenaculum, properly so called, where tradition placed the scene of the Last Supper in the nave, and of the descent of the Holy Ghost in the principal apse. The two floors communicated one with another by means of an inner staircase of 61 steps (this number, given by Phocas, is evidently exaggerated), which opened from the ground-floor in the southern apse. The interior of these two churches, in the time of the Latin Kings, was covered with wall-paintings, representing the subjects of the traditions attached to the spot." After giving a list of these, M. de Vogüé goes on to say, that "on the left of the principal church was a small one dedicated to S. Stephen, in remembrance of a very ancient tradition, according to which the martyr's body was removed from its first resting-place at Caphar Gamala to this place. A convent had been built in the neighbourhood, occupied by a chapter of Augustinian Canons, who had the care of the Sanctuaries under the direction of an Abbot. The society bore the twofold name of S. Mary of Mount Sion and of the Holy Ghost." M. de Vogüé then describes the seal of the convent, and gives a list of the Abbots. The buildings around the Coenaculum were not destroyed at the entrance of Saladin, A.D. 1187. Willibrand of Oldenburg, A.D. 1219, found them inhabited by Syrians, who paid tribute to the conquerors; but in the thirteenth century they were in ruins. In 1336, in consequence of the treaty (A.D. 1333) concerning the restoration of the Holy Places to the Friars Minor, between the Sultan of Egypt on one side, and Robert King of Sicily and his wife Sancia on the other, it was agreed to re-establish the church and monastery on Sion. After a heavy expenditure this was done, and the Franciscans took up their quarters there; as is proved by a bull of Clement V., dated at Avignon, November 21, 1342. Queen Sancia erected a convent enclosing the Coenaculum on Sion, and richly endowed it for the support of twelve monks and some lay brothers. An idea of it may be obtained from the present buildings, allowing for some modifications. Besides the church and the monks' cells, it included a large hospital, founded A.D. 1354, by a Florentine lady, Sophia degli Arcangeli. This was placed under the care of the Fathers by Pope Innocent in the following year[782]. They were unable to enjoy the advantages bestowed upon them, owing to the persecution of the Mohammedans, who not only plundered them by their heavy exactions, but also put them to death. Indeed, in 1368 all of them were massacred; in 1391, four out of the nine who had succeeded these martyrs; in 1432, one, John of Calabria; in 1537, all of them were seized, and part imprisoned in the Tower of the Pisans, while the rest were sent to Damascus[783]. I have already observed, that, at this time, the Latins being anxious to preserve certain articles, valuable both from their sacred nature and intrinsic worth, entrusted them to the Armenians, who afterwards refused to restore them. The possession of the Sanctuaries on Sion was confirmed to the Franciscans by several Sultans of Egypt and Constantinople; this, however, did not prevent their being driven from the place in 1561; under the twofold pretext, that Sion was fortified, and so might at any time aid the Christians in making themselves masters of Jerusalem, and also that it was unbecoming that infidels should possess the Tomb of David. The monks thereupon retired into a small house, until they purchased from the Georgians the Convent of the Column, as I have already mentioned[784]. The Mohammedan Santons occupied their place; and those who live there at the present time, according to an order of the Pasha, Governor of the city, countersigned by the Effendis of his Council, allow the Fathers, or certain pilgrim priests, to celebrate mass in the building; they also, for a small sum, permit pilgrims to see the Franciscan Church[785], with the upper part of the Tomb of David. This, however, probably only occupies a portion of the earlier church. Like its predecessors, it is divided into two floors; the lower of which is formed by the substructure of the ancient building, and consists of two chambers, one of which has a vaulted roof supported by two piers, and is called the Hall of the Washing the Feet; the other (and smaller) is also vaulted, and bears the name of the Tomb of David. The upper story is given on my Plan. The chamber on the east above the Tomb of David is not always opened to the Christians; this is shewn as the place of the Descent of the Holy Ghost: the other, on the west, is the Coenaculum, a Gothic building in the style of the fourteenth century, erected by the Franciscans. It is divided down the middle by two granite columns, and half-columns project from the side walls to correspond with them. I conclude this subject by observing, that in the buildings on the south and on the west large pieces of masonry of the time of the Crusades still remain; and that the stables on the west are the work of Ibrahim Pasha, who, with his attendants, occupied the whole of the Coenaculum. Outside the building of _Neby Daûd_, and a little to the north, is the site of a house, where the Virgin Mary is said to have passed the last years of her life. Some large stones, on one of which a cross is carved, mark the spot, in which I have no great belief. Sanutus[786] thus speaks of it: "Near this spot, a stone's throw to the south, is the place where the blessed Virgin dwelt after her Son's Ascension into heaven, and the cell wherein she departed this life." In the neighbourhood was a chapel dedicated to S. John the Evangelist, which was seen by Sanutus, who goes on to say, "There also is the Church of the Blessed John the Evangelist, which was, as it is said, the first of all the churches; in it this Apostle was wont to offer mass to that most blessed Queen while he lived in this world." We have now only to visit the walled enclosure to the south of the Sion Gate. This is a small Armenian convent, which is said to occupy the site of the house of Caiaphas: the tradition dates from the fourth century. I have already said that the Pilgrim of Bordeaux mentions it, without however stating that a church stood there. We find in the writings of Nicephorus Callistus[787], that S. Helena built a church there, and dedicated it to S. Peter; but this is not confirmed by any one besides. None of the authors, contemporary with or posterior to S. Helena, allude to it; and we cannot suppose that this Sanctuary would be omitted in the Itinerary of S. Paula, which names all the others that were then in existence. It was unknown at the time of the Crusades, as it is not recorded by Edrisi, who wrote A.D. 1151, nor by Phocas, in his journey in Palestine, A.D. 1185. Marinus Sanutus, in the fourteenth century, is the first writer who mentions it. He calls it the Church of S. Saviour; the name it still bears[788]. Hence I infer that the church and the convent adjoining were erected at the end of the thirteenth century, or at the beginning of the fourteenth. Although the tradition concerning the House of Caiaphas goes back as far as the fourth century, I believe it would be difficult to maintain its correctness, as we have no _data_ whatever from the Bible to assist us in fixing the position of the High-priest's dwelling. The entrance is by a small door on the north, near the north-west corner. The church is oblong in plan (50 feet long by 25 wide), without any architectural features worthy of notice. The pictures on the walls are ugly and grotesque. In the central altar at the east end two large pieces of stone are exhibited, which are said to have formed part of the mass that closed the door of the Sepulchre of Christ. Their genuineness would be difficult to establish; but, be that as it may, the Armenians ought to be ashamed of shewing them, as they were entrusted to them by the Franciscans in 1570, at the time of the war with Cyprus, and afterwards dishonourably appropriated. There is neither history nor tradition to support the claims of these stones, and the Latin Fathers suffer their loss with patience, since their thickness would not correspond with the size mentioned by the Evangelist[789], and the little that can be seen of them is enough to shew that they cannot have belonged to a stone of the right shape. On the south of the altar is a very small square-headed door leading into a narrow chamber, in which two persons can scarcely stand. This is said to be the prison where Jesus was kept during the remainder of the night after he was brought to Caiaphas. The walls shew no signs of antiquity; the pavement rests upon a mass of rubbish; the tradition is unfounded, and the place perhaps was formerly only a closet. In the courts before the church they point out the spot on which S. Peter stood when he denied his Master, and where the cock crew! In the interior of the convent the Armenian Patriarchs and Bishops are buried. I must not forget to observe that a great number of stones are to be seen in the outer wall and on the ground, which have been used in monuments; on them are some ancient Armenian inscriptions. This is an easy way of employing tombstones, when they lie too close on the ground of a cemetery. Before entering the city we descend the eastern slope of Sion by a foot-path leading to Siloam, and arrive at a small cave, surrounded by some ruins, which are the remains of the Church of S. Peter at the Cock-crow, destroyed since the thirteenth century. Tradition reports that S. Peter retired to this spot to lament his sin after denying his Redeemer. The church was standing in the ninth century; for Bernard the Wise writes: "Towards the east is a church in honour of S. Peter, on the spot where he denied his Lord[790]." John of Würtzburg informs us that it belonged to the Greeks in the twelfth century. We read in La Citez de Jherusalem[791]: "There was a church called S. Peter at the Cock-crow. In this church was a deep ditch, wherein S. Peter hid himself when he had denied Jesus Christ, and there he heard the cock crow, and bewailed his sin." We read also in Edrisi[792]: "From the Sion Gate the road descends into a ravine called the Valley of Hell, at the end of which is a church in honour of S. Peter." A few yards to the east of this is a small Jewish cemetery, now abandoned. Turning back northward from this, we reach the road which, passing along under the city-wall, leads to the Sion Gate. On entering this we see by the side of the wall to the east some poor dwellings, built on a level plot of ground, composed of stones and clay. These are the abodes of the lepers of Jerusalem, where these unhappy beings live until released by death from their misery. They are called by the Arabs _Beiût el-Masakîm_ (Houses of the Unfortunate), and are occupied by men, women, and children. Most of them are Mohammedans, but there are some Christians among them. This leprosy is not white, like that described in the Bible[793], but is the kind called Elephantiasis. The skin of the afflicted persons assumes a violet or reddish-grey tint, and tumours are formed in it, which turn into ulcers of the most horrible appearance; little by little the extremities of the limbs drop off, leaving only shapeless stumps behind; the roof of the palate becomes inflamed and then ulcerates, so that the voice grows harsh, and at last guttural; and the face and limbs are swollen. This terrible calamity, which refuses to yield to the efforts of science, is not contagious, but hereditary. The lepers are not, however, so poor as they are usually supposed to be. We will not dwell further upon this miserable sight, but will continue our observations in another chapter. FOOTNOTES: [532] Plate XVII. [533] Plate XLIX. [534] Early Travels, Bohn's Ant. Lib. pp. 4, 19. [535] Joel iii. 2. [536] Joel iii. 12; Note I. [537] 2 Kings xxiii. 6. [538] Jer. xxvi. 23. [539] Adric. Theat. Terræ Sanctæ. De Vall. Jehosh. [540] Acts vii. 58. [541] Dr Robinson, Biblioth. Sac. III. p. 639. Williams' Holy City, II. p. 432 (2nd Ed.). Les Églises, &c. pp. 332, 333. [542] Note II. [543] 2 Sam. xv. 23. [544] 1 Kings xv. 13. [545] 2 Chron. xxix. 16; xxx. 14. [546] S. John xviii. 1. [547] Some of these are now in the collection of the Rev. Churchill Babington, B.D. Fellow of S. John's College, Cambridge, a distinguished numismatist. [548] Plate L. [549] Plate LI. [550] Niceph. Hist. Eccl. VIII. 30; Note III. [551] Orat. II. De Assumpt. Quoted by Quaresmius, E. T. S. Lib. IV. Pereg. 7, c. 2, Vol. II. pp. 241, 242, ed. 1639. [552] Theophanes, Chron. ann. 443. [553] Note IV. [554] See Euthymius, Lib. III. ch. 40. [555] E. T. S. Lib. IV. Pereg. 7, c. 2, Vol. II. p. 242. [556] Ant. Piac. XVII. [557] Seb. Pauli, Codex Diplomaticus, S. Mil. ord. Jerusal. Said Ibn Batrik, II. 212; Note V. [558] See Theophanes, Chron. ann. 683. [559] Early Travels, &c. Bohn's Ant. Lib. p. 19. [560] Ibid. p. 28. [561] Note VI. [562] Les Églises, &c. p. 308. [563] Ibid. p. 307. [564] Note VI. [565] Les Églises, &c. p. 307; Note VII. [566] Alb. Aquens. Lib. VII. c. 21; Lib. IX. c. 52. Gesta Dei, &c. Vol. I. pp. 299, 344. [567] C. X. Pez. Thes. Anec. Nov. Tom. I. p. 523. [568] De Vogüé, Les Églises, &c. p. 309. [569] Cod. Dipl. Vol. I. p. 10. [570] Citez de Jherusalem. [571] Note VIII. [572] Liber Secretorum Fidelium Crucis, Lib. III. pars 14, c. 9, p. 256 (ed. 1611). [573] Note IX. [574] Note X. [575] Plates L., LI. [576] Note XI. [577] Lib. XVIII. c. 32, Gesta Dei, &c. Tom. II. p. 953 (ed. 1611). [578] See Plate LI. (Plan). [579] Note XII. [580] Page 148. [581] Plate LI. [582] S. Matt. xxvi. 39; S. Luke xxii. 44. [583] S. Matt. xxvi. 36; S. Mark xiv. 32; S. John xviii. 1. [584] Liber de Situ et Nom. Loc. Heb. (Gethsemane). [585] Early Travels, &c. Bohn's Ant. Lib. p. 4. [586] Leo Allat. Sym., p. 57. [587] Quoted by M. de Vogüé, Les Églises, &c. p. 314. [588] Eluc. T. S. Lib. IV. pereg. 5, c. 9, Tom. II. p. 160. [589] Voyage nouveau de la T. S. 1679, I. III. c. 3. [590] Plate LII. [591] S. Luke xxi. 37; xxii. 29. [592] Jewish War, VI. 1, § 1. [593] Note XIII. [594] S. Matt. xxvi. 38, 40; S. Luke xxii. 45. [595] See his description of the city, Note XI, Ch. II. [596] Loc. Terræ Sanctæ Descriptio, Ch. XLIII. [597] See Plates LV., LX., which shew the Plan and Elevation. [598] 1 Kings xxii. 50. [599] Plate LVIII. [600] Guide D'Orient, p. 805. [601] Holy City, Vol. II. pp. 451, 452 (2nd Ed.). [602] See the elevation and details to Plates LX., LXI. [603] Mariti, p. 152. [604] Le Pieux Pélerin, p. 404. [605] 2 Sam. xviii. 17. [606] Ant. VII. 10, § 2. [607] 2 Sam. xviii. 6. [608] 2 Sam. xviii. 18. [609] 2 Kings xxv. 4. [610] Ant. VII. 10, § 3. [611] E. T. S. Lib. IV. pereg. 5, c. 13, Tom. II. p. 169. [612] Plate LX. [613] 1 Cor. xv. 7; S. Jerome, de vir. ill. c. 2, from the Gospel of the Nazarenes; Quaresmius, E. T. S. Lib. IV. pereg. 7, c. 10. [614] Ap. Euseb. H. E. II. 23, § 12. [615] Plates LX., LXI. [616] 2 Chron. xxiv. 20, 21. [617] S. Matt. xxiii. 35. [618] 2 Kings xxi. 18, 26. [619] Narrative of a Journey round the Red Sea, &c. Vol. II. pp. 223-244 (edited by Count E. de Warren). [620] Biblical Researches, Vol. I. p. 521 (First Ed.). [621] Chap. III. p. 94. [622] Isai. viii. 6. [623] Nehem. iii. 15. [624] S. John ix. 7. [625] Jewish War, II. 16, § 2; V. 4, §§ 1, 2; V. 9, § 4. [626] S. John vii. 37, 38. [627] Succah, v. [628] Jennings, Jewish Antiquities, Book 3, c. 6. [629] Comment in Is. Lib. III. c. 8. [630] Hist. Eccl. Book VIII. c. 30. [631] Itiner. Chap. XX. [632] De Perenni Cultu T. S. Lib. II. [633] Hist. Hieros. VI. 6. G. D. p. 276. [634] Fabri, I. 420. [635] Historia Francorum qui ceperunt Hierusalem. [636] See the chapter on the Waters. [637] Histor. de Hierosolymitano itinere. Duchesne, Hist. Franc. Script. Vol. IV. [638] S. John ix. 7. [639] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2. See also p. 31. [640] See Origen, Comment. in Matt. Tom. X. c. 18, and Ep. ad Africanum, c. 9, also Homil. in Isa. I. c. 5 (ed. 1740); also Tertull. de Patientia, c. 14; and Jerome Comment. in Isaiam, Lib. XVI. c. 57 (ad fin.). [641] Histoire de l'État présent de Jer. p. 206. [642] Ch. II. p. 26. [643] 2 Kings xxv. 4; Jer. xxxix. 4; lii. 7. [644] Plate XLVIII. [645] 2 Maccab. i. 19, 22. [646] 2 Maccab. i. 33-36. For Nephi the Greek text has Nephthaei. [647] Josh. xv. 7, 8; xviii. 16. [648] 2 Sam. xvii. 17. [649] 1 Kings i. 9. [650] See Chapter II. p. 21. [651] Descrip. T. S. Pez. Thes. Anec. Nov. Tom. I. pars 3, p. 509. [652] Plate LXI. [653] S. Luke xiii. 4. [654] Ch. II. p. 21; Plate LII. [655] S. Luke xix. 37-41. [656] S. Luke xix. 37. [657] Fetell. de Situ Jherusalem, 236. [658] Fabri, I. 387. [659] Acts i. 11. [660] Acts i. 9-11. [661] E. T. S. Lib. IV. pereg. 9, c. 11, Tom. II. p. 320. [662] Note XIV. [663] Acts i. 12. [664] S. Luke xxiv. 50, 51. [665] Histoire de l'État présent de Jer. p. 157. [666] Dan. xi. 45. [667] De Vita Christi, Pars II. c. lxxxii. [668] Rosh Hashanah, c. II. hal. 2, 3. [669] Hist. Eccl. Lib. IV. c. 5. Mentioned also by Socrates, Hist. Eccl. Lib. II. c. 28, as seen at Antioch. [670] Jewish War, V. 2, §§ 3, 4. [671] Plate I. [672] Lament. i. 1. [673] Lament. i. 12. [674] Plate LIII. [675] Vita Const. III. 43. [676] Liber nom. loc. ex Actis 'Mons Oliveti.' [677] Jerome, Ibid. Cf. Epit. Paulæ. Euseb. Vita Const. III. 40. Paulinus, De Cruce Christi. [678] Baron. Ann. Eccl. 616. [679] Adamn. de Loc. Sanct. Lib. I. c. 17. Quoted by Quaresm. E. T. S. Lib. IV. pereg. 9, c. 6, Vol. II. p. 310. Abridged in Early Travels, Bohn's Ant. Lib. p. 5, cf. p. 19. [680] James de Vitry, c. LVIII. Gesta Dei &c. Vol. II. p. 1078. [681] Citez de Jherusalem; Les Églises &c. p. 444. [682] Les Églises &c. p. 316. [683] The building is certainly not accurate: the range of variation of the sides is rather more than M. de Vogüé represents it to be. [684] Very great want, they are all different. [685] None of the ancient wall remains; all that is there is common Arab work, therefore I attach no weight to this argument. [686] Eluc. T. S. Lib. IV. pereg. 9, c. 8, Tom. II. p. 313. [687] Radulph. Coggesh. Chron. T. S. apud Martene et Durand. Tom. V. pp. 566, 567. [688] For details, see Plate LIII. [689] Itiner. in Symmik. Leo Allatius (p. 150, ed. 1653). [690] Plate LX. [691] Vita Const. Lib. III. c. 43. [692] Cf. Citez de Jherusalem, De Vogüé, p. 444. [693] Gesta Francorum expugnantium Hierosol. 25. [694] S. Matt. v. 1; vi. 9. [695] S. Luke xi. 1. [696] The Holy City, Vol. II. p. 446 (2nd Ed.). [697] Quoted by Quaresmius, Lib. II. pereg. 9, c. 1, Tom. II. p. 302. [698] S. Mark xiii. 3. [699] Plate LIV. [700] Voyage nouveau de la Terre Sainte, III. c. 4. [701] Matt. xxiii. 29. [702] Luke xi. 47. [703] Comment in c. xxi. p. 435, ed. 1685. [704] Comment in c. xxi. Evang. Matt. Lib. III. [705] Ep. CVIII. _Ad Eustochium Virginem_ (Vol. I. p. 837, Ed. Migue). [706] E. T. S. Lib. IV. pereg. 10, c. 11, Tom. II. pp. 333, 334; S. Matth. xxi. 1, 2. [707] Epiph. adv. Hæret. Lib. I. Tom. III. Refut. 53 (p. 340, ed. 1622). [708] S. John xi. 1-40. [709] S. Matt. xxvi. 6-9; S. John xii. 3. [710] S. John xi. 18. [711] S. John xi. 19; xii. 1-3. [712] Plate LIV. [713] Mariti, c. XV. § 8. [714] Hist. Eccl. Lib. VIII. c. 30. [715] Jerome, Epitaph. Paulæ, Ep. CVIII. (_Ad Eustochium Virginem_). [716] Jerome, Onomastic. ad vocem Bethan., Ep. CVIII. (_Ad Eustochium Virginem_). [717] Acta Sanct. ord. Bened. sæc. iii. p. 2. Early Travels, p. 6. Bohn's Ant. Lib. [718] Itinerarium in Loc. S. (Acta Sanct. ord. Bened. sæc. iii. p. 2). See also E. T. p. 28. [719] See Ch. V. page 146. [720] Cartul., p. 61. [721] Cartul., p. 27. [722] William of Tyre, Lib. XV. c. 26 (G. D. p. 887). [723] Cartul. H. S., p. 61 (A.D. 1144). [724] No. 20, Cod. Dipl. Tom. I. [725] S. Matt. xxi. 18, 19. [726] Josh. xv. 8; xviii. 16. [727] Note XV. [728] Isai. xxx. 33. [729] Jerome, Comment. in S. Matth. c. x. v. 28. [730] Jer. vii. 32; cf. xix. 6, 11. [731] Jewish War, V. 12, § 2. [732] Plate LX. (Fig. 6). [733] Plate XLVII. [734] Plate LX. fig. 8. Plate XLVII. [735] Jewish War, V. 12, § 2. [736] Plate LV. fig. 5. [737] Anton. Piac. XXV. [738] Universal Geography of Edrisi, Climate, III. § 5, Tom. I. p. 345, Paris, A.D. 1836. [739] Acts i. 19. [740] S. Matth. xxvii. 7, 8. [741] Jer. xix. 11. [742] Hist. Eccl. Lib. VIII. c. 30. [743] La Citez de Jherusalem, De Vogüé, p. 442. [744] Ch. II. p. 41. [745] De Perenni Cultu Terræ Sanctæ, Lib. II. Quoted by Quaresm. E. T. S. Lib. VI. pereg. 1, c. 3, Vol. II. p. 596. [746] 2 Sam. xi. 2. [747] Beersheba, E. V.; Gen. xxvi. 33; +Bêrsabee+ in LXX; Josh. xv. 28, and afterwards. [748] Isai. xxii. 9. [749] La Citez de Jherusalem, De Vogüé, p. 442. [750] Plate XLV. [751] 2 Sam. v. 7, 9. [752] 1 Kings ii. 10. [753] Note XIV. [754] Nehem. iii. 15, 16. [755] Ant. XIII. 8, § 4. [756] Ant. XVI. 7, § 1. [757] Acts ii. 29. [758] Dio Cassius in Hadriani Vita. [759] Jerome, Epist. ad Marcellam. [760] The Travels of Rabbi Benjamin of Tudela. 'Early Travels in Palestine,' Bohn's Ant. Lib. p. 85. [761] Pineda, de Rebus Salomonis, Lib. VIII. c. 3. [762] Les Saints Lieux, Tom. II. c. xxvi. p. 361, Paris, 1858. He should have mentioned that it was in the company of the Duke of Brabant, otherwise neither would the Pasha have troubled himself about the matter, nor the Santon have allowed him to enter the court. [763] F. Fabri, Eigentliche Beschreybung der Hin und Widerfarth zu dem heil. Land gen Jerusalem, Tom. I. p. 225, 1556. [764] Plate XLVI. [765] Plates LVI., LIX. [766] Plate XLVI. [767] Plate XLVI. [768] S. Mark xiv. 15; S. Luke xxii. 12. [769] S. Luke xxiv. 36, 39-43, 45; S. John xx. 19-22. [770] S. John xx. 26, 27. [771] Acts i. 26. [772] Acts ii. 1-4. [773] Acts ii. 14-41. [774] De Mensuris et Ponderibus, c. 14; Quaresm. E. T. S. Lib. IV. pereg. 4, c. 4, Tom. II. p. 122. [775] Catech. Lect. XVI. 'The Library of the Fathers,' Vol. II. p. 205. [776] Lib. VIII. c. 30. [777] Epitaphium Paulæ. [778] Le Quien, Oriens Christ. Vol. III. p. 162, col. 2. [779] Note XVII. [780] Gesta Francorum Expugn. Hieros. c. XXVI. G. D. p. 573. [781] Les Églises de la Terre Sainte, p. 324. [782] The bulls are given by Quaresmius, Elucidatio T. S. Lib. II., c. 18, Vol. I. pp. 404, 405. [783] So it is stated in the Chronicles preserved in the Convent of S. Saviour at Jerusalem. [784] Page 160. [785] Plate XLVI. [786] Liber Secretorum fidelium Crucis, Lib. III. pars 14, c. 8, p. 255 (ed. 1611). [787] Hist. Eccl. Lib. VIII. c. 30. [788] Liber Secretorum fidelium Crucis, Lib. III. pars 14, c. 8, p. 254. [789] S. Mark xvi. 3, 4. [790] Early Travels, p. 28. The author is at variance with the ordinary tradition on this point. The denial must have taken place at the house of Caiaphas. [791] Quoted in De Vogüé, Les Églises, &c. p. 442. [792] Geographie Univ. par. v. clim. 3, p. 444. [793] Lev. xiii. CHAPTER VII. EXCURSIONS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF THE CITY ON THE NORTH AND WEST--THE MONUMENT OF HELENA OF ADIABENE, AND THE CHURCH DEDICATED TO S. STEPHEN--ROYAL CAVERNS--GROTTO OF JEREMIAH--HOUSE OF THE VINE--TOMBS OF THE KINGS--SHEIKH JERRAH--ANCIENT SYNAGOGUE--TOMB OF SIMON THE JUST--TOMBS AT THE HEAD OF THE KIDRON VALLEY--KIDRON POOL--VARIOUS TOMBS ON THE NORTH-WEST--TOMBS OF THE JUDGES--SHEIKH AYMAR--RUSSIAN BUILDINGS--VALLEY OF GIHON--BIRKET MAMILLAH--MONUMENT OF HEROD, AND RUINS OF THE CHURCH OF S. BABYLAS--GREEK CONVENT OF THE HOLY CROSS--PROPERTY OF THE ARCHIMANDRITE NICOFERUS. Let us return to the picturesque Damascus Gate[794], and begin our examination from this point. In the first chapter[795] I mentioned that there was a Cufic inscription under the archway on the west side; this contains the Mohammedan confession of faith, namely, "There is no God but God, and Mohammed is his Prophet." Outside the gate, on either hand, is a mound, formed by the continual accumulation of rubbish and soil which have been brought and cast down here for many centuries; the last addition being on the building of the Austrian hospice in 1857. These render it impossible to see the full extent of the ditch, which was made in the reign of Agrippa to defend the city-walls[796]. Following the road northward, some chiselled rocks are seen on the left hand, which I have already[797] stated to be, in my opinion, the remains of the monument of Helena of Adiabene. We must now consider the claims of this place to be the scene of S. Stephen's martyrdom; since we saw[798] that the present site, near S. Mary's church, was inadmissible. The Bible[799] tells us no more than that the Saint was "cast out of the city;" and as S. Paul witnessed the martyr's death, he may not improbably have pointed out the place to the Christians. In the fourth century this was said by tradition to be on the north of the city, as we gather from a letter of the Priest Lucian, preserved by Quaresmius[800]: "He was stoned outside the north gate, which leads to Kedar." In the fifth century a magnificent church was erected here by the Empress Eudoxia, in honour of S. Stephen. This must have been built between the years A.D. 450 and A.D. 461, as she resided at Jerusalem during that period, having retired there on the death of her husband, Theodosius II., and died in 461; that is, in the fourth year of the reign of Leo I., Emperor of the East[801]. She was buried in this church[802]. From Evagrius[803] we also learn that "she built a church in memory of S. Stephen, Proto-deacon and Proto-martyr, of remarkable magnificence and beauty, which is not a stadium distant from Jerusalem." This place is about a stadium from the Damascus Gate. Nicephorus Callistus[804] also informs us that the church was the above distance from the city, and was of great size and beauty. This church is also celebrated for the synod which assembled there, A.D. 518, at the instigation of S. Saba, to maintain the decisions of the Council of Chalcedon, at which a great number of monks was present; and we learn incidentally from the author of S. Saba's life[805], that the church was "able to hold a very large multitude." Antoninus of Piacenza, in the sixth century, calls the present Damascus gate the Gate of S. Stephen, and expressly states that through it was the way to Cæsarea and Diospolis, so that there can be no doubt of his meaning. This name was retained until the walls of Jerusalem were rebuilt by Solyman I., A.D. 1536, when it was changed, for what reason history does not tell us; but we may conjecture that the church had by this time disappeared, and the tradition was misinterpreted by the Christians. The church built by Eudoxia can scarcely have escaped destruction during the persecutions of Chosroes II. in 614, and Hakem in 1010; but it was probably rebuilt on a smaller scale, for we learn from Robert the Monk[806], an author of the time of the first Crusade, who describes the details of the siege, that "the Counts of Normandy and Flanders encamped on the north of the city, near the church of S. Stephen the Proto-martyr, on the spot where he was stoned by the Jews." Again, Sæwulf[807] informs us that "the stoning of S. Stephen took place about two or three arbalist-shots without the wall, to the north, where a very handsome church was built, which was entirely destroyed by the Pagans." Again, we find the following allusion in Albert of Aix[808]: "But Robert, Prince of the Normans, and the British Count, pitched their tents near the walls, where is the oratory of the Proto-martyr Stephen." Hence it is evident that up to the eleventh century, the traditional site of the Saint's martyrdom was always on the north of the city; and that the ruined church of Eudoxia was replaced by an oratory, which was also destroyed by the Mohammedans on the approach of the first Crusaders. The church was rebuilt in the earlier part of the twelfth century under the Latin kingdom, for it is marked on the Plan of the Brussels manuscript with this title, 'Monasterium S. Stephani[809],' and is by the side of the north gate, there called 'Porta S. Stephani Septentrionalis.' It was served by the monks of a convent, which, however, is not mentioned in any history; but its seal has been published by Sebastian Pauli. Before its doors ran the Royal road[810], along which all the pilgrims from beyond the sea travelled to Jerusalem. On the other side of the road, on the left hand going to the city, "was a great house in front of this church, which was called the _asnerie_; there they were wont to keep the asses and beasts of burden of the house of the Hospital, whence its name _asnerie_. The Christians of Jerusalem destroyed this church of S. Stephen before they were besieged, because it was near the walls. The _asnerie_ however was not demolished, as it was used by the pilgrims who came to Jerusalem in time of truce[811]." Indeed, on the east of the road leading to Jerusalem, opposite to the rocks marking the site of the church of Eudoxia, are some cisterns; and traces of walls are found when the labourers are digging in the fields, the sole remains of the buildings that once stood here. The Church of S. Stephen was, as we have said, destroyed by the Crusaders, A.D. 1187, to prevent its covering the advance of Saladin's troops towards the walls. Willibrand of Oldenburg[812] saw its ruins in 1211, and must have occupied the _asnerie_, for he speaks of "a certain house situated near the walls. At this place S. Stephen was martyred, in whose honour our faithful, as still appears, founded a church and archiepiscopate, where now the Sultan's asses are kept ... with the materials of the church a dunghill has been formed." The ruins of this church and _asnerie_ have disappeared in the course of time; the tradition itself has been transplanted to another locality, as we have seen, and would now pass for correct, were it not for the historic documents which have preserved for us the probable position of S. Stephen's martyrdom. Between the Church of S. Stephen and the north-west corner of the city, near the bastions of the walls, was the men's lazaretto, with a church dedicated to S. Lazarus. By the side of it was the small gate of S. Ladro, where the Royal road from the north came to an end by joining that which went from S. Stephen's Gate[813]. Going back from the place of S. Stephen's martyrdom towards the Damascus Gate, we find on the left a road leading eastward; and on the right of this is an aperture, under the city-walls, which stand on a high rock; and close to the aperture a deep excavation. These are the Royal Caverns, and opposite to them, on the north, is the so-called Grotto of Jeremiah[814]. I have already mentioned[815], in speaking of the third line of walls, that I consider these two spots, now separated, to have been formerly united; and now, in giving a more minute account of them, I trust to shew that I am right in my opinion, and that the first-named place has been properly identified with the Royal Caverns of Josephus. It is not unfrequently stated in Jerusalem, that Dr Barclay discovered these great caves, which I call the Royal Caverns: and perhaps he was the first European in this century to describe them, but they were not unknown to the inhabitants of the country. They are called by the Arabs _Megharet el-Kotton_ (the Cotton Grotto), and were known to Mejir-ed-Din, who thus writes of them: "Opposite to and to the south of the _Zahara_" (a Mohammedan cemetery situated above the Grotto of Jeremiah), "and below the northern gate of the city, is a great oblong excavation, called the Cotton Grotto, and some say that it even extends below the _Sakharah_." The notion, indeed, was common in the country, that from these caverns it was possible to penetrate into the _Haram es-Sherîf_: so that the adherents of the government would not allow any one to enter them. The Bedouins, however, and the Arabs of the country, took possession of them during the insurrection, and threatened to blow them up if their demands were not satisfied. I claim the merit of having rendered the passage practicable, and contributed to prove that there is no communication between them and the _Haram_. I have also made a correct plan of them, and conducted many persons thither, acting as their guide; among others, His Excellency Surraya Pasha, M. de Barrère, Consul of France and M. Gérardy Saintine, who in his book 'Trois ans en Judée' has entirely availed himself of my discoveries, which I shewed him, without acknowledging his obligation to me for them, and for the two Plans of ancient and modern Jerusalem annexed to his book, which were furnished by me. Nothing can be more surprising than these caverns, which seem to have been excavated by the generations of old, as a challenge to posterity. Immense halls, with their roofs supported by piers of natural rock, exhibit in their sides openings leading into long dark galleries, terminating in other chambers of large dimensions. On the left hand is a disordered heap of accumulated fragments of rock, a pile of enormous limestone blocks, lying in confusion one on the other; the spaces between which have been filled up by the soil falling down from above, so that on one side it rises like a rugged hill, on another presents a gentle slope; but any one who incautiously attempts to traverse it has reason to repent of his undertaking. At the south end of the first excavation is a kind of fountain, surrounded by stalactites of the strangest shape, which have arranged themselves so as to form a sort of lengthened dome. The water, which falls in drops from above into the little basin, is not good to drink. It is brackish, and from my investigations I have come to the conclusion that it is not supplied by a spring, but filters through from the cisterns excavated in the rock above: in fact, in the rainy season there is an abundant supply, but in summer it is dried up. It becomes brackish in passing through the rock, which contains many saline and ferruginous particles. Going eastward from this fountain, we pass along a cliff on the right hand, while on the left high white walls of rock shew the cavities from which the large stones have been extracted. At last we arrive at the deepest part, where is a chamber about 260 feet long, where we can examine in detail the manner in which the ancients quarried the monolithic columns, the great building stones, and large paving slabs. I think that the monolith in the vaults of _el-Aksa_, in the inner chamber of the Gate of Huldah, was taken from these caves; for here we find a place where a column of stone still hangs down from the roof, like a great stalactite. On comparing with this the measurements of the monolith, they were found to correspond in width and height; and the conjecture is still further confirmed by the colour and character of the stone. The process by which the blocks were extracted can be examined in the side walls. The masses were separated from the rock by vertical grooves nearly four inches wide, the inner boundary of which is a quadrant of a circle. These I believe to have been cut with a circular disk, worked with a handle, which moved it backwards and forwards through a half-revolution. At the present time the Arab masons use an instrument of the same kind in making a groove in a wall. When the groove was made of a sufficient depth to give a stone of the required thickness, they detached it with a pick, or raised the hinder face which adhered to the rock; this explains the great width of the vertical groove: consequently in the process of quarrying the stone was cut smooth on three faces. I have frequently measured the cavities from which blocks have been removed, and also the stones themselves which have been left partially attached to the rock, or which are lying on the ground, and found them correspond perfectly with many large blocks built into the east side of the _Haram_ wall, more especially in its lower parts. Moreover, the mineral character of the stones is the same; so that I am fully persuaded that these caverns were made by Solomon, when he built the Temple, and were afterward enlarged by Herod for the same purpose, and by Agrippa for the new or third lines of walls, which he was obliged to leave unfinished. The stones quarried here well deserve the term applied to them by Josephus[816], that they were 'exceeding white.' Before leaving these caverns I should warn the traveller that he ought not to visit them alone, relying simply on his own powers and his map for finding his way out again, but should take a guide, or at least a companion, and leave another trusty friend at the entrance. Of late years the place has become a haunt of ill-disposed persons, who retire here, not to lie in wait for travellers, but to celebrate their orgies; and therefore the stranger may, if alone, be pelted, without knowing where his assailant is. Besides, the road is not very safe in parts, and not easy to find by the light of a single candle. In winter, during the rainy season, let no one risk a journey in them; the falls of stone which happen at that time are sometimes not only alarming, but even fatal. In 1857 a large rock detached itself, and fell with a loud crash, while I was measuring at the eastern end of the cavern. I felt far from comfortable until I found that the way back was still open, and I speedily availed myself of it, carrying out, with the help of my European servant, an Arab youth, whom the noise had frightened out of his senses. The pure air outside is refreshing, for the small opening which forms the entrance is insufficient for proper ventilation, and the close dense atmosphere within often causes faintness. This opening is only the upper part of the ancient one; formerly the caverns were entered through a large gap, which is now built up, and in a great measure buried in the soil. From this place the blocks of stone were transported into the city through the ancient North Gate, as I have already mentioned[817]. Let us now visit the Grotto of Jeremiah, where, according to tradition, the Prophet composed the Book of Lamentations. At the first glance we recognize it as the continuation of the caverns we have just quitted; and noticing the horizontal strata of limestone, from which the great blocks in the city-wall have been extracted, can readily conceive that those huge masses, mentioned by Josephus[818], may have been quarried here, although we cannot now find any traces of them. To enter this grotto we must obtain permission of a dervish, the keeper of the place; who, however, never refuses, as he not only hopes to receive a present, which he applies to adorn his retreat, but also is a man of a kind and courteous nature. On passing the entrance we find, on the right hand, a large rectangular chamber, the walls of which at first sight appear to be entirely Arab masonry; but a careful examination detects large blocks of Roman workmanship, especially in the lower parts, and a piece of wall of the date of S. Helena. I am confirmed in my opinion on this point by the words of Nicephorus Callistus[819], who informs us that this Empress built a church near the grotto; therefore it is not improbable that these may be the remains of that edifice. To the east of the above chamber is a little irregular court, on the north of which is a very deep cistern excavated in the rock; and on the south is a cavern of great size, which has been converted into a cistern. This is perhaps the origin of the tradition that here was the dungeon in which the prophet was placed[820]. The tradition is inadmissible, whatever system be adopted for the line of the third wall; for in any case this place would be outside the second wall, and therefore a palace and a prison[821] would not occupy this position. Beneath the vaulting formed by the rock is the tomb of a Mohammedan santon, and a court enclosed by a low wall, in which the followers of the Prophet come to pray; where also the good-natured dervish has sometimes allowed the parties of distinguished travellers to lunch after a long excursion round the city-walls. The interior of the grotto in every part affords unquestionable signs of its having been a stone-quarry; for the cavities left by the blocks are still visible, and the holes on which the workmen have been engaged. I think therefore that this place was separated from the Royal Caverns[822] in quarrying stone, and may, strictly speaking, be called a part of them. Dr Schultz[823] has endeavoured to identify the grotto with the monument of Alexander Jannæus, because of the statement in Josephus[824], "that John and his party defended the tower Antonia, and the northern cloister of the Temple, and fought the Romans before the monuments of King Alexander." As these posts were held by John, after Titus had taken the outer line of walls, this position is of course inadmissible according to my theory; but putting that out of the question, it seems to me very improbable that Alexander, whom we know to have been honoured with a magnificent funeral[825], would have been buried in a place like this; and after the most careful examination of the interior, I have not been able to discover the slightest trace of sepulchral chambers; nothing beyond the chiselled faces of the limestone rock and heaps of rubbish. Quitting the grotto we mount above it to the Mohammedan cemetery, called by the Arabs _Turbet ez-Zahara_, whence a view of the city is obtained; which, though limited, will, I think, shew the correctness of the position I assign to Bezetha. Proceeding hence towards the north-east corner of the city, we find the Pilgrims' Pool, _Birket el-Hijah_, close to the Gate of Herod on the east, as I have already remarked[826]. This reservoir was unquestionably at first constructed to receive the waters of the narrow valley above, which I call the North Valley; whence they were conducted by a subterranean conduit across the city to the Pool of Bethesda. Its walls are formed of ancient blocks, perhaps of the date of Herod, or even of an earlier period; but have been greatly modified afterwards in the construction of a vault (now in ruins) which covers the greater part of it. The Christian tradition concerning this pool differs so much from the Mohammedan, that I transcribe it, without however in any way asserting its truth. It says that, when the Empress Helena arrived at Jerusalem, she chose to enter it with all humility; and so without pomp, clad in a mean dress and barefoot, she entered the Gate of Herod; and that this circumstance gave the pool its name. From this point to the north-east corner the city-wall rises but slightly above the general level of the ground; consequently this is the weakest part of the defences, although it is strengthened by a ditch. Here it was that Godfrey of Bouillon scaled the wall and captured the city. North of the pool is a plateau, on which stands an ancient Arab house, overshadowed by an old pine-tree, and surrounded by an olive-grove. This is called _Kerm es-Sheikh_ (the farm or vineyard of the chief). The Mohammedan authorities of the highest rank who come to the Holy City, either as its governors or as pilgrims, are accustomed to pass the night here before their entry, and prepare themselves (as they say) by prayer to visit Jerusalem. There is a curious Mohammedan tradition attached to the place which may interest the reader; it is as follows: "When the potent and valorous Nebuchadnezzar, Sultan of Babylon, came to Jerusalem by the Divine command to punish the Jews who had abandoned the laws given them by God, he despoiled the Temple of all its valuables; reserving for himself the throne of Solomon, with its two golden lions which spoke by the power of magic, and distributing the rest of the booty to the other Kings who had joined him in the expedition. The King of Roum had the coat of Adam and the rod of Moses; the King of Antioch received the throne of Belkis and the miraculous peacock, whose tail, all studded with gems, formed a rich back to the throne; the King of Andalusia had the Prophet's golden table. A smaller coffer of common stone, containing the Law (_Torat_), lay in the middle of all these rich prizes, and no one heeded it; though it was the most precious of all treasures. It was consequently abandoned, and disappeared in the confusion that reigned during the sack of the city. Forty years afterwards God determined to re-establish the children of Israel in their old fatherland, and raised up the Prophet Euzer (Ezra); who, destined by Heaven for a glorious mission, had spent his youth in prayers and meditation, despising human knowledge in order to devote himself to the contemplation of the Eternal. He had lived in one of the grottoes that surround the Holy City[827]; but now came forth from his retreat, and went among the children of Israel to shew them how they ought to rebuild the Temple, and again worship God befittingly, according to the ancient rites. But the people, having little faith in the Prophet's mission, declared that they would not submit to the laws, but would rather leave off rebuilding the Temple and emigrate to another country, if the book were not produced in which Moses had written the Law given to him by God on Mount Sinai. This book, as we have seen, had disappeared, and all endeavours to discover it were vain. In this difficulty Euzer with earnest prayers entreated God to interfere, and hinder the people from persisting in their blindness. He was seated in a vineyard, on the spot where the pine-tree now stands, regarding with sorrow the ruins of the Temple, around which the tumultuous populace was assembled. Suddenly a voice from heaven commanded him to write; and though he had never before taken a pen in his hand, he obeyed at once: From the hour of mid-day prayer to the same time on the morrow, without eating or washing, he wrote down all that the heavenly voice dictated; and stopped not for the darkness of night, for a supernatural light illumined his spirit, and an Angel guided his hand. All the Jews beheld with amazement this manifestation of the Divine Power; but when the Prophet had finished his miraculous writing, the Priests, jealous of the special favour shewn to him, asserted that the new book was an invention of the devil, and did not in any respect resemble the former one. Euzer again betook himself to prayer, and, yielding to a sudden inspiration, directed his steps to the fountain of Siloam, followed by all the people. When he arrived before it he raised his hands to heaven, and offered up a prayer to the Almighty, while the multitude knelt around. Suddenly a square stone rose above the surface of the water, and glided along as if supported by an invisible hand; in which the Priests recognized with terror the long-missing sacred coffer. Euzer received it reverently, and opened it with his own hands: the _Torat_ of Moses sprang out as though endowed with life; and the new copy, quitting the Prophet's bosom, took its place. All doubt was now at an end; nevertheless the holy man bade the Priests compare the two copies. They, despite of their confusion, did so; and, after a long examination, lifted up their voices and proclaimed that the two books did not differ by so much as a word or an accent. After they had rendered this homage to truth, they were struck with a life-long blindness, as a punishment for their former crimes." Though the whole of this story is but an Oriental fantasy, it is curious for its mention of the Law, and the circumstances and persons it records. On the north, a few yards from the _Kerm es-Sheikh_, is an old Mohammedan cemetery, in which are some tombstones with ancient dates; none, however, earlier than the time of Saladin. Going on northward over cultivated land planted with olives, we arrive at the Tombs of the Kings. I may observe, that during all this walk nothing is seen but a reddish clayey soil with a rich vegetation, or bare rocks without any marks of chiselling; nor are there traces of walls nor any dressed stones; all which proves, in my opinion, that this ground never formed part of the city; which must in that case, have had its houses and walls built of shapeless fragments and clay, of which there is no lack. To visit the Tombs of the Kings[828], called by the Arabs _Kubur el-Maluk_, we descend a slope, from west to east, which originally was a staircase with wide steps hewn in the rock; but its form has been completely hidden by the quantity of soil mixed with fragments of stone, which have been accumulated by the rain, the wind, and the hand of man. However, I ascertained that it once existed by an excavation at the top of the slope on the west, where I discovered three steps. At the lower end is an aperture of irregular shape, formed in the rock, through which I entered into a cave, after much trouble in clearing away the rubbish that blocked it up, and was able to determine, notwithstanding the accumulation of earth within, that it had never contained sepulchral chambers, but had been a cistern, large though not deep. Towards the eastern end of the wall, on the left hand as we descend, is a round-headed doorway hewn out of the rock, and ornamented with a small incised fillet. It is buried up to the spring of the arch, so that it is necessary to stoop in order to enter it. I began to make an excavation to examine its full height, but the large stones which I found below the surface would have rendered the completion of the undertaking so expensive that I abandoned it. However, I uncovered the door to a height of 8-1/2 feet including the arch. It leads into a rectangular court, open to the air, and surrounded by vertical walls hewn in the rock, as is the floor, which is buried under rubbish formed of the earth brought down by the rains from the fields above, and broken stones thrown in by the Arabs; who, barbarians as they are, exhibit the most provoking indifference to the preservation of ancient monuments, and view with a jealous eye everything that interests visitors, often mutilating what they cannot entirely destroy. In the west wall of this court a vestibule is excavated with remarkable skill, the roof of which was formerly supported by two columns, also hewn out of the rock: these have now disappeared, owing to the effects of individual Vandalism, and the injuries of the earthquake in 1837. M. de Saulcy[829] has given the following excellent description of this monument: "Above the porch, on the face of the rock itself, runs a long frieze, carved with exquisite taste and delicacy. The centre of the frieze is occupied by a bunch of grapes, an emblem of the promised land, and the habitual type of the Asmonæan coinage. To the right and left of this bunch are placed symmetrically a triple palm, carved with the greatest elegance, a crown and triglyphs, alternating with pateræ, or round shields, three times repeated[830]. Below this runs a rich garland of foliage and fruit, falling down at right angles on each side of the opening of the porch. The left-hand portion of this garland has been much more injured by time than that on the right. Above the line of the triglyphs a fine cornice begins, formed of elegant mouldings, unfortunately much damaged, and rising up to the top of the rock, that is to say, nearly to the level of the surrounding country." The left-hand portion of this cornice is almost destroyed, not only by the Arabs, but also by the Americans; among whom a certain Mr Jones has especially distinguished himself by breaking off all the ornaments that could be carried away. Beyrout and Jaffa have been the chief centres of his destructive industry, so that he has destroyed the few monuments of Phoenicia and of Palestine that remained in their original positions. Hammer in hand, and dead to every sense of artistic beauty, he chops off fragments from the inscriptions of Sesostris, from the columns of Baalbek, and from the monuments of Jerusalem. The Tombs of the Kings have suffered more at his hands than from all the hostile invasions that have devastated Palestine. On descending into the vestibule, we see in its south wall a small low door, which can only be passed by creeping on the ground. Here, though the result of my observations[831] will be found to differ from those of M. de Saulcy, I take this opportunity of expressing my respect for him, as one of the first persons to investigate with technical precision the monuments of Palestine. We come, then, to the entrance of the sepulchral chambers, by descending six steps hewn in the rock, which start from a circular hollow about two feet deeper than the general level of the floor of the vestibule, in which, no doubt, the funeral ceremonies were completed. I removed all the stones from this place in order to be able to give an exact account of it. On the left-hand side of the door in a kind of narrow gutter, which joins the steps again by a course of three sides of an oblong, is a large stone of an ellipsoidal form, the outline near the extremities of the shorter axis being flat instead of curved. On the right hand is a hollow in the wall, into which one of the apses of this stone was inserted. This arrangement enables us to form an accurate idea of the manner in which the Tomb of Christ was closed. The stone now rests with one of its apses on the ground, so that its longer axis is perpendicular to the level of the floor. The upper segment of the stone corresponds with the cavity in the rock on the right hand; and the square, formed by the flattened edges of the stone and two lines joining their extremities, is larger than the doorway by rather more than an inch each way. It is therefore evident that it was not necessary to roll this stone, but simply to lower it from left to right, so as to turn the axes through a right angle and bring the shorter axis perpendicular to the ground; when the apse fitted into the above-mentioned cavity, and the stone, resting upon the lowest step, effectually closed the doorway. The means employed to raise and lower this stone was no doubt a chain, passing over two pulleys, with vertical axes, which a person drew towards himself to raise the stone from its place. The two right-angled elbows in the above-mentioned channel were to apply the force to the chain more conveniently. The channel in which the stone lies was covered by a long slab, and we can still see the points on which this rested. This is not the only way in which the aperture was closed, for, after passing this, we see the jambs which must have supported another stone door, moving on two pivots, the holes for which still remain above and below. When it was hung it must have yielded to the slightest push from without. Through this we enter a square antechamber, in which are three doors, one in the middle of the western wall, and the other two in the southern, one near each corner. Entering the western door, we come to a room with three smaller chambers opening out of the middle of each wall, each of which contains three sepulchral niches[832], consisting of a stone bier or slab under an arch; these three chambers are flanked on each side by casemate vaults, each having a channel cut in the rock in the middle of the floor; to each of which, with one exception, a small recess is attached to receive articles which had been valued by the deceased. Out of the central room a narrow sloping gallery in the north wall leads into a lower chamber, with a sepulchral niche in the west wall, and two steps against the north, the lower of which is larger than the upper. On one of these lay the sarcophagus[833], which M. de Saulcy has deposited in the Museum of the Louvre at Paris; a similar one, broken in pieces, was found near. He considers the former to be the sarcophagus of David; but with this opinion I am unable to agree. Here there are places for three corpses. Returning into the antechamber we enter the door on the south-east, and find ourselves in a room with the openings of three casemate vaults in the south wall, and three in the east; two of these are provided with channels, and one with the recess in its wall; the other four are narrower than the rest; which have been completely finished off by their excavators, as is proved by their correspondence one with another in length, breadth, and height, by the regularity of their angles, and by the jambs supporting the doors which closed them. M. de Saulcy thinks that the latter were never finished, perhaps because they are not so wide as the others, and have no channel in the floor; but, in my opinion, this was only made to catch the moisture that dripped from the corpse during putrefaction, and by draining it off to allow the body to become dry more rapidly. Therefore I consider that in the narrower vaults bodies which had been previously dried up were placed. Let us now return again into the antechamber and visit the room on the west of that just described. In the south wall of this are three finished casemate vaults, and the same number in the west, five of which have the channel, while the sixth belongs to the narrower class already mentioned. Two of the five have also the attached recess. In the north wall is a small door leading by a narrow descending passage into a small chamber containing three sepulchral niches. Thus there are altogether thirty-three biers, including among these the two steps on which the sarcophagi were found. Round each of the three rooms communicating with the vaults runs a small foot-path, raised above the general level of the floor, so that a kind of basin is formed at the bottom of the chamber. Into this I suppose the moisture escaping from the bodies during putrefaction flowed; perhaps there were holes in the sides to admit water, or allow of the escape of fluids; but this I could not ascertain, as the floor was covered with rubbish. Each chamber was closed by a stone door, which worked on pivots fixed in two holes. At the present time the doors lie on the ground broken to pieces, and though every one must admire their workmanship, no one has attempted to preserve them from total ruin by conveying them away to some European museum. Many authors have endeavoured to explain how they were made[834]; but I think they were brought from some other place, when completed, and then set up. I am led to this conclusion by observing that they are of a different kind of stone to that seen in the walls of the chambers; that is, of a more compact limestone without veins. All the workmanship in the excavation is admirable, and the angles are formed with the greatest accuracy. Chisels, hooks, and the revolving cutters, appear to have been the instruments used. There have been many controversies about the origin and use of these tombs: some consider them to have been the monument of Helena of Adiabene; but in that case it would be difficult to explain for what purpose the thirty-three receptacles were made, as Josephus says that she and her son alone were buried there. M. de Saulcy endeavours to prove them to be the Tombs of the Kings; but I have already shewn[835] that this is contrary to the Bible, Josephus, and tradition. From the Books of Maccabees and Josephus, we are enabled to determine the Tombs of many Asmonæan princes. With regard to the family of Herod, we know that Herod the Ascalonite was buried in Herodium; his sons, Alexander, Aristobulus, and others, in Alexandrium near to Shiloh; Agrippa in the valley of Gihon; Antipas died in Gaul; consequently none of these can lie here. We know that when Aristobulus was poisoned by the partizans of Pompeius, his body was preserved in honey, and sent to Jerusalem by Antonius[836]. He may therefore be one of those who were buried in these tombs, in which other members of the royal family, especially women and children, may have been interred. The monument being of the Doric order does not allow us to assign it to an earlier period. The Jews visit these tombs with reverence, and the Arabs exact from them a payment on entrance, to which they patiently submit. They do not, however, consider these to be the burial-places of their first Kings, but of the last; so that here tradition agrees with the architectural evidence furnished by the monument. About a hundred yards from the Tombs of the Kings, to the south-west, in a field planted with olives, is a sepulchre, excavated vertically in the rock[837]. It is almost the only example of its kind in the open country in Palestine, and is the more remarkable because the Tombs of the Patriarchs in the cave of Machpelah at Hebron, that of Rachel near Bethlehem Ephrata, and of Samuel at Ramah (_Neby-Samwîl_) are of the same kind. Round the edge of the oblong grave runs a step, into which a stone is fitted so as to close the hole firmly, and on this was placed a sarcophagus. This I have ascertained by a careful examination of those at Ephrata and Ramah. Hence we return to the road running to the north, and, after passing the Tombs of the Kings, find on the left an Arab building called _Sheikh Jerrah_; a place in much veneration among the Mohammedans, especially those of the country; since it contains the tomb of a santon, who, as they believe, has the power of granting them prosperous expeditions, abundant harvests, and good luck, especially with their fowls and eggs; of which articles a small tribute is paid to a live dervish, who acts as go-between for them in their petitions to the dead santon. Keeping along the road to the right leading to the open country on the north-east, we come to a spot on the southern bank of the Kidron Valley, where there are signs of excavations, if not of tombs. One of these is remarkable for its large dimensions; it is entirely excavated with the chisel, and shews some trace of a gallery hewn out of the solid rock in its upper part. This is _Jadagat el-Ahel_, which I have already mentioned[838]. All the Jews assert that during the persecutions their race underwent, in the times of Hadrian and of the Byzantine emperors, this place was used as a synagogue by those, who, despising the perils of the journey, came from far that they might behold their ancient capital, if only from a distance. I have already mentioned the explanation of the name; but another tradition is current among the more ignorant and prejudiced Jews, which is given by Saintine[839]: "When Titus was besieging Jerusalem, and had completely blockaded the town with his legions, in the month _Bûl_ (November) provisions began to fail the inhabitants. Then universal misery prevailed in the city, and the famine slew more than the Romans. In this extremity, even the women and children were killed to nourish the combatants; but these sufferings, terrible as they were, did not appease the wrath of Heaven, and the city was taken and sacked with every atrocity of war. At this time there lived at Jerusalem a very wealthy Jew, who had been educated at Rome, and for this reason was allowed to retain his riches. But what good were they now to him? His wife and boys had been sacrificed to the horrible cravings of hunger. This fearful scene was ever present to his mind, and banished repose. He could only find one solace: he determined to give a portion of his property to his wretched fellow-citizens; and further, he made a vow to distribute corn, meat, and wine, among them at this place, every year at the feast of Purim; so that they might be able to share in the general joy, and celebrate the festival in a proper manner. So sped the years; the evils of the war were beginning to be less felt, when the new generation, seduced by a false Messiah named Cosiba, again endeavoured to shake off the Roman yoke. The aged man still remembered too well the miseries of the former siege; he implored his brethren to abandon their fatal determination, relating to them what he had seen and suffered; but his efforts were fruitless. At length it was revealed to him from heaven that soon the city would again be destroyed by the armies of Hadrian. For the last time he tried to induce the rebels to submit, but in vain; then, preferring to die rather than witness the misfortunes of his country, he prayed to God to remove him from the earth; the roof of the cavern fell in, and buried him in its ruins under the heap which still lies before its mouth. Still however, every year, at the feast of Purim, the dead man takes a piece of money from his hidden treasures, and places it on the rock in order to continue the 'alms of food' to the poor." Before 1857 there was an isolated mass of rock in the middle of this monument, to which the Rabbins and a great number of people came on their feast of Pentecost to pray and read the Pentateuch, but it has now disappeared, because, in building the Austrian hospice, this place was used as a stone quarry, and greatly mutilated. It is to be hoped that what remains will not be destroyed by a repetition of this vandalism, when another work of charity is executed for a European nation. On ascending the Kidron Valley we find, on its northern bank, a place, commonly called the Tomb of Simon the Just. A few years ago a Mohammedan, seeing that it was frequented by the Jews, affixed a door to it, expecting that he would be able to extract money from those who wished to visit it. He has not been disappointed in his hopes, and reaps large gains. Whether the name is rightly given, I do not know; but it is not contrary to any tradition. The interior is not remarkable; only there is a small cistern, well constructed, on the side of the casemate vault. The Jews visit this spot for prayer at all seasons, but especially when rain is needed for the country, after it has been parched during nine months by a blazing sun. Further up the valley, after crossing the road to Samaria, we find, still on the northern side, an ancient tomb[840], the exterior of which is completely mutilated. In the front court is a fragment of the western end of a wall, hewn out of the solid rock; all the rest of it has been destroyed. In the piece which remains we find a conduit and small basin; these clearly prove that water must have been supplied from some higher ground on the north; but I have not been able to discover whence it came. Against the north wall is a heap of soil, nearly covering up an aperture; through the part still open, though overgrown with creepers, it is possible to crawl into the interior[841]. Here we find a rectangular vestibule which evidently has been converted into a cistern, as its walls have been covered with strong cement, and a hole made in the roof, through which soil and broken stones are brought down from the hill-side above, in the rainy season. A small door in the middle of the north wall leads into an antechamber in good preservation, in the east wall of which is the passage into a chamber with eight biers, one of them being a sepulchral niche, and the rest casemate vaults, without channels, but sloping slightly downwards towards the floor of the chamber, round which runs a kind of footpath, above the general level of the floor, as in the Tombs of the Kings. At the end of one of these vaults is the small recess. As the dimensions and finish of these correspond with those of the small vaults in the above-named tombs, they would be considered unfinished by M. de Saulcy. Returning into the antechamber, we find in its western wall a small door leading into a single casemate vault, which is much larger than any other of its kind in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem. This monument does not bear any special name, but must have belonged to a wealthy family, because, although it is not so large as the other great tombs, its execution is not inferior to theirs. Descending from this point to the bed of the Kidron Valley, we find a nearly square pool. Though this is now almost filled with earth, yet in the rainy season the waters flow into it from the slopes above, and form a sort of little lake, which is then the source, so to say, of the Kidron. I have investigated carefully the ground above, endeavouring to discover some proof of the existence of a spring, but in vain. By excavating I found that the depth of the Pool was fifteen feet. From this position we ascend in a north-westerly direction, and then turn southward towards an ash-coloured mound. All along our course we observe numbers of ruined and broken tombs, and can readily comprehend the account given by Josephus[842] of the levelling executed by Titus' army, between Scopus and the city. The small mound mentioned above has been examined by Liebig, who considers it to be composed of the ashes of bones and animal remains. This might be true of the specimen submitted to him, but I am of opinion that it chiefly consists of ashes from the soap-works of Jerusalem, mingled with soil and broken stones, with bones of dogs and other carrion, that have been cast out there. I have arrived at this conclusion, after making large excavations in the heap, and availing myself of its materials to mix with lime in making a strong cement, which I used in building and repairing terrace-roofs, and in conduits and cisterns. The inhabitants of Jerusalem, and the proprietors of the soap-works themselves, have assured me that the greater part of this deposit was formed during the time of Ibrahim Pasha, by whose orders the refuse of their manufactories was conveyed outside the city. By following the road, which leads in a north-westerly direction to Gibeon, we find on the left-hand side, at a distance of about two hundred yards from the above mound, a tomb which differs in form from all those already described. It has an antechamber, and from it three doors lead into three small chambers, in which there are no biers. At the first glance I was inclined to consider it as an incomplete work, but from the perfect execution of its interior and its frontispiece[843], I came to a different conclusion after I had had many opportunities of examining both finished and unfinished sepulchres. Keeping along the road, we see before reaching the Tombs of the Judges, numbers of tombs dispersed about the ground on our right hand, some partly destroyed, some converted into cisterns, and others still uninjured. All this land was a large field of the dead, where the ancient Jews excavated sepulchres suitable to their wealth and station. One among them is remarkable as giving us a correct idea of that in which our Lord was laid; for it consists of an antechamber, and a burial chamber, in which is a single niche to receive a corpse, on the right hand of the entrance[844]. A few yards further on, we come, after turning to the right, to the Tombs of the Judges[845], called by the Arabs _Kubur el-Godka_. There does not appear to be any reason for the name. Eight of the fifteen Judges who ruled the people between the death of Joshua and the accession of Saul were certainly buried elsewhere: and it is far more likely that the rest would sleep with their fathers among their own tribes, after the usual custom of the Israelites. It seems to me much more probable that certain members of the Sanhedrim were buried here, according to the traditional belief of the Jews now in Jerusalem, who visit this spot from no other motive than curiosity. The exterior of the vestibule is decorated with a frontispiece resembling that in the Tomb of Jehoshaphat, consisting of a cornice and pediment, the tympanum of which is richly carved with palm-leaves and foliage, with three acroteria, perhaps intended for funeral emblems (torches), one on the summit (effaced), and the other two at each end. Under the cornice is a row of small modillons. Beneath the cornice, and on each side of the opening, runs an ornamental group of mouldings. A low narrow door similarly decorated is placed in the middle of the vestibule, and gives admission to the sepulchral chambers, six in number, and containing altogether sixty-three biers. Sixty of these are narrow casemate vaults, of the class which M. de Saulcy considers as incomplete receptacles, and three are sepulchral niches. The execution displayed in these tombs is not inferior to that at the Tombs of the Kings, nor do they yield to them in elegance or arrangement, especially in the interior. At the south-west corner of the first chamber is a narrow staircase, which I found blocked up with enormous stones, fitted together in order to close the entrance. After removing them with no small trouble I understood the reason why they were so placed. In the entrance below lay a corpse, not yet reduced to a skeleton; the head and right hand of which had been severed from the body; signs of a cruel vengeance, of which I discovered other instances in my researches in the country. This unfinished sepulchral chamber fully supplies us with the means of studying the construction of these receptacles of the dead. In it are the beginnings of nine casemate vaults, and the instruments used have evidently been the chisel and the revolving cutter which I have already described[846]. The limestone from which the whole of the monument is hewn resembles in quality that at the Tombs of the Kings; but it is of a yellowish colour veined with red, and takes a polish like marble. It is easily quarried at first, but becomes hard when exposed to the atmosphere. Returning from the Tombs of the Judges, by the field-path southward, we reach the road to the village of Lifta, which we follow westward, in order to visit the little Mohammedan mosque, wherein repose the ashes of a santon called Sheikh Aymar, who fell in battle against the Christians. The place is not worth a visit for the sake of its architecture, but there is a curious legend connected with it. Over the entrance-gate is a large architrave of finely polished red granite. The story is, that an Arab devoted to the saint found this block in some distant country, and was enabled to bear it on his back to ornament the tomb of his patron, although from its natural weight eight men at least would have been required to move it. They say also that Ibrahim Pasha, struck with the beauty of the stone, tried to take it away, but the invisible hand of the saint kept it fixed in the wall; so that the Pasha himself became his devotee. Returning towards the city, we can visit the buildings which Russia has erected at great cost in a short time, for the use of the mission of its Church at Jerusalem, and to receive pilgrims who visit the Holy Places. I have already spoken of them[847], and the description of the Plan[848] will explain their arrangements. Though Russia began her work the last, she will in a short time surpass all the other religious communities. It was also upon this spot, and as far as up to the convent of S. Saviour, that Sennacherib encamped his troops. Titus at a later period fixed his head-quarters here, when he was preparing to attack the third line of walls; here also he reviewed his army, in the hope that the sight of his power and resources might terrify the Jews into submission. As the troops would extend from the north-west angle of the present wall towards the east, the citizens would be able to see them very well[849]. The Crusaders also occupied the ground belonging to Russia, and all their positions may be seen at a glance from here. Godfrey of Bouillon attacked the north-east corner of the wall; Robert Duke of Normandy the part by the Grotto of Jeremiah; Robert Count of Flanders, that opposite to the rock where I place the tomb of Helena of Adiabene; Tancred from this position stormed the castle of Goliath (_Kâsr Jalûd_), the tower Psephinus in my opinion; Raymond Count of Toulouse pitched his camp on the west, where the small Greek convent of S. George now stands, and directed part of his troops, commanded by the Count of S. Gilles, against Sion: these, after many valiant deeds, gained the south wall, above the present Christian cemetery. We now descend into the Valley of Gihon, to visit the Pool of Mamillah and the surrounding Mohammedan cemetery; but before reaching it we observe a large and level boulevard leading to the city. I proposed to Surraya Pasha to make this in order to give a promenade to the inhabitants; and though the plan was not carried out as I desired, still I think that I have done a service to the citizens in giving them one good road for walking, instead of stony paths or rugged tracks on the hill-sides. Entering the cemetery, from the western end of this promenade, we come to the Pool of Mamillah, which I identify with the 'Upper Pool[850].' From this started the deep canal by which Hezekiah brought the waters of Gihon within the western part of the city, when he closed up the fountains on the approach of Sennacherib's army. The subterranean conduit still exists, though it is now exposed and devastated in places, and is used to convey the rain-water from the Upper Pool to that of Amygdalon within the city; for which reason the latter is still called the Pool of Hezekiah. Josephus[851] gives to the Upper Pool the name of 'The Serpent's Pool,' and the Arabs call it _Birket Mamillah_. The derivation of the name I have already explained[852]. S. Jerome[853] calls it the 'Fuller's Pool;' perhaps founding the name on the passages in the Bible[854], which shew that the Fuller's field was in its neighbourhood. In the middle ages it was called 'The Patriarch's Pool.' The passage in which it is mentioned is as follows[855]: "Outside the David Gate was a pool towards the setting sun, called the Patriarch's Pool, where the waters of the surrounding country were collected for watering the horses. Near this pool was a charnel-house, called the Lion's Charnel-house. Now I will tell you why it is called the Lion's Charnel-house. One day, as they say, there was a battle between the Christians and the Saracens, betwixt this charnel-house and Jerusalem, in which many Christians were slain, and the Saracens were intending next day to defile the bodies. So it happened that a lion came by night, and carried them all into this ditch, as they said. Above this charnel-house was a church, where people sang services every day." Perhaps this church was dedicated to S. Babylas, of which now only a mass of ruins remains, also covering sepulchral caves. Here I place the monument of Herod, mentioned in the account of Titus' wall of circumvallation[856]. The Mohammedan cemetery surrounding the pool dates from the age of Saladin; for here are found some ancient sarcophagi, and epitaphs bearing the names of certain of his generals. All this spot is highly esteemed by the Mohammedans, and their chief men are usually buried here. We will now take the road to the west, leading to S. John in the Mountains (_Ain Karim_), and visit the Greek convent of S. Cross, called by the Arabs _Deir el-Mar-sullabi_, which we reach in about twenty minutes. Its name is derived from the tradition that the tree grew here from which the Cross of Christ was made. Quaresmius[857] informs us that the Empress Helena built a church here to mark the spot. Dositheus, Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem towards the close of the seventeenth century, who wrote the history of his predecessors in that office, is of opinion that the monastery of S. Cross was built by Justinian I. at the prayer of S. Saba, who had gone to Constantinople to refute some calumnies which had been promulgated by the Samaritan, Arsenius, in order to bring the people of Palestine into bad repute with the Emperor. He supposes also that the Georgians, who occupied it for a long time, were the builders. The Persian invaders under Chosroes II. utterly destroyed the monastery, but spared a part of the church; murdering, nevertheless, all the monks who had fled there for refuge, so that the tesselated pavement, of great antiquity, still preserves the stains of their blood. The Reverend Dionysius Cleopas, a most courteous and learned man, the director of the school of S. Cross, pointed out these stains to me, informing me of the tradition concerning them. Though I am far from yielding a blind assent to it, I cannot but remember how long the stain of blood remains upon marble or stone, if it has lain and dried up there. In this case the blood of more than a hundred victims must have been shed and left there. At the same time it must be remarked that the stains, which extend below the surface of the tesseræ in the pavement, are not red but of a blackish colour. When the Greeks purchased the convent from the Georgians it was wholly in ruins; now, however, it is one of the finest establishments in Palestine. Though rather an irregular building, it stands in a great measure on the ancient site. In it are the schools where poor youths of the Greek faith are maintained without charge, together with a library, and a fine apartment for the use of the Patriarch when he visits the place. The church[858] deserves a visit. Four large piers, from which spring pointed arches, divide it into a nave with two side aisles. It is also adorned with a pointed dome. The walls are decorated with ancient frescoes, and on these are Georgian inscriptions shewing that the church and convent were restored two hundred years ago. In the apses are curious pictures representing the whole history of the sacred tree; the hole, in which it is said to have grown, is exhibited behind the great altar. Michael Glycas reports in his annals[859] the tradition from which the name of the church is derived. Though it is a thorough Arab story, I relate it, as it explains the pictures. "When Abraham became aware of the sin which Lot had committed when overcome by wine, he ordered him to go to the banks of the river Nile in Egypt, and bring thence three boughs of different trees, in the expectation that he would be devoured on the journey by the wild beasts, and would thus expiate his crime. Lot, guided by heaven, accomplished the dangerous task, and returned unhurt with the three boughs, one of cypress, another of pine, and the third of cedar. Abraham not being contented with this, ascended this hill and planted the three boughs in the form of a triangle, ordering Lot to fetch water for them every day from the Jordan, a distance of twenty-four miles." (This is the distance of the river from the convent.) "Lot obeyed this command also, and after three months the boughs united and budded, but their roots were always separated one from the other. Therefore Abraham prophesied that by means of their wood sinful men were one day to be redeemed. In the days of Solomon the tree had grown to a great size, and was cut down by that King to be used in building the Temple. But by the decree of Heaven its trunk remained forgotten till the Saviour's Passion, when the Jews used it to make the Cross. The hill, on which Abraham is said to have planted the three boughs, is to the south-west of the convent, and is still called by the Arabs 'The place of the boughs.'" Heraclius is said to have stayed in this convent on his return from his expedition against the Persians to recover the Holy Cross. On our return to Jerusalem from the monastery by the road to the east of that by which we came, we see the quarries from which perhaps were extracted the columns of red breccia which adorn the mosque _el-Aksa_, and many churches in Palestine. On reaching the summit of the hill we regain our former road, and enter Jerusalem by the Jaffa Gate. During our return we notice with admiration the efforts made by the Archimandrite Nicoforus for the improvement of the country, and the energy and intelligence displayed in all his agricultural undertakings, especially in planting trees. It is to be hoped that his attempts will be crowned with success, and that the Arabs will avail themselves of the opportunity, and join in a work so calculated to advance the prosperity of the country. FOOTNOTES: [794] Plate VII. [795] Page 6. [796] Page 35. [797] Page 37. [798] Pages 168, 169. [799] Acts vii. 58. [800] Elucidatio Terræ Sanctæ, Lib. IV. pereg. 8, c. 2, Tom. II. p. 295, col. 2. See also, c. 3, p. 297, col. 1, ed. 1639. [801] Nicephorus, Hist. Eccl. Lib. XIV. c. 50. [802] Evagrius, Hist. Eccl. Lib. I. c. 22. [803] Ibid. [804] Hist. Eccl. Lib. XIV. c. 50. [805] Vita Sabæ, c. lxxxii. [806] Historia Hierosol. Lib. IX. (Gesta Dei, &c. Tom. I. p. 74, ed. 1611). [807] Early Travels in Palestine. 'Bohn's Ant. Lib.' p. 43. [808] Hist. Hierosol. Lib. V. c. 46 (G. D. &c. Tom. I. p. 274); cf. Lib. VI. c. 9, and William of Tyre, Lib. VIII. c. 12. [809] De Vogüé, Les Églises, &c. p. 333. [810] Cartulary of the Holy Sepulchre, p. 306. [811] La Citez de Jherusalem, quoted by De Vogüé, p. 333. [812] Leo Allatius, Sym. p. 146. [813] La Citez de Jherusalem, quoted by De Vogüé, p. 441; Cartulary, p. 306. [814] Plates VIII., IX. [815] Page 38. [816] Jewish War, V. 5, § 6. [817] Page 38. [818] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2. [819] Hist. Eccl. Lib. VIII. c. 30. [820] Jer. xxxviii. 6. [821] Jer. xxxviii. 6, 28. [822] Jewish War, V. 4, § 2. [823] Jerusalem, p. 36. [824] Jewish War, V. 7, § 3. [825] Ant. XIII. 16, § 1. [826] Page 14. [827] This grotto is still called _el-Oezerie_, and is known to the Arabs as the Tomb of Lazarus. [828] Plates LV., LVI. [829] Narrative of a Journey round the Dead Sea, &c. (edited by Count E. de Warren, Vol. II. pp. 137, 138). [830] Plate LX. [831] My remarks may appear to resemble closely those made by M. Gérardy Saintine, Trois Ans en Judée, p. 224. As he has used information given to him by me, without any acknowledgment, I feel entitled to resume my own. [832] The term 'sepulchral niche' is used to denote an arched recess excavated in the wall of a tomb; the body was laid on the slab beneath the arch, so that it resembled one of the monuments with recumbent figures, not very uncommon in the walls of churches. The term 'casemate vault' is used (in default of a better) to denote a narrow, deep, and rather low excavation, into which the body was thrust head foremost. Brick vaults are sometimes built on this pattern in the present day. [833] Plate LVIII. [834] Mariti, p. 216 seq. [835] Page 210. [836] Jewish War, I. 9, § 1. [837] See Plate LVIII. for Plan and Section. [838] Page 38; Plate LVII. [839] Trois Ans en Judée, p. 214. [840] Plate LIX. [841] I advise the visitor to take with him an Arab to beat the ground, in order to make the reptiles conceal themselves, and frighten away the jackals which frequent it, before he enters the place. [842] Jewish War, V. 3, § 2. [843] See Plan, Plate LIX. Frontispiece, Plate LVIII. [844] Plate LIX. [845] Plates LVIII., LIX. [846] Page 226. [847] Page 13. [848] Plate II. [849] Jewish War, V. 7, § 3; V. 9, § 1. [850] 2 Kings xviii. 17; 2 Chron. xxxii. 3, 4, 30; Isaiah vii. 3. [851] Jewish War, V. 3, § 2. [852] Page 24. [853] De Locis Hebr. litt. T. (Tapheth). [854] 2 Kings xviii. 17; Isaiah vii. 3. [855] La Citez de Jherusalem, De Vogüé, Les Églises, &c. p. 442. [856] Page 40. [857] E. T. S. Lib. VI. pereg. 4, c. 7, Tom. II. p. 712, col. 2, ed. 1639. [858] Plate LXIII. [859] Pars II. p. 254, ed. Bonn, e cod. Claromont. CHAPTER VIII. ON THE WATERS, FIT OR UNFIT FOR DRINKING, IN JERUSALEM AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. In the seven preceding chapters I have several times mentioned the waters, drinkable and undrinkable, and the sewers, when we have come across them in the course of our investigations; but I have not always entered into details, reserving them for this chapter. Therefore I now proceed to treat the subject at length, with the view of shewing, as clearly as is possible, the means which the former inhabitants of Jerusalem possessed of obtaining an abundant supply of water, and removing the sewage of the city; and I shall also notice the carelessness exhibited by the Arabs with regard to every part of the works of their predecessors in the country, and how they rather employ themselves in accelerating than in arresting their destruction. I am persuaded that there are some springs in Jerusalem and in its neighbourhood; but these have never been sufficient to supply the wants of the population without assistance; consequently the earlier Jewish Kings executed important hydraulic works to introduce an abundant supply into the city, and to preserve it there in reservoirs, to be used both for the wants of life and for purposes of purification; and, above all, for the requirements of the Temple-services, which were very considerable. I have no doubt that the most extensive works were commenced in David's reign, and carried still further in that of his son Solomon. These are yet in existence, and might even now be in operation, had they not fallen into the hands of an ignorant and almost barbarous race, who are perpetually endeavouring to destroy them, without ever thinking that they are thus aggravating the deficiency of water, and placing the town in danger of being entirely deprived of it, if at any time the rainfall is insufficient. The local government has several times considered the mischief that may thus be caused, and has taken steps accordingly to prevent it; but, weak as it is, has never been able to make its orders respected. From this reproach, however, I except the provident rule of Surraya Pasha, which is now over. According to my opinion, it was Solomon that ordered and executed the important work of bringing the water from Etham into Jerusalem by means of a conduit; which is indeed generally attributed to him, though it is called by a few that of Pontius Pilate. The primary design of this undertaking was unquestionably that the Temple and its precincts might not suffer from a lack of water. It is very remarkable that neither the Bible nor Josephus make express mention of this; but it is probable that all the pools, now existing at Etham, are referred to in Ecclesiastes[860]; and Josephus[861] informs us that the summer-palace of Solomon was at the town of Etham, in the neighbourhood of Bethlehem, fifty stadia from Jerusalem. Perhaps he did not describe the water-works, because he considered them well-known. However, it is certain that history does not afford us any positive _data_ for ascribing these constructions to Solomon; but the magnitude of the work, and tradition, induce me to attribute them to him. As it was on these pools of Etham that the city mainly depended for its supply, I will describe them first of all. Quitting the Jaffa Gate we take the direct road to Etham, passing the Tomb of Rachel, and leaving Bethlehem on the left; it is a ride of two hours and a half. Here is an old castle[862], called by the Arabs _Kalat el-Burak_ (Castle of the Lightning), of which the outer walls, with battlements, remain perfect; but the interior is all in ruins, and only serves to harbour swarms of bees. History does not tell us when or by whom it was built, but from its architecture and masonry it must evidently be assigned to the twelfth or thirteenth century; the design being, no doubt, to accommodate a small garrison in order to secure the waters. It is not improbable that the Crusaders erected it to prevent the hostile tribes from cutting off the water-supply from Jerusalem, which would have been liable to this deprivation without such a precaution. To the south are the three reservoirs, situated in the middle of the Etham Valley, which slopes steeply down from west to east. These are filled by the rain-water drained from the slopes of the mountains on each side, and by an abundant supply from a spring on the west of the castle, in a straight line along the direction of its north side, at a distance of about 450 yards. I mention this, because its rudely circular opening, like the mouth of a cistern, is hidden in a field under a mass of stones thickly covered with creeping plants, and so is sometimes not easily found without a guide. Possibly this spring is mentioned in the Song of Solomon[863], in the words, "A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse, a spring shut up, a fountain sealed;" hence it is now called 'fons signatus' by the Christians, and _Ras el-Ain_ (Head of the Fountain), and also _Ain Saleh_ by the Arabs. Let us examine its interior by descending an inconvenient shaft, like those in cisterns; looking well where we set our feet, lest we come to the bottom in a single step, a depth of about 12 feet only, but a rough fall. On arriving below, we crawl a short distance, and then find ourselves in a rectangular chamber 18 feet long from north to south, 10 wide, and 20 high. The lower parts of the walls are formed of the great blocks characteristic of the era of Solomon; the upper contain some with rustic work in low relief, which diminishes towards the top of the vault, where the stones are dressed smooth and flat. Hence I consider that the chamber has been restored at different periods; an opinion confirmed by the barrel-vault formed of long oblong stones, skilfully laid with mortar. In the middle of the west wall is an opening leading into a narrow cave, at the western extremity of which a limpid, cool, and abundant spring issues from a natural channel in the rock, which cannot be followed up by reason of its narrowness and the breaks in its level. Where the water runs along the floor, we observe the remains of an ancient canal formed of hard cement, which still exhibits some fragments of earthenware pipes about ten inches in diameter. In the corners of this cave are two other crevices in the rock, from which issue small springs that unite with the former in the middle of the first chamber. In this there is a basin, originally intended to act as a filter, which is now out of repair, and receives the water on its way to the conduit running to the east. Owing to the injuries done by the hand of man, and the accumulation of extraneous substances, a large part of the stream escapes into the ground, and is lost. I have repeatedly visited this place at the various seasons of the year, and have found the fountain flowing most copiously in winter, but there is no deficiency in summer; so that if the reservoirs and conduits were properly kept up, Jerusalem would never be in want of spring-water, and the health and comfort of its inhabitants would be improved by the decrease of fevers, and the increase of cleanliness. The eastern conduit is mainly excavated in the solid rock, especially near its mouth; but the upper part, which is vaulted for the first 20 feet, is then covered with large slabs, as far as the south-west corner of the castle. At first it is 3 feet wide and 4 high, but it gradually becomes narrower and lower as it approaches this corner, and can therefore only be traversed for a distance of 86 feet, when the walls, hewn out of the rock, are replaced by others of masonry, although rock continues to form the bottom of the conduit. This aqueduct, running in a curve from the spring to the castle, empties part of its contents into a round basin, near the north-west corner of the first pool, whence it flows into the pool; so that there is usually water in this even in the height of summer, when the other two are generally dry. Before proceeding to describe the course of the water, both from the round basin and in other directions, I call attention to the three large reservoirs, which are mainly excavated in the rock, the eastern side alone of each being formed of solid masonry, built in steps externally to resist the pressure of the water. In these walls, and especially in their lower parts, very ancient Jewish work is seen, which may be assigned to the reign of Solomon; not the slightest trace of mortar is visible, and where the wall has been wantonly injured, pieces of iron appear with the holes in the stones for clamps. The walls are now faced with Arab cement (the last was put on in 1857 and 1860); but in places fragments of an ancient compost still remain, so compact and hard that it has withstood the injuries of twenty-nine centuries. The Plan shews the arrangement and dimensions of these reservoirs, and the Section their inclination and respective depths, so that I need not enter into particulars on these points, but only remark that the eastern end of each is connected with a subterranean chamber, wherein we can observe the various channels which have been used, according to circumstances, to augment the outflow of the stream from the upper to the lower reservoir. In these the original vaulting still remains, circular in form and constructed of blocks, built together without mortar; that belonging to the last pool on the east is the largest, from which the conduit starts which goes to the _castellum_[864], and thence to Jerusalem. We will now return to the first-mentioned conduit. I have already said that the aqueduct from the 'Sealed Fountain' discharges a portion of its waters into the round basin; another portion flows along a covered canal, visible on the surface, which runs along by the side of the three pools, supplying a fountain near the north-east corner of the first of them, and then emptying itself into the _castellum_ just mentioned. In case of too great a quantity of water flowing into the round basin, and being forced back by the first pool becoming full, the overplus is not lost, but escapes through a third aperture into a subterranean chamber, on the west of the basin, and almost united to it, where it joins the stream coming from a very deep spring (not before mentioned), whence it is conducted by a subterranean canal (whether this is artificial or natural I have not been able to decide) to the _castellum_ on the east of the lowest pool. This point I have proved by stopping up the supply of water from the other quarters; an experiment which was witnessed by M. de Barrère and M. E. Meshullam. Another spring also supplies the latter _castellum_, the stream from which, rising at a distance of about 750 feet, comes down the valley, and runs parallel to the east end of the lowest pool; this is called by the Arabs _Ain Atan_, and is the best water in Palestine, but is not very abundant, from the way in which the neighbourhood of the source has been cleared of trees. The above-named fountains are not all of those which formerly supported the gardens of Solomon and Jerusalem; two conduits from the south increased the supply; one of which came from the neighbourhood of Hebron (to the south of the village of _Halhul_), and flowed into the lowest pool: another, from the mountains near Etham, emptied itself into the first pool. The whole course of these conduits can be traced; but it is sad to see them becoming more and more ruinous every year, when, with little trouble and expense, they could be sufficiently repaired to be of immense benefit to the places through which they run. In case the three pools became full, and the great influx into the lower _castellum_ produced a flood, the water escaped by a canal, following the course of the valley, and flowed into two pools, at some distance apart, smaller than those above: there, no doubt, it was kept to irrigate the gardens below, which may be identified with the 'garden inclosed[865]' of Solomon. The important remains of buildings and pools which M. Meshullam has discovered and laid open, while bringing (most successfully) the ground under cultivation, are proofs of this point. The shape of the lower pools and the materials employed in them shew that they are of the same age as the upper. It is impossible to suppose that these can be the work of any of the conquerors of Palestine, for none of them would have undertaken a work of such magnitude, especially as their mission has always been rather to destroy than to build; neither can we attribute them to Herod, on account of the silence of Josephus, who mentions all his chief works; so that we naturally assign them to the epoch of Solomon. The ability of the engineer who constructed these works is shewn even more in the aqueduct than in the pools, as it falls and rises, winding through valleys and hills on its way from the _castellum_, until, after a course of about 40,000 feet, it empties itself into the great reservoir in the Valley of Gihon, not far from, and on the north of, the _Birket es-Sultan_ (the ancient Lower Pool), where its waters were allowed to settle. Here the aqueduct was formerly divided into two branches, whereof the one flowed into the pool below, and the other, after crossing the valley, still rises up the side of Sion, and having skirted the eastern slopes above the Tyropoeon valley, crosses it and enters Moriah, as I have already described[866]. The whole course of this aqueduct still remains, and we can observe that a large portion of it is hewn in the rock, and covered up with large slabs, while in other parts it is formed of earthenware pipes eight inches in diameter, which are skilfully laid with strong cement between stones cut in a proper shape, and protected above with solid masonry. The various Arab restorations, at different periods, have considerably modified the form of the aqueduct, but nevertheless enough remains to enable us to study its construction. Josephus[867] mentions that Pilate spent the sacred treasure upon an aqueduct, and some have understood from this that he constructed the one of which we speak. I cannot however suppose that the Governor of a province would have been able to carry out a work of such magnitude; and had it been done, the memory of it would have been preserved by tradition. Josephus, indeed, speaks of the length of the work as 400 stadia, but this, I think, must be a mistake in the manuscripts; 40 would be nearer to the proper amount. The Talmud[868] states that the aqueduct bringing the water into Moriah emptied itself into the 'sea of bronze,' and that the spring from which it was supplied was 23 cubits higher than the pavement of the Temple. This is the actual height of the 'fountain inclosed;' and this aqueduct does communicate, as we have shewn, with the supposed site of the 'sea.' The aqueduct has been restored at various times, since history informs us that Cathuba, Sultan of Egypt, expended large sums in bringing the waters from the vicinity of Hebron to the three pools at Etham; and in the thirteenth century, Sultan Mohammed Ibn-Kelaoun repaired the ancient works of Solomon to convey the water into Moriah, which had been diverted when Saladin broke down the aqueduct, in order to cut off the supply from the Crusaders[869]. The Mohammedan chronicles relate that Solyman the Magnificent went to great expense in restoring it. At a later period, under the government of Kiamil Pasha and Surraya Pasha, in 1856 and in 1860, the waters of Etham were brought into Jerusalem, on which occasion I co-operated with the Turkish engineer, Assad Effendi; but these last repairs have not been permanent, because the _fellahîn_ divert the water for their private purposes, and those whose duty it is to guard the aqueduct are bribed to blindness by a present of a lamb or some money. Until the Governor adopts rigorous measures, the water will be used by the herdsmen, and will not reach the city. I will now briefly indicate the advantages that the waters of Etham must have produced when they supplied Jerusalem. (1) They filled _Birket es-Sultan_, or the lower pool, at the southern end of the Valley of Gihon, then irrigated the gardens and fields in the Valley of Hinnom, and afterwards flowed into the Kidron, augmenting its volume and aiding in sweeping away the sewage from the Temple. I have found at certain places in the Valley of Hinnom remains of ancient walls, which I consider to have belonged to pools formed there to keep the water until it was wanted for the neighbouring fields. (2) When the water arrived at the western extremity of the bridge across the Tyropoeon, a branch conduit, as I believe, carried a portion of it northward to supply the different fountains, which still exist in the valley, and also to aid in filling the Pool of Bethesda; which however was also supplied by the conduit from the northern valley, and by others from the pool outside S. Mary's Gate, which was filled from the ditch on the north-east outside the city. Hence it appears that the lower city was well provided with water. The works which I have hitherto described could still be restored with the greatest ease, if the Government chose to expend £7200 in repairing them in different places, and to organize an effective police to guard the aqueduct from injury by any chance comer; a thing at present impossible, owing to the venality of the officials of the Government, and the barbarism of the Arabs. The former, however, is the more insurmountable evil. In 1860 I proposed a plan to Surraya Pasha for securing the water-supply from Etham, and shewed how the expenditure might be repaid by a rate on Jerusalem and Bethlehem (which is on the course of the conduit, and receives benefit from it); this rate would be a positive gain to the inhabitants of the former place, as it would save them from the capricious and exaggerated demands of those who bring water into the city, when the cisterns have failed in a season of drought. He at once perceived the advantages of my plan, but was unable to carry it into effect, as he could not secure the necessary co-operation. A short time since a European engineer proposed to bring the water from Etham to Jerusalem by cast-iron pipes, which were to start from the Tomb of Rachel, on the Bethlehem road, about four miles from Jerusalem, and bring it up to the summit of the tower, which I call Phasaëlus, in the Castle of David, from which the central valley was to be supplied. I am convinced that this plan is impracticable in Palestine, not only from the great expense, but also because the Government could never consent to turn into water-works a place which would be their chief stronghold in case of an insurrection of the Bedouins or _fellahîn_; besides, the pipes themselves would be eagerly sought after as booty. If it has not been, and is not possible to restore that which now exists, how can anything new be done? Circumstances will alter, and then we may hope that Palestine will advance as Europe is doing; but the good time has not yet come, and still seems to be far distant. Etham was not the only place that supplied Jerusalem with water; for some came from the west, from the Upper Pool of Gihon (the present _Birket Mamillah_[870]). From the words of the Bible[871] we should expect that a fountain was in its neighbourhood; but as the ground near is now converted into a Mohammedan cemetery, it is impossible to make any excavations, and I must therefore content myself with explaining what can be seen above ground. The Pool _Mamillah_ has been excavated in the rock; by whom history does not tell us, but it is certainly older than the time of Hezekiah, for Isaiah met Ahaz 'at the end of the conduit of the upper pool[872],' on the occasion of the prophecy, 'Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son.' This pool occupies a favourable position for collecting the water that drains from the slopes of the neighbouring hills in a rainy season. It formerly supplied not only the Pool Amygdalon in the city (as it still does), but also the lower pool in the valley or _Birket es-Sultan_. Finding the Pool _Mamillah_ dry in the summer-season, I made a careful examination of it, especially on the western side, to see if I could find any mouths of conduits, but could not discover the slightest trace; so that if there ever were any, they have entirely disappeared under the various restorations that the place has undergone. At the present time its waters are unfit to drink owing to the surrounding cemeteries; but this would not render them less useful to the city, if the pool were put in order so as to prevent the waters from being absorbed by the rubbish which thickly covers the bottom, and from escaping through the crevices in the sides, now unstopped with cement, and if the conduit were properly repaired and protected. Were all these works in good condition, the pool would be filled at the time of the rains, and would supply the Pool Amygdalon[873]; and in that case the two would annually furnish the water required by the bath in the Christian bazaar, and its proprietors be able to make money by selling what they did not require to the builders. It is surprising that the Arabs do not see the advantages that they would gain, especially as the cost of the repairs would not be more than £600. In my opinion these two pools and their conduit answer to the descriptions given us in various passages of the Bible. We read[874] that when the officers of the king of Assyria arrived with a great host from Lachish, "they came and stood by the conduit of the upper pool, which is in the highway of the fuller's field." Their army must have encamped on the west, and extended as far as the present site of the Latin Convent of S. Saviour, as the position was commanding and well suited for marshalling troops before an attack, and the walls were unprotected by any natural defences. Again, we find[875] that during the conference between the general of Sennacherib and the chief men in Jerusalem, they were within hearing of the men on the wall. So when Sennacherib menaced Jerusalem, Hezekiah[876] "stopped the waters of the fountains which were without the city; repaired Millo in the city of David (the present Amygdalon), and stopped the upper watercourse of Gihon, and brought it straight down to the west side of the city of David." This I understand to mean that Hezekiah wished to deprive the enemy of water, and so enclosed Amygdalon with a wall on the west and north, thus bringing it inside the city, and at the same time constructed the existing conduit to divert the waters from the upper pool and leave it dry. These works must have been executed in haste, and I cannot conceive it possible that they could have been carried into effect in any other part of the environs of Jerusalem, as it would have been a colossal labour to bring a conduit to the western side of the City of David in any other direction, for the hills must have been pierced. It would also have been unnecessary, as the only purpose was to conduct the water from the upper pool to that within the city. Josephus[877] in speaking of the gate by which the water came into the tower Hippicus, indicates the existence of another conduit. This I suppose to have been a branch of that of Hezekiah. When the foundations of the English church were dug, the remains of a conduit were discovered, which seems to shew that this was the site of one of Herod's palaces, probably that called the Cæsareum. It has been thought that this conduit went as far as Moriah, but I believe that I have found its mouth in the street of David, 'in the going down to Silla[878],' close to the Greek convent of S. John on the south, and that it was a sewer. At the end of the Valley of Siloam is another means of providing for the wants of the city in the matter of water; that is the well _Bir Eyub_, the ancient En-rogel, the boundary between the tribes of Judah and Benjamin[879]. It is situated in a deep narrow cleft of the valley, with precipitous mountains on every side; and formerly furnished water to Jerusalem, as it still continues to do, the inhabitants of Siloam driving a brisk trade during the summer droughts. I have already mentioned this well[880], and now proceed to give a more detailed account of it. In the month of October, 1858, _Bir Eyub_ was perfectly dry, and I availed myself of this event, unfortunate for Jerusalem, to descend into it. I reached the bottom, covered with fine sand, and there was able to examine a small cavity in the rock on the west, mentioned by Mejir ed-Din, from which the water flows in the rainy season. It was then completely dry, but I think that a spring formerly issued from it. I believe that the well (108 feet deep) is a cavity naturally worn by the constant flow of the water, but that it has afterwards been dressed with a chisel. It is now rectangular in plan, and gradually diminishes from the top to the bottom; the side walls are formed of large blocks in the lower part; as we ascend their size decreases; small holes occur among these at intervals, through which the rock can be seen, and the water runs into the well[881]. The stones recede, one behind the other, as we ascend, and they are perfectly united without any apparent trace of mortar, and must be bolted together with iron clamps or stone tenons to have enabled them to stand firm during so many centuries, and yet to seem likely to stand for many more. I have no doubt that the masonry is of the highest antiquity. The well is supplied by the rains which, sinking into the surrounding mountainous country, descend naturally to this vault at the lowest level. I have convinced myself of this by careful observation at the rainy seasons, and have ascertained that the well did not begin to fill until the rain had fallen for several days, and that the level of the water was not affected, unless the rain was heavy and continuous. I also found that the well did not overflow into the Kidron, unless this rain lasted for several days, and that it ceased when the fine weather returned, and a dry wind sprang up. In 1861 the rain was so heavy that the overflow lasted for fifteen days, but during this time there was very little sunshine in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem. The above explanation will, I trust, be satisfactory to all, except the Arabs, who account for the wonder in the following manner[882]: "We all know that the _Haram es-Sherîf_ is constantly guarded by sixty thousand angels. Now, by a decree of Heaven, while the heavenly host watch in prayer around the sacred rock (_es-Sakharah_), an equal number of evil spirits groan in the depths of the mountain, condemned to support upon their accursed foreheads the weight of the holy edifice, and of the vast plateau that encircles it. The weight is terrible, but the following circumstance is marvellous. Every time that a faithful Mohammedan, after due purification, places his foot upon the ground of the _Haram_, the weight of his body increases the burden borne by the demons seventy-fold. If the devotees are numerous, if they frequently go to implore the divine mercy in that favoured spot, the sufferings of the fiends are proportionately increased; they burst into tears of grief and rage. The more ardent is the zeal of the believers, the fuller is the reservoir, wherein, drop by drop, the tears of the enemies of God are collected. Hence the abundance or the deficiency of the water in _Bir Eyub_ measures the bounty of the Creator to His creatures. It only depends then on our own prayers to have good harvests, and when drought comes, we ought to accuse ourselves of a lack of devotion." M. Saintine thinks that this account, when stripped of its marvels, denotes that all the water-courses in the city flow into the lower part of the _Haram es-Sherîf_, and thence are conducted by a conduit into this well. This I cannot admit, because the waters running down the western bank of the Tyropoeon follow the course of that valley, and those which fall on the eastern are caught by the reservoirs constructed for that purpose, and the small quantity that escapes, falls, as I have already stated[883], into the Kidron Valley, opposite to the Tomb of Absalom. Let us now pass on to consider the Fountain of the Virgin, the only useful spring in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, of which I have already given an account[884], as well as of the upper pool of Siloam, which is supplied by the Fountain; but I have not yet described the phenomenon of its intermittence, the quality of its water, and the conduit connecting the two places. S. Jerome, as I have already observed, and the historians of the Crusades, noticed that the flow of the water was not regular, so that the occurrence is by no means novel. Dr Robinson[885] gives the following account of it: "As we were preparing to measure the basin of the upper fountain and explore the passage leading from it, my companion was standing on the lower step near the water, with one foot on the step and the other on a loose stone lying in the basin. All at once he perceived the water coming into his shoe; and supposing the stone had rolled, he withdrew his foot to the step; which however was also now covered with water. This instantly excited our curiosity; and we now perceived the water rapidly bubbling up from under the lower step. In less than five minutes it had risen in the basin nearly or quite a foot; and we could hear it gurgling off through the interior passage. In ten minutes more it had ceased to flow; and the water in the basin was again reduced to its former level." I have repeatedly observed the same thing, and for some time was unable to explain it, and therefore questioned the villagers of Siloam, and so learnt, from the more ignorant, the story of the dragon, and from the wiser, that the spring had a flux and reflux like the sea; and they were prepared to instruct me on its periodicity. How I at last discovered the true cause I will relate in speaking of the _Hammam es-Shefa_. Meanwhile I only mention, as an unquestionable fact, that the phenomenon undoubtedly occurs both in the rainy and dry seasons, but that the supply is greater in the former than in the latter. The water from the fountain flows into the upper pool of Siloam by means of a subterranean conduit, which follows a winding course in the rock, instead of going directly from north to south. In some places it is not more than 2-1/4 feet high; in others 4 or even 5 feet; and in some parts it is still higher, especially towards the Pool of Siloam. Its width in general is about three feet, but near the southern mouth it increases up to four. It has been hewn out of the rock in a very rude manner, so that I am disposed to attribute it to the age of Solomon; especially as it has been made to convey the water of the Fountain to a place where it was more accessible to the inhabitants of the city, and could be collected in the large reservoirs from which the gardens below, the King's Gardens, were irrigated. In the 17th century a monk, by name Julius, explored the whole of the dark damp passage. After him the Abbé Desmazures, then an Englishman named Hyde, and Drs Robinson and Smith, and also Tobler. I have traversed it several times, the last occasion being in the month of February 1861; but I cannot advise any one to follow my example, as the constant ruin continually increases the difficulty of the undertaking, and there is always danger of the earth falling in at any moment. This conduit explains why the intermittence is observed in Siloam. The general belief in the country is that the source springs from the lower cavities in Mount Moriah (as the river of Ezekiel's vision[886]). I am of the same opinion, but must reserve this point also for my description of the _Hammam es-Shefa_. The water of the Fountain is limpid and slightly brackish; it contains lime, magnesia, and sulphuric acid: its specific gravity is 1.0035: its temperature is usually from 61.25° to 65.75° Fahrenheit. It is only drunk by the inhabitants of Jerusalem when the supplies in their cisterns fail; however, the peasants of Siloam use it for all purposes. Still it is always a boon to the citizens, as it irrigates the gardens of Siloam, which are rendered wonderfully fruitful, besides supplying the tanners and washerwomen, and cattle of all kinds. I have already identified the Lower Pool of Siloam with the Pool of Solomon, and stated that it now receives the sewage of the city; but it must have been filled from the Upper Pool, and used to regulate the supplies to the gardens, and increase the volume of the stream of the Kidron. In the neighbourhood of the city, on the north and north-west, remains of conduits are found, by which perhaps water was brought into the city, but I have not been able to discover whence the supply came; and there are, besides, some reservoirs and cisterns, none of which date from a remote period. The most important work, as regards its size, is the pool at the head of the Kidron valley, which I believe to have been constructed solely to collect and preserve the waters for the wants of those who dwelt in the neighbourhood, and to prevent the streams, flowing from the adjoining hill-sides, from being absorbed in the ground. At one time I thought that a subterranean conduit took the water from the pool into the city; but after the most careful examination of the ground in the vicinity, I am able to declare that no such conduit exists. The reasons which have led me to this conclusion will appear in the following account of my investigations. The people of the country had informed me that at night, when the city was perfectly quiet, the noise of flowing water could be heard beneath the Damascus Gate by any one who placed his ear on the ground. I made the experiment several times, and found it to be the case. When I excavated the ancient North Gate (in the foundations of the present Damascus Gate), as I have already described in the second chapter[887], I descended into the cisterns just on the north of the gate, and repeated the experiment at the bottom of them, and here I perceived more distinctly the gurgling of water, which was still more audible after Said Pasha, Commandant of the garrison of Jerusalem, had emptied these two cisterns of the rubbish that encumbered them. It must also be observed that the noise is heard louder after rain than at other times. This, therefore, led me to believe that there was a conduit which transported the water into the city, and consequently I many times made careful investigations in the tract of land between the Kidron Pool and the Damascus Gate; but these all failed in producing the desired result; and after levelling the ground, penetrating into cisterns, and removing ruins, I came to the conclusion that its existence was impossible; for, if it had been constructed, it must have run at a great depth underground, and been wholly excavated in the rock. A work of this kind, especially for such a distance, would have been too much for Jewish science; for all the other conduits in Palestine which can be assigned to an early period, if not covered with long slabs, as is common, are not much below the level of the ground, so that there are apertures at intervals to give them light. Nor is this the only reason against the existence of a conduit; for in examining the sewer in the Tyropoeon valley inside the city, near the Damascus Gate, I obtained permission from the Pasha, when it was repaired, to deepen the excavation, and found no trace of a water-course in the place where it would naturally have run; unless indeed we suppose it to have been made at a greater depth in the rock itself, or to have crossed Bezetha, and come to an end either in Moriah or close to it on the north-west. Consequently I conclude that the gurgling heard at the Damascus Gate proceeds from the sewers in its neighbourhood, which descend from Gareb and Bezetha and unite in the Tyropoeon valley. I terminate the examination of the waters outside the city by observing that the Pilgrim's Pool[888], on the north (which I have already noticed), is insufficiently supplied from the little valley above it, and anciently discharged its waters into the Pool of Bethesda. I also mention again the water dropping from the rock inside the Royal Caverns, which some, who have only seen it in the rainy season and not in the summer when it is dried up, consider to be a spring. I do not think that these two sources contributed greatly in former time to augment the supply of water to the city. Before the 12th of June, 1860, no other spring was known in Jerusalem than that which rises at the bottom of the well of the _Hammam es-Shefa_. With regard to this there have been many enquiries as to whence its waters come, by what way they enter Moriah, and whither they go. At the time just mentioned, I discovered the spring on the property of the Daughters of Sion, as I have already described[889]; but about two years previously, in the month of July, I had been called in to examine some water which appeared near Herod's Gate, when the foundations were dug for a large building belonging to Mustafa Bey, which now bears his name. Having premised this, I will state the conclusions at which I have arrived from my investigations at the three places just mentioned, and also give my explanation of the phenomenon of the intermittence of the water in the Fountain of the Virgin. In the foundation, on the south side of Mustafa Bey's house, at a depth of 22 feet, a quantity of water had appeared during the night and filled the hole. The master-mason and the owner, the sole architects, believed that it had filtered through from some cistern in the neighbourhood, and therefore set to work to bale it out. When this was done they were very much surprised to see that a thin stream of water, coming from the north-west, continued to fill the place; they therefore deepened the excavation a little, and widened the opening, but they were unable to account for the abundance of the water, which hindered their work. On arriving at the spot I suggested excavating, but the fear of the increased expenditure kept them from agreeing to this; so that, under the circumstances, I had no other means of ascertaining anything, than examining a number of cisterns which were in the neighbourhood; and after tasting the water in them, and comparing it with that in the hole, I found that the latter was of the same quality as that in the _Hammam es-Shefa_ and the Fountain of the Virgin; and then I began to believe that it came from a spring. The owner of the place consented to suspend the works in this part for eight days, but I could not prevail on him to permit me to make any excavation near the place on the north-west; and during this time the water flowed through a canal which I had constructed for it. After building two massive piers on each side of the stream and turning a strong arch over it, the works proceeded; so that the stream ran away to the south, without our having found a solution of the problem; but I have no doubt that careful investigation would have revealed the spring-head close by on the north-west. The discovery of June 12th, and the identity in taste and colour between the water then found and that of which I have spoken, caused me to examine the part of the city between the two points; and though the Arab houses in this district caused many difficulties, I succeeded in ascertaining that in this direction there were cisterns, into which water found its way, similar to that at the spring, and consequently not fit for all the purposes of life. From this I concluded that the two springs must be connected, and the upper supply the lower. But still there was the question, what became of all the water which issued from the spring at the Convent of the Daughters of Sion? At the first moment I was disposed to think that it flowed into the subterranean gallery, in the direction of the north-west corner of the _Haram es-Sherîf_; but my observations have brought me to the conclusion that it goes into the well of the _Hammam es-Shefa_, as I will now shew. The stream flowed naturally to the south, therefore I carefully probed all the western wall on the inside of the gallery to see if the water passed along by it; but I found no signs, and so perceived that the conduit from the spring had turned away in another direction. Though the gallery was almost free from water in August, and quite dry in September and October, the stream still flowed abundantly; so that had it run along the gallery, it could not have escaped my observation. Still it might have been objected, that possibly the stream was absorbed and its course concealed by the earth at the bottom of the gallery, so I dammed up the waters until a kind of pool was formed, and then set them free on a sudden; but not a drop appeared in the gallery; so that I thought that they must go into the _Hammam es-Shefa_. I consider the water in this well to be the same as that which supplies the Fountain of the Virgin, for the following reasons. The quality of the water is the same; and though that in the well is rather turbid and that in the Fountain is clear, I attribute this solely to the presence of rubbish in the well, the waters of which are afterwards filtered during their course. The water in the well has for a long time supplied a bath built over it, as it still does. Traditions point it out as ancient, and the Talmud[890] appears to confirm them, saying, that "the well was excavated by the children of the captivity, and the priests drew water from it by means of a pulley." We may therefore suppose that the Jews used to purify themselves here, before entering the Temple, as the Mohammedans still do on their festival days, before they go into the _Haram es-Sherîf_. This bath is the cause of the intermittence of the stream in the Fountain of the Virgin, for at certain periods of the day its keepers use the water for the purposes of the establishment, and consequently not only prevent it from rising high enough to reach the level of the conduit carrying it off to the Kidron Valley, but also empty the well, so that it requires some time to fill again. As this is done twice in every twenty-four hours, the phenomenon of intermittence occurs just as often. This I have proved by repeated observations and trials, and I recommend any one who seeks for a more marvellous cause to follow my example. The quantity of water in the well is hardly affected by the rains. The dirty water from the bath is carried by a conduit into the sewer in the Tyropoeon valley, and aids in transporting the filth therein outside the city. Let us now devote a few lines to the pools inside the city, which I have already mentioned. Near the Jaffa Gate, on the north, is a small pool, which many have supposed to be the one in which Bathsheba was bathing when she was seen by David[891]; but I believe the desire of assigning a legend to every spot to be the sole authority for the tradition. I have not been able to examine this reservoir, but the Greeks, to whom it belongs, and who have filled it with earth to prevent its becoming a receptacle of filth, have, with many other of the inhabitants of Jerusalem, assured me that it was very narrow, and that the workmanship in it did not correspond with that of the Jewish era, but with that of Saladin or Solyman; also that it had no connexion with the other ancient water-works. With regard to the Pool Amygdalon, so often mentioned, I have to remark that many of the cisterns, excavated in the upper city, are filled from it, among which I may especially denote that which commonly bears S. Helena's name, near the north-east corner of the Church of the Resurrection. On this point there cannot be any doubt, since before the Coptic hospice was erected on the northern side of Amygdalon, a large conduit was visible near its north-east corner, which had been observed by several of the older masons. Besides this, the waters of the pool were certainly directed into the different sewers in the upper city in order to cleanse them; as we may still see in part, for the water which has been used for the bath, is conveyed by a conduit into the sewer in the street of David. The Cistern of S. Helena has, as I believe, been sometimes called the Cistern of Golgotha, and it has been said that anything light cast into it appeared again in Siloam. I do not believe that this was the case, but if the identification be correct, it might occur in the following manner; that if the water in the cistern rose above a certain height it might escape by a waste pipe, on the south-east of the cistern, into the central sewer in the Tyropoeon, and thus, when there was a large surplus of water, might easily descend to Siloam, bearing any floating substance along with it. There are many other cisterns in the neighbourhood of the Holy Sepulchre which I have examined, but these do not help me to an explanation of the matter, as their waste pipes are but small. I return to the Pool of Bethesda[892], to direct attention to the Herodian masonry, which was certainly either built or repaired at the erection of the Antonia. The stones which rest on the levelled rock are perfectly united together in the following way: on the outer surface of one stone is a rectangular mortise, into which fits a corresponding tenon, left projecting from a stone with all its faces regularly squared, and of somewhat smaller size than the first mentioned. Thus, when a row[893] was finished the outer stones were about two inches apart, and so the whole wall resembled a chess-board, all the squares being separated by channels running horizontally and vertically. These intervals were filled with very strong masonry; and in order that the water might not possibly find its way through the joinings of the inner stones, after the surface was thus made level, the whole was covered with a strong cement. The position of the pool shews that it was not only formed for the service of the Temple, but also for its defence. This work, which could so easily be made again fit for use, is, on the contrary, rapidly falling to ruin, being utterly neglected, like all the other works of antiquity. There were some other pools inside the city--for example one, where the barrack of the _Haram_[894] now stands; another, on the south of the property of the Armenian Convent, which I myself have examined; but of these every trace has now disappeared; and I only mention them to shew how much better the city was supplied with water in former times by means of proper contrivances. I have already explained[895] how the inhabitants now provide themselves with water, and will only add that, of the 992 cisterns in Jerusalem and its vicinity, the greater number are ancient, and are excavated in the rock. In them the water would keep excellently, if proper attention were paid to them, so that the city would never fall short; but they too are neglected; and consequently there is in many years a want of water, a great quantity of which is either absorbed by the ground and lost, or runs into the sewers, which are in even worse repair, and, or lastly, floods the streets, to the inconvenience of passengers, and the injury of the public health. I conclude by remarking that, although Jerusalem is situated in a position where limestone rocks abound, and where springs of drinkable water are not to be found, (there being but one which could be used, even in extremity,) the city has never suffered from thirst in all the numerous sieges which it has undergone. The besiegers, however, have almost always been reduced to great straits from this cause; for example, the armies of Pompeius, of Antiochus Eupator, and of the Crusaders. Josephus, indeed, says that the Roman troops under Titus did not want water, but this is in a speech addressed to his fellow-citizens, when he is exhorting them to submit in order to avoid a more miserable fate; and he brings forward this unwonted circumstance as a sign that heaven had abandoned them, just as had happened when the city was besieged by Nebuchadnezzar. Still great distress, according to Dio Cassius[896], did prevail among the Roman army. The inhabitants, however, never felt any such want; their miseries always arose from hunger; and William of Tyre[897] expressly states that when the army of Godfrey of Bouillon entered Jerusalem they found plenty of water. From the earliest period the supply appears to have been well maintained; and it is to be hoped that some person or other will before long restore the city to its former condition; and by repairing the ancient water-works render it no longer dependent on the rains. Woe betide Jerusalem if showers should fail during two years in succession! FOOTNOTES: [860] Eccl. ii. 4, 6. [861] Ant. VIII. 7, § 3. [862] Plate X. [863] Cant. iv. 12. [864] The reservoirs constructed at certain points along the course of an aqueduct to regulate the supply of water. [865] Cant. iv. 12. [866] Page 100. [867] Ant. XVIII. 3, § 2; Jewish War, II. 9, § 4. [868] Joma, fol. 31. 1. [869] Greg. Abulpharagii seu Barhebræi Chronicum Syriacum, ed. G. G. Kirsch. Lips. 1789. 2 Vols. 4to. [870] Plate LXII. [871] 2 Chron. xxxii. 30. [872] Isai. vii. 3. [873] Plate XXXI. [874] 2 Kings xviii. 17. [875] 2 Kings xviii. 18, 26, 28. [876] 2 Chron. xxxii. 3, 4, 5, 30. [877] Jewish War, V. 7, § 3. [878] 2 Kings xii. 20. [879] Josh. xv. 7; Plate XLVIII. [880] Page 188. [881] Plate X. [882] I avail myself of the words of M. Saintine (Trois ans en Judée, p. 132), as I was in his company when an old Sheikh told us the story. [883] Page 92. [884] Page 184. [885] Biblical Researches, Vol. I. p. 506 (1st ed.). [886] Ezek. xlvii. [887] Page 36. [888] Page 14. [889] Page 63. [890] Gloss. in Mishnajoth in Octav. in Midd. Perek. 5. [891] 2 Sam. xi. 2-4. [892] Plate XVI. [893] See Plate X. fig. 6. [894] Jewish War, V. 11, § 4. [895] Page 14. [896] Dio Cassius, LXIV. 4. [897] Lib. VIII. c. 24, G. D. p. 761. CHAPTER IX. GENERAL REMARKS UPON THE PRESENT STATE OF THE CITY OF JERUSALEM. In the previous chapters I have put forward the results of my researches upon the topography, antiquities, and principal edifices of Jerusalem. I now proceed to give a general idea of those things which a person intending to reside there, or even to visit it, would wish to know; and I commence by giving some information which may be useful to the traveller. Jaffa is the seaport at which most persons, who intend to visit Jerusalem, land. The distance between the two places is about 28-1/2 miles. The mournful aspect of the former city generally drives away visitors after they have made a short stay and hastily traversed a few filthy streets; but those who wish to spend a longer time and carefully examine the antiquities of the place, or repose after their voyage, will find two tolerably comfortable hotels. Besides these, the Latin convent of the Franciscans entertains gratuitously all who apply without regard to their religious opinions. Nor do the Greeks and Armenians refuse to receive strangers, though they are established especially for the members of their own communities. An inn or the Latin convent is most convenient for a European. Consular agents of different nations reside in the town, and shew the greatest courtesy and attention to travellers; and through their dragomans or _cavas_ (consular guards), or through the servants of the convent, one can obtain horses without fear of being cheated. A three hours' ride along an excellent road takes the traveller to Ramleh, a town without any inns; but where he can pass the night in either the Latin, Greek, or Armenian convents, and on the morrow pursue his course with the same horse to Jerusalem, where he will arrive after a journey of eight or nine hours. I do not mention the price of the bridle, saddle, and other necessaries of the journey, as these vary with time and circumstances. In Jerusalem there are two inns kept by honest people; those, however, who prefer availing themselves of the hospitality of the convents can do so; but should of course make an offering before leaving, according to their circumstances. This, however, is never demanded; nor will the person who does not choose, or is unable to present it, be the less kindly treated on that account. From the instant of his arrival the traveller is pestered with interpreters and _ciceroni_. These it is imprudent to engage without previous enquiries at their Consulate, or from the Head of the religious community to which they belong; so too with those who offer themselves to take charge of a caravan, or act as escorts on journeys to the Jordan or Dead Sea, or other parts of Palestine. The bargain should be struck with responsible chiefs alone, at the Consulate, and all the conditions of the engagement should be clearly stated in writing, so that no disputes may afterwards arise. Persons who let out horses are not slow to offer themselves; but I recommend the traveller to make good use of his judgment before hiring a horse for a long period. After carefully examining it and its harness, it is necessary to put down on paper all the terms of the agreement, in the presence of two witnesses, to avoid having constant recourse to the Consul's office. Generally, however, oral evidence is more esteemed in the East than documentary, because the sense of words in a writing can be easily altered. In case the traveller wishes to change money, let him beware of the petty money-changers in the bazaars, and go to the banks recommended by his Consul, or by the Head of his religious community. In buying anything from Arab dealers, unless accompanied by an honest guide, the stranger is always liable to be cheated, and to pay double the proper value, because it is usual for his conductor to receive a percentage on what his master spends. Most of all, distrust the itinerant dealers who call at private houses, or who are found in the lobbies of convents, hospices, and inns, or in the court before the Church of the Resurrection. Any one who wishes to make a long stay at Jerusalem, and to hire a house, should not treat with a _factotum_, but with some person in whom he can place confidence. He will then get what he requires much more cheaply. Before signing the contract he should ascertain the state of the cisterns and their contents, the conduits, and the offices, unless he wishes to find himself without water, or with leaky drains that will make his house smell like a sewer. Let him also beware of foes, that lie hid by day, but issue forth by night to murder sleep. Take care that all defects observed in the scrutiny are at once repaired, for as soon as the rent is paid, the proprietor will hold himself free to do nothing, and will find a thousand pretexts to save himself from spending a farthing, even though he be ordered to do it by the authorities. The terrace-roofs are always in bad repair, so they must not be forgotten. Let not a mistaken notion of economy induce the visitor to take an old house; for in that case it is necessary to be always erecting barriers against the rats and snakes, which the Arabs call the friends of the house, and many other invaders. No one should hire a servant without a character from a person of credit; and constant watchfulness is necessary, especially when the domestics have the purchase of provisions in their own hands: adulterated goods of all kinds are common enough in Palestine, even to the refinement of black stones in sacks of coal, and pebbles in soap. In a word, keep your eyes wide open, for the Arab is omnivorous, and steals slowly, but steadily. Weights and measures are not wanting in native shops, but such weights and measures! Every dealer has a double set, and uses the just or the unjust according to circumstances. The government officers appointed for this purpose do not fail to visit the shops (politely giving notice of their intention beforehand), and of course everything is then in order. Now and then a victim is necessary, and the offence is denounced; but before the offender is put in prison, it is made out to be a mistake on the part of the police-officer, who is excused on the score of excess of zeal. These things continually happen, and the evil is irreparable. With the European dealers there is no danger of being cheated. The butchers are great rogues, and cheat in every possible way. The tariffs sanctioned by the Government are not observed, and whoever wants good meat must pay the butcher's price. Only those who are in authority, and can make their complaints heard, are supplied according to the tariff. The rest of the people suffer, and can get no redress from the badly-paid subordinates of the Government, who are bribed to be blind and deaf; and not unfrequently the complainant, if unprotected by one of the Consuls, is maltreated by the vendors and the vigilant guardians of the peace. The shops kept by Europeans are so well provided with the products of that continent, that the stranger might easily forget that he was in Palestine. Food and liquors of various kinds, clothes, and other necessaries, come from England, Marseilles, and Trieste, and from many parts of the East; so that any one of moderate means may supply his wants sufficiently, but simply; and without these he can live on the produce of the country at a cheap rate. Vegetables are scarce and dear, but annual supplies, in a preserved state, are sent from France. Beef and veal are seldom offered for sale, and are not good. There is plenty of mutton, sheep and goat, and sometimes of camel flesh; but the last two, with the inferior kinds of the former, are only bought by the poor. The European also finds pork, wild boar, hares and gazelles. Fowls, turkeys, ducks, and pigeons, are plentiful in the market, which is sometimes supplied with partridges and other game, and with fresh fish from Jaffa. Eggs and milk are plentiful; cheese and butter are imported, only because the peasants do not know how to make them, and will not take the trouble to learn. Oranges, lemons, pomegranates, cucumbers, melons, figs, almonds, and grapes, are very abundant; dates and bananas, the produce of the country, are less plentiful. There are also peaches, apricots, plums, pears, and apples, and many other fruits too numerous to mention. The wines of the country are made at Hebron, Bethlehem, and S. John: these are very good, but rather strong; and as they are insufficient for the wants of the place, and those of France are very dear, Cyprus wine is much used. The bread during the last few years has become pretty good, and that made by the Jews is very fair, and would be still better if they had proper mills to grind the wheat; those worked by horses and asses and by the hand all belong to private owners. A single windmill, erected by Sir M. Montefiore, has greatly improved the quality of the bread. The grain of the country, when properly ground and prepared, makes excellent bread; but many European families use flour imported from Trieste, which is very good. The Arab bread, on which most of the people live, is abominable, being badly made and full of grit. It is needless to observe that the dealers pay no regard to the orders of the government, and sell loaves either of light weight, or adulterated with cheaper materials. When Surraya Pasha inspected the shops in person, on which occasion I accompanied him, twelve offenders against the law were imprisoned; and many others only escaped by having no more bread to sell; that is to say, they had heard of the Pasha's coming, and had hidden their stock. There is no lack of watchmakers, goldsmiths, blacksmiths, tailors, bootmakers, and cabinetmakers, who can supply not only the necessaries, but even the luxuries of life. There are excellent building materials to be obtained, and good quarrymen, stonecutters, and masons. Wood is rather scarce in the country, but can be got from Egypt or Beyrout, where the yards are overstocked by the supplies from Trieste and Lebanon. The French, Austrian, and Turkish posts facilitate intercourse with Europe and the East. The steamers also of the French Messagerie Impériale and of the Austrian Lloyd arrive at the port of Jaffa on alternate weeks. The Turkish post is very badly managed; for the courier is often robbed of his mail-bag, and when it arrives in safety, the distribution of its contents is conducted so carelessly, that the first comer may possess himself of any letter he pleases; so that nothing valuable should be entrusted to it. The commerce of the city is on a very small scale, nor are there many merchants who speculate; and such as there are, except the Europeans and some few of the inhabitants, are more to be feared than the Bedouins who infest the open country. The value of money changes from one moment to another, according to the bankers' caprice, without the Government taking any notice of the matter. The legal rate of interest is 10, and sometimes 12 per cent., but this is disregarded; the usurers, who are numerous, demand 25 and even 30 per cent. Business in Jerusalem is transacted slowly, not only owing to the nature of the inhabitants, but also because Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, are the days of rest to the Mohammedans, Jews, and Christians, respectively; not to speak of the other numerous festivals which each community keeps holy during the course of the year. If a European wishes to remain in good health, he should wear flannel, and avoid using linen, because the mornings and evenings are damp, and the temperature is frequently liable to considerable changes. When he is obliged to expose himself to the sun, he should cover his head with white cloth, and thus he will escape unhurt. When on a journey, and exposed to great heat, he should wear white clothing, and eat and drink very sparingly, not taking much water while _en route_. It is well to be aware that all the gates are shut at sunset, excepting the Jaffa Gate, which remains open an hour longer; so that the traveller who arrives too late may be obliged to sleep in the open air, unless he have taken the precaution to furnish himself with an order from the Commandant. Whoever goes out into the streets by night must carry a lantern, not only because it is so ordered by the authorities, and a person breaking this rule is liable to be arrested by a patrol or by the police, but also because it is otherwise impossible to avoid stumbling in some ill repaired part of the road, or being attacked by the packs of dogs, who guard and infest the streets of the city. Having thus given some general information and advice, I proceed to make a few remarks on the present state of the city. A walk through the streets, when undertaken without a special purpose, is more oppressive than refreshing. They are narrow and dark, frequently arched over, and almost deserted. They are paved with stones, ill joined and uneven. These are not easy to walk on, as their surfaces are smooth and slippery, especially in the rainy season; and on horseback they are very dangerous, as I experienced myself the first time that I saw them. As the city slopes from west to east, the streets generally fall in the same direction; so that the upper are less filthy than the lower, which in the rainy season are horribly foul, since the dirt all lodges in them, and no one takes the trouble to remove it. Surraya Pasha issued strict orders to the street police, and frequently inspected them himself; but it is very hard work to keep the Arabs from their beloved mud. In the more frequented parts of the town the shops are generally mean in appearance, and disgust rather than amuse the spectators. The houses are built with small stones, some black with age, the rest light grey. Most of them have no windows outside, and those which have resemble prisons or monasteries, as the apertures are small and barred. This produces a very dull and oppressive effect, until the eye becomes accustomed to it. The entrance-doors are generally low and narrow, and I recommend the stranger not to form his opinion of the internal arrangements from what he sees on the threshold. The houses have terrace-roofs, many of which are covered with slabs of stone well united; but the generality are formed of small pieces mixed with cement, beaten into a solid mass, which however does not possess much power of resistance, as it cracks with the heat of the sun, and admits the water in rainy weather; consequently many of the houses are damp, and their inhabitants liable to fevers. These terrace-roofs are surrounded by a wall five or six feet high, serving as a parapet. It is formed of small earthenware tubes, making it look like the side of a dovecot; but by this means the women, by whom the roofs are used as places for exercise and amusement, can see, without being seen. Heaps of ruins and filth are seen in the public places, and no one frequents them for business; beggars crave an alms, lepers exhibit their sores, vagrant curs snarl over their booty. Camels crouched down await their burdens, and fill the air with a disgusting odour, caused by the ointment with which they are smeared to cure skin-diseases. Disgust, fear, hypocrisy, slavishness and distrust, are the common expressions in the faces of the men, shewing the different races of which they are composed; opposed one to another in religion and fortunes, victors and vanquished, jealous and distrustful one of the other. The women are generally covered with a white cloth, looking like ghosts, or if uncovered, would look better veiled. If wearied with the dullness within, we go outside the walls, we find a few olive-trees on the north-west, a few young plantations on the west, and the rest barren and desolate. Everywhere deep valleys or steep hills, stony and rocky roads, impracticable for carriages, difficult for horses, and painful for foot-travellers. Wherever we go the memorials of the dead are before our eyes; for the cemeteries are the places of general resort. Escaping, however, from the city, from its bad smells and loathsome and importunate beggars, we can ascend the hills, and contemplate a panorama, where every stone is a witness of God's revelation, and every ruin a monument of His wrath. On these bare summits high and ennobling thoughts fill the mind, bringing a calm that is found with difficulty in bustling and crowded cities. He who is careless or unbelieving, he who travels only from curiosity or to kill time, had better take my advice, and avoid Jerusalem. There he will have no amusement beyond taking a ride, or smoking and drinking bad coffee in an Arab _café_; watching the languid passers by, or listening to Arab songs accompanied on tuneless instruments. He, however, who has a family or business to care for, or is occupied in studying the inexhaustible riches of the soil, will live in Jerusalem as agreeably as in any other place. There is but little pleasant social intercourse in Jerusalem, owing to the jealousies among the rival sects; so that the conversation generally runs upon the failings and faults of the members of the communities which are not represented at the party; and scandalous stories and ill natured remarks are retailed to the visitor, who is soon wearied and disgusted. Hence it will appear that Jerusalem offers but slight attractions to one who is not contented with the memories of the past, and the love of archæological research. These, however, supply an unceasing field of enjoyment and constant occupation. Jerusalem is not inhabited by a people; it is a great field wherein are collected members from every nation, brought there by their religious belief, and about to depart when their end is accomplished. No city resembles less a fatherland, none is more like a place of exile. The Turks, after impoverishing and governing the land after their own fashion, give place to new magistrates, and return home with full purses; the Arabs, who acquire there an idea of civilization, depart in search of a place where they can lay out their property to advantage; while those who remain barbarians, after gaining a moderate sum, retire to the desert to end their days. The European missionaries and travellers, after a long stay, desire at length to die in their native land. The Western and Eastern pilgrims make but a brief sojourn, and though many of them bewail leaving the Holy Places, certain it is they never remain. The Jews replace one another constantly, coming to ask leave to die in that fatherland, which in life they have been unable to regain. The few families established at Jerusalem are not ancient. Each speaks of the date of his arrival, but is uncertain of the length of his stay. In the Holy City, therefore, the population is constantly changing, renewed daily by the pilgrims, and oppressed by a disheartening uncertainty caused by the despotism and incapacity of the Government of the Sublime Porte. This of course tends to prevent the formation of intimate friendships and the fusion of the different races. The greater part of the land does not belong to its occupants, but is the property of the mosques or of the churches, and is therefore called _Wakf_. There is the _Wakf_ of the _Haram es-Sherîf_, the property of the great mosque; the _Wakf el-Tekiyeh_, the property of the Hospital of S. Helena (as it is commonly called); the _Wakf Franji_, the property of the Latin convent; the _Wakf Rûmi_, the property of the Greek convent; and in the same way they speak of the _Wakf_ of the Russians, Armenians, Greek Catholics, Armenian Catholics, English, Prussians, Copts, Abyssinians, and Jews. Another part of the ground falls by law to these public bodies in case of the extinction of the families who possess it, or a failure of the male line. These are called _mulk maukuf_ i.e. mortmain. Hence it comes that the smaller part only of the soil is private property (_mulk_); so that, owing to these restrictions, a single small estate belongs to several owners, and there are many difficulties and much danger of being cheated in buying land. I will now offer a few remarks upon the condition of the different religious sects, premising that they entertain the bitterest feelings one towards another, and are only restrained from greater excesses by the fear that the Turks will profit by their quarrels, and listen to the highest bidder. The Consuls of the different nations have hard work to keep the peace, finding themselves of but little power in allaying strifes; not for want of will and moral courage, but because their authority only extends to small matters, and they are not properly seconded by the spiritual heads of the communities, who rather stir up the disputants and increase the difficulty of restoring peace. The most wealthy and powerful, and, in times past (and sometimes even now), the most distinguished in these contentions are the Latins, Greeks, and Armenians; and the Turks are never sorry to see them at strife, as they reap a harvest from both the losers and the winners. Scarcely had the tempest of war caused by the Crusades passed away, when these communities began to struggle at the court of the Sublime Porte for the possession of the Holy Places. Each produced _firmans_ given by Mohammed, Omar, Saladin, or various Sultans; and the ministers at the court always decided in favour of the highest bidder, so that the same place was assigned by different _firmans_ to the Latins, the Greeks, or the Armenians. In consequence it has happened that one party, believing itself to be the true proprietor of a particular Sanctuary, has declared the other an impostor, until the sight of a _firman_ of older date has shown the vanity of its claims. The enmity of the clergy has descended to the people, and frequently, upon the most futile pretexts, the churches and Holy Places have been the theatres of fatal encounters between rival nations. The Pashas of former times (now it is different) gladly interfered on these occasions, to impose heavy fines upon the weaker party, and to sell impunity to the strong, who were quite ready to begin fresh disturbances the next day. At one time the Greeks were driven from the Holy Places by order of the Porte; now the Latins were subjected to the utmost annoyance; while the Armenians profited by the discord to establish themselves in the Sanctuaries belonging to one or other of the disputants, whose claims they pretended to be supporting. The Catholic Governments lacked the means, and perhaps the inclination, to interfere directly in such questions. The ministers of France, Spain, Venice, and Austria, in Constantinople, sometimes listened to the complaints of the religious fraternities, to whom the custody of the Holy Places had been confided. But whether their own governments failed to support them, or whether that of the Sultan was not found tractable, certain it is that their applications were seldom heeded; and, in fact, cases occurred of even personal violence being employed against the French Ministers and the Venetian _Baili_, or still more frequently, against their subordinates. Until within a few years past, money was the only way of succeeding in negotiations with the Porte. Hence it may be understood, as regards the Latins, how it is that the guardianship of the Holy Land has been so expensive to Europe[898]. The Franciscans had also the privilege of acquiring real property and disposing of the alms of the Faithful; until the Propaganda began to view with dislike such large sums removed entirely from its control; so in order to inaugurate a fresh system, a Patriarch was established at Jerusalem in 1847, and assigned as his revenue the fifth part of the alms received by the Guardians. This arrangement gave him the right of examining the accounts, and to the Propaganda upon the management of affairs. He was, however, so obstinately opposed by the monks, that he was obliged to make a compromise with them, in which the interests, if not the minds, of the two parties were somewhat reconciled. The Greeks also were reduced to the same situation as the Latins; for a community which is obliged to support its influence at the Turkish Court by the aid of money alone, is compelled to have recourse to expedients of every sort in order to obtain it. Consequently, either from the piety of the faithful or the activity of the monks, the Greek Patriarchate of Jerusalem has amassed a very large property, consisting of possessions in Wallachia, Bessarabia, Greece, and other countries, besides its estates in Palestine, and especially in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, which are being continually augmented. The secretary of the Greek convent of S. Constantine, the Archimandrite Nicoferus, has purchased in the last few years a number of estates, the value of which is not less than 6,000,000 piastres, or about £48,000. The property of the monasteries is almost entirely derived from the legacies left by the monks, who purchase in their own names, to leave to the convent, which always inherits their possessions, except a small allowance to the parents of the deceased, if they are living. The purchase-money, however, must come from the common chest of the convent, for it is of course impossible that a poor monk should have the means of buying land to such an amount. However this may be, the convent ultimately obtains the property, and thus its rent-roll increases. It still keeps on receiving the offerings of the faithful, which it lays out in the purchase of real property. This the Franciscans are now forbidden by the Propaganda to acquire; they are therefore obliged to subsist, maintain their Sanctuaries, and entertain pilgrims, on the alms which, to a greater or less amount, are sent to them from Christendom. The revenues of the Armenians are chiefly supplied by landed property, by the money which they have out at interest on good security, and by the alms and dues of the pilgrims. They possess the best establishment in Jerusalem, and their revenues are well administered; but in spite of that they would not have so much influence as the Greeks and Latins, were it not for those of their religion who fill high places in the Turkish government. No part of the population furnishes so many subjects for reflexion as the Jews, who dwell in the land of their fathers, without seeking to imitate their example. A remnant of their nation, they stay in their ancient capital, to pray, to weep, and to die, in the land that should be their own. The greater part live without working, upon the gifts sent by their industrious brethren in Europe and the East. From this circumstance it will be easily understood how it is that misery and indigence prevail among them, because they depend not on labour but on alms, which diminish year by year, on account of the increasing numbers who flock to Jerusalem to share them. When these supplies are distributed slowly, or are scanty, they begin to murmur, and utter the most unreasonable and shameless complaints against their benefactors. The sole source of revenue of the Jewish community is the almsbox; and when its contents diminish, the different congregations assemble and choose persons, who are provided with papers from the Rabbis, countersigned by the Consuls, and start as collectors, returning after long journeys with the fruits of their wanderings. The alms thus obtained are carelessly and thriftlessly distributed, and not applied to any useful purpose, consequently these collections are constantly repeated. Nor are they fairly divided; the truly poor, the sick, the widows and the orphans, too weak to complain or resist, are often neglected and defrauded; they cannot write, and therefore are not feared; but those who can cry aloud and make their discontent heard, who can give trouble or annoyance by complaints and intrigues, are attended to and served. Those too who are appointed to distribute the alms are utterly unfit for the duty, giving no heed and making no endeavours to qualify themselves for it, since they are neither able nor willing to make the best of the means committed to them, and secure its being bestowed on deserving objects. In a word, the Jews at Jerusalem are unfortunate in those who manage their affairs, for they are men who neglect good advice, who are servile flatterers when they hope to gain, and discontented grumblers when they get nothing. Hence it is their own fault that the Jews are degraded and miserable, because they do not attempt to repress the abuses that prevail. If the constant arrival of idle paupers was prevented, the funds would be sufficient for those who really want. Again, most of those who come are aged men, and unable to resist the demands of certain Arabs, who term themselves their protectors. If only the Jews would act with energy against their oppressors, the Government would attend to them; but, rather than claim their rights, they submit to those who rob them of their scanty alms. Formerly they were also oppressed by the Government, which was enough to account for their unfortunate condition; but since 1855 they have had no ground of complaint on this score, for Kiamil Pasha and Surraya Pasha treated them as fairly as all the other religious communities, by affording a ready ear to their complaints, by discomfiting their enemies at Hebron, and making the roads safe which they frequent on their pilgrimage. These Governors have also made laws enforcing cleanliness in the Jewish Quarter, have protected their rights in the purchase of land and houses, have admitted them to their parties, and visited their principal men; so that it is not now the fault of the Pashas if the Jews still live in dirt and degradation. It would be well if there were a Board in Jerusalem, commissioned to investigate the motives which bring settlers into the country, and prevent those from coming whose sole mode of subsistence would be the alms of others. They might also employ part of the money entrusted to them in succouring real misery, and the rest in supporting useful institutions, in purchasing lands, and bringing them under cultivation. Thus might the Jews be rescued from their degradation, and at length rendered happy instead of miserable. We must also say a few words on the Protestant Mission to the Jews. This was established in 1840, but can scarcely be said to have met with the success that the efforts it has made, and the sums it has expended, deserve. I do not believe that the number of converts, during the 23 years that the Mission has been in operation, amounts to 150; and a very small number of these has been won in Jerusalem. Most of them, after being converted in some part of Europe, come to Palestine to find occupation, which they have lost in their native country from deserting the creed of their fathers. On arriving they are assisted and employed by the Mission; but, were they not thus cared for, I fear that many of them would relapse. In fact, though these converts read their Bibles, and rigorously conform to the observances of their new faith, they do not appear to understand it, and the benefit of the change only shews itself in their children, who have been brought up in the bosom of the Christian Church, and are thus free from the memories of the Synagogue, and not actuated by the interested motives which in some cases have influenced their fathers. Impostors also have contributed to swell the ranks of the converts, who have been excommunicated by the Rabbis, or who wish to avail themselves of some of the advantages the Mission offers, and who, after they have gained their points, return to their former allegiance. Nor do the Missionaries meet with much success among the Jewish residents in the city, or among those who come there to die; their convictions and their interest are opposed to a change of faith. Munk[899], himself a Jew, wrote thus a few years ago: "It is needless to say that the attempts of Bishop Alexander, sent to Palestine under the auspices of England and Prussia, have up to this time met with no success;" and I can assert the same of Bishop Gobat. Truth compels me to state that the Mission has not been successful at Jerusalem, and will not be (in my opinion) if the wealthy Jews in Europe take care that the affairs of their brethren in Jerusalem are properly managed. If the conversion of the Jews be desired, I believe that more success will be obtained among the larger numbers resident in Europe, than among the little band of those more strongly attached to their ancient faith, who are resident at Jerusalem. Since their efforts against Judaism have failed, the Missionaries have attempted to make proselytes from the other religious sects, but with little success. I do not wish to enter fully into the subject, but simply state that the few converts, which have been won from the other Christian communities, have to be maintained at the expense of the Mission, or they would be soon lost; and that the Mission has thus excited the jealousy of the other bodies, and exposed itself to secret and open attacks. True it is that it circulates copies of the Bible in all the languages spoken in the country; but this is not a result of so much value as it appears at first sight to be. Very many volumes indeed are given away, or purchased (and that too at a very low price); but how many of them fall into the hands of men who cannot or will not read, or are bought or taken away by the monks, and destroyed? Many copies in different languages are thus lost, which would be most valuable if distributed among more highly civilized people. It may be doubted, too, whether it is wise to circulate the entire volume, for often the reader comes upon some passage which shocks his prejudices, and so the book is cast away in disgust, because he is not yet able to bear a doctrine so different to what he has always been taught. I conclude this subject by declaring that, in the above remarks, I have not been actuated by any party spirit, but by the desire of speaking the plain truth; and I confidently appeal to those who are acquainted with the real state of affairs at Jerusalem, to bear me out in what I have felt it my duty to say. A few words must also be devoted to the Turks and the Arabs. The former govern the country; the latter endure their rule, and frequently rebel against their authority. As slaves they thoroughly hate their masters, still they are frequently reconciled by common interests, when there seems a chance of conjointly extorting money from the Christian communities. It should, however, be said, that there has been a great change for the better since 1857, owing to the excellent rule of Surraya Pasha; but still the Mohammedans are a hindrance and an evil in the country. This is not so much due to any fault in individuals, as to the bad administration of the Turkish Government at Constantinople. Their appointments are often bestowed upon the highest bidder, and again taken away when a higher appears; consequently the man who obtains a governorship of a province, a judgeship, or any other post, has invested a portion of his capital in the quest, and comes to his duties with every intention of refilling his coffers as quickly as possible, since he cannot reckon upon his stay in office. The subordinates too are miserably paid, and have hardly a shilling for the necessaries of life; consequently they have greedy palms, and so oppression, venality, injustice, and all kinds of evils, are perpetrated. The religious communities, however, do not suffer as they once did, owing to the zeal and moderation of Surraya Pasha, the energy of the Consuls, and the resistance which some of the Ecclesiastical Dignitaries have offered to grasping cupidity and unjust demands. Among these, however, we cannot reckon the Orientals, who still submit slavishly, and pay whatever is demanded, as they are dependent upon the Sublime Porte, and so must comply with the custom of the country. In conclusion, I may add, that money is all-powerful with the Turks and Arabs in Jerusalem: gold calms fanaticism, humbles the proud, renders justice uncertain and the police blind, opens the prison-doors; in a word, in that city everything has its price. The effect of this is that self-interest, as I have already said, prevents any outbreak of fanaticism against the Christians or the Jews, as the Mohammedans know full well that by this means they would be greatly the losers. A few words must also be said about the proselytes among the different Christian sects. The insane rivalries among these, far more than true conviction, produce the greater number of converts from one party to another. Of this there are many sad examples in Jerusalem. Whenever a person (I do not refer to Europeans) thinks he is wronged by his own community, he turns to another, and goes where he expects to find the greatest advantages. No one can form an idea of this commerce in religion who has not lived some time at Jerusalem and seen it for himself. The most trivial matters are enough to make a man change his creed; but happily the Missionaries and Convents are beginning to open their eyes to the true state of the case, and do not so readily admit the new converts into their church, without making previous enquiry into their character, and the reasons which have produced the change. One of the things which excites commerce and brings a little money into Jerusalem is the system of pilgrimages; and on these I purpose to say a few words, without entering into details--an endless matter. The European pilgrims are not so numerous as those from the East, and most of them are poor, so that they bring more expense than profit to the Franciscans, in whose convents they are lodged and fed, and by whom they are conducted to the spots consecrated by the events of the Old and New Testament. For this the monks ask nothing, though they accept any gift that is offered; consequently the presents are unfrequent, and seldom compensate for the expense that the donor has caused. Every pilgrim is allowed to remain a month in the hospice at Jerusalem, without any other recommendation than his passport and three days in the others in different parts of Palestine, provided he be in good health. When he is ill, according to his rank, he is nursed in the hospice, or in the hospital, without anything to pay for doctors, druggists, or attendants. It is plain, therefore, that this philanthropic undertaking of the Franciscans is on too large a scale, and is a burden to the convents, besides encouraging knaves and vagabonds, who go on pilgrimages to pass away the time and live in idleness. A judicious reform of this unlimited hospitality, and a careful scrutiny of the papers of such as appear to be vagrants, would be a beneficial change. Those who think that the pilgrims supply, in great part, the revenues which enable the Fathers of the Holy Land to bear these heavy expenses, should know that these come mainly from the different Christian nations, with whose alms the churches, schools, and houses in which the pilgrims are lodged, are maintained, and the poor and pilgrims supported. In order to give an idea of the number of the pilgrims who have availed themselves of the hospitality of the Franciscans during the last ten years, I print the following extract from the Archives of the Convent of S. Saviour: Year. | No. of Pilgrims | Length of their | received. | stay (days). | | 1850 | 3611 | 16373 1851 | 3797 | 28580 1852 | 5696 | 20109 1853 | 5574 | 21364 1854 | 4620 | 18144 1855 | 6874 | 23522 1856 | 5470 | 21302 1857 | 7196 | 26280 1858 | 5809 | 25800 1859 | 7116 | 27792 Therefore in these ten years 55,763 pilgrims have been admitted into the different convents in Palestine, who were supported during 229,346 days, and their offerings cannot have been enough to entertain them for a third part of their stay, so that the Friars cannot be said to derive any advantage from them. The Latin Patriarchate, though its revenues are small in comparison with the expenses it has to support, practises largely the virtue of hospitality, and knows well how to succour the poor and destitute. The Protestant Mission relieves the poor, but does not offer to travellers or pilgrims of its own faith the same advantage as the heads of the Latin community, who bestow their benefits upon members of other religious sects with as much care as upon their own. The Jewish community relieves its pilgrims from the moment of their arrival, admitting them into houses appointed for that purpose; but if the strangers are without means of their own, they have no great cause to praise the welcome and hospitality they receive. The great mass of pilgrims to the Holy City comes, every year, from the East, consisting of Russians, Greeks, Armenians, Syrians, Copts, Abyssinians, Maronites, and Mohammedans themselves. The greater part of these arrive at Jaffa in steam-boats or trading vessels, in which they are stowed like merchandise, or like negroes in a slave-ship. Not only men, but also entire families, women, girls, and boys, the aged, the sick, and the maimed, make the long pilgrimage. These all expose themselves to bad weather by sea and land, to great privations, and to all kinds of exactions. They assemble in large companies, carrying their provisions along with them, besides merchandize for driving bargains, together with mats for bedding, and cooking vessels, which they load upon camels, mules, and asses. They, however, in many cases walk, often bare-foot, making short stages, sleeping in the open air, or crowded together in a convent; enduring all these fatigues in order to worship in the places which Christ has consecrated by His sufferings. When they arrive at Jerusalem they betake themselves severally to the convents belonging to their own community, and there, after certain formalities, are distributed into lodgings; where, if Greeks, they are crowded together in heaps; if Armenians, they are more comfortable; and if Russians, they have every comfort. I will not weary the reader by relating what the arrangements of the different communities are with regard to their pilgrims; but will only describe those of the Greeks, as they receive the greatest number of all. The Greek pilgrims of high rank are conducted into apartments assigned to them, where they are well lodged and nourished, according to their importance and dignity. They are not asked for money, but are given to understand the wants of the community, and the needs of the Church; so that they pay liberally for the hospitality they have received, and for the churches and Sanctuaries they have visited. The common pilgrims, after reposing two days in the great convent of S. Constantine, are presented to the Patriarch, who receives an offering from each, under the name of a contribution to the wants of the churches and convents of his diocese. They are then conducted into the Church of the Resurrection, where they pass a night in prayer, and make other offerings to the Guardian of the Sepulchre for the maintenance of the Sanctuaries. On being brought back into the convent, a plentiful repast is provided for them, and their names are enrolled for the pilgrimages to the Jordan and Nazareth, for which they pay a tax. They are then conducted to their lodgings, or rather dens, in one of the numerous convents in Jerusalem. On taking possession of these, they pay a sum proportionate to the expense of their pilgrimage, amounting only to eight or ten shillings. They must, however, make a present in addition, to the church of the place, to those who have brought them, to the Superior who receives them, and to the laics who assist to instal them in their new quarters. When they are settled, they are taken to visit the Tomb of the Virgin and all the churches of the convents, where they pay. They make pilgrimages to Bethlehem, and all the other remarkable places. They buy relics, ask for prayers and blessings, but always pay; so that after being entertained at their own expense for four or five months, and after having expended their resources, many are obliged to sell their baggage to return to their native lands, taking back with them the articles they have acquired with so much toil, all of which however have received a blessing. That they are crowded together, and may be said to occupy dens rather than lodgings, appears from the fact, that sometimes eight persons are quartered in a room 16 or 18 feet square, who have not unfrequently met for the first time, and are from different countries; so that the reader may easily conceive the inconveniences they suffer, and the maladies that are caused by the straitened accommodation, especially when the winter happens to be more rainy than usual. Notwithstanding all the observations that have been made on this barbarous manner of lodging, they are always tenacious of their ancient customs; but as Russia now provides well for her own pilgrims, it is to be hoped that the Greeks, having more space, will find some better manner of accommodating theirs. With the Armenians the pilgrims are better cared for in every respect; but they have to pay for everything, as with the Greeks. The pilgrims of the different communities are on no better terms one with another than the convents themselves; consequently quarrels break out every year, in which, though life is not lost, bruises and blows of sticks are plentifully bestowed. These contests are most frequent between the Greeks and the Armenians; and the monks, instead of attempting to allay the strife, rather excite it. I conclude by giving a list of the schools, hospitals, hospices, and other establishments, belonging to the different communities in Jerusalem. The Jews possess:-- 8 Schools (now perhaps more). 1 Hospital, bearing Rothschild's name. 2 Houses used as Hospices (now perhaps more). 1 Large building for lodging the poor, called after Sir M. Montefiore. The Mohammedans:-- 1 Military Hospital. 1 Hospice, called after Saladin. 1 Hospice of the Kusbeck Dervishes. 1 Tekhiyeh el-Khasseki-Sultane, where the poor are supported. A number of unimportant Schools. Several ruined buildings in the _Haram es-Sherîf_, in which the poor are lodged. The Lepers' Quarter. The Orthodox Greeks:-- 1 Seminary, called after the Holy Cross. 2 Boys' Schools. 1 Girls' School. 1 Free Dispensary. 18 Convents for accommodating Pilgrims. A number of houses used for the same purpose, and many others for the poor of the community. 1 Printing Press. The Latins:-- 1 Patriarchal Seminary at Beit-jala. 1 Boys' School, kept by the Friars Minor. 2 Girls' Schools, one kept by the Sisters of S. Joseph; the other by the Daughters of Sion. 1 Hospital of S. Louis. 1 Hospice of the Casa Nuova. 1 Hospice, called after the Flagellation. 1 Hospice (the Austrian). 1 Printing Press. 1 Carpenter's shop. 1 Forge. Several houses for the poor of the community. The Armenians:-- 1 Seminary. 1 Printing Press. 1 Boys' School. 1 Girls' School. Magnificent Lodgings for Pilgrims. Houses for the poor. Protestant Missions:-- 1 Boys' School. 1 Girls' School. 1 Girls' School, managed by the Prussian Deaconesses. 1 Hospital under the same care. 1 Hospice (Prussian). 1 Hospital (English). 1 Carpenters' School. 1 Reading Room. Some houses belonging to the Prussians. Russians:-- 1 Hospital. Magnificent Lodgings for Pilgrims. Copts:-- 1 Hospice. Houses for members of their community. The other communities have only their convents. In a population of only 20,453 inhabitants, where there are so many schools and so many establishments, it is a great misfortune that no progress is seen, and that there does not appear to be even the hope of obtaining it for a long time to come. FOOTNOTES: [898] To show the sums received by the reverend Franciscan Fathers of the Holy Land, I think it will prove interesting if I give the following account published in a pamphlet, _L'Eco Francescano_, printed at Madrid in the year 1854. It is an authentic statement of the sums sent by the Catholic states to the Holy Land between the years 1650 and 1850. I do not add the details of the manner in which the amount was expended, because I have not the necessary papers; but I do not exaggerate when I say that those who have derived the greatest advantage from it have been the ministers of the Ottoman Porte and their dependents. Spanish Reals. Spain sent 146,362,280 The Austrian States (Lombardy and Venice are not distinct) 18,361,680 France 2,499,420 Naples 14,091,560 Portugal 39,685,480 Sicily 5,275,000 Rome 2,205,660 Tuscany 3,290,800 Island of Sardinia 1,137,700 Island of Malta 1,439,360 Piedmont 5,578,120 ----------- Total 239,737,060 About 11,996,883 francs, nearly half a million sterling, of which not a centime remains. [899] Palestine, p. 653. NOTES. NOTES ON CHAPTER I. NOTE I. See Eusebius, Hist. Eccles. IV. 2 sqq.; and his book on the Martyrs of Palestine, chap. 11; Dio's resumé of the history of the reign of Hadrian; S. Jerome, Letter to Paulinus. NOTE II. Neby Samwîl (Prophet Samuel) is a village on the N.W. of Jerusalem, at a distance of about three hours from the city. From its summit the Mediterranean and the Dead Sea are visible, and it commands a magnificent view of Palestine to the East and West. This is not the place to say anything of this site in its connexion with ancient topography; I will merely state in passing that I dissent from the opinion of Dr Robinson, who would identify the place with Mizpeh, the frequent meeting-place of the Jews (Judges xx.; 1 Sam. vii. 6, 12, x. 17, 24); I believe it to be Ramah. For here is found the sepulchre of the prophet Samuel, which I have myself seen, and from the earliest times to this day the Israelites have constantly undertaken pilgrimages in order to touch even the outer walls which enclose the tomb. Accordingly I identify the Ramah mentioned in 1 Sam. xxv. 1 and xxviii. 3, and the Ramah of Josephus (Ant. VI. 13, § 5), with the Arab village of Neby Samwîl. In my book on the tombs of Machpelah, Ephratah, and Ramah, this point will be discussed at length. NOTE III. "He removed thence (from Gabaoth Saul), and came to a place called Scopus; from whence the city began already to be seen, and a plain view might be taken of the great temple." (Josephus, Wars, V. 2, § 3.) Titus himself, with 600 horsemen, had made a reconnoitring expedition before he encamped at Scopus, during which he was intercepted by a body of the Jews, and had a very narrow escape with his life. Scopus was, however, the first place from which the main army obtained a view of the city. NOTE IV. Above each of the gates of Jerusalem is inserted a stone bearing the following inscription, which was translated for me from the Arabic (Plate VII.): "The Sultan our sovereign, the most potent king, and illustrious monarch, the lord of the nations, the king of the Greeks, Arabs, and Persians, the Sultan Solyman (whose reign may God render happy and immortal!) caused the building of these holy walls, in the year 941;" of the Hejra, that is, corresponding to 1534 of the common era. NOTE V. I subjoin the following note for the information of travellers, that they may not have to pass the night outside the Jaffa gate, or on Fridays lose valuable time. The gates of the city are all closed at sunset, the Jaffa gate a little later, that being the one by which all foot-passengers enter the city, and by which the inhabitants of the city go out for their walks. A person reaching Jerusalem after all the gates are closed can procure entrance by the Jaffa gate only, on obtaining a permit from the governor. Every Friday at the hour of prayer (i.e. from noon to 1 P.M.) all the gates of the city are closed, and it is difficult to obtain permission to have them opened. This is done to allow time to the guards in charge for their devotions. NOTE VI. The following are the names of the principal streets of Jerusalem: _Harat bâb-el-'Amud_ (the street of the Column-gate), crosses the city from North to South; _Souk el-Kebir_ (the street of the Grand Bazaar), runs from West to East, and is the same which in the time of the Crusades was called the Street of David; _Harat el-Alam_ (the _Via Dolorosa_), starts from the gate of S. Mary, passes to the barrack on Mount Moriah, then after bearing for a short way to the South in the Tyropoeon valley, takes again a Westerly direction as far as the Porta Judiciaria; _Harat el-Naçâra_ (the street of the Christians), from the Holy Sepulchre to the Latin Convent; _Harat el-Arman_ (the Armenian street), on the East of the Castle; _Harat el-Yahud_ (the Jews' street) is situated on the Eastern slope of Mount Sion; _Harat bâb Hotta_, the street that runs parallel to the Temple in the central valley; And many others, which are little frequented, and are not worthy of mention. NOTES ON CHAPTER II. NOTE I. The drainage system of the city is divided into the Southern, Northern, and Eastern sections, the division of the two former being marked by the street called the Street of David. The keeping in repair of the Southern section is the business of the local governor, and in consideration thereof he receives a fixed annual sum from the Armenians and the Jews, as inhabitants of that quarter. The Northern section as far as the central valley is kept in repair by the Latin and Greek convents, this district containing the quarters of their respective nations. All the drainage on the Eastern side is under the sole charge of the governor. The Arabs very seldom take the trouble to look after their own sewers, but are zealous enough in enforcing the execution of repairs which belong to the Christian communities; and since the latter have them executed with an ill-will, and employ men of no experience for the direction of the works, the drains are choked and flooded almost every year, and are constantly being opened for repairs; a cause of no slight annoyance in the city. It was during these works that, for eight successive years, I had the opportunity of examining their formation, their respective inclines, and directions, from which I found that they all run into the central valley (the Tyropoeon Valley of my map), and thence drain away to the S.E. outside the city, as far as the large pool, now filled up, below the fountain of Siloam. The Christians have been obliged to accept the performance of these and other foul works since the commencement of the supremacy of the Arabs and Turks, who have submitted them to the most severe humiliations, and to the most vile and oppressive tasks. NOTE II. On the subject of "cubits" and stadia, I transcribe the remarks of M. Munk, in his book entitled "La Palestine," subjoining an account of my own special observations on the subject. "The measures of length, called _Middoth_, are generally referred to the hand and arm; the following are mentioned: (1) _Eçba_ (Jer. lii. 21), _the finger_, i.e. the breadth of the finger or thumb; (2) _Tephach_ (1 Kings vii. 26), or _tophach_ (Exodus xxv. 25), the _hand-breadth_, i.e. the breadth of four fingers; (3) _Zereth_ (Exodus xxviii. 16), the distance between the tips of the thumb and little finger, or the _span_; (4) _Ammah_, the whole length of the fore-arm, or _cubit_. The relative value of these measures is not indicated in any part of the Bible; to fix it, we must consult Josephus and the Rabbinic traditions. In Exodus xxv. 10, the dimensions of the ark are stated as follows; length 2-1/2 cubits, breadth 1-1/2 cubits, height 1-1/2 cubits. Josephus, in the Antiquities (III. 6, § 5), represents the 2-1/2 cubits by 5 spans, and for 1-1/2 cubits puts 3 spans: hence the span was the half of the cubit. The Rabbins agree with Josephus; according to them the zereth is half a cubit, referring to the mean cubit[A] which contained six hand-breadths, each hand-breadth being equivalent to four fingers. These data may be adhered to as exact, because the same proportions recur in other ancient systems. Thus for example the Greeks had their cubits of 1-1/2 feet, which made six hand-breadths or 24 fingers; Herodotus (II. 149) speaks of a cubit of six hands in use amongst the Egyptians. We have then for the relative values of the Hebrew measures the following table: _Ammah_ 1 _Zereth_ 2 . 1 _Tephach_ 6 . 3 . 1 _Eçba_ 24 . 12 . 4 . 1 "The knowledge of the absolute value of any one of these would therefore be sufficient to enable us to deduce those of the rest; but since on this point we have no positive datum, in the writings either of Josephus or of the Rabbins, we must be contented with an approximate estimate by the aid of the Egyptian measures, which modern discoveries enable us to fix with a certain precision. It is probable, besides, that the system of the Hebrews was borrowed from that of the Egyptians. The Rabbins determine their measures of length by the breadth of grains of barley placed side by side--a custom which also prevails amongst the Arabs and other Eastern tribes. It is easily seen that there is an uncertainty in this method of measurement, owing to the unequal sizes of the barley-grains. Maimonides, who has made minute calculations on the subject, has found that the Eçba of the Bible is equal to the breadth of seven average-sized grains of barley[B], which gives for the _Ammah_ 168. It is found by calculations sufficiently exact that the Arab cubit, which is estimated at 144 grains of barley (that is, twenty-four fingers of six grains each), when reduced to (Paris) lines and decimal parts of lines, gives 213.050[C], which would give for the Hebrew _Ammah_ of 168 barley-grains 248.564 (about 560 millimetres, or 22 inches). This result is not thoroughly exact, but it will be seen that it does not differ much from the probable value of the Egyptian measures;--at any rate it may serve to establish the connexion which existed between the measures of the Hebrews and those of the Egyptians. "But another question presents itself. The learned have attributed to the Hebrews more than one kind of cubit[D], and while we reject mere conjectures that have no solid basis, we must at any rate admit two kinds; the one ancient or Mosaic, used for the measurement of sacred things, the other modern, for common use. In the second book of Chronicles (iii. 3), a 'cubit of the first measure,' or ancient cubit, is spoken of as employed for the measurements of the Temple of Solomon,--which implies the existence of a modern or common cubit. The prophet Ezekiel (xl. 5, xliii. 13) in a vision in which he sees the dimensions of the future temple, speaks evidently of a cubit containing a hand-breadth more than the ordinary cubit, from which we may conclude that between the two cubits there was a difference of a hand-breadth. This difference the Talmud interprets in the sense, that the less contained only five of the six hand-breadths of the greater[E]; but it would be more consistent to give them the same ratio as the two different Egyptian cubits had, i.e. that of 7 : 6, approximately. Further, it is probable that each of the two was divided into six hand-breadths; the Talmud speaks expressly of longer and shorter hand-breadths[F]. The old Mosaic cubit was, without doubt, the royal cubit of the Egyptians, and the different scales of this still extant, together with the measurements of several Egyptian monuments, give for its mean value about 525 millimetres[G] (or 20.67 inches). This result appears less doubtful since it differs by only 35 millimetres from that which was found by the very uncertain calculation of the breadth of the barley-grains. Admitting this, we obtain for the value of the ordinary cubit 450 millimetres or 433.5 (i.e. 17.71 or 17.07 inches), according as we take the Egyptian ratio 7 : 6 or that of the Talmud 6 : 5. Each of these two cubits was divided in the same proportion into two spans, six hand-breadths, and twenty-four fingers. "With measures of length may be classed those of distance, or road-measures; but the old Hebrews measured their roads in a very vague and uncertain manner; and as we shall not need to refer to their measurements in this book, I leave the discussion of them to turn to those which are necessary. "In the Græco-Roman period the Jews reckoned by stadia and miles; which measures are found in the Old Testament and in the Talmud, as is also the _Sabbath-day's journey_ (Acts i. 12), which was about 2000 cubits." Josephus also often quotes his measurements in stadia, so I will speak of these. Three principal kinds of stadia are known; the Olympic, equivalent to 184.95 metres (or 606.8 feet); the Pythian, equal to 147.6 metres (or 484.3 feet), and lastly the Philæterian, of 213 metres (or 698.8 feet). Through the whole of this work I have adopted the Olympic, because in the measurements taken in Jerusalem itself, and its environs, I have found that it alone corresponds with all the distances which are cited in stadia by Josephus. That author, speaking of the Mount of Olives, puts it at five stadia from the city, Mount Scopus at seven, the monument of Absalom at two, Herodium at sixty, and lastly, Anathoth at twenty stadia. All these distances I have verified, comparing them with the Olympic stadium, and have always found them exact. Hence it is that I employ this to measure the thirty-three stadia of the city's circumference, and the thirty-nine of the lines drawn round it by Titus, &c. For the sacred cubit of the first measure I have adopted the Egyptian of 20.67 inches, and for the common cubit that of 17.71 inches, as a result of the extended observation and study of measurements that I have made on the old stones which are found in the Eastern wall of the Temple, or of the Haram es-Sherîf; with considerable difficulty I have managed to measure many such which have suffered no mutilation, and have found them to correspond with the ordinary cubits and their aliquot parts of spans, hand-breadths, and digits. In case the reader should desire to examine more minutely the question of Jewish measures, I refer him to the following works, to which the numerals in the text above relate. [A] David Kimchi's Dictionary, s. vv. 'Zereth' and 'Tephach;' Maimonides, _Comment. on Mishna_, part 5, tract _Middoth_, ch. 3, § 1, part 6; tract _Kilim_, ch. 17, § 9. [B] Maimonides, _Mische Thorah_, or _Summary of the Talmud_, Bk. II. sect. 3 (_Sepher Thorah_), ch. 9, § 9. [C] Böckh's Metrologische Untersuchungen, p. 247. Bertheau, ch. 1, p. 60. [D] Leusden, Philologus Hebræomixtus, p. 211, where four kinds of cubits are mentioned; the _common_, the _Sacred_, the _royal_, and the _geometrical_. [E] Maimonides, Comment. on the Mishna, tract _Middoth_, III. 1; _Mishna_, tract _Ketim_; the commentaries of Raschi and Kimchi on Ezek. xl. 5. [F] Babylonish Talmud, tract _Succa_, fol. 7, a. Compare Buxtorf, Lexicon Talmudicum, coll. 900 and 2370. [G] Böckh finds 524.587 millimetres, nearly 232.55 lines. See Bertheau, c. 1, p. 83. NOTE III. The Armenians, in the various new edifices that they have built on Mount Sion, have found remains of walls, stones, reservoirs and cisterns of the most remote antiquity, generally at a depth of eighteen or even twenty feet below the surface, sometimes more. Before my arrival in Jerusalem, whilst digging for foundations they found a large quantity of small blocks of limestone of five and seven inches cube, dressed on every side, and so many in number that they employed them to build high and long unmortared walls, which to this day surround their property on the south inside the city. These stones were found collected together in one place, and were not scattered about: it is not impossible that they had been prepared to line the walls of a large pool. I say this because stones of this shape are now found in the pool of Bethesda, but in this reservoir they are wrought with more accuracy and uniformity. In my own time, in 1859, they discovered a pool, cut in the solid rock, which shewed however that the work had not been completed; it was 18 feet long, 10 broad, and 10 deep. In its neighbourhood were seen traces of conduits that they had begun to cut out in the rock. On the same site I have examined a wall made of blocks of stone roughly squared, combined with others of a polygonal form; the size of the stones for the most part being from two to four cubic feet, and all the interstices between them on the two faces and inside being filled with small stones well fitted together without any trace of cement. At an angle where the stones were larger I observed that they were secured together by means of tenons and mortises of parallelepipedal form cut in the stone itself. The wall was about 5-1/2 feet broad by 6 feet high; but it was evident that it must have been mutilated at some time. I assign it to the age of the Jebusites. Another wall, six feet broad, was composed of large irregular blocks of stone of from four to eight cubic feet. In it could be distinguished four rows placed one above the other, whose stones were fastened by clamps of iron or of stone, and in each was discernible more or less some trace of rude rustic work: in the interstices of the interior were inserted small stones well packed together without cement, so that the internal building of the wall formed a solid mass. To their discredit the Armenians do not trouble themselves about antiquities, and consequently take no pains to preserve such ancient remains as they meet with, but destroy or hide them, or avail themselves of the materials for the building of new walls. NOTE IV. In the environs of the city, with the exception of the north and north-west, are frequently found walls, conduits, and scattered stones of large size, rusticated or not, and with or without marks of clamps; but they have been constantly broken up because of the want of will, and also of mechanical means, to make the most of them, or to remove them. Owing to this vandalism, the most precious remains of antiquity are daily disappearing from the soil of Jerusalem. Not seldom trunks of columns, capitals, pedestals, have been found, but some rude clown has broken them up, to be able the more easily to transport the fragments into the city. Sometimes old walls have been broken up by blasting, without any one's taking the trouble to preserve them, or even to delay their destruction, so as to allow of some examination of them. These cases are repeated daily on Mount Sion, on the east of the Mount of Olives, and on the western side of the valley of Kidron; but never in any part where it is not known from human memory, or received tradition, that there have been found remains of Jewish buildings, or large stones scattered over the soil. On the north and north-west I have made various excavations in order to recover, if possible, one of the Herodian stones of twenty cubits (Josephus, Jewish War, V. 4, § 2); but after repeated and careful research I have failed to find a single one, I do not say of twenty cubits, but even of four: nothing is found there but rock and small unshapen stones, which do not however give one the idea that they have ever formed part of blocks of larger dimensions. NOTE V. To facilitate the reader's understanding of the allusions in the course of the work, it is necessary that I should indicate the titles by which I characterise the different walls and stones which are found at Jerusalem. _Jebusite Walls_. This name and age I assign to those that are built of unsquared stones of different sizes, some of which are fastened together by tenon and mortise; the interstices being filled with small stones. (See Note III.) _Walls of David_. By this name I indicate those walls whose stones are of considerable size and rudely squared, and which present some trace of irregular rustic-work, and are always fastened by tenons of stone or clamps of iron. _Walls of Solomon_. (See Plate X.) Walls of Solomon I call those that are composed of large blocks of stone, that have not all the same breadth and height, and whose rude rustic-work, about two inches in relief, is surrounded by a flat band of from two inches to two inches and a half. They are fastened together by tenons and mortises in the stone itself, or by cubical pieces inlaid, of a different stone from the block itself, and contain no cement. The various layers of stone one above the other are in one vertical plane, and diminish in thickness the higher they rise; but the vertical joinings of the stones of any layer do not correspond with any regularity with those of a higher or lower layer (Fig. 1): this kind is especially found in the basement of the east wall of the Haram. By the _wall of Nehemiah_ I mean that which presents many blocks of the same character with those of the walls of Solomon; but these are joined together in an irregular manner, that is to say, the several layers are not formed of stones of equal heights, some stones appear to be turned upside down, in some the rustic-work is mutilated in places, many are placed aslant, and lastly, not a few shew the holes where the clamps have been (that is, the side is put in front); and besides, there are mixed with these small stones which appear with a portion of rustication, which shews that the large stones of the old wall have been broken in order to place them more carefully in their position. I assign them to Nehemiah, because the Bible informs us (Neh. iv. 17, 18, vi. 15), that he conducted the work in the midst of alarms, the workmen being all armed, so as to render the walls fit to sustain the assaults with which their enemies were threatening them every moment. Accordingly to this they owe the irregularity with which they were formed (Fig. 2). What I have described may be observed in the east wall of the Haram towards the southern end. _Herodian walls_ I judge to be those which present large squared blocks, polished with accurate exactness, and joined together without cement, but with the most delicate care: they have a rustication, much wrought, standing two or three lines in relief, and surrounded by a band of about an inch and a half wide. In these walls the sizes of the stones diminish regularly as they rise higher from the ground, and the vertical joinings of alternate layers correspond exactly throughout, and are at the middle points of the stones which separate the two layers; lastly, every layer is an inch and a half in rear of the preceding. Walls of this kind are found at the S.E. corner of the Haram, and in its western enclosure towards the south (Fig. 3). _The Roman walls_ are formed of fine squared stones, well wrought, joined by means of cement. They may be seen on the south and at the south-west corner of the Haram (Fig. 4). The walls built by the Crusaders, or by the old Arabs (Saracenic work), reveal themselves at once by the economical proportion of the stones, by the excellent way in which they are joined, and sometimes by their being formed of rows of different colours, red, white, and black (Fig. 5). The Arab walls of the present day are distinguished by their miserable appearance. NOTE VI. At the first entry of Omar into the city he was conducted by the Patriarch Sophronius to visit the Holy Sepulchre. Whilst he was lingering there, mid-day struck, whereupon the Khalif went out to perform his devotions, and retired to the place where afterwards the little mosque was built;--a remarkable instance of moderation on the part of the Khalif, seeing that, if he had prayed in the Christian church, it would by Mohammedan law have been converted into a mosque. It is owing to this that the sons of Islam have left it to the Christian worship. The adjoining minaret was built by the Mohammedans at the expense of the Christians in the 13th century. NOTE VII. M. Munk, in his book on Palestine writes, "We enumerate here the gates of Jerusalem in their actual order, as ascertained, if not with certainty, at any rate with probable accuracy, starting from the North-west and passing thence to the West, South and East, so as to make the circuit of the walls. (1) The gate called the _ancient_ or _first gate_ on the North-east; (2) the _gate of Ephraim_, or of _Benjamin_, on the North, leading to the allotments of these two tribes; (3) the _Corner-gate_ on the North-west, at a distance of 400 cubits from the preceding; (4) the _Valley-gate_, on the West, leading probably to the _valley of Gihon_, and the dragon-well (Neh. ii. 13); (5) the _Dung-gate_ on the South-west, 1000 cubits from the preceding (Ibid. iii. 13), apparently the same which was afterwards called the _gate of the Essenes_; (6) the _Fountain-gate_ on the South-east, so called from the fountain of Siloam (?), possibly the same which Jeremiah (xix. 2) calls _Harsith_ (_Pottery-gate_), and which led to the valley of Hinnom. On the South side, where Mount Sion is inaccessible, there were probably no gates. There remain still five gates, which must have been on the East or South-east of the Temple in the following order from South to North; (7) the _Water-gate_; (8) the _Horse-gate_; (9) the _gate of the Review_ or _numbering_ (vulg. Porta Judicialis, Neh. iii. 31); (10) the _Sheep-gate_; (11) the _Fish-gate_;--the _Prison-gate_ (Neh. xii. 39) appears to have been one of the gates of the Temple." NOTE VIII. The present castle is called by some the Castle of the Pisans; and Adrichomius says that it was built by them when the Latins were the masters of Jerusalem. His words are, "The castle of the Pisans, surrounded by broad fosses, and by towers, was built on the West side of the city by the Christians of Pisa in Italy, at the time when they occupied the Holy Land. Where the Pisans formerly were, the Saracens, and at the present time the Turks, levy a sacrilegious tribute on the pilgrims to the Holy Land." I cannot attribute to the Pisans the entire building of the edifice, but I grant that they may have restored it in great part. It is certain that Solyman repaired this castle in the year 1534; the inscriptions above the entrance tell us thus much. NOTE IX. Traditions in the East are very unwavering, a fact recognised by all. For instance, we are told that the Judgment Hall was near to the Temple, on the west side; to this day the Mohammedan tribunal is there, and the Arabs say that their judges sit in the very Judgment Hall not only of the Crusaders but of Solomon. I grant that the walls of the building do not indicate that it is of the age of Solomon, but I shall discuss this building more in detail hereafter. NOTE X. _Description of Jerusalem by Tacitus_ (_H._ V. 10-12). "Accordingly, as we have said, he (Titus) pitched his camp before the walls of Jerusalem, and made a display of his forces, having drawn them up in battle array. The Jews formed their line close under the walls, where, if success attended them, they could venture further out, and at the same time had a place of shelter ready, in case they should be driven back. "The cavalry were sent against them together with the light-armed auxiliaries, and fought with doubtful issue; but in time the enemy gave way, and on the following days engaged in frequent skirmishings before the gates, till by their repeated losses they were driven within the walls. The Romans then prepared to carry the place by assault, thinking it unworthy of them to wait till the enemy should be starved out, and volunteered for the dangerous duty of the storming party, some from real valour, many from a reckless bravery and coveting its special rewards. Titus himself had Rome with its wealth and pleasures before his eyes, which seemed to be retarded should not Jerusalem fall at once. But the city, naturally difficult of access, was further strengthened by works and defences which would prove sufficient protection even on level ground. For two hills, which rise to a considerable elevation, were enclosed by walls scientifically made to slant or bend inwards, in order that the flank of a besieging party might be exposed to fire. The edge of the rock breaks off in precipices, and the towers were built to the height of 60 feet, where the form of the mountain added to the height, and to a height of 120 in the lower ground, presenting a wonderful appearance, and at a distance seemingly of equal height. There was a second line of walls inside surrounding the king's palace, and the conspicuous roof of the Antonian tower, so named by Herod in compliment to Marcus Antonius. "The Temple was a sort of citadel with walls of its own, superior to the rest in construction and finish; the porticoes by which the circuit of the building was made, forming themselves an excellent rampart. It contains a spring of never-failing water, and large reservoirs hollowed out under the soil, and pools and cisterns for storing the rain-water. Its builders had foreseen that frequent wars must arise from the singularity of their customs, and so had provided everything even to meet a long siege; and when the city was taken by Pompeius, their fears and experiences had taught them most of the necessary precautions. And availing themselves of the greed of the reign of Claudius, they purchased the right of fortifying the town, and built walls in time of peace, in apparent anticipation of war--a medley population, its numbers swollen by the disasters of other cities; for all the most headstrong men had taken refuge there, and therefore they were more riotous in their behaviour. They had three leaders, and three armies. The outermost and widest line of walls was defended by Simon, the middle of the city by John, the Temple by Eleazar. John and Simon had the largest number of troops, and the most efficiently armed, while Eleazar had the strongest position: but internecine fighting, treachery, and incendiarism were rife amongst them, and a great quantity of corn was burnt. In time John having sent a detachment of soldiers to murder Eleazar and his band, under plea of offering sacrifice, made himself master of the Temple. In this way the city split up into two factions, till on the approach of the Romans harmony was produced by the war from without." NOTE XI. _THE PILGRIM OF BORDEAUX'S DESCRIPTION OF JERUSALEM._ "There are in Jerusalem two large pools by the side of the Temple; to wit, one on the right, and another on the left, which Solomon made. Inside the city there be two pools with five porticoes, which are called Bethsaida: there men with diseases of many years' standing were healed. The water of these pools is somewhat turbid and of a reddish hue. There likewise is a crypt, where Solomon was wont to torture the unclean spirits. There is the corner of a very high tower, whither the Lord went up, and he that tempted said unto Him, (Cast thyself down from hence); and the Lord said unto him, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God, but Him only shalt thou serve. There is also the great corner-stone of which it was said, The stone which the builders rejected. Also at the head of the corner and under the battlements of the tower itself are several chambers on the spot where Solomon had his palace. There too standeth the chamber in the which he sat, and described Wisdom, which chamber is roofed by one single stone. There are two large reservoirs for the subterraneous water, and pools built with great labour. And in the building itself where the Temple was, which Solomon built, you would say that the blood of Zacharias on the marble before the altar had been shed this very day; and the marks of the nails of the soldiers who slew him are so plainly seen, that you would think they had been planted on wax over the whole area. Also there be there two statues of Hadrian, and not far from the statues is a stone much worn, to which the Jews come every year, and anoint it, and bemoan themselves with sighs and rend their garments, and so depart. There is also the house of Hezekiah, king of Judah. Also as you go out into Jerusalem to go up mount Sion, below you on the left in the valley hard by the wall is a pool which is called Siloam. It has four porches, and another large pool without. Its spring runs for six days and nights, but on the seventh is an entire Sabbath, and it runs not by night nor by day. Continuing along the same road up mount Sion, you may see the place where was the house of Caiaphas the priest, and to this time the column still remains where they scourged Jesus. Within the walls of Sion is seen the place where David had his palace, and of seven synagogues which were there one only remains; the rest are ploughed and sown over, as the prophet Esaias foretold. Then to proceed outside the wall, as you go from Sion to the Neapolitan gate, on the right in the valley below are the walls where was once the palace of Pontius Pilate; there our Lord had hearing before He suffered. On the left is the hill of Golgotha, where the Lord was crucified. About a stone's throw thence is the crypt where His body was laid, and on the third day He rose again: on this spot Constantine the Emperor has erected lately a basilica, or church, of wondrous beauty, having at the side reservoirs from which water is drawn, and behind it a bath where children are baptized. "Also at Jerusalem, as you go to the Eastern gate, to climb the slope of the Mount of Olives, on the left is the valley, called the Valley of Jehoshaphat, where are the vines, and the stone where Judas Iscariot betrayed Christ; while on the right is the palm-tree from which the children plucked the boughs, as Christ entered the city, and strewed them in the way before Him. Not far thence, about a stone's throw, are two monumental columns of wondrous beauty: on one was placed the statue of the prophet Isaiah, a true monolith, and on the other Hezekiah, the king of the Jews. Thence you ascend the Mount of Olives, where the Lord taught His Apostles before His Passion. There a basilica was built by order of Constantine. Not far thence is the mountain whither the Lord went out to pray, when He took with Him Peter and John, and there appeared unto them Moses and Elias. Eastward thence at 1500 paces is a village called Bethany, in which is a crypt where Lazarus was laid, whom the Lord raised to life." NOTE XII. _Description of Jerusalem during the occupation of the Franks, extracted from the Universal Geography of Edrisi, who wrote at the middle of the 12th century._ "JERUSALEM. "_Beït el-Mocaddas_ (Jerusalem) is an illustrious and ancient city, full of ancient monuments. It bears the name of Ilia (_Ælia Capitolina_). Situated on a mountain easy of access on every side," (Edrisi was mistaken, or has been mistranslated), "it extends from West to East. On the West is the gate called _El-Mihrab_; beneath is the cupola of David (to whom God be merciful): on the East the gate called the Gate of Mercy, which is generally shut, being opened only on the Feast of Palms; to the South the gate of _Seihun_ (Sion); on the North the gate called the Gate of _'Amud el-Ghorab_. Starting from the western gate, or gate of _El-Mihrab_, you go in an easterly direction by a broad street, till you come to the great Church of the Resurrection, called by Mohammedans _Comamé_. This church is the object of the pilgrimage of Christians from all countries of the East and the West. Entering by the western door you find yourself under a cupola which covers the whole enclosure, and which is one of the most remarkable sights in the world. The church itself is beneath this door, and it is not possible to go down into the lower part of the building on this side; the descent is made on the north side by a door which opens at the top of a long staircase of thirty steps, which door is called _Bâb Sitti Mariam_. At the entrance of the church the spectator finds the Holy Sepulchre, a building of considerable size, with two doors, and surmounted by a cupola of very solid construction, built with admirable skill; of these two doors one, on the north side, faces the door of S. Mary, the other faces the South, and is called _Bâb es-Salubié_ (door of the Crucifixion): on this side is the peristyle of the church, in front of which, towards the east, is another church of considerable size and note, where the Christians celebrate their holy offices and make their prayers and oblations. "On the east of this church, by a gentle descent, you come to the prison where the Lord Messiah was confined, and to the place where he was crucified. The large dome has a circular opening to the sky, and all round it and in the interior are seen pictures representing the Prophets, the Lord Messiah, S. Mary his mother, and S. John Baptist. Among the lamps which are hung above the Holy Sepulchre are distinguished three which are of gold and are placed in a particular spot. If you leave the principal church, and turn your steps eastward, you will come to the sacred dwelling, which was built by Solomon the son of David, and was a resort of pilgrims in the time of the greatness of the Jews. This temple was subsequently taken from them, and they were driven out of it upon the arrival of the Mohammedans. Under the Moslem supremacy it was enlarged, and is (at this day) the large mosque known to Mohammedans under the name of _Mesjid el-Aksa_. There is none in the world which equals it in size, if you except the great mosque of Cordova in Andalusia: for, as I am told, the roof of that mosque is larger than that of _Mesjid el-Aksa_. To proceed, the area of this latter forms a parallelogram whose length is two hundred fathoms (_ba'a_) and its breadth a hundred and eighty. The half of this space, which is near to the _Mihrab_, is covered by a roof (or rather by a dome) of stone supported by several rows of columns, the rest being open to the sky. In the centre of the building is a large dome, known as the _Dome of the Rock_: it has been ornamented with arabesques in gold, and with other beautiful works, by the care of different Moslem Khalifs. Beneath this is the falling stone. This stone is of a quadrangular form like a shield, one of its extremities rising above the ground to the height of about half a fathom, the other being close to the ground; it is nearly cubical, and its breadth nearly equal to its length, that is to say, about ten cubits (_Zira'a_). Beneath is a cavern, or a dark recess, ten cubits long by five wide, whose height is about six feet. It is entered only by torch-light. The building contains four doors; opposite the western is seen the altar on which the children of Israel offered their sacrifices; near the eastern door is the church called the Holy of Holies, an elegant building; on the south is a chapel which was used by the Mohammedans, but the Christians made themselves masters of it by main force, and it has remained in their power up to the time of the present work (1154 A.D.). They have converted this chapel into a convent, where reside certain members of the order of the Templars, i.e. of the Servants of the House of God. Lastly, the northern door faces a garden well planted with different kinds of trees, and surrounded by columns of marble carved with much skill. At the end of the garden is a refectory for the priests, and for those who are preparing to enter the religious orders. "Leaving this place of worship, and turning eastward, you will come to the _Gate of Mercy_, shut, as we have just said, but near it is another gate by which you can go in or out, and which is called _Bâb el-Asbat_ (or of the tribes of Israel). Within bow-shot from the latter is a very large and very beautiful church under the patronage of S. Mary, known by the name of _Djesmanié_; here is the tomb (of the Virgin) in sight of the Mount of Olives, about a mile distant from _Bâb el-Asbat_. On the road by which this mountain is ascended is seen another church, large and solidly built, which is called the church of the _Pater Noster_; and on the top is a large church where men and women live a cloister life, awaiting thus the reward of heaven. On the south-east of the mountain is the tomb of Lazarus, who was raised to life by the Lord Messiah; and two miles from Mount Olivet, the village from which was brought the ass on which the Lord rode on his entry into Jerusalem; this village is now deserted and in ruins. "It is on leaving the tomb of Lazarus that the road begins which leads to the Jordan, which river is distant a day's journey from the Holy City. Before arriving at its banks you will pass the city of _Erikha_ (Jericho), three miles distant from the river. Near the Jordan is a large church under the patronage of S. John Baptist, served by Greek monks. The Jordan flows out of the lake of Tiberias, and empties its waters into the lake of Sodom and Gomorrah, cities which the Most High drowned as a punishment for the wickedness of their inhabitants. To the south of this river is an immense desert. "As regards the southern side of Jerusalem: leaving the city by the gate of Sion, you find, at the distance of a stone's throw, the Church of Sion, a beautiful church, and fortified, where is seen the chamber in which the Lord Messiah did eat with His disciples, and also the table, which exists to this day, and is to be seen on Thursdays. From the gate of Sion you descend into a ravine well known under the name of the _Valley of Gehenna_ (Hinnom), near which is the Church of S. Peter. In this ravine is the fountain of _Selwan_ (Siloam), where the Lord Messiah gave sight to a blind man, who had not before known the light of day. To the south of this spring is the field which was bought by the Messiah for the burial of strangers. Not far from it are numerous dwellings cut out in the rock, and occupied by pious hermits." NOTE XIII. I may mention here that one day I caused a trumpet to be played on Gihon, near the present Pool of Mamillah, and the site of the Russian buildings, and I heard it distinctly, while standing myself by the Fountain of Rogel, that is by the well situated at the S.E. extremity of the Valley of Siloam, the _Bir Eyub_ (Well of Joab) of the Arabs; while, on changing the position of the player, by sending him more to the N.W., I heard nothing. Accordingly I can confirm in every respect the Bible account (1 Kings i. 41), that Adonijah heard the festive cries of the people and the sound of the trumpets which welcomed the coronation of Solomon. NOTES TO CHAPTER III. NOTE I. The Haram es-Sherîf cannot be visited without the permission of the Pasha, the Governor of the city, which, though almost always granted, may be delayed for some days. The Pasha himself never gives permission to enter the sacred enclosure without having first submitted the question to the Council of the Effendis, who always give their consent, not of their own free will, but through fear of displeasing him who makes the request. When all this is arranged, it rests with the keeper of the Haram to appoint the time for the visit: the time fixed is always in the morning, because the place is then almost deserted, and visitors can converse without fear of disturbing the devotion of the worshippers. Travellers must apply for the permission in question, through their respective consulates, and every visitor has to pay a fee to the keeper and to the escort of police who accompany him, to protect him from any insult, which at times would be sure to arise on the part of some bigoted Mohammedan. The payment is fixed by custom at twenty francs. When the visitors do not pay it themselves, the matter is arranged by their respective consuls. The Europeans who are admitted to see the Haram must provide themselves with broad Turkish slippers, or with two pieces of canvas, to cover their ordinary boots; without this precaution, they would meet with every opposition to their being admitted to the places of greater sanctity: they should be careful to carry no cigars with them, and to conduct themselves reverently, because else some complaint might be lodged against them, in which case those who came after them might, through their fault, be refused admission to the ancient summit of Moriah. I speak from experience. NOTE II. I said that by patience, perseverance, and no slight personal sacrifice, I managed to obtain a knowledge of the Haram, because, though I had the required permission, the strong protection of the Pasha, the support of the Effendi, and Mohammedan sympathy, I was nevertheless obliged to be continually satisfying the greed of my escort, and still more of the keeper of the Haram, and, I may add, of his children, with both money and presents. I was obliged also to see them constantly in my apartments, enduring their company apparently unmoved, although they threatened every moment to plunder my goods and eat me up with the little that I possessed. Besides this, it was no rare thing for me to arrange with the superintendent of the Haram to begin a work, and then have to wait several months before I could finish it, simply owing to the whim of a Mohammedan. Appeal to the Pasha was out of the question, because any violent measure that he might in such case have taken would have resulted in a thousand new difficulties thrown in my way, and I should never have succeeded in my design. NOTE III. There is an unvarying tradition amongst the Arabs that the Holy Rock, _Sakharah_, covered by the dome of the mosque, is the same stone on which slept Israil-Ullah, that is, the patriarch Jacob, and on which he had the vision of the ladder. Omar himself, when he made his triumphant entry into Jerusalem, caused a search to be made for it, inquiring where the stone was that had served for Jacob's pillow. They agree, moreover, in recognizing in it the ancient foundation of the Temple of Solomon. NOTE IV. The Arabs maintain the belief, that under the Sakharah is a large well (which they call _Bir-el-Arruah_, i.e. _well of souls_) which communicates with the nether world; and there are a thousand Eastern legends relating to it. It may be gathered from all these legends that there is a well of considerable depth, divided into two parts. In the lower part exists the universal fountain, which furnishes water to the whole world, and near it stand the mothers of Jesus and Mohammed working garments for the souls of the righteous. With respect to the two cisterns on the north of the mosque they relate, that in ancient times they served as a receptacle for the drainage, but that subsequently they were cleansed, and that yet, notwithstanding, the waters are not good, nor fit to drink. I shall shew further on for what purposes these ancient cisterns of Araunah's threshing-floor were used in the service of the different Jewish temples. NOTE V. Those who desire more detailed accounts may consult in particular the following works: Jacob Jehuda Leone, de Templo Hierosolymitano (in Hebrew), Amsterdam, 1650, in 4to; translated into Latin by Saubert, Helmstad, 1665; the same work in Dutch (Afbeeldinge van den Tempel Salomonis), by the Author, Amsterdam, 1679. This author has confused together in the same description the Temple of Solomon and that of Herod. Also Bernard Lami, de Tabernaculo Foederis, de Sancta Civitate Jerusalem, et de Templo ejus, Paris, 1720, in folio; A. Hirt, der Tempel Salomons, Berlin, 1809, in 4to; Meyer, der Tempel Salomons, Berlin, 1830, in 8vo; Winer, Realwörterbuch, Tom. II. pp. 661-670. NOTE VI. The _bath_, according to Josephus, is equivalent to an Attic _metretes_, or 72 _xestæ_ (sextarii), or about 8 gallons, 5 pints; (see Josephus, Antiqq. viii. 2, § 9). NOTE VII. "According to the prophet Jeremiah (xxv. 11)," writes M. Munk (Palestine, p. 461), "the Babylonish captivity was to last 70 years. To obtain this number they make the time fixed by the prophet to date from the year 606, which, according to Jewish writers, is the first of the reign of Nebuchadnezzar; and indeed it was in this same year that Jeremiah spoke for the first time of the 70 years during which the Babylonish government was to last (xxv. 12), a statement which he repeats in the year 599, on the occasion of the banishment of Jehoiachin (xxix. 10). But in the first year of Nebuchadnezzar there was no idea of a Babylonish captivity." NOTE VIII. See Josephus, Antiqq. XV. 11, § 1. According to the printed text, the Temple of Zerubbabel wanted 60 cubits of the height of the Temple of Solomon, which is unintelligible. The corrected reading of several Manuscripts, which have "_seven_ cubits," is to be preferred. (Cf. Havercamp's edition, Vol. I. p. 778, Note 7.) NOTE IX. The two descriptions of Josephus leave much to be desired, and the numbers appear in many instances to have been corrupted by the copyists. They may be supplemented by a third, and more detailed description, furnished by the _Mishna_, part 5, tract. _Middoth_ (published separately, with a Latin translation and notes, by L'empereur, Leyden, 1630, in 4to.). Amongst modern writers the following may be consulted: Lightfoot, _Descriptio Templi Hierosolymitani_, in his works, Vol I. pp. 549 and following (chiefly after the Mishna); Hirt, in the Historical and Philological Memoirs of the Berlin Academy for the Years 1816 and 1817 (published in 1819). Hirt has exclusively followed Josephus--his plan has several essential defects; M. Munk has followed that of Wette (Archäologie, § 238), which is much more exact, and has combined the accounts of Josephus and the Mishna. NOTE X. According to tradition the folding-doors of the Nicanor gate, which were of Corinthian bronze, had been brought from Alexandria by one Nicanor, and miraculously saved from a shipwreck. This gate alone was of bronze; the others were of wood, and plated with gold and silver. See Mishna, part 2, tract. Yoma, chap. 3, § 10, and the Comments of Maimonides; Babylonish Talmud, the same treatise, fol. 38. Compare Josephus' Wars, V. 5, § 3. NOTE XI. In the tower _Baris_ were kept the pontifical robes, which were worn by the High Priest on solemn days: a practice established by the Asmonean princes, who united in their own persons the chief civil and religious authority. NOTE XII. See Jeremiah lii. 12. According to Rabbinical tradition the burning of the Temple of Solomon began on the ninth of the month Ab in the evening; and it was moreover on the ninth of Ab that the Romans burnt the third temple; accordingly, on this day the Jews, with the exception of the Karaites, keep the anniversary of the destruction of Jerusalem. Josephus, however (Wars, VI. 4, § 5), agreeing therein with the book of Jeremiah, expressly mentions the tenth day of the month Loüs or Ab. Possibly the date given by the Rabbins, as concerns the third temple, may have been the result of a different calculation of new moons from that of Josephus. NOTE XIII. From the time of Hadrian, the Jews obtained, for a money payment, permission to visit Jerusalem once in the year, there to bewail their humiliation. See Euseb. Hist. Eccles. IV. 6. This state of things lasted till the time of S. Jerome: the following words are from his Commentary on Zephaniah, chap. i. "Even to the present day they are forbidden to enter Jerusalem, and buy the permission to weep over the ruins of their city." NOTE XIV. See Gibbon, chap. 23. The silence which is observed on this event by S. Jerome, who arrived in Palestine some years afterwards, is, according to Gibbon, a proof that the pretended miracle had made far less sensation on the spot than at a distance. See also Ammian. Marcell. Hist. lib. 23, c. 1; Rufinus, Theodoret, Socrates, and Sozomen, in their respective histories; the fathers of the Church, who were contemporary with the event, admit the miracle, as S. Cyril, bishop of Jerusalem. See Clinton, Fasti Rom. A.D. 363. NOTE XV. Some maintain that the building of this basilica is to be attributed to S. Helena; but this opinion is not admissible, for Eusebius who wrote the life of Constantine, makes no mention of it. There are stronger reasons for attributing it to Justinian, according to the account transmitted to us by Procopius, his panegyrist, who gives minute details of its building. See Procopius, de Ædif. Justin. lib. IV. cap. 6. NOTE XVI. Omar found the old site of the threshing-floor of Araunah full of impurities, and was the first to set the example of cleansing it; the followers of Islam followed his example, and it was then that the Khalif determined upon building a sumptuous mosque over the holy rock. NOTE XVII. William of Tyre, Book I. Chap. 2. "There are, moreover, in the same temple-building, within and without, very old monuments in mosaic work, and in the Arabic character, which are believed to be of that date, in which the author of the work, and the expense of it, and the times at which the work was begun and finished, are evidently set forth:" he adds that the mosque was the work of Omar, "which, after a short time, being completed successfully to his mind, as it exists at this day in Jerusalem, he (Omar) endowed with many and countless possessions." This author repeats that in the interior, and outside the building, was written the name of Omar its founder. "Moreover, in the beginning of this volume, we have named the author of this building, the son of Catab, who, third from the seducer Mohammed, was his successor in his apostasy and his kingdom: and that this is so the ancient inscriptions inside the said building and outside it plainly declare." (Book VIII. chap. 3.) NOTE XVIII. An Arab chronicler relates, that "Abd-el-Malek, khalif of the dynasty of the Ommiades, gave orders for the construction of the great dome which was then wanting, and sent letters everywhere to inform the Emirs of his intention. Every one commended his design, and the people invoked upon him the blessings of heaven. He set aside for this work the tribute that he collected from Egypt for seven years, and deposited it under the cupola of the so-called throne of David, which he turned for the time into a treasury. The charge of this treasury he entrusted to one Regiah-ben-Havuk, appointing besides, for the superintendence of the works, Jazib-ben-Salem; and a part of the mosque to the east having fallen, while the treasury was short of money, he ordered that the plates of gold with which the dome was ornamented should be converted into coin. This happened in the year 65 of the Hejra, or 684 A.D. The mosque was opened to the public at that time twice a week; on Monday and Thursday. From beneath the Sakharah, the Mohammedans say, rises the spring of the four rivers of the earthly paradise, whose waters have the virtue of washing away the sins of those who drink of them. They believe, moreover, that an angel is appointed to be guardian of the mosque." (Arab MS. in the library of the Kadi at Jaffa.) NOTE XIX. Khondemir, a celebrated Persian historian, who wrote in the fifteenth century, attributes the enlargement of the building to Valid. He is an author worthy of credit. He drew the materials of his history from the famous library of the Emir _Aly-Schyr_, a virtuoso, and a great protector of letters. The latter, in the year 904 (1498 A.D.), conferred upon him the post of librarian. He it is who tells the story of the cupola at Baalbec. NOTE XX. The invasion of the Carmathians having stopped for a time the pilgrimages to Mecca, the Mosque of Omar took the place of the _Kaaba_, and for more than twenty years the crowds of pilgrims turned their steps towards Jerusalem. This interruption of the pilgrimages began in the year 317 of the Hejra (A.D. 929) under the Khalifate of Al-Moktadar, and lasted till 339 (950). (See D'Herbelot, s. v. Cods.) NOTE XXI. As regards the date of this inscription it is not necessary to calculate rigorously, whether the works of the building took place after that period, or began in that year, seeing that the Turkish and Arab princes date the events of their reign from the day of their accession. It is the same with the coins which are struck through the whole course of their reign. NOTE XXII. A Christian writer, an eye-witness, says, "that under the dome, and in the porch of the mosque the blood ran up to the knees, and up to the snaffles of the horses." Michaud, Histoire des Croisades, Vol. I. p. 443. Fifth edition. Very inappropriately has M. Chateaubriand, in speaking of the Crusades, repeated it as a truth, "that the spirit of Mohammedanism is persecution and conquest, and that the Gospel, on the contrary, preaches only tolerance and peace." The champions of the Cross gave this doctrine the lie, written in blood. The Crusaders hardly remembered even for a few moments that they had come to worship the sepulchre of Christ; after prostrating themselves in the Church of the Resurrection, they turned aside to renew the scenes of butchery, which did not cease for a whole week. More than 70,000 Mohammedans, of every age and sex, were massacred at Jerusalem: the Jews were shut up in their synagogues and burnt. (Bibliothèque des Croisades, Tom. IV. p. 12.) NOTE XXIII. This building was consecrated by Albericus, bishop at that time in Syria, whither Pope Innocent II. had sent him as Apostolical Legate. A number of noble and distinguished personages were gathered together to witness the ceremony, among whom is mentioned Jocelin, Count of Edessa, who had come to Jerusalem on the occasion of Easter. "The legate therefore, having first taken counsel with the prelates of the churches, on the third day after the holy Passover, together with the patriarch, and some of the bishops, solemnly dedicated the temple of the Lord. There were present on the day of dedication many great and noble men, as well from beyond the seas as from the neighbouring lands, amongst whom was the younger Jocelin, Count of Edessa, who at that time, during the solemn festivals of Eastertide, was residing in great state in the city." (William of Tyre, Book XV. Chap. 17.) NOTE XXIV. It is at this period of the Crusades that the mosque began to be known under the name of "Temple of the Lord," which has often caused many writers to confound this "temple" with that of the Resurrection, otherwise called that of the Holy Sepulchre. NOTE XXV. The behaviour of Saladin to the Christians is deserving of all praise: he gave liberty to a large number of poor persons who could not pay a ransom; he distributed alms to a great number of people; he allowed the Knights Hospitaler to remain at Jerusalem to take charge of their sick; and his brother Malec-Adel paid the ransom of two thousand prisoners. The generous conduct of the Mohammedan chiefs offers, assuredly, an extraordinary contrast to the barbarous excesses committed by the warriors of the first crusade: it is a difficult thing to justify the latter. (See Gibbon, chap. LIX.; Michaud, I. p. 347.) NOTE XXVI. Saladin, before reconverting the "Temple of the Lord" into a mosque, had it wholly cleansed with rose-water, which he had procured from Damascus. Then he removed all the ornaments and whatever else could recall the Christian occupation, and set there himself the pulpit which had been built by Norradin. NOTE XXVII. When the news of the discovery of the fountain spread over Jerusalem, all the people gathered in crowds to see it, but the most eager were the Israelites. They rejoiced at the sight of it, and pressed forward, anxious to touch the rock, to taste the water, or to take a little of it in small pitchers, some in order to preserve it as a relic, others to carry it to the infirm who could not crawl to the spot. From the chief Rabbi to the old women, all ran to the place, and all gave vent to cries of joy, or were moved even to tears. Why was all this? The Israelites were influenced by a tradition deeply graven on their hearts, to the effect that when certain springs in Jerusalem had been discovered, the coming of Messiah was at hand, the temple should rise again from its ruins, and with it the glory of their nation. NOTE XXVIII. The sites where the stones are found greatest in length and in cubical content in the walls of Jerusalem, are the following: In the wall, which starts from the line of the eastern enclosure, at the north-east corner of the quadrilateral of the Haram (Plate XVII.); one is found which is about 23 feet in length and 3-1/2 in height. Between this and the golden gate, in the wall, is another 12 feet long and 5 feet high: and in the inner jamb of the golden gate, on the north, one is found of nearly the same dimensions as the preceding. At the south-east corner of the Haram there are some of large dimensions; there are none greater in the whole city. Of the stones of 20 cubits in length, and 10 in height, of which Josephus writes (Wars, V. 4, § 2), I have not found a single one on the soil of Jerusalem. NOTE XXIX. It seems that the use of the two gates may be attributed to their being situated in the most frequented part of the city; they served for the passage, the one of persons going out, the other of persons coming in, so as to avoid all crowding, and the stoppages which might result from it. Indeed, on the eastern side of the temple, where a great part of the Court of the Gentiles was, there must always have been a great multitude of people. The real ground for its being closed (though so many ridiculous causes are alleged) is that the Turks consider the temple enclosure sacred in all its parts. Therefore, they do not allow any trade to be carried on there, nor any buying or selling, or transaction of business, or even walking for pleasure: accordingly, the gate on that side becomes entirely useless, the more so, that there is in its neighbourhood the gate of S. Mary. NOTE XXX. There was a time when the Christians in Palestine adopted the practice of representing the entry of Jesus into the Temple on Palm Sunday, entering Jerusalem in procession by the Golden Gate. The custom may be traced up to the time of Godfrey of Bouillon. On this subject the reader may consult, as contemporary authorities, Albert of Aix (Book XIII. Chap. 17) and William of Tyre (Book VIII. Chap. 3, and Book XI. Chap. 35). NOTE XXXI. In the times of Alberto Floresi, an Italian traveller who visited Jerusalem in 1630, it was by the Dung gate (called also the gate of the Mogarabins) that the procession entered, which some centuries before, as I mentioned above, starting from Bethphage, and crossing the Mount of Olives, passed through the Golden Gate. (MS. Travels of Floresi, communicated to the Abbé Mariti by Dr Octavio Targioni Tozzetti, L'État présent de Jérusalem, p. 21.) NOTE XXXII. The Mohammedans say that the mare el-Borak was the steed ordinarily ridden by the Angel Gabriel, who used often to lend it to Mohammed to take his night-journeys. They portray it as having the head and the neck of a beautiful woman, with a crown and wings. NOTE XXXIII. Many are the stories which are told of the Golden Gate, as well by Mohammedans as by Christians: I quote some of them. The Mohammedans say that the two divisions of the Golden Gate were made in memory of the _repentance_ of Adam and Eve, for having disobeyed the orders which God had given them in Paradise, and at the same time of the _mercy_ of God shown towards them. Hence they call the southern aisle the Gate of _Mercy_, and the other, the Gate of _Repentance_. There is a general belief amongst Mohammedans that a day will come when Jerusalem will fall into the hands of a Christian prince, who will take it on a Friday. This is one of the reasons why it remains a fortified town. The Christians have no less traditions on this head. For example, they report, that when the Emperor Heraclius returned victorious to Jerusalem, bringing back thither the wood of the Holy Cross which he had recovered in Persia, he wished to pass through the Golden Gate on horseback, and decked out in all the insignia of royalty, but that an invisible hand held him back, whilst a voice ordered him to dismount, to divest himself of his regal robes, and to pass that threshold in all humility; whereupon he was able to pass. NOTE XXXIV. "From Sion (we went) to the Church of St Mary, where is a large body of monks, and countless companies of women, and where beds for the sick can be provided, from three to five thousand. And we offered up prayer in the judgment-hall, where the Lord had hearing, in which is now the Church of S. Sophia. Before the ruins of the Temple of Solomon, under the street, there runs water from the Fountain of Siloam. Near Solomon's porch, in the church itself, is the seat on which Pilate sate, when he heard the Lord. There is a square stone on which the accused was elevated, that He might be heard and seen by all. On it was our Lord raised when He had hearing of Pilate, and there remained an impression of a small, handsome, and delicate foot. By the rock itself, too, many miracles are wrought: they take the measure of the foot-print, and tie it over a weak part, which is immediately healed." (Anton. Placent. Itin. Sect. 23 in Ugolini, Thes. Tom. VII. page 1216.) NOTE XXXV. In the year 1118 Hugues de Payens, and Geoffroid de St Aldemar, and certain other knights, applied for a rule for the formation of an order. In 1128 the Pope Honorius gave them a charter, which was adopted at the Council of Troyes in Champagne. The members of this order took the name of Templars, and wore a white robe with a red cross. Their name was derived from their having their first house close to the temple, for King Baldwin had given up to them a part of his palace, to the south of the temple. (William of Tyre, Book XII. Chap. 7.) NOTE XXXVI. The Mohammedans say that in this place King David, during his life, administered justice in the following way. When he was sitting in judgment, and wished to know if the deponents in their examination were stating what was true, he made a chain descend from heaven, and ordered that each of the two parties who had thus stated their cases should touch it. When one of the parties had told a lie, at his touch a ring fell from the chain, and so the wise king learnt which was in the right. I may be allowed to remark that now the chain no longer descends from heaven, so we may conclude that all the rings have fallen, from its having been too much used. It is on this same site that David will return to judge the people of Israel at the final judgment. NOTE XXXVII. The keeper of the mosque relates, that when Solomon wished to build a Temple to the Lord, he called not only men to his aid, but also the living creatures of the earth. All came together to help him with all their power; but the _magpie_ sought to disobey Solomon, whereupon the great King turned it into stone, to be an example to all those who were disposed not to execute his orders. This is the stone that the keeper shews. NOTE XXXVIII. The mosaics which adorn the interior of the mosque _es-Sakharah_ above the pointed arches that spring from the columns, and in the drum which supports the dome, date, according to Mohammedan Chronicles, from the time of Selim I. and Solyman, but I imagine they are of still greater antiquity. The internal ornamentation of the dome has a thoroughly Saracenic character; I conclude that it is perhaps anterior to Solyman, though there is no doubt that he restored it a good deal. All the other decorations are of Solyman's time. The Count de Vogüé has just completed a long examination of the mosques _es-Sakharah_, and _el-Aksa_, and we may fairly expect that he, with his clear judgment, and ready intelligence, will not deprive science of the result of his labours. NOTE XXXIX. The Mohammedan traditions concerning this rock are numerous; I quote a few of them. It has been the scene of the prayers of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, David, Solomon, Mohammed, and many other prophets, and here they have received their inspiration from heaven. The rock retains the imprint of the foot of the patriarch Enoch, who was the handsomest, and the wisest man that lived upon the earth. He was learned in astronomy, in which he made great discoveries, and, to publish them, invented printing. God loved him so that he would not let him die, but translated him to heaven. The patriarch had such an attachment to Jerusalem, that he wished to leave some memorial of his having lived there, which accounts for his foot-print being there. The rock is guarded by an army of Angels, who keep watch there night and day, in prayer to God. The canvas covering which is found on the rock is the same which was used by Adam and Eve, when the former found the latter after their separation of a hundred years, consequent on their expulsion from Paradise. The stairs which lead into the vaults of the mosque contain the stone called _the tongue_, because it announced to Omar, that this was the rock on which Jacob had the vision. NOTE XL. The Mohammedans say that it is supported in the air by the following cause. When Mohammed died, and ascended to heaven, the sacred stone wished to follow him, but the prophet ordered it to return to its place; whilst it hesitated the angel Gabriel pressed it down (this is the reason why they show the impression of his five fingers on the rock), and then it lowered itself again; but when it was already in contact, as it were, with the ground, and received no further orders, it remained in the position in which it is now found. NOTE XLI. By the side of the _Minbar_, the Mohammedan guide, with all seriousness, points out the place where is an invisible balance, which is called _Wezn_, and tells how at the end of the world there will be three ages: and then Israfil, who has charge of the celestial trumpet (called _Boru_), will blow it the first time to give notice of the universal death. It will sound for the second time 40 years afterwards, and then all the dead of past ages shall rise: on that day Jesus, with the other prophets, will descend from heaven with their attendants, and when they have come to the _Haram es-Sherîf_ Jesus will sit upon His throne for judgment: but not being sufficient in Himself for all, He will depute David and Solomon to judge the Jews, Mohammed to judge the Mohammedans, and will retain the Christians for His own jurisdiction. In this great Judgment the balance _Wezn_ will be used to decide who are to enjoy eternal felicity, and who to be punished by being appointed their portion for ever in fire with the fallen spirits. All those who are to undergo this trial will be gathered together in the Valley of Jehoshaphat. NOTE XLII. Terrace-roofs have always been in general use in the East, even for ages; compare Judges xvi. 27, where we are told that there were people on the roof when Samson made the temple of Dagon fall. Assuredly if it had not been flat, 3000 persons could not have remained upon it. NOTES TO CHAPTER IV. NOTE I. The Holy City, by the Rev. George Williams, B.D., Fellow of King's College, Cambridge; Second Edition, including an Architectural History of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, by the Rev. Robert Willis, M.A., F.R.S., Jacksonian Professor in the University of Cambridge, 2 Vols. 8vo. 1849; Les Églises de la Terre Sainte, par le Comte Melchior de Vogüé. NOTE II. List of the bishops of Jerusalem, extracted from Michel le Quien's Oriens Christianus, Tom. III. pp. 139 sq. Paris, 1740. A.D. 30. S. James, the Apostle and brother of our Lord. 60. S. Simeon, or Simon, the Martyr. 107. Justus, or Jude I. 111. Zacchæus, or Zacharias. Tobias. Benjamin. John I. Matthias, or Matthew. Philip. 125. Seneca. Justus II. Levi. Ephraim. Joseph. Jude II. All the above are of Hebrew extraction. The following are of Gentile origin. The former were bishops of Jerusalem, properly so called, the latter bishops of Ælia Capitolina, who are counted as bishops of Jerusalem. 136. Marcus. 156. Cassianus. Publius. Maximus I. Julian I. Caius I., or Gaius. Symmachus. Caius II. Julian II. Capito. 185. Maximus II. Antoninus. Valens. Dolichianus. Narcissus. Dius. Germanion. Gordius. Narcissus (a second time). 212. Alexander, martyr. 250. Mazabanes. 265. Hymenæus. 298. Zabdas. 302. Hermon. 313. Macarius I. During his episcopate Constantine laid the foundations of the Church of the Resurrection in Jerusalem. 335. Maximus III., who consecrated the Church of the Resurrection. NOTE III. Eusebius, Life of Constantine, book III. chap. 27 and following (English Translation, Bagster and Sons, London, 1845). After giving an account of the demolition of the temple of Venus, he proceeds, "Nor did the Emperor's zeal stop here; but he gave further orders that the materials of what was then destroyed should be removed, and thrown as far from the spot as possible; and this command was speedily executed. The emperor, however, was not satisfied with having proceeded thus far: once more, fired with holy ardour, he directed that the ground itself should be dug up to a considerable depth, and the soil, which had been polluted by the foul impurities of demon worship, transported to a far distant place. This also was accomplished without delay. But as soon as the original surface of the ground, beneath the covering of earth, appeared, immediately, and contrary to all expectation, the venerable and hallowed monument of our Saviour's resurrection was discovered. Then indeed did this most holy cave present a most faithful similitude of His return to life, in that, after lying buried in darkness, it again emerged to light, and afforded to all who came to witness the sight, a clear and visible proof of the wonders of which that spot had once been the scene." Chap. XXXI. (_Continuation of a Letter from Constantine to the Bishop Macarius._) "It will be well therefore for your sagacity to make such arrangements and provision of all things needful for the work, that not only the church itself as a whole may surpass all others whatsoever in beauty, but that the details of the building may be of such a kind that the fairest structures in any city of the empire may be excelled by this. And with respect to the erection and decoration of the walls, this is to inform you that our friend Dracilianus, the deputy of the Prætorian Prefects, and the governor of the province, have received a charge from us. For our pious directions to them are to the effect that artificers and labourers, ... shall forthwith be furnished by their care. And as to the columns and marbles, whatever you shall judge, after actual inspection of the plan, to be especially precious and serviceable, be diligent to send information to us in writing, in order that whatever materials, and in whatever quantity we shall esteem from your letter to be needful, may be procured from every quarter, as required. With respect to the roof of the church, I wish to know from you whether in your judgment it should be ceiled, or finished with any other kind of workmanship. If the ceiling be adopted, it may also be ornamented with gold." Chap. XXXIII. "This was the emperor's letter; and his directions were at once carried into effect. Accordingly, on the very spot which witnessed the Saviour's sufferings, a new Jerusalem was constructed, over against the one so celebrated of old, which, since the foul stain of guilt brought upon it by the murder of the Lord, had experienced the last extremity of desolation, the effect of Divine judgment on its impious people. It was opposite this city that the emperor now began to rear a monument to the Saviour's victory over death." Chap. XXXIV. &c. _Description of the Holy Sepulchre._ "This monument, therefore, first of all, as the chief part of the whole, the emperor's zealous magnificence beautified with rare columns, and profusely enriched with the most splendid decorations of every kind. The next object of his attention was a space of ground of great extent, and open to the pure air of heaven. This he adorned with a pavement of finely-polished stone, and enclosed it on three sides with porticoes of great length. For at the side opposite to the Sepulchre, which was the eastern side, the church itself was erected; a noble work rising to a vast height, and of great extent both in length and breadth. The interior of this structure was floored with marble slabs of various colours; while the external surface of the walls, which shone with polished stones, accurately fitted together, exhibited a degree of splendour in no respect inferior to that of marble. With regard to the roof, it was covered on the outside with lead, as a protection against the rains of winter. But the inner part of the roof, which was finished with sculptured fretwork, extended in a series of connected compartments, like a vast sea, over the whole church; and being overlaid throughout with the purest gold, caused the entire building to glitter as it were with rays of light. "Besides this were two porticoes on each side, with upper and lower ranges of pillars, corresponding in length with the church itself; and these also had their roofs ornamented with gold. Of these porticoes, those which were exterior to the church were supported by columns of great size, while those within these rested on piles of stone beautifully adorned on the surface. Three gates, placed exactly east, were intended to receive those who entered the church. "Opposite these gates the crowning part of the whole was the hemisphere," (apparently an altar of a hemicylindrical form,) "which rose to the very summit of the church. This was encircled by twelve columns, (according to the number of the apostles of our Saviour,) having their capitals embellished with silver bowls of great size, which the emperor himself presented as a splendid offering to his God. "In the next place, he enclosed the atrium which occupied the space leading to the entrances in front of the church. This comprehended, first the court, then the porticoes on each side, and lastly the gates of the court. After these in the midst of the open market-place, the entrance gates of the whole work, which were of exquisite workmanship, afforded to passers by on the outside a view of the interior, which could not fail to inspire astonishment." Such is Eusebius' account of the first Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem: he makes no mention of Calvary, and I make no doubt that, if its site had then been discovered, the historian of Constantine would not have passed it over without notice. An eye-witness of the magnificence of Constantine's Church is found in the Pilgrim of Bordeaux, who visited Jerusalem about 333 or 334. He speaks of it in his description of the Holy City, quoted in the notes to the first chapter. NOTE IV. _Description of S. Arculf, who visited the Holy places in 680_ (Acta Sanctorum ordinis S. Benedicti. Sæc. III. part 2, p. 504). "On these points we have inquired very particularly of S. Arculf, and specially concerning the Sepulchre of our Lord, and the church erected over it, the plan of which he drew for us upon a waxen tablet. It is a large church built entirely of stone, forming a perfect circle, and rising from its foundations with three walls. Between each pair of walls is a broad space forming a corridor, and at three points in the middle wall are three altars of wonderful workmanship. This round church is occupied by the three altars above mentioned, one facing the south, another the north, and the third towards the west. It is supported by twelve stone columns of wondrous size. It has eight doors, or entrances, through the three walls with the corridors intervening, four of which doors face the south-east, while the rest face the east. In the middle space of the inner circle is a round grotto cut in the solid rock, in which nine men can pray standing, and the roof of which is about a foot and a half above the head of a man of ordinary stature. The entrance to this grotto is on the eastern side, and the whole of the exterior is covered with choice marble, the apex being adorned with gold, and supporting a golden cross of considerable size. Within, on the north side of this grotto, is the tomb cut out of the same rock: but the floor of the grotto is lower than the level of the tomb, for from the former to the lateral margin of the tomb is a height of about three palms. "In this place we must mention a discrepancy of names between the monument and the tomb; for the round grotto mentioned above is otherwise called the Monument of the Evangelist: and they say, that to the mouth of this the stone was rolled, and from it rolled away, at our Lord's resurrection; while the name of sepulchre is applied to the chamber within the grotto that is on the north side of the monument, in which the Lord's body lay wrapt in fine linen. The length of this S. Arculf measured with his own hands, and found it to be seven feet. This tomb is not, as some persons wrongly imagine, divided in two by a stone cut out of the wall, itself forming a space for two legs and thighs, by coming between and separating them; but is undivided from the head to the foot, with sufficient room for one man lying upon his back, so forming a kind of cavern with an entrance at the side opposite to the south part of the monumental chamber. It has a low apex projecting above it, carved in the rock, and contains twelve lamps burning continually day and night, corresponding to the number of the twelve apostles. Four of these are placed at the foot of the sepulchral couch, and the other eight towards the head, on the right hand side, all of them being constantly fed with oil. "As to the stone which after our Lord's crucifixion and burial was rolled to the mouth of the said monument by the united efforts of many men, Arculf relates that he found it broken in two parts. The lesser part, squared by the chisel, forms the altar which stands before the entrance of the aforesaid round church, while the larger, also chiselled like the former, is the square altar, covered with linen cloths, on the eastern side of the same. "As regards the colours of the stone out of which the aforementioned grotto is hollowed by the tools of the stone-workers, with the Lord's Sepulchre on its north side cut from the same rock as the grotto itself, Arculf told me in answer to my questions, that the said grotto of the monument of our Lord, being covered with no ornament within, bears to this day upon its vaulted surface the marks of the tools used by the masons and stone-workers in the work: but the colour of the said stone appears not to be uniform, but a mixture of two, to wit, red and white, and the said stone is shewn as the stone of two colours. "This round church, so often mentioned above, which is called the Anastasis, or Resurrection, and is built on the spot which witnessed our Lord's resurrection, is joined on the right by a square church dedicated to S. Mary the mother of God. "Moreover another large church is built on the eastern side on the spot which is called in the Hebrew Golgotha: from the ceiling of which is suspended by ropes a brazen wheel with lamps, and beneath it is a large silver cross fixed in the very place where stood the wooden cross on which the Saviour of the human race suffered. "Adjoining this square-built church on the site of Calvary, on the east, is the famous stone church built with great magnificence by the Emperor Constantine, and called the Martyrdom, erected, as they say, in the place where the cross of our Lord and the other two crosses were found by divine revelation, two hundred and thirty-three years after they had been buried. Between these two churches is the famous spot where the patriarch Abraham built an altar, and laid upon it the bundle of wood, and seized the sword already drawn from its scabbard to sacrifice his son Isaac; where is now a wooden table of moderate size, on which the offerings of the people for the poor are deposited. "Between the Anastasis or round church so often mentioned above, and the basilica of Constantine, a short open street extends to the church on Golgotha, in which are lamps burning night and day. Also between the basilica on Golgotha and the Martyrdom is a seat, in which is the cup of the Lord, which, after blessing it with His own hand during the supper before His passion, He Himself handed to the Apostles that sate at meat with Him. It is a silver cup, holding about a French quart, and having two handles set over against each other on opposite sides. In this cup is the sponge, which they that crucified our Lord filled with vinegar, and put upon hyssop, and held up to His mouth. From this same cup, it is said that our Lord drank in company with His Apostles after His resurrection." NOTE V. _Extracts from the description of Sæwulf._ (Translated in Mr Wright's "Early Travels in Palestine.") "The entrance to the city of Jerusalem is from the west, under the citadel of King David, by the gate which is called the Gate of David. The first place to be visited is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, called the Martyrdom, not only because the streets lead most directly to it, but because it is more celebrated than all the other churches.... In the middle of this church is our Lord's Sepulchre, surrounded by a very strong wall and roof, lest the rain should fall upon the Holy Sepulchre, for the church above is open to the sky.... In the court of the church of our Lord's Sepulchre are seen some very holy places, namely, the prison in which our Lord Jesus Christ was confined after He was betrayed, according to the testimony of the Assyrians; then, a little above, appears the place where the holy cross and the other crosses were found, where afterwards a large church was built in honour of Queen Helena, which however has since been utterly destroyed by the Pagans; and below, not far from the prison, stands the marble column to which our Lord Jesus Christ was bound in the common hall, and scourged with most cruel stripes. Near this is the spot where our Lord was stripped of His garments and clad in a purple robe by the soldiers, and crowned with the crown of thorns, and they parted His raiment amongst them, casting lots. Next we ascend Mount Calvary, where the patriarch Abraham raised an altar, and prepared, by God's command, to sacrifice his own son; there afterwards the Son of God, whom he prefigured, was offered up as a sacrifice to God the Father for the redemption of the world. The rock of that mountain remains a witness of our Lord's passion, being much cracked near the hole, in which our Lord's cross was fixed, because it could not suffer the death of its Maker without rending, as we read in the Passion, 'and the rocks rent.' Below is the place called Golgotha, where Adam is said to have been raised from the dead by the stream of the Lord's blood which fell upon him, as is said in the Lord's Passion, 'And many bodies of the saints which slept arose.' But in the Sentences of S. Augustine, we read that he was buried at Hebron, where also the three patriarchs were afterwards buried with their wives; Abraham with Sarah, Isaac with Rebecca, and Jacob with Leah; as also the bones of Joseph which the children of Israel carried with them from Egypt. Near the place of Calvary is the church of S. Mary, on the spot where the body of our Lord, after having been taken down from the cross, was anointed with spices and wrapt in a linen cloth or shroud. "At the head of the church of the Holy Sepulchre, in the wall outside, not far from the place of Calvary, is the place called _Compas_, which our Lord Jesus Christ Himself signified and measured with his own hands as the middle of the world, according to the words of the Psalmist, 'For God is my King of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth.' Some say that this is the place where our Lord Jesus Christ first appeared to Mary Magdalene, while she sought Him weeping, and thought He had been a gardener, as is related in the Gospel. "These most holy places of prayer are contained in the court of our Lord's Sepulchre, on the east side. In the sides of the church itself are attached, on one side and the other, two most beautiful chapels in honour of S. Mary and S. John, who, sharing in our Lord's sufferings, stationed themselves one on each side of Him. On the west wall of the chapel of S. Mary is seen the portrait of the mother of our Lord, who once, by speaking wonderfully through the Holy Spirit, in the form in which she is here painted, comforted Mary the Egyptian, when she repented with her whole heart, and sought the help of the mother of our Lord, as we read in her life. "On the other side of the church of S. John is a very fair monastery of the Holy Trinity, in which is the place of the baptistery, to which adjoins the chapel of S. James the Apostle, who first filled the pontifical chair at Jerusalem. These are all so composed and arranged, that any one standing in the furthest church may clearly scan the five churches from door to door. "Without the gate of the Holy Sepulchre, to the south, is the church of S. Mary, called the Latin, because the monks there perform divine service in the Latin tongue; and the Assyrians say that the blessed mother of our Lord, at the crucifixion of her Son, stood on the spot now occupied by the altar of this church. Adjoining this church is another church of S. Mary, called the Less, occupied by nuns who serve devoutly the Virgin and her Son. Near which is the Hospital, where is a celebrated monastery founded in honour of S. John the Baptist." NOTE VI. William of Tyre, VIII. 3. "On the eastern slope of the same hill is the Church of the Resurrection in the form of a rotunda, which being situated on the slope, and almost over-topped by the hill close to it, and so darkened, has a roof composed of beams placed upright, and wrought together by wondrous art into the shape of a crown, uncovered, and always open, by which the necessary light is conveyed into the church. Under this opening is the tomb of our Saviour. Beyond the entrance for the Latins is the scene of our Lord's passion, which is called Calvary, or Golgotha; where it is said that the wood of the life-giving cross was found, and where our Saviour's body, having been taken down from the cross, is said to have been embalmed with spices and wrapt in fine linen, as was the Jews' custom of burial. Beyond the limits of the Calvary aforesaid are many small houses of prayer. But after that the Christians, by the help of the divine goodness, occupied the city with a strong hand, the aforesaid building appeared to them too contracted, and by enlarging the church with most solid and excellent work, and enclosing the old building within the new, they succeeded wonderfully in putting together in one the aforementioned places." John of Würtzburg, who visited the Holy Land in the twelfth century, when the Crusaders had already completed their works in the Church of the Resurrection, has transmitted to us a valuable detailed description, the principal passages of which I quote: "Whilst everything was in preparing for the crucifixion," he says, "our Lord was kept bound in a place at some distance from Calvary, which served as a prison: this place is marked by a chapel, and is called to this day the prison of our Lord, and is on the side opposite to Calvary, on the left of the church.... To the right of the entrance in the greater church is a place forming a portion of Calvary, in whose upper part is shewn a rent in the rock. In the same is depicted in fine mosaic work the Passion of Christ, and His burial, together with the testimony of the prophets, agreeing on all sides with the fact. "In the middle of the choir, not far from the site of Calvary, is a spot where an altar has been formed of raised slabs of marble, supported by a trellis of iron. Beneath these slabs are some small circles traced in the pavements, which, they say is the centre of the earth, according to the saying, 'In the middle of the earth He hath wrought salvation.' "A building of large dimensions, erected in a circular form round the monument, has at its further end a continuous wall adorned by different statues, and lighted by several lamps. In the inner circle of this larger building are eight round columns, on square bases, adorned on the outside with the same number of square slabs of marble, and erected all round the building, so as to sustain the weight of the building and the roof, which, as we have said, is open in the middle. "We have said that the columns are placed round the building to the number above mentioned, but towards the east their positions and number have been altered, owing to the addition of a new building, which has its entrance-door on that side. This new church, just added, contains a wide and roomy choir, and a spacious chapel, in which is the high altar, consecrated to the honour of the Anastasis, or Resurrection, as the mosaic above it distinctly proves. For in it Christ is depicted as having broken the bars of hell, and rising again from the dead, and as bringing back thence our first father Adam. Without this chapel, and within the cloisters, is a wide corridor leading round the new building and also the older building of the monument aforesaid, suited for a procession. At the head of the said new church, towards the east and close to the choir-screen, is a well-lighted subterranean passage like a crypt, in which Queen Helena is said to have found our Lord's cross. Accordingly there is within an altar dedicated to the honour of the said S. Helena. The greater part of the sacred wood she took with her to Constantinople, the remainder however was left at Jerusalem, and is carefully and reverently kept in a certain place on the other side of the church opposite to Calvary." NOTE VII. The whole of the dome has been covered with sheet-lead, which has disappeared on the south-west side (Plate XXXI.), where are the Greek terrace-roofs. Consequently the damp is every day destroying the wooden supports, and in the absence of such covering the ground below is flooded in the rainy season. Throughout the rest of its circumference, on the side of the Mohammedan terrace, the dome is in good condition, and the lead is intact. Why then, it may be asked, is it thus damaged only on the side belonging to the Greeks? We are told in reply, that the wind detaches the sheets of lead, (which, be it observed, are fastened by nails,) and carries them away; but it must be remarked that it is the north wind only, and not the others, which blows with great force over the city. It may be inferred from this how necessary it is that the whole covering of the Holy Sepulchre should belong exclusively to the church, and that no one should come near it or use it, in which case disputes would diminish, and the interior of the building would be less injured by damp. NOTE VIII. The two gates, the one on the west, the other on the east, through which the square in front of the Church of the Resurrection is reached, are very narrow and low, so that strangers are surprised to find such a form used in places frequented by many visitors. This is not the work of the Mohammedans, but was done by agreement of the different religious bodies, in order to prevent beasts of burden from penetrating into these sacred places. Without some such precaution their owners, and especially the camel-drivers, would not fail to instal them there for the night, simply because of the convenient situation of the square. Besides this, these two gates form the barrier for the Jews of Jerusalem, beyond which they cannot pass without exposing themselves to insults, and perhaps to blows, or even worse, from the Christians of Jerusalem, who imagine the place profaned by the passing of a Jew: though they themselves think nothing of behaving irreverently while the holy offices are being celebrated. If, however, a Jew is accompanied by some one who can inspire them with fear or respect, these good Christians will perhaps mutter and grumble, but venture no further. If a slight _bakshish_ be administered, they will even salute him, and call their correligionists a set of ignoramuses, though they themselves held the same views before receiving _bakshish_. NOTE IX. The fact that there is only one entrance to the Church of the Resurrection is the cause of many serious accidents at times when there is any great gathering of people, particularly at Easter. This is especially the case when the times of the celebration of this festival by the different sects coincide. During the eight years which I spent at Jerusalem, not an Easter passed without some such casualty. Some were suffocated; some fainted in the crush, were trampled upon, and received serious injuries; some had their limbs broken. These accidents are constantly repeated, yet no one ever thinks of taking any means to avoid them, though it would be so easy to open the other door. It is well known how in 1836 Ibrahim Pasha attended the Greek service of the Holy Fire, and a quarrel arose betwixt the Greeks and the Armenians: the whole multitude sought some way of escape, and such was the crowding at this the only single door, that the conqueror got out with much difficulty by passing over thirty dead bodies that lay there, the victims of the crush. (See Curzon's Monasteries of the Levant, chap. 16.) NOTE X. The following is Edrisi's account of the western gate. "The church is entered by the western gate, and the traveller finds himself under the cupola, which covers the whole of the enclosure, and which is one of the most remarkable things in the world. The church is lower than this door, and it is not possible to descend to the lower part on this side of the building. Entrance is to be had on the north side by a door which opens at the head of a staircase of thirty steps, which door is called Bâb-Sitti Mariam." NOTE XI. The Abbé Mariti, who visited the Sepulchre before the fire of 1808, found in Adam's Chapel, on the right, the tomb of Godfrey de Bouillon, and on the left, opposite the former, the tomb of Baldwin I., his successor; they were of marble, or of a kind of stone which much resembles it[900]. The following is the inscription on Godfrey's tomb: HIC JACET INCLITUS DUX GODEFRIDUS DE BULLON QUI TOTAM TERRAM AQUISIVIT CULTUI KRANO CUI ANIMA REGNET CUM XRO AMEN. _Here lies the illustrious Captain Godfrey de Bouillon, who won all this land for the Christian faith. May his soul reign with Christ. Amen._ That engraved on Baldwin's tomb is as follows:-- REX BALDEWINUS IUDAS ALTER MACHABEUS. SPES PATRIE VIGOR ECCLIE VIRT' UTRIUSQ' QUEM FORMIDABANT CUI DONA TRIBUTA FEREBANT CEDAR EGYPT' DAN. AC HOMICIDA DAMASCUS PROH DOLOR IN MODICO CLAUDITUR HOC TUMULO. _King Baldwin, a second Judas Maccabæus, the hope of his country, the strength of the Church, the mainstay of both, to whom Kedar, Egypt, Dan and the murderous Damascus in fear brought gifts and tribute, is pent up, alas! within this narrow tomb._ He also found in the same chapel an old tomb without any inscription, fastened into the wall, which he was told was the _tomb of Melchizedek_. It is known that the place was formerly intended to serve as a burial-place for the Latin kings, and we are assured, says the Abbé, that besides Godfrey and Baldwin I., there have since been buried there Baldwin II., Baldwin III., Almericus I. (Amaury), Baldwin IV., and Baldwin V. The tomb of the last-mentioned still exists amongst those which are to be seen in the neighbourhood against the south side of the choir of the Greeks, i.e. opposite to the Stone of Unction, on the north side. On it is the following inscription:-- SEPTIM' IN TUMULO PUER ISTO REX TUMULAT' EST BALDEVINI REGUM DE SANGUINE NAT'. QUEM TULIT E MUNDO SORS PRIMÆ CONDITIONIS UT PARADISIACÆ LOCA POSSIDEAT REGIONIS[901]. "_Within this tomb rests a youthful king, the seventh of a line of kings sprung from Baldwin; whom the common lot has carried off from the world to inhabit the regions of paradise._" Histoire de l'État présent de Jérusalem, par l'Abbé Mariti, publiée par le R. P. Laorty Hadji, Paris, 1853, pp. 56, 57. NOTE XII. William of Tyre refers to a place where our Lord's body is said to have been embalmed (Book VIII. Chap. 3. See Note VI.). Sanutus, who wrote in the fourteenth century, speaks of this place, but puts it in the middle of the choir of the Greeks, far from that of which we are now speaking. (Liber Secretorum fidelium Crucis, Lib. III. p. 14, cap. 8.) Nicetas Choniata[902], a writer of the twelfth century, in his eighth book, relates that the stone on which Christ's body was embalmed, was to be seen in his time at Ephesus, whither the Emperor Manuel Comnenus had carried it on his own shoulders from the gate of Bucoleon to the chapel which was within the precincts of the palace, and that after the death of that emperor it was removed thence and placed in his tomb. Nicetas says that the stone is of a red hue; it seems more probable therefore that it had formed part of Calvary itself, or of some smooth rock near the sepulchre. NOTE XIII. I quote the most important passages relating to the Holy Sepulchre, properly so called, which was carefully examined by the Abbé Mariti, before it was all covered over as it is at present. "The Holy Sepulchre, placed at the centre of the building, is a block of stone, which forms part of the soil, so hewn as to be quite separate from the rest of the hill. "In the terrace-roof of the Sepulchre holes have been ingeniously formed to let out the smoke from the lamps in the interior. "The sacred grotto is divided into two parts; the first is the Chapel of the Angel; its eastern side, in which is the entrance-door, being built of materials prepared by human hands, while the rest forms part of the solid rock. There we saw a socle of stone, nearly square, embedded in the rock, at the length of a cubit and a half from the gate of the Holy Sepulchre, which is to the west of it: it served formerly as a support to the stone which used to close the entrance of the Sepulchre. Inside the Sepulchre is found a basin, hewn out with the chisel in the rock, of three cubits and a sixth in length; its height four cubits five soldi, in the middle; and on the sides, where it bends in forming a circular arc, three cubits five soldi. Its breadth from north to south is not equal throughout, being at the eastern end three cubits three soldi and one-third, and at the west two cubits sixteen soldi and two-thirds. The bench on which the Saviour's body was laid is three cubits and a third long, and about two cubits and a third broad, raised one cubit and one inch from the ground." (L'État présent de Jérusalem, p. 66.) NOTE XIV. Before I give the description of the way in which the festival of the Holy Fire is celebrated, I will quote the account given of it in Abulfaragii (or Barhebræi) Chronicum Syriacum, Lips. 1789, 2 Vols. 4to. pp. 215-220. "The originator of this persecution (that is, the persecution of Hakem when he destroyed the Sepulchre in 1010) was some enemy of the Christians[a], who told Hakem: When the Christians meet in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre to keep Easter, the ministers of the Church employ a particular artifice, viz. they anoint with oil and with balsam the iron chain by which the lamp above the Sepulchre is suspended; and when the Arab official has fastened the door of the Sepulchre, they place the fire at the end of the iron chain, reaching it from the roof; the chain descends immediately with it till it reaches the match, and is ignited. Then they break into tears and cry _Kyrie Eleison_ as they see the fire falling from heaven upon the tomb, and so strengthen themselves in their faith." Another account is transmitted to us by Aretas, of Cæsarea, who gives certain information concerning it, under the name of Leo the Philosopher to an Arab Vizir. He says: "To this day the sacred and much-worshipped Sepulchre of Christ works a miracle every year on the day of the Resurrection; when every fire in Jerusalem has been put out, the Christians prepare a candle, and place it within the monument near the Holy Sepulchre. The Emir of Jerusalem[b] closes the door, and while the Christians stand outside crying _Kyrie Eleison_, a lamp appears, and at once the candle is lighted by its flame. Then all the inhabitants rekindle their fires in their houses by means of other candles lighted at this one." _The Holy Fire of the Greeks and the Holy Sabbath of the Armenians at Jerusalem._ In an age like the present, it is well that we should put on record those acts and customs by which the name of civilization is profaned, especially where they mask themselves under the name of religion. For if this be done, those who have it in their power to stop and to suppress them, cannot plead ignorance in excuse of the neglect of their duty. The Holy Sabbath is a kind of festival or revel held round the Sepulchre of our Lord, and continues from ten o'clock in the morning to three o'clock in the afternoon. First of all, the Greek bishop takes his stand inside the Sepulchre, while the pilgrims and the resident Greeks and Armenians form a procession round the tomb, stamping and clapping their hands, and shouting in a loud voice, _El Messiah atanah, u bidammu astarana: Mahna el jom faratra u el jahudie hazana_. "The Messiah came to us and redeemed us with His blood; to-day we rejoice, and the Jews are sad." The excitement increases with the shouting, until the greater part of the multitude appear to be intoxicated, and rush to and fro, as in a state of frenzy, with the wildest cries and gesticulations. Some throw their heads about violently, their hair floating in wild disorder, and the foam streaming from their mouths, like men possessed. Some mounting on each other's shoulders form themselves into living human columns, and then suddenly fling themselves in the midst of the excited throng. Others feign to be dead, and their companions carry them round the building, singing funeral hymns and uttering their wonted cries of mourning. Here is a party in high dispute, there a company fighting and wrestling, while a third, and far the most numerous band, is madly pressing towards the two oval holes through which the fire issues from the Sepulchre, the one at the north, the other at the south end of the monument. Meanwhile the government guards, or _Cavas_, attempt to re-establish order by lashing out right and left with their tough whips of hippopotamus hide. Everywhere is uproar and confusion, shouting and stamping, as of madmen. When this has gone on for four or five hours, a small flame at length makes its appearance at each of the holes above mentioned. The bishop, concealed within the Sepulchre, having received _from heaven_ the sacred fire, communicates it to the expectant worshippers, who have awaited its coming with such devotion. The mind cannot conceive, nor words describe the scene which then ensues; the din, the crush, the struggling, each to be among the first to receive the light. He who is nearest to the hole, and so the first to light his candle, has probably paid dearly for the privilege; so high does the competition run and such is the importance attached to gaining the prize. Many pilgrims come from great distances, incurring all the hardships and expense of a protracted journey merely to receive the Holy Fire. As soon as they have received it, and carefully secured it in their lanterns, they return home, having accomplished the sole purpose of their pilgrimage, and caring nothing for the other festivities of Easter-tide. Surraya Pasha, induced thereto by the urgent representations of M. de Barrère, the French Consul in Palestine, has taken measures to prevent any recurrence of the serious disorders which so frequently arose in former times in connexion with this festival. Since he has been governor, the time allowed for this desecration of the Holy Places has been shortened, and the murderous quarrels which before prevailed are no longer known. Would it not be more worthy of modern civilization to stop it altogether? the Greek and Armenian pilgrimages to Jerusalem would then, in all probability, cease. [Footnote a: See Silv. de Sacy, Exposé de la Réligion des Druses, Book I. pp. cccxxxvi. and foll. The author mentions other details of the origin and the motives of Hakem's fury against the Christians, given by Severus. This Coptic Arab author attributes the origin of it to a monk named John, who was ambitious of becoming bishop.] [Footnote b: In our time the door of the Sepulchre is closed, after a Greek bishop, who is called _Bishop of the Fire_, has entered. We do not know whether the miracle in present times is produced by a lamp concealed in the walls of the Sepulchre, or by a preparation of phosphorus: but they that wait for the appearance of the fire are as credulous, or pretend to be so, as the Christians of the time of Aretas.] NOTE XV. I have as strong objections to the service celebrated by the Franciscans on the evening of Good Friday, as to that of the Holy Fire. Like the latter, it gives rise to disputes, tumults, and serious disorders; and besides, there is in it an utter absence of decorum. Generally speaking, it has none of the impressive effect of a religious ceremony, but rather excites a feeling of the ridiculous, when it does not result in mourning for some fatal accident. How it is that the Franciscan fathers have not done away with it, or modified it, I cannot understand. To hold a service in a church to which persons of all sects are admitted, and to think that men's hearts can be reached by it, is an utter mistake. When no one is carried out of the building dead or wounded, they say with a satisfied air, "_The service has passed off well;_" little thinking of the exertions that are required to make it pass off well. A battalion of infantry is drawn up under arms in the square of the Sepulchre, and supplies the guards in the interior of the church; all the officers are employed to suppress any slight disturbance; the Governor betakes himself to the church to be ready in case of any serious outbreak: the French Consul is busy with preparations two days before, and on the evening of the service he and his employés are wearied out; the clergy are knocked about by the crowd; and all this passes off well. They ought to remember the year in which human blood was shed on Mount Calvary; and how in 1861, had it not been for the energy of the French Consul, and the singular discretion and moderation of General Ducrot, of the French Corps d'Expédition in Syria, and his forty officers, the service certainly would not have passed off well. NOTE XVI. The short street which connects the two churches of S. Mary the Great and S. Mary the Less was called, at the time of the Crusades, _the street of Palms_, because palm-branches were there sold to pilgrims. A similar traffic goes on at the present day, and on the same spot, during the feast of Palms; but palms being scarcer than formerly, olive-branches are generally substituted for them. NOTE XVII. The original firman exists in the archives of the Franciscan Convent of S. Saviour at Jerusalem. Its exact date is not known, but may be placed between 1014 and 1023. See Boré, Question des Lieux Saints, 5. NOTE XVIII. The direction of this street is clearly marked in a paper published by Sebastian Paoli (Cod. Diplom. I. p. 243), and reproduced by Schultz, Williams, and De Vogüé: "I, Amalric ... have given ... to the sacred Hospital at Jerusalem, and to the Church of S. Mary the Great, a certain street which was _between_ the Hospital aforesaid and the Church of S. Mary the Great aforesaid, to which there is an _entrance on the north from the Street of Palms_, opposite the front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and on the south between the two aforesaid houses of the hospital and of St Mary the Less, which leads also _below the buildings of the Hospital to the Street of the Patriarch's Baths_...." June, 1174. NOTES TO CHAPTER V. NOTE I. See De Vogüé, p. 302. We first find it mentioned in La Citez de Jhérusalem, under the name of 'Porte douloureuse.' "When you have gone a little further on" (after crossing the Street of Jehoshaphat, on the way from S. Stephen's Gate) "you come to a place where two streets cross: that which comes from the left comes from the Temple and goes to the Sepulchre. At the commencement of this street is a gate, on the Temple side, which is called 'Porte douloureuse:' by it Jesus passed when he was taken to Calvary to be crucified; and therefore it is called the gate of mourning." NOTE II. "The Sultan, on his return to Jerusalem, increased the endowment of the school which he had there founded. Before the occupation by the Mohammedans it had been known as the Church of S. Ann, the mother of S. Mary; whose tomb is said to have been found there. Under the Mohammedans it had been turned into a school, before the Franks made themselves masters of the city. They had restored the church to its former position, but the Sultan, having conquered the Franks, again changed it into a school, whose management and revenues he entrusted to Bohaddin, son of Sieddad." Abulfeda, Annales Moslemici, from Reiske's translation. NOTE III. The Church of the Holy Cross is superior to that of S. Ann in the simplicity of its ornamentation, answering to the description of M. de Vogüé (p. 241): "Some persons have thought they saw in the poverty and simplicity of the ornamentation a proof of Byzantine influence. I would rather attribute it partly to the want of sculptors, and partly to the influence of the Cistercians, which seems to have been brought to bear on the foundation and building of the monastery." The latter statement he illustrates by a note which I will also quote: "S. Bernard took a lively interest in all that occurred in the Holy Land, and exercised much influence thereon by his letters. He was in constant correspondence with Queen Milisendis (1130-1150), with the Patriarch, and with the Templars--the rules of whose order he helped to draw up. It was well known how sternly he had denounced the excessive adorning of churches, and how rigorously the Cistercian order applied his principles. The connexion of S. Bernard with Milisendis, who was the chief benefactress of the Convent of S. Ann, _leads me to suppose_ that his views may have been followed in the building of the Church of S. Ann, and of the monastery. See in M. de Verneuil's L'Architecture Byzantine en France (Plate XIII.), the design of the Cistercian Abbey at Boschaud, built in 1154. The general form is not the same with that of S. Ann, but the style is identical. Further there are also the pilasters of the binding joists ending in corbelling." I would gladly assent to M. de Vogüé's hypothesis--but I cannot; for in S. Bernard's correspondence there is no mention at all of the building of the Church of S. Ann. I allow that the style is identical with that of the Cistercian Abbey: but certainly the form changes a good deal, because this is not a trapezium like that of S. Ann. NOTE IV. Some idea may be formed of the position which the Franciscans hold in respect of the local government, from the conditions to which they were required to submit before they received permission to take up a residence within the walls of Jerusalem. The following are some of them: that they would give presents every year to the _Kadi_, the governor, and to all the members of the Divan: that, when one of them died, they should not be allowed to carry his body out to burial in the sight of the Mohammedans, but that he should be wrapt in a carpet, and carried outside the walls and buried there: that they should never buy any property in Jerusalem, under pain of its being confiscated and given to the Mosque of Omar: that the friars should not shew themselves too frequently in the streets of the city: that the monastery occupied by them should be inspected every three years by the _Kadi_, the governor, and his architect, to see whether any changes had been made in the building. These conditions were rigorously enforced every time that the local governor was pleased to extort money from the brotherhood, who, of course, were always in the wrong. (These facts are drawn from the papers found in the Registry of the Convent of S. Saviour.) NOTE V. It is sometimes supposed that the Franciscans carry on a trade in the articles that are made in the workroom of S. Saviour; but it is quite a mistake. The friars have these articles made by poor workpeople, and so give them the means of supporting themselves by their industry; and any profits that may accrue from the sale are applied to the support of widows and orphans, as in every other work of charity, which is constantly carried on by the society. NOTE VI. The Greeks, who since the coming of the first Crusaders had been unjustly robbed of all their other possessions in the Holy Land, returned thither in 1348, in consequence of a treaty concluded between the Emperor Cantacuzenus and Naser Eddin Hassan, Sultan of Egypt. They established a hospice for pilgrims in the Monastery of S. Euthymius, whilst their servants took up their abode in that of S. Michael the Archangel. NOTES TO CHAPTER VI. NOTE I. The eastern Christians call the Valley of Jehoshaphat in the language of the country _Wady el-Nar_ (Valley of Fire); a name which is also given to it by the Mohammedans, from the belief that the general judgment will take place there. If we interpret the name _Jehoshaphat_ according to the idea of the Jews, its meaning is _judgment of God_, for the Chaldee in the passage in Joel (chap. iii. 2, 12, 15), instead of saying "_in the valley of Jehoshaphat_," translates it thus, "_in the valley of the division of judgment_." If we are to accept the opinion of Calmet, that by the valley of Jehoshaphat we are to understand the _valley of Jezreel_, we cannot believe that the final judgment is to take place in this valley, which is close under the walls of Jerusalem, but in that of Jezreel. Origen looks upon this general gathering of mankind in a more extended view than that of Calmet: "Origen thinks that the nations will be gathered together over the face of the whole earth; and that the manifestation of Christ will be like to a blaze of light that covers at once the whole world." S. Jerome expresses himself thus, "It is folly to seek in a small or secret place for Him who is the light of the whole world." (Calmet's Commentary on Joel.) Mariti, L'État présent, &c. p. 132. NOTE II. Those who made of the Hebrew word Kidron (Cedron) a Greek word, fancy that the name may have been derived from some cedars planted in the neighbourhood; they rely probably on the Greek text of the gospel of S. John, where the word is written with +ô+ instead of +o+, which may be simply an error of the copyists, as some commentators have remarked; seeing that in other parts of the Bible it is called Kidron. The valley of Kidron begins, on the north, near or a little above the Tombs of the Kings, at a height of about 2460 feet above the Mediterranean; at first it is called the Valley of Kidron, or of Jehoshaphat; then _Wady er-Nahib_ (Valley of the Monks), in the neighbourhood of the monastery of S. Saba; and lastly, _Wady el-Nar_ (Valley of Fire), in the last part of its course. The entire descent from the head of the valley to the Dead Sea is about 3690 vertical feet. I have traversed it several times on foot with Bedouins, for the sole purpose of examining all the changes of its sides. Near S. Saba it is very picturesque. NOTE III. Nicephorus Callistus expresses himself thus: "She also raised another splendid temple in the garden of Gethsemane to the Mother of God; and enclosed within it her life-giving tomb. Moreover the place being on a hill-side she erected marble steps, for travellers to pass from the city eastwards." (Ecclesiastical History, VIII. 30.) NOTE IV. These are the words of the empress: "We hear that there is a noble and splendid church dedicated to Mary, Mother of God and perpetual Virgin, on the ground called Gethsemane where her body was laid." Johann. Damascen. Orat. II. de B. M. Assumptione, ap. Quaresm. E. T. S. Lib. IV. pereg. 7, c. 2, Tom. II. p. 241. NOTE V. This is the account of Sebastiano Paoli: "That most venerable Mount Sion also they have profaned and treated with no respect: the Temple of the Lord, the church in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, where is the Sepulchre of the Virgin, the church at Bethlehem, and the place of our Lord's nativity, they have polluted by enormities too grievous to be told, exceeding therein the wickedness of all the Saracens." (Seb. Paoli, Cod. Diplom. del S. Mil. Ord. Gerusal. Said Ebn Batrik, II. 212.) NOTE VI. It was Godfrey de Bouillon who brought these monks to Jerusalem and gave them for their abbey the whole of the Valley of Jehoshaphat. "The same Godfrey aforesaid had also brought monks from well-disciplined cloisters, religious men, and distinguished by their holy conversation, who during the whole of the journey, day and night, celebrated the divine offices according to ecclesiastical usage. And when he obtained the kingdom, he settled them at their own request in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and gave them an ample endowment." (William of Tyre, IX. 9.) NOTE VII. In which place was a wonderful work built in the earliest times of the Christian religion, as S. Jerome testifies in his writings. It surpassed all the other buildings in size, workmanship, and design; but was afterwards destroyed by the treacherous Gentiles: its ruins are to be seen even to this day. Bongars, p. 574. De Vogüé says that the author grounds his statement wrongly on an apocryphal letter of S. Jerome. See Quaresmius, E. T. S. Tom. II. p. 244. NOTE VIII. Brocardus writes: "The Sepulchre of the Virgin is covered with earth to such an extent that the church built upon its site, though its walls were lofty, and it had a noble roof, is now entirely buried underground.... There was built, however, on the same site, and _upon the surface of the ground_, a church or a building like a chapel, after the repairing of the city. Having entered this, you will descend by several steps _underground_ to the aforementioned church and the Tomb of the Virgin; if I am not mistaken there are sixty steps. The tomb is in the middle of the choir and in front of a marble altar beautifully decorated, which the Saracens too most devoutly worship, falling down before it and kissing it, and in a loud voice, as is their custom, praying for the intercession of the Holy Virgin. I have been inside the Sepulchre itself." Willibrand (Leo Allat. Sym. p. 149) says, "We saw a church richly adorned and in its midst a monument, covered on all sides with white, i.e. virgin, marble." NOTE IX. Father Geraldo Calvetti, guardian and keeper of Mount Sion, took possession of the Sepulchre. The document which proves this is found in the archives of the convent of S. Saviour at Jerusalem, under the letter C. Quaresmius, I. 181: "These things were done at Jerusalem before the gate and entrance of the said church of Our Blessed Lady of the Valley of Jehoshaphat." NOTE X. A firman, granted in 1852, allows the Latins to hold service in the Sepulchre of the Virgin, after the Greeks and the Armenians, enjoining upon them at the same time to take away on each occasion the objects of worship. This firman, amongst the many false statements that it makes, contains a few lines which are worth quoting: "it is just to confirm the permission granted at all times to the Christians of the Catholic rite to exercise their own form of worship in this place." In spite of these previous concessions, &c. the Latins had been totally driven out from it. Of what use are firmans when they are acquired at will by presents of gold? NOTE XI. Father Morone[903], Guardian of the Holy Land, relates that towards the middle of the seventeenth century some tombstones were found near the entrance of the Grotto of the Agony; and on them were inscriptions belonging to the Latin Christians; but that he himself, who had the oversight of the work, did not let them be uncovered, from fear lest the Turks should take possession of them. If he had only taken a copy of these epitaphs, we might possibly know the resting-place of some of the more distinguished Crusaders. However, I conclude, from the fact that he relates, that the existing passage was made at that time. NOTE XII. In 1857 I obtained leave from the Superior of the Greek convent to draw the ground-plan of the church. I set to work, and got as far as the Armenian Chapel of S. Joseph, when the Armenian lay-keeper of the chapel wished to hinder my continuing my work; I asked him as a favour to let me go on, and offered him an acknowledgment, but he only became more annoying still. At last I tried force, compelled him to return to his sacristy, set a European servant to watch at the door, and, regardless of his cries, persisted in my work. I mention this to shew how great difficulties are met with, even amongst Christians of other sects, in conducting any investigations respecting the monuments that belong to them. NOTE XIII. The olive-trees of the Garden of Gethsemane, says Chateaubriand (Itinéraire, Vol. II.), belong at any rate to the later empire. In Turkey, every olive-tree found already planted when the Turks invaded Asia, pays a tax of a medino; those that have been planted since the conquest pay to the Sultan the half of their fruit. Now, the eight olive-trees of Gethsemane are taxed at eight medini. NOTE XIV. The various elevations of the hills, and other special localities of Jerusalem and its neighbourhood, are drawn in section. (Plate IV.) NOTE XV. The Jews had derived the worship of Moloch from the Canaanites. Moloch and Saturn appear to have been the same deity: the way in which they were worshipped is the same. The Carthaginians, who were descended from the Canaanites, offered human victims to Saturn. "There was in their city," says Diodorus Siculus (Book XX. chap. 14), "a bronze statue representing Cronos (Saturn): it had its hands spread out, and bent down towards the ground, so that the child that was put in its hands, rolling itself up, fell into a fiery furnace." These cruel sacrifices continued to prevail in Africa till the time of the Emperor Tiberius (Tertullian, Apol. IX.). From Syria the practice passed into Europe. Agathocles, king of Sicily, sacrificed two hundred children of the noblest families to his deity, believing him to be angry. (Pescennius Festus in Lactant. Divin. Instit. I. 21.) The Rabbi Simon, in his commentary on Jeremiah (viii.), gives the following description of the idol Moloch: "All the idol temples were in the city of Jerusalem, except that of Moloch, which was in a place set apart outside the city. It was a statue of bronze with the head of an ox, and with the hands stretched out like those of a man who wishes to receive something from another; within it was quite hollow. Before the image were seven chapels; he who offered a dove, or any other bird, went into the first; he who gave a lamb, or a sheep, into the second; into the third for a wether; into the fourth for a calf; into the fifth for a bull; into the sixth for an ox; while he who sacrificed his own son entered the seventh chapel and embraced the idol, as it is said in Hosea (xiii. 2), 'Let the men that sacrifice kiss the calves.' The child was set before the idol, beneath which a fire was kindled, till the bronze became red hot; then the priest took the child, and put it between the burning hands of Moloch, while the parents were bound to witness the sacrifice without any expression of feeling. To prevent the cries of the victims reaching them, drums and gongs were sounded! from this comes the name _Topheth_, which signifies a drum. It was also called _Hinnom_, because of the cries of the children, from _naham_, to cry, or, according to another interpretation from the words which the priest used to address to the parents, _Jehenelach_--this will be of service to thee. King Josiah, in order to render the place an object of horror, 'defiled Topheth, which is in the valley of the sons of Hinnom, that no man might make his son or his daughter to pass through the fire to Moloch' (2 Kings xxiii. 10)." NOTE XVI. So when Solomon is spoken of, it is said, "Solomon slept with his fathers, and was buried in the city of David, his father" (1 Kings xi. 43); and the same formula is used of the kings Rehoboam, Abijam, Jehoshaphat, Ahaziah, Jehoiada, the priest (2 Chron. xxiv. 16), and the kings Amaziah, Jotham, Josiah; while in the case of the rest different expressions are used. Asa was buried "in his own sepulchres, which he had made for himself in the city of David" (2 Chron. xvi. 14); therefore he was not buried with his fathers. Jehoram was buried "in the city of David, but not in the sepulchres of the kings" (2 Chron. xxi. 20). The place of burial of the usurper Athaliah is not mentioned. Joash, in 2 Kings xii. 21, is buried "with his fathers in the city of David," while in 2 Chron. xxiv. 25, it is said that "they buried him not in the sepulchres of the kings." Uzziah "they buried with his fathers in the field of the burial which belonged to the kings; for they said, He is a leper" (2 Chron. xxvi. 23). Ahaz they "buried in the city, _even_ at Jerusalem: but they brought him not into the sepulchres of the kings of Israel" (2 Chron. xxviii. 27). Hezekiah was buried "in the highest of the sepulchres of the sons of David" (2 Chron. xxxii. 33). Manasseh "was buried in the garden of his own house, in the garden of Uzza;" as also was Amon, his successor (2 Kings xxi. 18, 26). Jehoahaz died in Egypt (2 Kings xxiii. 34). Eliakim, or Jehoiachim, according to Jeremiah (xxii. 19), is to be "buried with the burial of an ass, drawn and cast forth beyond the gates of Jerusalem;" and (xxxvi. 30), "his dead body shall be cast out in the day to the heat, and in the night to the frost;" from all which we may the more certainly conclude that the sepulchres of the other kings were within the gates of Jerusalem. Lastly, we have Jehoiachin and Zedekiah led captive to Babylon, where they died. NOTE XVII. Bede, who wrote in the eighth century (on the authority of Arculf), calls the building of the Coenaculum a large church. In his time there was in the neighbourhood a convent of monks. He says: "On the upper part of Mount Sion there is a large church, surrounded by a great number of monks' cells. The church was founded, it is said, by the apostles, because it was there that they received the Holy Ghost, and that Mary died. They shew there to this day the memorable place which was the scene of our Lord's supper. In the middle of the church is a column of marble, to which Jesus was bound when He was scourged." FOOTNOTES: [900] Persons who have seen them have told me that they were of the veined red breccia of Palestine. [901] These three inscriptions were traced in characters of the 12th century. [902] Lib. VII. ad fin. p. 289, ed. Bonn. [903] Mariano Morone da Maleo, Terra Santa nuovamente illustrata. Piacenza, 1669, 4to. CHRONOLOGICAL SUMMARY OF THE HISTORY AND EVENTS OF JERUSALEM. B.C. 1913 Melchizedek, king of Salem, receives Abram at the Valley of Shaveh, which is the King's Dale Gen. xiv. 17, 18. 1872 Sacrifice of Isaac on Mount Moriah _Ib._ xxii. 2-14. 1451 Adonizedek king of Jerusalem Josh. x. 1. 1444 The descendants of Judah dwell among the Jebusites at Jerusalem _Ib._ xv. 63. 1425 The descendants of Benjamin dwell among the Jebusites at Jerusalem Judges i. 21. -- Jebus, the city of the Jebusites, is Jerusalem _Ib._ xix. 10, 11. 1050 David reigns in Jerusalem over all Israel and Judah 2 Sam. v. 5. 1023 Death of Absalom, and his Pillar in the King's Dale _Ib._ xviii. 14, 18. 1017 The prophets, Nathan and Gad, at Jerusalem _Ib._ xxiv. 11; 1 Kings i. 11. -- David buys the Threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite, and builds there an Altar to God 2 Sam. xxiv. 24, 25. -- Solomon proclaimed king at Jerusalem 1 Kings i. 39. 1015 Death of David, after 40 years' reign _Ib._ ii. 10, 11. 1014 Solomon begins to build the Temple _Ib._ vi. 1. 1007 The Temple finished _Ib._ vi. 38. 1004 Dedication of Solomon's Temple _Ib._ viii. 63. 992 Solomon forsakes God, and builds a high place to Chemosh, &c. _Ib._ xi. 7. 977 Death of Solomon, after 40 years' reign _Ib._ xi. 42, 43. -- Division of the Kingdom. Rehoboam, king of Judah, reigns 17 years _Ib._ xii. 17; xiv. 21. 973 Shishak, king of Egypt, besieges and takes Jerusalem _Ib._ xiv. 25, 26. 960 Abijam, king of Judah, reigns 3 years _Ib._ xv. 1, 2. 958 Asa, king of Judah, reigns 41 years _Ib._ xv. 9, 10. 917 Jehoshaphat, king of Judah, reigns 25 years _Ib._ xxii. 42. 896 The prophet Elijah taken up to heaven. Elisha the prophet 2 Kings ii. 11, 12. 892 Joram, king of Judah, reigns 8 years _Ib._ viii. 16, 17. 887 The Philistines and Arabians pillage Judah 2 Chron. xxi. 16, 17. 885 Ahaziah, king of Judah, reigns 1 year 2 Kings viii. 25, 26. 884 Usurpation of the throne by Athaliah; reigns 6 years _Ib._ xi. 1, 3. 878 Jehoash, king of Judah, reigns 40 years _Ib._ xii. 1. 856 Repairs of the Temple _Ib._ xii. 11-14. 840 Hazael, king of Syria, threatens Jerusalem _Ib._ xii. 18. 839 Amaziah, king of Judah, reigns 29 years _Ib._ xiv. 1, 2. 838 Jehoash, king of Israel, comes to Jerusalem as a conqueror _Ib._ xiv. 17. 811 Azariah, king of Judah, reigns 52 years _Ib._ xv. 2. 787 The Prophet Amos Amos i. 1. 785 The Prophet Hosea Hosea i. 1. 759 Jotham, king of Judah, reigns 16 years; fortifies Ophel 2 Kings xv. 32; 2 Chr. xxvii. 3. 743 Ahaz, king of Judah, reigns 16 years _Ib._ xvi. 2. -- Isaiah the Prophet. Micah the Prophet, in the days of Jotham Isai. i. 1; Micah i. 1. 727 Hezekiah, king of Judah, reigns 29 years 2 Kings xviii. 2. 714 Judah invaded by Sennacherib the Assyrian _Ib._ xviii. 13. 713 Destruction of Sennacherib's army 2 Kings xix. 35. 698 Manasseh, king of Judah, reigns 55 years; fortifies Ophel _Ib._ xxi. 1; 2 Chr. xxxiii. 14. 643 Amon, king of Judah, reigns 2 years _Ib._ xxi. 19. 641 Josiah, king of Judah, reigns 31 years _Ib._ xxii. 1. 629 The prophet Jeremiah Jer. i. 2. -- The prophet Zephaniah Zephan. i. 1. 624 The Book of the Law found 2 Kings xxii. 8. 610-9 Josiah killed by Pharaoh-nechoh, king of Egypt _Ib._ xxiii. 29. -- Jehoahaz, king of Judah, reigns 3 months _Ib._ xxiii. 31. -- Jehoiachim (Eliakim), king of Judah, reigns 11 years _Ib._ xxiii. 34, 36. 606-5 Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, subdues Judea. Epoch generally used to indicate the commencement of the Seventy years' Captivity in Babylon _Ib._ xxiv. 1. 599-8 Jehoiachin, king of Judah, reigns 3 months. Jerusalem taken by Nebuchadnezzar. _Ib._ xxiv. 12. -- Zedekiah, king of Judah under the Chaldeans, reigns 11 years _Ib._ xxiv. 18. 595 The Vision of the Prophet Ezekiel, in the thirtieth year after the reformation of Josiah, by the river Chebar, in Babylon Ezekiel i. 1. 589 The city of Jerusalem besieged by Nebuchadnezzar 2 Kings xxv. 1, 2. 588 Jeremiah in prison Jer. xxxvii. 15. 587 Destruction of Jerusalem; Zedekiah taken prisoner; the people carried captive to Babylon 2 Kings xxv. 6, 9-11. 536 Return of the Jews to Jerusalem with Zerubbabel in the 1st year of the reign of Cyrus Ezra i. 1; ii. 2. 521 The building of the Temple interrupted by order of Smerdis, called by Ezra, Artaxerxes _Ib._ iii. 8; iv. 1, 21, 24. 520 Recommencement of the building of the Temple in the 2nd year of Darius, king of Persia _Ib._ iv. 24; vi. 7-14. 517 Completion and Dedication of the Temple _Ib._ vi. 15, 16. 457 Ezra goes to Judea with many of the Jews, by order of Artaxerxes _Ib._ vii. 1-8. 444 Nehemiah returns to Jerusalem, rebuilds the walls, and governs the city until 432 Nehem. i. 1; ii. 1; iii. 332 The great high-priest Jaddua receives Alexander the Great at Jerusalem. -- Palestine under Greek and Roman Dominion. 323 Ptolemy, one of the generals of Alexander the Great, surprises and takes Jerusalem. 320 Many Jews in captivity at Alexandria. 314 Antiochus the Great subdues Palestine. 301 Ptolemy Epiphanes recovers Palestine. 292 Death of Simon the Just. 170 Antiochus Epiphanes lays waste the city of Jerusalem, pillages the Temple, and builds a fortress to command it. 167 Mattathias begins the war of Jewish Independence. 165 Judas Maccabeus delivers his Country, purifies and restores the Temple at Jerusalem. 164 Antiochus Eupator besieges the Temple at Jerusalem. 160 Jonathan succeeds his brother, Judas Maccabeus. 144 Jonathan undertakes to fortify Jerusalem. 143 Simon Maccabeus, general of the Jews, delivers his Nation from Macedonian servitude; takes the fortress commanding the Temple, which he razes to the ground, and destroys the hill upon which it was built. 135 Simon Maccabeus treacherously killed. 129 Antiochus Soter besieges Hyrcanus in Jerusalem. Hyrcanus causes the Sepulchre of David to be opened, and takes from it three thousand talents. 107 Aristobulus, the eldest son of Hyrcanus, prince of the Jews, causes himself to be crowned king. Death of his brother Antigonus in the subterranean passages of Strato's Tower at Jerusalem. 79 Death of Alexander Janneus. 65 Aretas, king of Arabia, besieges Aristobulus in Jerusalem. 64-63 Pompey besieges the Temple of Jerusalem. 63 After a siege of three months Pompey carries the Temple by assault. 54 Crassus pillages the Temple of Jerusalem. 47 Cæsar permits Hyrcanus to rebuild the Walls of Jerusalem. 44 Herod besieges Jerusalem. 43 Cassius in Judea. 40 Jerusalem taken by the Parthians; Phazaelus killed. -- Herod besieges Jerusalem; is proclaimed king at Rome. 38 Herod, assisted by Sosius, takes Jerusalem by storm. 17 Herod rebuilds the Temple and the fortress of Baris, which he calls Antonia. In the upper town he builds the Cæsarean and Agrippan palaces, and excavates a subterranean passage from the Tower Antonia to the Eastern gate of the Temple. 12 Herod causes the Sepulchre of David to be opened. 7 Herod causes his sons, Alexander and Aristobulus, to be condemned in a large assembly at Berytus. 5 Sabinus at Jerusalem seizes the treasures left by Herod. 4 Birth of Jesus Christ. The Vulgar Era commences four years later. 4 Death of Herod, who is interred at Herodium, and succeeded by Archelaus. * * * * * A.D. 26 Death of Augustus, succeeded by Tiberius. -- Pilate supplies Jerusalem with water by means of Aqueducts. 28 Jesus Christ keeps the second Passover at Jerusalem. 31 Death of Jesus Christ. 37 Birth of Flavius Josephus at Jerusalem. 38 Agrippa named king of the Jews by Caius Caligula. 42 Claudius confirms Agrippa's title as king. 44 King Agrippa begins to fortify Jerusalem, but is forbidden to continue the work by the emperor Claudius. -- Izates, king of Adiabene, and queen Helena, his mother, embrace Judaism. 46 Death of Herod, king of Chalcis. The emperor Claudius gives his dominions to Agrippa, son of king Agrippa the Great. 47 The insolence of a Roman soldier causes the death of twenty thousand Jews at Jerusalem. 52 Death of the emperor Claudius. Nero succeeds him. 60 King Agrippa builds an apartment whence he can see all that goes on in the precincts of the Temple. 62 Ananias, the high-priest, puts S. James to death. 65 Albinus and Gessius Florus persecute the Jews. 66 Cestius Gallus enters Jerusalem, and would have taken the Temple, had he not imprudently raised the siege. -- Cestius defeated at Gibeon by the Jews. -- The Christian Jews, guided by their bishop, Simon, retire beyond the Jordan, to the town of Pella. (See Eusebius, Hist. Eccles. III. 5.) -- The Jews prepare for war with the Romans. The emperor Nero confers the command of his Syrian armies upon Vespasian, to make war upon the Jews. 67 Vespasian and Titus proceed to Ptolemais with an army of sixty thousand men. -- Flavius Josephus made prisoner by Vespasian. 68 Vespasian begins to blockade Jerusalem. -- Flavius Josephus set at liberty by Vespasian, who is now become emperor. 69 Vespasian despatches Titus to Judea, to take Jerusalem. 70 Titus arrives at Jerusalem, in which place Simon had ten thousand men, besides five thousand Idumeans. John had eight thousand four hundred men. Total twenty-three thousand four hundred. -- Titus takes the city of Jerusalem, and reduces it to ruins. -- Titus returns to view Jerusalem. 136-8 Hadrian rebuilds Jerusalem, and calls it Ælia Capitolina. 306 Constantine proclaimed emperor. 326 The emperor Constantine and his mother Helena build many churches in Palestine. 335 The Church of the Holy Sepulchre completed. 363 Under the reign of Julian the Apostate the Jews attempt to rebuild the Temple. 396 Palestine a province of the Eastern Empire. 420 Patriarchate of Tiberius came to an end under Theodosius II. 436 Under the reign of Marcian, the general Council of Chalcedon raises the Church of Jerusalem to the Patriarchal dignity. 527-565 Justinian, emperor of the East, builds churches in Palestine. 614 Chosroes II. enters Palestine and destroys the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. 629 The emperor Heraclius carries back to Jerusalem the wood of the Cross restored by Chosroes. -- The Greek monk, Modestus, afterwards Patriarch, determines to rebuild the Church of the Sepulchre. 636 Omar becomes master of Jerusalem under a capitulation arranged with Sophronius the patriarch. 637 Omar orders the construction of a Mosque upon the site of the Jewish Temple, and converts the basilica of S. Mary of Justinian into the Mosque el-Aksa. 687-690 The Caliph Abd-el-Melik Ibn-Merwan erects the Mosque of Omar. 748 and subsequently. The Christians inhabit a separate quarter of Jerusalem, and pay tribute. 786-809 Haroun-er-Raschid presents the keys of the Holy Sepulchre to Charlemagne, king of the French. 842 Under the Caliphate of Al-Motassim, Tamim, surnamed Abu-Harb, marches to Jerusalem and threatens to burn the churches, but retires after receiving a sum of money. 878 Syria and Palestine conquered by Ahmed-ben-Touloun. 929-950 Interruption of the pilgrimages to Mecca, owing to the invasion of the Carmathians; the Mosque of Omar at Jerusalem replaces the Caaba. 936 Abubeker-Mohammed, surnamed Ikshide, makes himself master of Palestine. 945 The eunuch Cafour master of Palestine until his death in 968. 972 Palestine in the power of Moezz-Ledin-Allah, caliph of the dynasty of the Fatimites. 996 The caliph Al-Hakem-Biamr-Allah ascends the throne of Egypt. 1010 Hakem-Biamr-Allah destroys the Church of the Sepulchre at Jerusalem. 1046 The Church of the Sepulchre rebuilt under caliph Al-Mostanser-Billah. The emperor Constantine Monomachus gives large sums towards the work. 1071 Atsiz takes Jerusalem from caliph Al-Mostanser-Billah, and pillages many of the churches. 1095 Al-Mastaali-Billah, caliph of Egypt, sends an army to Palestine under the command of Al-Afdhal-ibn-Bedr; Jerusalem capitulates after 40 days' siege. -- At the general Council of Clermont Peter the Hermit appears by the side of Pope Urban II., and the Crusade is determined. 1099 The Crusaders, commanded by Godfrey of Bouillon, take Jerusalem, Friday, July 15th. 1100 Death of Godfrey of Bouillon in the month of July. 1118 Death of Baldwin I. 1131 Death of Baldwin II. -- Under the reign of Baldwin II. the military and religious orders of S. John, or Hospitalers and Knights of the Temple, are approved by the Pope. 1142 Fulk, count of Anjou, dies at Ptolemais. 1146 The second Crusade decided upon in the Assembly of Vezelay, March 31st. Undertaken by Louis VII., king of France, and Conrad, emperor of Germany, under the pontificate of Eugenius III. 1162 Baldwin III. dies at Beyrout. 1173 Death of Amaury. This king witnessed the birth and development of the power of Saladin. 1185 Death of Baldwin IV. 1186 Death of Baldwin V. 1187 Saladin destroys the army of Guy of Lusignan, July 4. -- The Christians of Jerusalem capitulate to Saladin, October 2nd. 1189 Third Crusade under the pontificate of Clement III., Philip Augustus, king of France, Richard Coeur de Lion, king of England, Frederic Barbarossa, emperor of Germany. 1190 Death of Frederic Barbarossa on the Cydnus. 1191 Siege and capture of S. Jean d'Acre by Richard Coeur de Lion and Philip Augustus. 1193 Death of Saladin at Damascus, the night of March 3rd. 1203 Fourth Crusade under the pontificate of Innocent III. 1205 Amaury II. dies in the Spring. 1212 Crusade of the fifty thousand children. 1217 Fifth Crusade under the pontificate of Honorius III. 1219 Francis of Assisi in Palestine. 1229 Sixth Crusade under the pontificate of Gregory IX. The sultan, Malek-Kamel, cedes Jerusalem to Frederic without combat. 1239 The Christians reconstruct the ramparts of Jerusalem, with Thibaut, count of Champagne, and king of Navarre; but the prince of Kerek enters the city and destroys the new fortifications and the Tower of David. 1240 Richard of Cornwall, brother of Henry III., king of England, arrives in Palestine with an army of English Crusaders. 1244 The Tartars under Gengis Khan take and destroy Jerusalem. -- Palestine remains in possession of the Egyptians. 1248 Louis IX. undertakes a Crusade under the pontificate of Innocent IV. 1254 Louis IX. abandons Palestine upon the news of queen Blanche's death. 1270 Louis IX. undertakes a fresh Crusade. -- Louis IX. dies at Tunis, August 25th. 1271 Prince Edward, son of Henry III. of England, in the East. He is wounded with a dagger by an emissary of the Old Man of the Mountain, but is saved by the princess Eleanor, his wife. 1291 The Crusaders lose S. Jean d'Acre, their last possession in Palestine. 1313 Robert of Anjou, king of Naples, causes the disciples of S. Francis of Assisi to be admitted into Jerusalem. 1491 The Franciscans of Mount Sion dispersed in the reign of sultan Malec-dhaher-djahmak. 1517-18 Selim I., sultan of Constantinople, conquers Syria and Palestine. 1534 Sultan Solyman, son of Selim I., builds the wall of the city, together with many edifices and fountains. 1799 Napoleon Bonaparte in Palestine. 1832 Conquest of Syria and Palestine by Ibrahim Pasha. 1841 Syria and Palestine restored to the Sultan. 1859 Surraya Pasha, governor of Palestine, subdues the chiefs of the country, and restores tranquillity. 1860 Massacre of the Christians in the Lebanon and at Damascus. Palestine remains tranquil under the good government of Surraya Pasha. PRINCIPAL PASSAGES FROM THE HOLY BIBLE BEARING UPON THE STATEMENTS IN THE TEXT. GENESIS. [Sidenote: Valley of Shaveh, which is the king's dale.] "And the king of Sodom went out to meet him after his return from the slaughter of Chedorlaomer, and of the kings that were with him, at the valley of Shaveh, which is the king's dale." xiv. 17. (page 1.) [Sidenote: Salem.] "And Melchizedek king of Salem brought forth bread and wine." xiv. 18. (p. 1.) [Sidenote: Moriah.] "And he said, Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of." xxii. 2. (pp. 17, 46.) [Sidenote: Jehovah-jireh.] "And Abraham called the name of that place Jehovah-jireh: as it is said to this day, In the mount of the Lord it shall be seen." xxii. 14. (pp. 17, 46.) EXODUS. [Sidenote: Altar of stone.] "And if thou wilt make me an altar of stone, thou shalt not build it of hewn stone: for if thou lift up thy tool upon it, thou hast polluted it." xx. 25. (p. 54.) "Neither shalt thou go up by steps unto mine altar, that thy nakedness be not discovered thereon." xx. 26. (p. 89.) LEVITICUS. [Sidenote: Altar.] "And he shall kill it on the side of the altar northward before the Lord: and the priests, Aaron's sons, shall sprinkle his blood round about upon the altar." i. 11. (pp. 50, 89.) [Sidenote: Place of the ashes.] "And he shall pluck away his crop with his feathers, and cast it beside the altar on the east part, by the place of the ashes." i. 16. (pp. 50, 92.) DEUTERONOMY. [Sidenote: Altar of stones.] "And there shalt thou build an altar unto the Lord thy God, an altar of stones: thou shalt not lift up any iron tool upon them." xxvii. 5. (p. 54.) [Sidenote: Of whole stones.] "Thou shalt build the altar of the Lord thy God of whole stones: and thou shalt offer burnt offerings thereon unto the Lord thy God." xxvii. 6. (p. 54.) JOSHUA. [Sidenote: Jerusalem.] "Now it came to pass, when Adoni-zedek king of Jerusalem had heard how Joshua had taken Ai," &c. x. 1. (pp. 1, 2.) [Sidenote: Jebusites.] "As for the Jebusites the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the children of Judah could not drive them out: but the Jebusites dwell with the children of Judah at Jerusalem unto this day." xv. 63. (p. 2.) [Sidenote: Valley of the son of Hinnom.] [Sidenote: Valley of the giants. En-Rogel.] "And the border came down to the end of the mountain that lieth before the valley of the son of Hinnom, and which is in the valley of the giants on the north, and descended to the valley of Hinnom, to the side of Jebusi on the south, and descended to En-rogel." xviii. 16. (pp. 17, 22, 188, 204, 290.) JUDGES. [Sidenote: Jebusites that inhabited Jerusalem.] "And the children of Benjamin did not drive out the Jebusites that inhabited Jerusalem; but the Jebusites dwell with the children of Benjamin in Jerusalem unto this day." i. 21. (pp. 2, 22.) [Sidenote: Jebus, which is Jerusalem.] "But the man would not tarry that night, but he rose up and departed, and came over against Jebus, which is Jerusalem; and there were with him two asses saddled, his concubine also was with him." xix. 10. (p. 1.) 2 SAMUEL. [Sidenote: David went to Jerusalem.] "And the king and his men went to Jerusalem unto the Jebusites, the inhabitants of the land: which spake unto David, saying, Except thou take away the blind and the lame, thou shalt not come in hither: thinking, David cannot come in hither." v. 6. (pp. 2, 16, 22.) [Sidenote: Stronghold of Zion. City of David.] "Nevertheless David took the stronghold of Zion: the same is the city of David." v. 7. (pp. 2, 16, 22, 210.) [Sidenote: Millo.] "So David dwelt in the fort, and called it the city of David. And David built round about from Millo and inward." v. 9. (pp. 2, 16, 22, 23, 24, 210.) [Sidenote: Hiram. Masons.] "And Hiram king of Tyre sent messengers to David, and cedar-trees, and carpenters, and masons: and they built David an house." v. 11. (p. 22.) [Sidenote: Valley of Rephaim.] "The Philistines also came and spread themselves in the valley of Rephaim." v. 18. (p. 194.) [Sidenote: Mount Olivet.] "And David went up by the ascent of mount Olivet, and wept as he went up," &c. xv. 30. (p. 21.) [Sidenote: Absalom.] "And they took Absalom, and cast him into a great pit in the wood, and laid a very great heap of stones upon him; and all Israel fled every one to his tent." xviii. 17. (p. 182.) [Sidenote: His place.] "Now Absalom in his lifetime had taken and reared up for himself a pillar, which is in the king's dale: for he said, I have no son to keep my name in remembrance: and he called the pillar after his own name: and it is called unto this day, Absalom's place." xviii. 18. (pp. 47, 182.) [Sidenote: Araunah the Jebusite.] "And when the angel stretched out his hand upon Jerusalem to destroy it, the Lord repented him of the evil, and said to the angel that destroyed the people, It is enough: stay now thine hand. And the angel of the Lord was by the threshingplace of Araunah the Jebusite." xxiv. 16. (pp. 24, 46.) [Sidenote: Altar on his threshingfloor.] "And Gad came that day to David, and said unto him, Go up, rear an altar unto the Lord in the threshingfloor of Araunah the Jebusite." xxiv. 18. (pp. 24, 46.) "So David bought the threshingfloor and the oxen for fifty shekels of silver." xxiv. 24. (pp. 24, 46.) "And David built there an altar unto the Lord, and offered burnt offerings and peace offerings. So the Lord was intreated for the land, and the plague was stayed from Israel." xxiv. 25. (pp. 24, 46.) 1 KINGS. [Sidenote: En-Rogel.] "And Adonijah slew sheep and oxen and fat cattle by the stone of Zoheleth, which is by En-rogel, and called all his brethren the king's sons, and all the men of Judah the king's servants." i. 9. (pp. 188, 290.) [Sidenote: Gihon.] "So Zadok the priest, and Nathan the prophet, and Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, and the Cherethites, and the Pelethites, went down, and caused Solomon to ride upon king David's mule, and brought him to Gihon." i. 38. (p. 21.) "And Adonijah and all the guests that were with him heard it as they had made an end of eating. And when Joab heard the sound of the trumpet, he said, Wherefore is this noise of the city being in an uproar?" i. 41. (p. 290.) [Sidenote: David buried.] "So David slept with his fathers, and was buried in the city of David." ii. 10. (p. 210.) [Sidenote: Solomon, and the wall of Jerusalem.] "And Solomon made affinity with Pharaoh king of Egypt, and took Pharaoh's daughter, and brought her into the city of David, until he had made an end of building his own house, and the house of the Lord, and the wall of Jerusalem round about." iii. 1. (p. 24.) [Sidenote: Builders of Solomon and Hiram.] "And Solomon's builders and Hiram's builders did hew them, and the stonesquarers: so they prepared timber and stones to build the house." v. 18. (p. 48.) [Sidenote: House which king Solomon built for the Lord.] "And the house which king Solomon built for the Lord, the length thereof was threescore cubits, and the breadth thereof twenty cubits, and the height thereof thirty cubits." vi. 2. (p. 49.) [Sidenote: Stone.] "And the house, when it was in building, was built of stone made ready before it was brought thither: so that there was neither hammer nor axe nor any tool of iron heard in the house, while it was in building." vi. 7. (p. 48.) [Sidenote: Oracle.] "And the oracle he prepared in the house within, to set there the ark of the covenant of the Lord." vi. 19. (p. 49.) [Sidenote: Altar.] "And the oracle in the forepart was twenty cubits in length, and twenty cubits in breadth, and twenty cubits in the height thereof: and he overlaid it with pure gold." vi. 20. (p. 49.) [Sidenote: Stones.] "All these were of costly stones, according to the measures of hewed stones, sawed with saws, within and without, even from the foundation unto the coping, and so on the outside toward the great court." vii. 9. (p. 48.) "And the foundation was of costly stones, even great stones, stones of ten cubits, and stones of eight cubits." vii. 10. (p. 48.) [Sidenote: Millo and the wall of Jerusalem.] "And this is the reason of the levy which king Solomon raised; for to build the house of the Lord, and his own house, and Millo, and the wall of Jerusalem." ix. 15. (pp. 24, 25.) "But Pharaoh's daughter came up out of the city of David unto her house which Solomon had built for her: then did he build Millo." ix. 24. (p. 25.) [Sidenote: High places in the hill before Jerusalem.] "Then did Solomon build an high place for Chemosh, the abomination of Moab, in the hill that is before Jerusalem, and for Molech, the abomination of the children of Ammon." xi. 7. (p. 21, 204.) [Sidenote: Millo.] "And this was the cause that he lifted up his hand against the king: Solomon built Millo, and repaired the breaches of the city of David his father." xi. 27. (pp. 24, 25.) [Sidenote: Solomon buried.] "And Solomon slept with his fathers, and was buried in the city of David his father." xi. 43. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Shishak.] "And it came to pass in the fifth year of king Rehoboam, that Shishak king of Egypt came up against Jerusalem." xiv. 25. (pp. 2, 50.) [Sidenote: Rehoboam buried.] "And Rehoboam slept with his fathers, and was buried with his fathers in the city of David." xiv. 31. (p. 310.) 2 KINGS. [Sidenote: Ahaziah buried.] "And his servants carried him in a chariot to Jerusalem, and buried him in his sepulchre with his fathers in the city of David." ix. 28. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Joash, House of Millo, Silla.] "And his servants arose, and made a conspiracy, and slew Joash in the house of Millo, which goeth down to Silla." xii. 20. (pp. 25, 253.) [Sidenote: Conduit of upper pool.] "And the king of Assyria sent Tartan and Rabsaris and Rab-shakeh from Lachish to king Hezekiah with a great host against Jerusalem. And they went up and came to Jerusalem. And when they were come up, they came and stood by the conduit of the upper pool, which is in the highway of the fuller's field." xviii. 17. (pp. 39, 241, 252.) [Sidenote: The people on the wall.] "Then said Eliakim the son of Hilkiah, and Shebna, and Joah, unto Rab-shakeh, Speak, I pray thee, to thy servants in the Syrian language; for we understand it: and talk not with us in the Jews' language in the ears of the people that are on the wall." xviii. 26. (p. 252.) [Sidenote: Hezekiah.] [Sidenote: Pool. Conduit. Water into the city.] "And the rest of the acts of Hezekiah, and all his might, and how he made a pool, and a conduit, and brought water into the city, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Judah?" xx. 20. (pp. 14, 24, 25, 32.) "And Hezekiah slept with his fathers." xx. 21. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Manasseh buried in the garden of Uzza.] "And Manasseh slept with his fathers, and was buried in the garden of his own house, in the garden of Uzza." xxi. 18. (pp. 184, 310.) [Sidenote: Amon buried in same place.] "And he was buried in his sepulchre in the garden of Uzza." xxi. 26. (pp. 184, 310.) [Sidenote: Huldah.] "So Hilkiah the priest, and Ahikam, and Achbor, and Shaphan, and Asahiah, went unto Huldah the prophetess, the wife of Shallum the son of Tikvah, the son of Harhas, keeper of the wardrobe; (now she dwelt in Jerusalem in the college;) and they communed with her." xxii. 14. (pp. 25, 70.) [Sidenote: Josiah. The graves of the children of the people.] "And he brought out the grove from the house of the Lord, without Jerusalem, unto the brook Kidron, and burned it at the brook Kidron, and stamped it small to powder, and cast the powder thereof upon the graves of the children of the people." xxiii. 6. (pp. 39, 168.) [Sidenote: Topheth, Hinnom.] "And he defiled Topheth, which is in the valley of the children of Hinnom, that no man might make his son or his daughter to pass through the fire to Molech." xxiii. 10. (pp. 21, 310.) [Sidenote: Places before Jerusalem.] "And the high places that were before Jerusalem, which were on the right hand of the mount of corruption, which Solomon," &c. xxiii. 13. (p. 21.) [Sidenote: Josiah buried.] "And his servants carried him in a chariot dead from Megiddo, and brought him to Jerusalem, and buried him in his own sepulchre." xxiii. 30. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Nebuchadnezzar.] "At that time the servants of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came up against Jerusalem, and the city was besieged." xxiv. 10. (pp. 2, 50.) "And he carried away all Jerusalem, and all the princes, and all the mighty men of valour, even ten thousand captives, and all the craftsmen and smiths: none remained, save the poorest sort of the people of the land." xxiv. 14. (pp. 2, 50.) [Sidenote: Gate between two walls. King's garden.] "And the city was broken up, and all the men of war fled by night by the way of the gate between two walls, which is by the king's garden: (now the Chaldees were against the city round about:) and the king went the way toward the plain." xxv. 4. (pp. 26, 182, 188.) [Sidenote: Nebuzar-adan came unto Jerusalem.] "And in the fifth month, on the seventh day of the month, which is the nineteenth year of king Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, came Nebuzar-adan, captain of the guard, a servant of the king of Babylon, unto Jerusalem." xxv. 8. (p. 2.) [Sidenote: Burnt the house of the Lord, &c.] "And he burnt the house of the Lord, and the king's house, and all the houses of Jerusalem, and every great man's house burnt he with fire." xxv. 9. (pp. 2, 50.) [Sidenote: Walls of Jerusalem.] "And all the army of the Chaldees, that were with the captain of the guard, brake down the walls of Jerusalem round about." xxv. 10. (p. 2.) [Sidenote: People that remained.] "But the captain of the guard left of the poor of the land to be vinedressers and husbandmen." xxv. 12. (p. 50.) 1 CHRONICLES. [Sidenote: Castle of Zion. City of David.] "And the inhabitants of Jebus said to David, Thou shalt not come hither. Nevertheless David took the castle of Zion, which is the city of David." xi. 5. (pp. 2, 16.) "And David dwelt in the castle; therefore they called it the city of David." xi. 7. (p. 22.) [Sidenote: Works of David and Joab.] "And he built the city round about, even from Millo round about: and Joab repaired the rest of the city." xi. 8. (pp. 23, 24.) [Sidenote: Ornan the Jebusite.] "Then the angel of the Lord commanded Gad to say to David, that David should go up, and set up an altar unto the Lord in the threshingfloor of Ornan the Jebusite." xxi. 18. (pp. 24, 46.) "So David gave to Ornan for the place six hundred shekels of gold by weight." xxi. 25. (p. 46.) [Sidenote: David built there an altar, &c.] "And David built there an altar unto the Lord, and offered burnt offerings and peace offerings, and called upon the Lord; and he answered him from heaven by fire upon the altar of burnt offering." xxi. 26. (p. 46.) 2 CHRONICLES. [Sidenote: Moriah.] "Then Solomon began to build the house of the Lord at Jerusalem in mount Moriah, where the Lord appeared unto David his father, in the place that David had prepared in the threshingfloor of Ornan the Jebusite." iii. 1. (pp. 17, 24.) [Sidenote: House of God.] "Now these are the things wherein Solomon was instructed for the building of the house of God. The length by cubits after the first measure was threescore cubits, and the breadth twenty cubits." iii. 3. (p. 48.) "And he made the most holy house, the length whereof was according to the breadth of the house, twenty cubits, and the breadth thereof twenty cubits." iii. 8. (p. 48.) [Sidenote: Altar of brass.] "Moreover he made an altar of brass, twenty cubits the length thereof, and twenty cubits the breadth thereof, and ten cubits the height thereof." iv. 1. (p. 49.) [Sidenote: Solomon buried.] "And Solomon slept with his fathers, and he was buried in the city of David his father: and Rehoboam his son reigned in his stead." ix. 31. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Asa buried.] "And they buried him in his own sepulchres, which he had made for himself in the city of David, and laid him in the bed which was filled with sweet odours and divers kinds of spices prepared by the apothecaries' art: and they made a very great burning for him." xvi. 14. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Jehoram buried.] "Thirty and two years old was he when he began to reign, and he reigned in Jerusalem eight years, and departed without being desired. Howbeit they buried him in the city of David, but not in the sepulchres of the kings." xxi. 20. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Athaliah.] "So they laid hands on her; and when she was come to the entering of the horse gate by the king's house, they slew her there." xxiii. 15. (p. 26.) [Sidenote: Joash buried.] "And they buried him in the city of David, but they buried him not in the sepulchres of the kings." xxiv. 25. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Amaziah buried.] "And they brought him upon horses, and buried him with his fathers in the city of Judah." xxv. 28. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Uzziah built towers at the corner gate and valley gate.] "Moreover Uzziah built towers in Jerusalem at the corner gate, and at the valley gate, and at the turning of the wall, and fortified them." xxvi. 9. (p. 26.) [Sidenote: Uzziah buried.] "So Uzziah slept with his fathers, and they buried him with his fathers in the field of the burial which belonged to the kings; for they said, He is a leper: and Jotham his son reigned in his stead." xxvi. 23. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Jotham. Ophel.] "He built the high gate of the house of the Lord, and on the wall of Ophel he built much." xxvii. 3. (p. 25.) [Sidenote: Ahaz buried.] "And Ahaz slept with his fathers, and they buried him in the city, even in Jerusalem: but they brought him not into the sepulchres of the kings of Israel." xxviii. 27. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Hezekiah stopped the waters of the fountains.] "He took counsel with his princes and his mighty men to stop the waters of the fountains which were without the city: and they did help him." xxxii. 3. (pp. 241, 252.) [Sidenote: The people stopped all the fountains.] "So there was gathered much people together, who stopped all the fountains, and the brook that ran through the midst of the land, saying, Why should the kings of Assyria come, and find much water?" xxxii. 4. (pp. 241, 252.) [Sidenote: Hezekiah repaired Millo.] "Also he strengthened himself, and built up all the wall that was broken, and raised it up to the towers, and another wall without, and repaired Millo in the city of David, and made darts and shields in abundance." xxxii. 5. (pp. 25, 252.) [Sidenote: Stopped the upper watercourse of Gihon.] "This same Hezekiah also stopped the upper watercourse of Gihon, and brought it straight down to the west side of the city of David." xxxii. 30. (pp. 21, 241, 251, 252.) [Sidenote: Hezekiah buried.] "And Hezekiah slept with his fathers, and they buried him in the chiefest of the sepulchres of the sons of David." xxxii. 33. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Manasseh built on the west side of Gihon. Ophel.] "Now after this he built a wall without the city of David, on the west side of Gihon, in the valley, even to the entering in at the fish gate, and compassed about Ophel, and raised it up a very great height." xxxiii. 14. (pp. 2, 17, 21, 26.) [Sidenote: Manasseh buried.] "So Manasseh slept with his fathers, and they buried him in his own house: and Amon his son reigned in his stead." xxxiii. 20. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Chaldees burnt the house of God, and brake down the wall of Jerusalem.] "And they burnt the house of God, and brake down the wall of Jerusalem, and burnt all the palaces thereof with fire, and destroyed all the goodly vessels thereof." xxxvi. 19. (p. 50.) EZRA. [Sidenote: House of God. Zerubbabel.] "But many of the priests and Levites and chief of the fathers, who were ancient men, that had seen the first house, when the foundation of this house was laid before their eyes, wept with a loud voice; and many shouted aloud for joy." iii. 12. (p. 51.) [Sidenote: Zerubbabel builds the house of God.] "Then rose up Zerubbabel, ... and began to build the house of God which is at Jerusalem: and with them were the prophets of God helping them." v. 2. (p. 51.) [Sidenote: House of God. Cyrus.] "In the first year of Cyrus the king the same Cyrus the king made a decree concerning the house of God at Jerusalem, Let the house be builded, the place where they offered sacrifices, and let the foundations thereof be strongly laid; the height thereof threescore cubits, and the breadth thereof threescore cubits." vi. 3. (p. 51.) NEHEMIAH. [Sidenote: Gate of the valley. Dragon well. Dung port.] "And I went out by night by the gate of the valley, even before the dragon well, and to the dung port, and viewed the walls of Jerusalem, which were broken down, and the gates thereof were consumed with fire." ii. 13. (pp. 27, 286.) [Sidenote: Gate of the fountain. King's pool.] "Then I went on to the gate of the fountain, and to the king's pool: but there was no place for the beast that was under me to pass." ii. 14. (p. 286.) [Sidenote: The sheep gate. Tower Meah. Tower Hananeel.] "Then Eliashib the high priest rose up with his brethren the priests, and they builded the sheep gate; they sanctified it, and set up the doors of it; even unto the tower of Meah they sanctified it, unto the tower of Hananeel." iii. 1. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: Fish gate.] "But the fish gate did the sons of Hassenaah build." iii. 3. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: Old gate repaired.] "Moreover the old gate repaired Jehoiada the son of Paseah, and Meshullam the son of Besodeiah." iii. 6. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: The broad wall.] "... and they fortified Jerusalem unto the broad wall." iii. 8. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: Tower of the furnaces.] "... repaired the other piece, and the tower of the furnaces." iii. 11. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: The valley gate. The dung gate.] "The valley gate repaired Hanun, and the inhabitants of Zanoah; they built it, and set up the doors thereof, the locks thereof, and the bars thereof, and a thousand cubits on the wall unto the dung gate." iii. 13. (pp. 27, 286.) [Sidenote: The dung gate.] "But the dung gate repaired Malchiah." iii. 14. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: Gate of the fountain. Pool of Siloah. King's garden. The stairs, &c.] "But the gate of the fountain repaired Shallun ... he built it ... and the wall of the pool of Siloah by the king's garden, and unto the stairs that go down from the city of David." iii. 15. (pp. 27, 185, 210.) [Sidenote: Sepulchres of David. Pool that was made.] "After him repaired Nehemiah ... unto the place over against the sepulchres of David, and to the pool that was made." iii. 16. (pp. 27, 210.) [Sidenote: Ophel. The water gate.] "Moreover the Nethinims dwelt in Ophel, unto the place over against the water gate toward the east, and the tower that lieth out." iii. 26. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: Wall of Ophel.] "After them the Tekoites repaired another piece, over against the great tower that lieth out, even unto the wall of Ophel." iii. 27. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: The east gate.] "... After him repaired also Shemaiah the son of Shechaniah, the keeper of the east gate." iii. 29. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: Building of the wall.] "They which builded on the wall, and they that bare burdens, with those that laded, every one with one of his hands wrought in the work, and with the other hand held a weapon." iv. 17. (p. 285.) [Sidenote: Building of the wall.] "For the builders, every one had his sword girded by his side, and so builded. And he that sounded the trumpet was by me." iv. 18. (p. 285.) [Sidenote: Wall finished.] "So the wall was finished in the twenty and fifth day of the month Elul, in fifty and two days." vi. 15. (p. 285.) [Sidenote: Plain country round about Jerusalem.] "And the sons of the singers gathered themselves together, both out of the plain country round about Jerusalem, and from the villages of Netophathi." xii. 28. (p. 43.) [Sidenote: Villages round about Jerusalem.] "Also from the house of Gilgal, and out of the fields of Geba and Azmaveth: for the singers had builded them villages round about Jerusalem." xii. 29. (p. 43.) [Sidenote: Dung gate.] "Then I brought up the princes of Judah upon the wall, and appointed two great companies of them that gave thanks, whereof one went on the right hand upon the wall toward the dung gate." xii. 31. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: Fountain and Water gates, Stairs, &c.] "And at the fountain gate, which was over against them, they went up by the stairs of the city of David, at the going up of the wall, above the house of David, even unto the water gate eastward." xii. 37. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: Tower of the furnaces. Broad wall.] "And the other company of them that gave thanks went over against them, and I after them, and the half of the people upon the wall, from beyond the tower of the furnaces even unto the broad wall." xii. 38. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: Gates, and Tower of Hananeel.] "And from above the gate of Ephraim, and above the old gate, and above the fish gate, and the tower of Hananeel, and the tower of Meah, even unto the sheep gate: and they stood still in the prison gate." xii. 39. (pp. 27, 144, 286.) ECCLESIASTES. [Sidenote: Gardens.] "I made me gardens and orchards, and I planted trees in them of all kind of fruits." ii. 5. (p. 246.) [Sidenote: Pools.] "I made me pools of water, to water therewith the wood that bringeth forth trees." ii. 6. (p. 246.) ISAIAH. [Sidenote: Upper pool. Fuller's field.] "Then said the Lord unto Isaiah, Go forth now to meet Ahaz, thou, and Shear-jashub thy son, at the end of the conduit of the upper pool in the highway of the fuller's field." vii. 3. (pp. 241, 251.) [Sidenote: Waters of Shiloah.] "Forasmuch as this people refuseth the waters of Shiloah that go softly, and rejoice in Rezin and Remaliah's son." viii. 6. (p. 185.) [Sidenote: Lower pool.] "Ye have seen also the breaches of the city of David, that they are many: and ye gathered together the waters of the lower pool." xxii. 9. (p. 209.) [Sidenote: Of the old pool.] "Ye made also a ditch between the two walls for the water of the old pool: but ye have not looked unto the maker thereof, neither had respect unto him that fashioned it long ago." xxii. 11. (p. 31.) [Sidenote: Kings of Assyria. Conduit of upper pool. Fuller's field.] "And the king of Assyria sent Rab-shakeh from Lachish to Jerusalem unto king Hezekiah with a great army. And he stood by the conduit of the upper pool in the highway of the fuller's field." xxxvi. 2. (p. 39.) [Sidenote: People on the wall.] "Then said Eliakim and Shebna and Joah unto Rab-shakeh, Speak, I pray thee, unto thy servants in the Syrian language; for we understand it: and speak not to us in the Jews' language, in the ears of the people that are on the wall." xxxvi. 11. (p. 252.) "Then the angel of the Lord went forth, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians a hundred and fourscore and five thousand: and when they arose early in the morning, behold, they were all dead corpses." xxxvii. 36. (p. 241.) JEREMIAH. [Sidenote: Tophet. Hinnom.] "Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that it shall no more be called Tophet, nor the valley of the son of Hinnom, but the valley of slaughter: for they shall bury in Tophet, till there be no place." vii. 32. (pp. 21, 205.) [Sidenote: Hinnom. East gate.] "And go forth unto the valley of the son of Hinnom, which is by the entry of the east gate, and proclaim there the words that I shall tell thee." xix. 2. (p. 286.) [Sidenote: Tophet.] "And shalt say unto them, Thus saith the Lord of hosts; Even so will I break this people and this city, as one breaketh a potter's vessel, that cannot be made whole again: and they shall bury them in Tophet, till there be no place to bury." xix. 11. (pp. 21, 205, 206.) [Sidenote: Gate of Benjamin.] "Then Pashur smote Jeremiah the prophet, and put him in the stocks that were in the high gate of Benjamin, which was by the house of the Lord." xx. 2. (p. 26.) [Sidenote: Jehoiakim's burial.] "He shall be buried with the burial of an ass, drawn and cast forth beyond the gates of Jerusalem." xxii. 19. (p. 310.) [Sidenote: Graves of the common people.] "And they fetched forth Urijah out of Egypt, and brought him unto Jehoiakim the king; who slew him with the sword, and cast his dead body into the graves of the common people." xxvi. 23. (pp. 39, 168.) [Sidenote: Gate of the corner. Tower of Hananeel.] "Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that the city shall be built to the Lord from the tower of Hananeel unto the gate of the corner." xxxi. 38. (p. 26.) [Sidenote: Gareb. Goath.] "And the measuring line shall yet go forth over against it upon the hill Gareb, and shall compass about to Goath." xxxi. 39. (p. 18.) [Sidenote: Valley of the dead bodies, &c.] [Sidenote: Horse gate.] "And the whole valley of the dead bodies, and of the ashes, and all the fields unto the brook of Kidron, unto the corner of the horse gate toward the east, shall be holy unto the Lord; it shall not be plucked up, nor thrown down any more for ever." xxxi. 40. (p. 26.) [Sidenote: Jeremiah's dungeon.] "When Jeremiah was entered into the dungeon, and into the cabins, and Jeremiah had remained there many days." xxxvii. 16. (p. 229.) [Sidenote: Bakers' street.] "Then Zedekiah the king commanded that they should commit Jeremiah into the court of the prison, and that they should give him daily a piece of bread out of the bakers' street, until all the bread in the city were spent. Thus Jeremiah remained in the court of the prison." xxxvii. 21. (p. 229.) [Sidenote: Gate between the two walls. King's garden.] "Then the city was broken up, and all the men of war fled, and went forth out of the city by night by the way of the gate between the two walls, which was by the king's garden; (now the Chaldeans were by the city round about:) and they went by the way of the plain." lii. 7. (pp. 26, 188.) [Sidenote: People carried away captive.] "This is the people whom Nebuchadnezzar carried away captive: in the seventh year three thousand Jews and three and twenty." lii. 28. (p. 50.) "In the eighteenth year of Nebuchadnezzar he carried away captive from Jerusalem eight hundred thirty and two persons." lii. 29. (p. 50.) "In the three and twentieth year of Nebuchadnezzar Nebuzar-adan the captain of the guard carried away captive of the Jews seven hundred forty and five persons: all the persons were four thousand and six hundred." lii. 30. (p. 50.) EZEKIEL. [Sidenote: Cubits.] "And behold a wall on the outside of the house round about, and in the man's hand a measuring reed of six cubits long by the cubit and an hand breadth: so he measured the breadth of the building, one reed; and the height, one reed." xl. 5. (p. 283.) [Sidenote: Tables of sin offering.] "And in the porch of the gate were two tables on this side, and two tables on that side, to slay thereon the burnt offering and the sin offering and the trespass offering." xl. 39. (pp. 55, 91.) [Sidenote: North gate, tables.] "And at the side without, as one goeth up to the entry of the north gate, were two tables; and on the other side, which was at the porch of the gate, were two tables." xl. 40. (p. 50, 55, 91.) [Sidenote: Cubits.] "I saw also the height of the house round about: the foundations of the side chambers were a full reed of six great cubits." xli. 8. (p. 283.) [Sidenote: East Gate.] "And the glory of the Lord came into the house by the way of the gate whose prospect is towards the east." xliii. 4. (p. 27.) [Sidenote: Carcases of the kings.] "... shall the house of Israel no more defile, neither they, nor their kings, by their whoredom, nor by the carcases of their kings in their high places." xliii. 7. "Now let them put away their whoredom, and the carcases of their kings, far from me, and I will dwell in the midst of them for ever." xliii. 9. [Sidenote: Cubit.] "And these are the measures of the altar after the cubits: The cubit is a cubit and an hand breadth." xliii. 13. (pp. 49, 283.) [Sidenote: Waters.] "Afterward he brought me again unto the door of the house; and, behold, waters issued out from under the threshold of the house eastward: for the forefront of the house stood toward the east, and the waters came down from under from the right side of the house, at the south side of the altar." xlvii. 1. (p. 256.) JOEL. [Sidenote: Valley of Jehoshaphat.] "I will also gather all nations, and will bring them down into the valley of Jehoshaphat, and will plead with them there for my people and for my heritage Israel, whom they have scattered among the nations, and parted my land." iii. 2. (pp. 168, 307.) [Sidenote: Valley of Jehoshaphat.] "Let the heathen be wakened, and come up to the valley of Jehoshaphat: for there will I sit to judge all the heathen round about." iii. 12. (pp. 168, 307.) MICAH. [Sidenote: Zion a field.] "Therefore shall Zion for your sake be plowed as a field, and Jerusalem shall become heaps, and the mountain of the house as the high places of the forest." iii. 12. (pp. 3, 193.) ZEPHANIAH. [Sidenote: Fish gate. Second gate.] "And it shall come to pass in that day, saith the Lord, that there shall be the noise of a cry from the fish gate, and an howling from the second, and a great crashing from the hills." i. 10. (pp. 25, 26.) S. MATTHEW. [Sidenote: Fig tree.] "And when he saw a fig tree in the way, he came to it, and found nothing thereon, but leaves only, and said unto it, Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward for ever. And presently the fig tree withered away." xxi. 19. (p. 204.) [Sidenote: Gethsemane.] "Then cometh Jesus with them unto a place called Gethsemane, and saith unto the disciples, Sit ye here, while I go and pray yonder." xxvi. 36. (p. 177.) [Sidenote: Jesus prayed.] "And he went a little farther, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt." xxvi. 39. (p. 177.) [Sidenote: Disciples asleep.] "And he cometh unto the disciples, and findeth them asleep, and saith unto Peter, What, could ye not watch with me one hour?" xxvi. 40. (p. 179.) [Sidenote: Judas.] "And while he yet spake, lo, Judas, one of the twelve, came, and with him a great multitude with swords and staves, from the chief priests and elders of the people." xxvi. 47. (p. 179.) [Sidenote: Betrayal.] "Now he that betrayed him gave them a sign, saying, Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is he: hold him fast." xxvi. 48. (p. 179.) [Sidenote: Caiaphas.] "And they that had laid hold on Jesus led him away to Caiaphas the high priest, where the scribes and the elders were assembled." xxvi. 57. (p. 220.) [Sidenote: St. Peter.] "Now Peter sat without in the palace: and a damsel came unto him, saying, Thou also wast with Jesus of Galilee." xxvi. 69. (p. 221.) [Sidenote: S. Peter's denial.] "But he denied before them all, saying, I know not what thou sayest." xxvi. 70. (p. 221.) [Sidenote: S. Peter wept bitterly.] "And Peter remembered the word of Jesus, which said unto him, Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice. And he went out, and wept bitterly." xxvi. 75. (p. 221.) [Sidenote: Potter's field.] "And they took counsel, and bought with them the potter's field, to bury strangers in." xxvii. 7. (p. 206.) [Sidenote: Field of Blood.] "Wherefore that field was called, The field of blood, unto this day." xxvii. 8. (p. 206.) [Sidenote: Crown of thorns.] "And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews!" xxvii. 29. (p. 138.) [Sidenote: Crucify him.] "And after that they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him." xxvii. 31. (p. 138.) [Sidenote: Cyrenian, Simon by name.] "And as they came out, they found a man of Cyrene, Simon by name: him they compelled to bear his cross." xxvii. 32. (p. 142.) [Sidenote: Golgotha.] "And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of a skull." xxvii. 33. (pp. 107, 122.) [Sidenote: Parting the garments.] "And they crucified him, and parted his garments, casting lots." xxvii. 35. [Sidenote: Rocks rent.] "And, behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent." xxvii. 51. [Sidenote: Joseph.] "And when Joseph had taken the body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth," xxvii. 59. (p. 103.) [Sidenote: New tomb.] "And laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock: and he rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulchre, and departed." xxvii. 60. (p. 103.) [S. Mary Magdalene.] "And there was Mary Magdalene, and the other Mary, sitting over against the sepulchre." xxvii. 61. (p. 104.) [Sidenote: Angel rolled back the stone.] "And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it." xxviii. 2. (pp. 116, 118.) S. MARK. [Sidenote: Passover.] "And wheresoever he shall go in, say ye to the goodman of the house, The Master saith, Where is the guest-chamber, where I shall eat the passover with my disciples?" xiv. 14. (p. 216.) [Sidenote: Large upper room.] "And he will shew you a large upper room furnished and prepared: there make ready for us." xiv. 15. (p. 216.) [Sidenote: Sepulchre.] "And entering into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed in a long white garment; and they were affrighted." xvi. 5. (p. 118.) S. LUKE. [Sidenote: The rich man (Dives).] "There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day." xvi. 19. (p. 142.) [Sidenote: Lazarus.] "And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores." xvi. 20. (p. 142.) [Sidenote: Jesus wept over the city.] "And when he was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it." xix. 41. (p. 190.) [Sidenote: Coenaculum.] "And he shall shew you a large upper room furnished: there make ready." xxii. 12. (p. 216.) [Sidenote: Gethsemane.] "And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground." xxii. 44. (p. 177.) [Sidenote: Herod. Pilate.] "And Herod with his men of war set him at nought, and mocked him, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate." xxiii. 11. (p. 141.) [Sidenote: Daughters of Jerusalem.] "But Jesus turning unto them said, Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves, and for your children." xxiii. 28. (p. 144.) [Sidenote: Sepulchre hewn in stone.] "And he took it down, and wrapped it in linen, and laid it in a sepulchre that was hewn in stone, wherein never man before was laid." xxiii. 53. (p. 103.) [Sidenote: Emmaus.] "And, behold, two of them went that same day to a village called Emmaus, which was from Jerusalem about threescore furlongs." xxiv. 13. [Sidenote: Bethany.] "And he led them out as far as to Bethany, and he lifted up his hands, and blessed them." xxiv. 50. (p. 191.) S. JOHN. [Sidenote: Temple.] "Then said the Jews, Forty and six years was this temple in building, and wilt thou rear it up in three days?" ii. 20. (pp. 53, 55.) [Sidenote: Bethesda.] "Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep market a pool, which is called in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having five porches." v. 2. (pp. 59, 66.) "And immediately the man was made whole, and took up his bed, and walked: and on the same day was the sabbath." v. 9. (p. 66.) [Sidenote: Siloam.] "And said unto him, Go, wash in the pool of Siloam, (which is by interpretation, Sent.) He went his way therefore, and washed, and came seeing." ix. 7. (pp. 185, 187.) [Sidenote: Bethany.] "Now Bethany was nigh unto Jerusalem, about fifteen furlongs off." xi. 18. (p. 201.) [Sidenote: Cave of Lazarus.] "Jesus therefore again groaning in himself cometh to the grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it." xi. 38. (p. 201.) [Sidenote: Raising of Lazarus.] "And when he had thus spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth." xi. 43. (p. 201.) [Sidenote: Cedron. Garden.] "When Jesus had spoken these words, he went forth with his disciples over the brook Cedron, where was a garden, into the which he entered, and his disciples." xviii. 1. (pp. 170, 177.) [Sidenote: Annas. Caiaphas.] "And led him away to Annas first; for he was father in law to Caiaphas, which was the high priest that same year." xviii. 13. (p. 156.) [Sidenote: Pilate.] "Then Pilate entered into the judgment hall again, and called Jesus, and said unto him, Art thou the King of the Jews?" xviii. 33. (pp. 135, 137, 295.) [Sidenote: Scourged by Pilate.] "Then Pilate therefore took Jesus, and scourged him." xix. 1. (p. 139.) [Sidenote: Pavement. Gabbatha.] "When Pilate therefore heard that saying, he brought Jesus forth, and sat down in the judgment seat in a place that is called the Pavement, but in the Hebrew, Gabbatha." xix. 13. (p. 295.) [Sidenote: Golgotha.] "And he bearing his cross went forth into a place called the place of a skull, which is called in the Hebrew Golgotha." xix. 17. (pp. 107, 122.) [Sidenote: Place of Crucifixion.] "This title then read many of the Jews: for the place where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the city: and it was Written in Hebrew, and Greek, and Latin." xix. 20. (p. 103.) [Sidenote: Garments of Jesus.] "Then the soldiers, when they had crucified Jesus, took his garments, and made four parts, to every soldier a part; and also his coat: now the coat was without seam, woven from the top throughout." xix. 23. [Sidenote: Garden. New Sepulchre.] "Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid." xix. 41. (pp. 32, 103, 104.) [Sidenote: nigh at hand.] "There laid they Jesus therefore because of the Jews' preparation day; for the sepulchre was nigh at hand." xix. 42. (p. 104.) [Sidenote: Gardener.] "Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away." xx. 15. THE ACTS OF THE APOSTLES. [Sidenote: Ascension.] "And when he had spoken these things, while they beheld, he was taken up; and a cloud received him out of their sight." i. 9. (p. 191.) [Sidenote: Ye men of Galilee.] "Which also said, Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven." i 11. (p. 191.) [Sidenote: Sabbath-day's journey.] "Then returned they unto Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is from Jerusalem a sabbath day's journey." i. 12. (pp. 21, 191, 284.) [Sidenote: Aceldama.] "And it was known unto all the dwellers at Jerusalem; insomuch as that field is called in their proper tongue, Aceldama, that is to say, The field of blood." i. 19. (p. 206.) [Sidenote: Pentecost.] "And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place." ii. 1. (p. 217.) [Sidenote: Sepulchre of David.] "Men and brethren, let me freely speak unto you of the patriarch David, that he is both dead and buried, and his sepulchre is with us unto this day." ii. 29. (p. 211.) [Sidenote: Gate of the temple.] "And a certain man lame from his mother's womb was carried, whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple which is called Beautiful, to ask alms of them that entered into the temple." iii. 2. [Sidenote: S. Stephen stoned.] "And cast him out of the city, and stoned him: and the witnesses laid down their clothes at a young man's feet, whose name was Saul." vii. 58. (pp. 168, 223.) [Sidenote: S. James martyred.] "And he killed James the brother of John with the sword." xii. 2. (p. 157.) PASSAGES FROM JOSEPHUS'S ANTIQUITIES OF THE JEWS, TAKEN FROM THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION OF WILLIAM WHISTON, A.M. [Sidenote: King of Salem.] [Sidenote: King's Dale.] "So Abram, when he had saved the captive Sodomites, who had been taken by the Assyrians, and Lot also, his kinsman, returned home in peace. Now the king of Sodom met him at a certain place, which they called the King's Dale, where Melchisedec, king of the city Salem, received him. That name signifies the righteous king; and such he was, without dispute, insomuch that, on this account, he was made the priest of God: however, they afterwards called Salem Jerusalem." Book I. chap. X. par. 2. [Sidenote: King of Jerusalem.] "But the king of Jerusalem took it to heart, that the Gibeonites had gone over to Joshua; so he called upon the kings of the neighbouring nations to join together, and make war against them." V. I. 17. [Sidenote: The allies, that is, the tribes of Judah and Simeon. The lower city.] "And when they had taken the greatest part of them [the cities], they besieged Jerusalem; and when they had taken the lower city, which was not under a considerable time, they slew all the inhabitants; but the upper city was not to be taken without great difficulty, through the strength of its walls, and the nature of the place." V. II. 2. [Sidenote: David takes the city by assault.] "Now the Jebusites, who were the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and were by extraction Canaanites, shut their gates, and placed the blind, and the lame, and all their maimed persons, upon the wall, in way of derision of the king; and said, that the very lame themselves would hinder his entrance into it. This they did out of contempt of his power, and as depending on the strength of their walls. David was hereby enraged, and began the siege of Jerusalem, and employed his utmost diligence and alacrity therein, as intending by the taking of this place to demonstrate his power, and to intimidate all others that might be of the like [evil] disposition towards him; so he took the lower city by force, but the citadel held out still; whence it was that the king, knowing that the proposal of dignities and rewards would encourage the soldiers to greater actions, promised that he who should first go over the ditches that were beneath the citadel, and should ascend to the citadel itself and take it, should have the command of the entire people conferred upon him. So they all were ambitious to ascend, and thought no pains too great in order to ascend thither; out of their desire of the chief command. However, Joab, the son of Zeruiah, prevented the rest; and as soon as he was got up to the citadel, cried out to the king, and claimed the chief command." VII. III. 1. [Sidenote: City of David.] "When David had cast the Jebusites out of the citadel, he also rebuilt Jerusalem, and named it, 'The City of David,' and abode there all the time of his reign." VII. III. 2. [Sidenote: Hiram, king of Tyre.] [Sidenote: The lower city united with the upper.] "Hiram also, the king of the Tyrians, sent ambassadors to him, and made a league of mutual friendship and assistance with him. He also sent him presents, cedar-trees and mechanics, and men skilful in building and architecture, that they might build him a royal palace at Jerusalem. Now David made buildings round about the lower city: he also joined the citadel to it, and made it one body; and when he had encompassed all with walls, he appointed Joab to take care of them. It was David, therefore, who first cast the Jebusites out of Jerusalem, and called it by his own name, the City of David: for under our forefather, Abraham, it was called [Salem or] Solyma." VII. III. 2. [Sidenote: Araunah the Jebusite is saved by David.] "I shall now make mention of Araunah, who was a wealthy man among the Jebusites, but was not slain by David in the siege of Jerusalem, because of the good-will he bore to the Hebrews, and a particular benignity and affection which he had to the king himself, which I shall take a more seasonable opportunity to speak a little of afterwards." VII. III. 3. [Sidenote: Tomb of Absalom.] "Joab's armour-bearers stood round about the tree, and pulled down his dead body, and cast it into a great chasm that was out of sight, and laid a heap of stones upon him till the cavity was filled up, and had both the appearance and bigness of a grave." VII. X. 2. [Sidenote: Absalom's Pillar. King's Dale.] "Now Absalom had erected for himself a marble pillar in the king's dale, two furlongs distant from Jerusalem, which he named Absalom's Hand." VII. X. 3. [Sidenote: Gibeon forty furlongs from Jerusalem.] "And when he was come to Gibeon, which is a village forty furlongs distant from Jerusalem." VII. XI. 7. [Sidenote: Altar in the threshing floor of Araunah.] "And sent Gad the prophet to him, and commanded him to go up immediately to the threshing floor of Araunah, the Jebusite, and build an altar there to God, and offer sacrifices." VII. XIII. 4. [Sidenote: Mount Moriah.] "Now it happened that Abraham came and offered his son Isaac for a burnt-offering at that very place." VII. XIII. 4. [Sidenote: Place of the temple.] "Now when king David saw that God had heard his prayer, and had graciously accepted of his sacrifice, he resolved to call that entire place the altar of all the people, and to build a temple to God there." VII. XIII. 4. [Sidenote: David buried at Jerusalem.] "He was buried by his son Solomon, in Jerusalem, with great magnificence, and with all the other funeral pomp which kings used to be buried with; moreover, he had great and immense wealth buried with him." VII. XV. 3. [Sidenote: Solomon fortifies Jerusalem.] "He married the daughter of Pharaoh, king of Egypt, and built the walls of Jerusalem, much larger and stronger than those that had been before, and thenceforward he managed public affairs very peaceably." VIII. II. 1. [Sidenote: Foundations of the temple.] "Now, therefore, the king laid the foundations of the temple very deep in the ground, and the materials were strong stones, and such as would resist the force of time." VIII. III. 2. [Sidenote: Dimensions of the temple.] "Now when the king had divided the temple into two parts, he made the inner house of twenty cubits [every way] to be the most secret chamber, but he appointed that of forty cubits to be the sanctuary." VIII. III. 3. [Sidenote: Altar of burnt offerings.] "Solomon made the altar which he built for the burnt-offerings twenty cubits long, twenty broad, and ten high." VIII. III. 7. [Sidenote: Size of the stones.] "Some of these [houses] Solomon built with stones of ten cubits." VIII. V. 2. [Sidenote: Solomon increases the fortifications of Jerusalem.] "Now when the king saw that the walls of Jerusalem stood in need of being better secured, and made stronger (for he thought the walls that encompassed Jerusalem ought to correspond to the dignity of the city), he both repaired them, and made them higher, with great towers upon them." VIII. VI. 1. [Sidenote: Jeroboam.] "And when Solomon saw that he was of an active and bold disposition, he made him the curator of the walls which he built round Jerusalem." VIII. VII. 7. [Sidenote: Solomon interred at Jerusalem.] "So Solomon died when he was already an old man, having reigned eighty years, and lived ninety-four. He was buried in Jerusalem." VIII. VII. 8. [Sidenote: The Egyptian king Shishak at Jerusalem.] "So when Shishak had taken the city without fighting, because Rehoboam was afraid, and received him into it, yet did not Shishak stand to the covenants he had made, but he spoiled the temple, and emptied the treasures of God, and those of the king, and carried off innumerable ten thousands of gold and silver, and left nothing at all behind him." VIII. X. 3. [Sidenote: Destruction of Sennacherib's army.] "Now when Sennacherib was returning from his Egyptian war to Jerusalem, he found his army, under Rabshakeh his general, in danger [by a plague, for] God had sent a pestilential distemper upon his army; and on the very first night of the siege a hundred fourscore and five thousand, with their captains and generals, were destroyed." X. I. 5. [Sidenote: Nebuchadnezzar burns the temple.] "And when he had carried these off, he set fire to the temple in the fifth month, the first day of the month, in the eleventh year of the reign of Zedekiah, and in the eighteenth year of Nebuchadnezzar; he also burnt the King's palace, and overthrew the city. Now the temple was burnt four hundred and seventy years, six months, and ten days after it was built." X. VIII. 5. [Sidenote: Alexander the Great at Jerusalem.] "Now Alexander, when he had taken Gaza, made haste to go up to Jerusalem; and Jaddua, the high-priest, when he heard that, was in an agony and under terror." XI. VIII. 4. [Sidenote: Sapha.] "It reached to a place called Sapha, which name, translated into Greek, signifies a prospect; for you have thence a prospect both of Jerusalem and of the temple." XI. VIII. 5. [Sidenote: Ptolemy, son of Lagus, at Jerusalem.] "Syria, by the means of Ptolemy, the son of Lagus, underwent the reverse of that denomination of Saviour which he then had. He also seized upon Jerusalem, and for that end made use of deceit and treachery; for he came into the city on a sabbath-day, as if he would offer sacrifices." XII. I. 1. [Sidenote: Antiochus Epiphanes at Jerusalem.] "King Antiochus returning out of Egypt, for fear of the Romans, made an expedition against the city Jerusalem; and when he was there, in the hundred forty and third year of the kingdom of the Seleucidæ, he took the city without fighting, those of his own party opening the gates to him. And when he had gotten possession of Jerusalem, he slew many of the opposite party; and when he had plundered it of a great deal of money, he returned to Antioch." XII. V. 3. [Sidenote: Cruelty of Antiochus, who builds the citadel in the lower part of the city.] "And when he had pillaged the whole city, some of the inhabitants he slew, and some he carried captive, together with their wives and children, so that the multitude of those captives that were taken alive amounted to about ten thousand. He also burnt down the finest buildings; and when he had overthrown the city-walls, he built a citadel in the lower part of the city; for the place was high, and overlooked the temple, on which account he fortified it with high walls and towers; and put into it a garrison of Macedonians." XII. V. 4. [Sidenote: Mattathias.] "Now this Mattathias lamented to his children the sad state of their affairs, and the ravage made in the city, and the plundering of the temple, and the calamities the multitude were under; and he told them that it was better for them to die for the laws of their country than to live so ingloriously as they then did." XII. VI. 1. [Sidenote: Judas repairs the walls of Jerusalem.] "Judas also rebuilt the walls round about the city, and reared towers of great height against the incursions of enemies, and set guards therein." XII. VII. 7. [Sidenote: Simon, master of the citadel of Jerusalem, razes it with the ground.] "He also took the citadel of Jerusalem by siege, and cast it down to the ground, that it might not be any more a place of refuge to their enemies when they took it, to do them mischief, as it had been till now. And when he had done this, he thought it their best way, and most for their advantage, to level the very mountain itself upon which the citadel happened to stand, that so the temple might be higher than it." XIII. VI. 7. [Sidenote: Hyrcanus opens the tomb of David.] "But Hyrcanus opened the sepulchre of David, who excelled all other kings in riches, and took out of it three thousand talents. He was also the first of the Jews that, relying on his wealth, maintained foreign troops." XIII. VIII. 4. [Sidenote: Aristobulus causes the death of Antigonus.] "Aristobulus yielded to these imputations, but took care both that his brother should not suspect him, and that he himself might not run the hazard of his own safety; so he ordered his guards to lie in a certain place that was underground, and dark, (he himself then lying sick in the tower which was called Antonia)." XIII. XI. 2. [Sidenote: Antigonus killed in the tower of Strato.] "So Antigonus, suspecting no treachery, but depending on the good-will of his brother, came to Aristobulus armed, as he used to be, with his entire armour, in order to show it to him; but when he was come to a place which was called Strato's Tower, where the passage happened to be exceeding dark, the guards slew him." XIII. XI. 2. [Sidenote: Pompeius approaches Jerusalem.] "At this Pompeius was very angry, and put Aristobulus into prison, and came himself to the city, which was strong on every side, excepting the north, which was not so well fortified, for there was a broad and deep ditch that encompassed the city, and included within it the temple, which was itself encompassed with a very strong stone wall." XIV. IV. 1. [Sidenote: Pompeius pitches his camp on the north side of the temple.] "Pompeius pitched his camp within [the wall], on the north part of the temple, where it was most practicable; but even on that side there were great towers, and a ditch had been dug, and a deep valley begirt it round about, for on the parts towards the city were precipices, and the bridge on which Pompeius had gotten in was broken down." XIV. IV. 2. [Sidenote: Aristobulus interred in the tomb of the kings.] "His dead body also lay, for a good while, embalmed in honey, till Antonius afterward sent it to Judea, and caused him to be buried in the royal sepulchre." XIV. VII. 4. [Sidenote: Troops of Herod and Sosius.] "And they all met together at the walls of Jerusalem, and encamped at the north wall of the city, being now an army of eleven legions, armed men on foot, and six thousand horsemen, with other auxiliaries out of Syria." XIV. XVI. 1. [Sidenote: Herod's siege.] "The first wall was taken in forty days, and the second in fifteen more, when some of the cloisters that were about the temple were burnt, which Herod gave out to have been burnt by Antigonus, in order to expose him to the hatred of the Jews. And when the outer court of the temple, and the lower city, were taken, the Jews fled into the inner court of the temple, and into the upper city." XIV. XVI. 2. [Sidenote: Herod's theatre, amphitheatre.] "He built a theatre at Jerusalem, as also a very great amphitheatre in the plain." XV. VIII. 1. [Sidenote: Herod's two fortresses.] "He had now the city fortified by the palace in which he lived and by the temple which had a strong fortress by it, called Antonia." XV. VIII. 5. [Sidenote: Dimensions of Herod's temple.] "So Herod took away the old foundations, and laid others, and erected the temple upon them, being in length a hundred cubits, and in height twenty additional cubits, which [twenty], upon the sinking of their foundations, fell down; and this part it was that we resolved to raise again in the days of Nero. Now the temple was built of stones that were white and strong, and each of their length was twenty-five cubits, their height was eight, and their breadth about twelve." XV. XI. 3. [Sidenote: Tower of Baris, afterwards called Antonia.] "Now on the north side [of the temple] was built a citadel, whose walls were square, and strong, and of extraordinary firmness. This citadel was built by the kings of the Asamonean race, who were also high-priests before Herod, and they called it the Tower." XV. XI. 4. [Sidenote: Tower Antonia.] "... when Herod the king of the Jews had fortified it more firmly than before, in order to secure and guard the temple, he gratified Antonius, who was his friend and the Roman ruler, and then gave it the name of the Tower of Antonia." XV. XI. 4. [Sidenote: Four gates to the north of the temple-enclosure.] "Now in the western quarters of the enclosure of the temple there were four gates; the first led to the king's palace, and went to a passage over the intermediate valley; two more led to the suburbs of the city; and the last led to the other city, where the road descended down into the valley by a great number of steps, and thence up again by the ascent; for the city lay over against the temple in the manner of a theatre, and was encompassed with a deep valley along the entire south quarter." XV. XI. 5. [Sidenote: Herod's subterranean gallery from the Antonia tower to the eastern gate.] "There was also an occult passage built for the king; it led from Antonia to the inner temple, at its eastern gate; over which he also erected for himself a tower, that he might have the opportunity of a subterraneous ascent to the temple, in order to guard against any sedition which might be made by the people against their kings." XV. XI. 7. [Sidenote: Herod opens the tomb of David.] "... he had a great while an intention to make the attempt; and at this time he opened that sepulchre by night and went into it, and endeavoured that it should not be at all known in the city, but took only his most faithful friends with him. As for any money, he found none, as Hyrcanus had done, but that furniture of gold, and those precious goods that were laid up there; all which he took away. However, he had a great desire to make a more diligent search, and to go farther in, even as far as the very bodies of David and Solomon; where two of his guards were slain by a flame that burst out upon those that went in, as the report was. So he was terribly affrighted, and went out, and built a propitiatory monument of that fright he had been in; and this of white stone, at the mouth of the sepulchre, and at a great expense also." XVI. VII. 1. [Sidenote: Pilate constructs acqueducts.] "But Pilate undertook to bring a current of water to Jerusalem, and did it with the sacred money, and derived the origin of the stream from the distance of two hundred furlongs. However, the Jews were not pleased with what had been done about this water; and many ten thousands of the people got together and made a clamour against him, and insisted that he should leave off that design." XVIII. III. 2. [Sidenote: Jesus Christ.] "Now, there was about this time Jesus, a wise man, if it be lawful to call him a man, for he was a doer of wonderful works, a teacher of such men as receive the truth with pleasure. He drew over to him both many of the Jews, and many of the Gentiles. He was [the] Christ. And when Pilate, at the suggestion of the principal men among us, had condemned him to the cross, those that loved him at the first did not forsake him; for he appeared to them alive again the third day; as the divine prophets had foretold these and ten thousand other wonderful things concerning him. And the tribe of Christians, so named from him, are not extinct at this day." XVIII. III. 3. [Sidenote: King Agrippa begins to fortify Jerusalem, but is prevented from proceeding by Claudius.] "As for the walls of Jerusalem, that were adjoining to the new city [Bezetha], he repaired them at the expense of the public, and built them wider in breadth, and higher in altitude; and he had made them too strong for all human power to demolish, unless Marcus, the then president of Syria, had by letter informed Claudius Cæsar of what he was doing. And when Claudius had some suspicion of attempts for innovation, he sent to Agrippa to leave off the building of those walls presently. So he obeyed; as not thinking it proper to contradict Claudius." XIX. VII. 2. [Sidenote: Pyramids of Helena three furlongs from the city.] "But Monobazus sent her bones, as well as those of Izates, his brother, to Jerusalem, and gave order that they should be buried at the pyramids which their mother had erected; they were three in number, and distant no more than three furlongs from the city of Jerusalem." XX. IV. 3. [Sidenote: Agrippa's palace, whence could be seen all that passed in the temple.] "About the same time king Agrippa built himself a very large dining-room in the royal palace at Jerusalem, near to the portico. Now this palace had been erected of old by the children of Asamoneus, and was situated upon an elevation, and afforded a most delightful prospect to those that had a mind to take a view of the city, which prospect was desired by the king; and there he could lie down and eat, and thence observe what was done in the temple: which thing, when the chief men of Jerusalem saw, they were very much displeased at it; for it was not agreeable to the institutions of our country or law, that what was done in the temple should be viewed by others, especially what belonged to the sacrifices. They therefore erected a wall upon the uppermost building which belonged to the inner court of the temple towards the west, which wall, when it was built, did not only intercept the prospect of the dining-room in the palace, but also of the western cloisters that belonged to the outer court of the temple also, where it was that the Romans kept guards for the temple at the festivals." XX. VIII. 11. [Sidenote: The younger Ananus, high-priest, puts S. James to death.] "Festus was now dead, and Albinus was but upon the road; so he assembled the Sanhedrim of judges, and brought before them the brother of Jesus, who was called Christ, whose name was James, and some others [or some of his companions] and when he had formed an accusation against them as breakers of the law, he delivered them to be stoned." XX. IX. 1. [Sidenote: King Agrippa refuses to rebuild the eastern gate of the temple.] "... so they [the people] persuaded him to rebuild the eastern cloisters. These cloisters belonged to the outer court, and were situated in a deep valley, and had walls that reached four hundred cubits [in length], and were built of square and very white stones, the length of each of which stones was twenty cubits, and their height six cubits. This was the work of king Solomon, who first of all built the entire temple." XX. IX. 7. PASSAGES FROM JOSEPHUS'S HISTORY OF THE JEWISH WAR, TAKEN FROM THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION OF ROBERT TRAILL, D.D. M.R.I.A. [Sidenote: Antiochus Epiphanes at Jerusalem.] "That monarch, long intent on the enterprise, was prevailed on; and, pressing forward at the head of a formidable army, he took Jerusalem by assault, put to the sword vast numbers of those attached to the interests of Ptolemy, allowed his troops unrestricted pillage, despoiled the temple in person, and, during three years and six months, interrupted the course of the daily sacrifices." I. I. 1. [Sidenote: Judas attacks the garrison at Jerusalem. Purifies the temple.] "In the ardour of victory Judas attacked the garrison in the city, which had not yet been reduced, and having expelled the troops from the upper town, drove them into the lower, a quarter of the city called Acra. Being now master of the temple, he purified the place throughout, and walled it round." I. I. 4. [Sidenote: Hyrcanus opens David's tomb.] "Antiochus, enraged by what he had endured at the hands of Simon, led an army into Judæa, and sitting down before Jerusalem, besieged Hyrcanus; who, opening the sepulchre of David, the richest of kings, and privately taking out upwards of three thousand talents in money, both induced Antiochus, by the payment of three hundred, to raise the siege; and also, from the remaining surplus, maintained--the first of the Jews to do so--a mercenary force." I. II. 5. [Sidenote: Aristobulus. Antigonus. Tower of Baris.] "Gradually, and with reluctance, Aristobulus credited these insinuations. Yet careful, at once, to avoid the semblance of suspicion, and to provide against any covert attempt, he stationed his body-guards in a dark subterraneous passage--he was himself at the time confined to bed, in a tower formerly called Baris, but subsequently named Antonia--with orders to allow Antigonus, if unarmed, to pass; but to despatch him, should he approach in arms." I. III. 3. [Sidenote: Strato's Tower.] "But, on reaching the dark passage, known by the name of Strato's Tower, he [Antigonus] was killed by the body-guards." I. III. 4. [Sidenote: Pompeius reconnoitres the city of Jerusalem.] "Incensed at this, Pompeius committed Aristobulus to custody; and having advanced to the city, he considered well on what point he should direct his attack. He found the walls, from their height, of almost impregnable strength, with a frightful ravine in front of them: while within this the temple was so strongly fortified, that, even after the capture of the town, it would afford a second refuge to the enemy." I. VII. 1. [Sidenote: The bridge broken down by Aristobulus' party.] "The adherents of Aristobulus, being discomfited in the contest, retired into the temple, and, breaking down the bridge which connected it with the city, prepared to hold out to the last." I. VII. 2. [Sidenote: Pompeius fills up the fosse of the town.] "The Roman commander now filled up the fosse, and the whole of the ravine, which lay on the north quarter, the troops collecting materials. This was an undertaking of difficulty, not only on account of the prodigious depth of the ravine, but from the impediments of every kind offered by the Jews from above." I. VII. 3. [Sidenote: Herod rebuilds the temple.] [Sidenote: Palaces of Cæsarium and Agrippium.] "Herod, accordingly, at an incalculable expense, and in a style of unsurpassed magnificence, in the fifteenth year of his reign, restored the Temple, and breasted up with a wall the area round it, so as to enlarge it to twice its former extent. An evidence of its sumptuousness were the ample colonnades around the holy place, and the fort on its northern side. The colonnades he reared from the foundation; the fort, in nothing inferior to a palace, he repaired at an immense cost; and called it Antonia, in honour of Antonius. He also constructed a residence for himself in the upper town, containing two very spacious, and not less beautiful buildings, with which the Temple itself bore no comparison. These he designated after his friends, the one Cæsarium, the other Agrippium." I. XXI. 1. [Sidenote: Pilate constructs acqueducts.] "He subsequently occasioned another tumult, by expending the sacred treasure, called Corban, in the construction of an aqueduct. He brought the water from a distance of four hundred furlongs. Indignant at this profanation, the populace, on his return to Jerusalem, collected with loud clamours about his tribunal." II. IX. 4. [Sidenote: Cestius encamps on Mount Scopus.] "Cestius, seeing that these intestine dissensions afforded him a favourable opportunity for attack, led out his entire force, routed the Jews, and pursued them to the gates of Jerusalem. Encamping at a place called The Scopus, distant seven furlongs from the city, he for three days suspended his operations against it." II. XIX. 4. [Sidenote: Cestius encamps opposite the royal palace.] "Cestius, on entering, set fire to Bezetha, so named, the Coenopolis, and the place called the Timber Market; and, proceeding to the upper town, encamped opposite the royal residence." II. XIX. 4. [Sidenote: Number of the troops of Titus engaged in the siege of Jerusalem.] "For Titus, having drawn together part of his troops to himself, and sent orders to the others to meet him at Jerusalem, broke up from Cæsarea. There were the three legions which, under the command of his father, had before ravaged Judæa, and the twelfth, that had formerly been defeated with Cestius, and which, remarkable at all times for its valour, on this occasion, from a recollection of what had befallen it, advanced with greater alacrity to revenge. Of these, he directed the fifth to join him by the route of Ammaus, and the tenth to go up by that of Jericho; while he himself moved forward with the remainder, attended, beside these, by the contingents from the allied sovereigns, all in increased force, and by a considerable body of Syrian auxiliaries. "Detachments having been drafted by Vespasian from the four legions, and sent with Mucianus into Italy, their places were filled up from among the troops that had come with Titus. For two thousand men, selected from among the forces of Alexandria, and three thousand of the guards from the Euphrates, accompanied him; and with them, Tiberius Alexander." V. I. 6. [Sidenote: Titus with 600 cavalry reconnoitres Jerusalem.] "Leading on his forces in orderly array, according to Roman usage, Titus marched through Samaria to Gophna, which had been previously taken by his father, and was then garrisoned. Here he rested for the night, and, setting forward early in the morning, advanced a day's march, and encamped in the valley, which is called by the Jews, in their native tongue, 'The Valley of Thorns,' adjacent to a village named Gabath-Saul, which signifies 'Saul's Hill,' distant from Jerusalem about thirty furlongs. From hence, accompanied by about six hundred picked horsemen, he rode forward to reconnoitre the strength of the city, and ascertain the disposition of the Jews, whether, on seeing him, they would be terrified into a surrender previous to any actual conflict." V. II. 1. [Sidenote: Titus attacked by the Jews by the monument of Helena.] [Sidenote: The Women's Towers.] "While he continued to ride along the direct route which led to the wall, no one appeared before the gates; but on his filing off from the road towards the tower Psephinus, and taking an oblique direction with his squadron, the Jews suddenly rushed out in immense numbers at a spot called 'The Women's Towers,' through the gate opposite the monuments of Helena. They broke through his ranks, and placing themselves in front of the troops who were still advancing along the road, prevented them from joining their comrades, who had filed off, and thus intercepted Titus with only a handful of men. For him to move forward was impossible; as the entire space was intersected by transverse walls and numerous fences, and separated from the ramparts by dykes made for gardening purposes." V. II. 2. [Sidenote: Titus encamps at Scopus, seven furlongs from Jerusalem.] [Sidenote: The tenth legion upon the Mount of Olives.] "Cæsar, being joined during the night by the legion from Ammaus, moved the next day from thence, and advanced to Scopus, as it is called, the place from which the city first became visible, and the stately pile of the sanctuary shone forth; whence it is that this spot--a flat adjoining the northern quarter of the town--is appropriately called Scopus (the Prospect). When at the distance of seven furlongs from the city, Titus ordered a camp to be formed for two of the legions together; the fifth he stationed three furlongs in rear of them: thinking that, as they had been fatigued with their march during the night, they required to be covered, that they might throw up their entrenchments with less apprehension. Scarcely had they commenced their operations, when the tenth legion arrived. It had advanced through Jericho, where a party of soldiers had lain to guard the pass formerly taken possession of by Vespasian. These troops had received orders to encamp at the distance of six furlongs from Jerusalem, at the Mount of Olives, so called, which lies over against the city on the east, and is separated from it by a deep intervening ravine, which bears the name of Kedron." V. II. 3. [Sidenote: Titus levels the ground between Scopus and Jerusalem.] [Sidenote: Tomb of Herod. Serpents' Pool.] "Titus intending to break up from Scopus, and encamp nearer to the city, stationed a body of picked men, horse and foot, in such force as he deemed sufficient to check the sallies of the enemy, and employed the main body of his army in levelling the intervening ground as far as the walls. All the fences and hedges, with which the inhabitants had enclosed their gardens and orchards, being accordingly swept away, and the fruit trees in the whole of the intermediate distance felled, the hollows and chasms of the place were filled up, and the rocky eminences removed with iron implements; and thus the whole space from Scopus to the monuments of Herod, adjacent to what is called 'The Serpents' Pool,' was reduced to a level." V. III. 2. [Sidenote: Tomb of Helena. Sortie of the Jews.] "Accordingly, after maintaining a long contest with their spears, and receiving many wounds from their opponents, but inflicting not fewer in return, they eventually drove back the party who had surrounded them. The Jews, however, as soon as they began to retire, pursued them as far as the monuments of Helena, annoying them with missiles." V. III. 3. [Sidenote: Titus encamps opposite the Tower of Psephinus.] [Sidenote: Another division opposite the Tower of Hippicus, and the tenth legion upon the Mount of Olives.] "In four days, the interval between his post and the walls having been levelled, Titus, anxious to forward in safety the baggage and the followers of the army, ranged the flower of his troops opposite the wall on the northern quarter of the city, and extending towards the west, the phalanx being drawn up seven deep. The infantry were disposed in front, and the cavalry in rear, each in three ranks; the archers, who formed the seventh, being in the middle. "The sallies of the Jews being checked by such an array, the beasts of burthen belonging to the three legions, with the camp followers, passed on in safety. Titus himself encamped about two furlongs from the ramparts, at the corner opposite the tower called Psephinus, where the circuit of the wall, in its advance along the north side, bends with a western aspect. The other division of the army was entrenched opposite to the tower named Hippicus, distant, in like manner, two furlongs from the city. The tenth legion continued to occupy its position on the Mount of Olives, as it is called." V. III. 5. * * * * * _Description of the walls of Jerusalem._ "Jerusalem, fortified by three walls--except where it was encompassed by its impassable ravines, for there it had but a single rampart--was built, the one division fronting the other, on two hills, separated by an intervening valley, at which the rows of houses terminated. Of these hills, that on which the upper town was situated is much higher and straighter in its length. Accordingly, on account of its strength, it was styled the Fortress by king David, the father of Solomon, by whom the temple was originally erected; but by us the Upper Market-place. The other, which bears the name of Acra, and supports the lower town, is of a gibbous form. Opposite to this was a third hill, naturally lower than Acra, and formerly severed from it by another broad ravine. Afterwards, however, the Asmonæans, during their reign, filled up the ravine, with the intention of uniting the city to the temple; and, levelling the summit of Acra, they reduced its elevation, so that the temple might be conspicuous above other objects in this quarter also. The Valley of the Cheese-makers, as it was designated, which divided, as we have said, the hill of the upper town from that of the lower, extended as far as Siloam, as we call it, a fountain whose waters are at once sweet and copious. On the exterior, the two hills on which the city stood were skirted by deep ravines, so precipitous on either side that the town was nowhere accessible." V. IV. 1. "Of the three walls, the most ancient, as well from the ravines which surrounded it, as from the hill above them on which it was erected, was almost impregnable. But, besides the advantages of its situation, it was also strongly built; David and Solomon, as well as their successors on the throne, having devoted much attention to the work. [Sidenote: First Wall.] "Beginning on the north at the tower called Hippicus, and extending to what was termed the Xystus, it then formed a junction with the council-house, and terminated at the western colonnade of the temple. On the other side, towards the west, beginning at the same tower, it stretched through Bethso, as it was styled, to the gate of the Essenes. It then turned, and advanced with a southern aspect above the fountain of Siloam, whence it again inclined, facing the east, towards Solomon's reservoir, and extending to a certain spot, designated Ophla, it joined the eastern colonnade of the temple. [Sidenote: Second Wall.] [Sidenote: Third Wall.] [Sidenote: King Agrippa commences the third Wall.] "The second had its beginning at the gate which they called Gennath, belonging to the first wall. It reached to the Antonia, and encircled only the northern quarter of the town. The tower Hippicus formed the commencement of the third wall, which stretched from thence towards the northern quarter, as far as the tower Psephinus, and then passing opposite the monuments of Helena, Queen of Adiabene, and mother of king Izates, and extending through the royal caverns, was inflected at the corner tower near to the spot known by the appellation of the Fuller's Tomb; and, connecting itself with the old wall, terminated at the valley called Kedron. This wall Agrippa had thrown round the new-built town, which was quite unprotected; for the city, overflowing with inhabitants, gradually crept beyond the ramparts; and the people, incorporating with the city the quarter north of the temple close to the hill, made a considerable advance, insomuch that a fourth hill, which is called Bezetha, was also surrounded with habitations. It lay over against the Antonia, from which it was separated by a deep fosse, purposely excavated to cut off the communication between the foundations of the Antonia and the hill, that they might be at once less easy of access and more elevated. Thus the depth of the trench materially increased the altitude of the towers. "The quarter most recently built was called, in our language, Bezetha, which, if translated into the Greek tongue, would be Cænopolis (New-town). Those who resided there requiring defence, the father of the present sovereign, and of the same name, Agrippa, commenced the wall we have mentioned. But, apprehending that Claudius Cæsar might suspect from the magnitude of the structure that he entertained some designs of innovation and insurrection, he desisted when he had merely laid the foundations. For, indeed, had he completed that wall upon the scale on which it was begun, the city would have been impregnable. It was constructed of stones twenty cubits long and ten broad, fitted into each other in such a manner that they could scarcely have been undermined with iron, or shaken by engines. The wall itself was ten cubits in breadth; and it would probably have attained a greater height than it did, had not the enterprising spirit of its founder met with a check; but, subsequently, though the work was carried on with ardour by the Jews, it only rose to the height of twenty cubits; while, crowning this, were battlements of two cubits, upon parapets of three cubits in altitude, so that it attained in its entire elevation twenty-five cubits." V. IV. 2. [Sidenote: Description of the third Wall.] [Sidenote: Ninety towers in the third Wall.] "On this wall were erected towers, twenty cubits in breadth, and the same in height, square, and solid as the wall itself. In the joining and beauty of the stones, they were nowise inferior to the temple. Over the solid altitude of the towers, which was twenty cubits, were sumptuous apartments; and above these, again, upper rooms, and numerous cisterns therein to receive the rain-water, and to each room wide staircases. Of such towers the third wall had ninety, disposed at intervals of two hundred cubits. [Sidenote: The middle Wall had fourteen towers, the ancient sixty.] [Sidenote: The Psephinus tower.] "The middle wall was divided into fourteen towers, and the ancient one into sixty. Of the city the entire circuit was thirty-three furlongs. But admirable as was the third wall throughout, still more so was the tower Psephinus, which rose up at the north-west angle, and opposite to which Titus encamped. Being seventy cubits high, it afforded at sunrise a prospect of Arabia, and of the limits of the Hebrew territories as far as the sea; it was octagonal in form. [Sidenote: Hippicus.] "Over against this was the tower Hippicus, and near to it two others, all erected by king Herod in the ancient wall, which in magnitude, beauty and strength, exceeded all that the world could produce." V. IV. 3. [Sidenote: Hippicus' Tower.] "Hippicus, so called from his friend, was quadrangular, its length and breadth being each twenty-five cubits, and to the height of thirty cubits it was solid throughout. Above this solid part, which was constructed of stones formed into one compact mass, was a reservoir to receive the rain, twenty cubits deep, over which was a house of two stories, twenty-five cubits high, and divided into various apartments. Above this were battlements of two cubits in height, mounted upon parapets of three; so that the entire altitude amounted to eighty cubits. [Sidenote: Phasaëlus.] "The second tower, which he named Phasaëlus, from his brother, was of equal length and breadth, forty cubits each, and the same in solid height. Over this, and embracing the whole of the structure, was a gallery, ten cubits high, defended by breast-work and battlements.... [Sidenote: Mariamne.] "The third tower, Mariamne--for such was the queen's name--was solid to the height of twenty cubits; its breadth, also, being twenty cubits, and its length the same." V. IV. 3. "Of this the entire elevation was fifty-five cubits." V. IV. 3. [Sidenote: Site of the three towers.] "But while such was the actual magnitude of these three towers, their site added much to their apparent dimensions. For the ancient wall in which they stood was itself built on a lofty hill; and higher still rose up in front, to the height of thirty cubits, a kind of crest of the hill; on this the towers rested, and thus acquired a much greater altitude.... "To these towers, which lay northward, was attached on the inner side the royal residence, which exceeded all description.... "The conflagration began at Antonia, passed onward to the palace, and consumed the roofs of the three towers." V. IV. 4. [Sidenote: The Temple.] "The temple, as I have said, was seated on a strong hill. Originally, the level space on its summit scarcely sufficed for the sanctuary and the altar, the ground about being abrupt and steep. But king Solomon, who built the sanctuary, having completely walled up the eastern side, a colonnade was built upon the embankment. On the other sides, the sanctuary remained exposed. In process of time, however, as the people were constantly adding to the embankment, the hill became level and broader. They also threw down the northern wall, and enclosed as much ground as the circuit of the temple at large subsequently occupied." V. V. 1. [Sidenote: Circuit of the Temple six furlongs.] "The colonnades were thirty cubits broad, and their entire circuit, including the Antonia, measured six furlongs." V. V. 2. [Sidenote: Dimensions of the Temple.] "Advancing within, the lower story of the sanctuary received you. This was sixty cubits in height, and the same in length, while its breadth was twenty cubits. These sixty cubits of length were again divided. The first part partitioned off at forty cubits." V. V. 5. [Sidenote: Dimensions relative to the Temple.] "The innermost recess of the temple measured twenty cubits, and was separated in like manner from the outer by a veil. In this, nothing whatever was deposited. Unapproachable, inviolable, and to be seen by none, it was called the Holy of the Holy." V. V. 5. [Sidenote: Position of the Antonia Tower.] "The Antonia lay at the angle formed by two colonnades, the western and the northern, of the first court of the temple. It was built upon a rock fifty cubits high, and on every side precipitous. It was a work of king Herod, in which he particularly evinced the natural greatness of his mind. For, first, the rock was covered from the base upwards with smooth stone flags, as well for ornament, as that any one who attempted to ascend or descend might slip off. Next, and in front of the edifice itself, there was a wall of three cubits; and within this the entire space occupied by the Antonia rose to an altitude of forty cubits. [Sidenote: Citadel in the upper town. Bezetha, north of the Temple.] "... The upper town had its own fortress--Herod's palace. The hill Bezetha was detached, as I have mentioned, from the Antonia. It was the highest of the three, and was joined on to part of the new town forming northward the only obstruction to the view of the temple." V. V. 8. [Sidenote: Forces of the besieged in Jerusalem.] "The whole number of fighting men and insurgents in the city was as follows. Attached to Simon were ten thousand men, irrespective of the Idumæans. Over these were fifty officers, Simon himself acting as Commander-in-chief. The Idumæans who joined his ranks, five thousand in number, had ten leaders, of whom James, the son of Sosas, and Simon, the son of Cathlas, were reputed to be the foremost. John, who had seized on the temple, had under his orders six thousand men-at-arms, commanded by twenty officers. The Zealots, also, had now laid aside their differences and gone over to him, to the number of two thousand four hundred, led by Eleazar, their former general, and Simon, son of Ari." V. VI. 1. [Sidenote: Position occupied by Simon.] [Sidenote: Position occupied by John.] "Simon occupied the upper town and the great wall, as far as the Kedron, with as much of the old wall as, bending eastward from Siloam, descended to the palace of Monobazus, king of Adiabene, beyond the Euphrates. He held, likewise, the fountain and the Acra, which was the lower town, with the interval as far as the palace of Helena, the mother of Monobazus. John occupied the temple, and the parts about it to a considerable distance, with Ophla, and the valley called Kedron." V. VI. 1. [Sidenote: Titus examines the Walls.] [Sidenote: Monument of the high priest John.] "While affairs in the city were in this posture, Titus, with a select detachment of horse, rode round the wall, in order to ascertain against what quarter he should direct his attack. Utterly at a loss on what side to assail them, there being no access at any point through the ravines, while on the other side, the first wall appeared too firm for the engines, he determined to make the assault opposite to the monument of John, the high priest, for at this point the outer bulwark was lower, and the second was not connected, the builders having neglected to fortify those places where the new town was thinly inhabited; but there was easy access to the third wall, through which he designed to capture the upper town, and through the Antonia, the temple." V. VI. 2. [Sidenote: Suburbs.] "He at once gave the legions permission to lay waste the suburbs, and ordered them to collect the timber together for the construction of mounds." V. VI. 2. [Sidenote: Taking of the first Wall.] "... The Romans having mounted where Nico had effected a breach, they all abandoned their posts, and retreated to the second wall; when those who had scaled the ramparts opened the gates, and admitted the entire army. The Romans having thus, on the fifteenth day, which was the seventh of the month Artemisius, become masters of the first wall, laid a great part of it in ruins, as they did the northern quarters of the city, which Cestius had formerly demolished." V. VII. 2. [Sidenote: Titus occupies the space between the camp of the Assyrians and the Kedron.] [Sidenote: Gate of the aqueducts.] "Titus now transferred his camp to a place within the wall, styled the Camp of the Assyrians, occupying the entire interval as far as the Kedron, but keeping at such a distance from the second rampart as to be out of range of the missiles, and immediately commenced the attack. The Jews, dividing their forces, made a vigorous defence from the wall; John and his party fighting from the Antonia, from the north colonnade of the temple, and in front of the monuments of king Alexander; while Simon's band, intercepting the assault near John's monument, manned the intervening space as far as the gate through which the water was introduced to the tower Hippicus." V. VII. 3. [Sidenote: Titus makes himself master of the second Wall.] "On the fifth day after the reduction of the first wall Cæsar stormed the second at this point; and as the Jews fled from it, he entered with a thousand men, and the select band which he retained about his person, at that part of the new town where were the wool-marts, the braziers' shops, and the clothes market, and where the streets led obliquely to the ramparts." V. VIII. 1. [Sidenote: Titus exhibits his troops.] "The cessation he employed for his own purposes. The stated day for distributing pay among the troops having arrived, he directed the officers to draw out the force, and count out the money to each man in view of the enemy." V. IX. 1. [Sidenote: The Jews see the review of the troops Titus.] "And nothing could be more gratifying to the Romans, or more terrifying to the enemy than that spectacle. The whole of the ancient wall and the northern quarter of the temple were crowded with spectators, and the houses were to be seen filled with people on the look-out; nor was there a spot in the city which was not covered with multitudes." V. IX. 1. [Sidenote: The Idumæans.] "Those at work beside the monument, the Idumæans, and the troops of Simon, impeded by repeated sallies; while those before the Antonia were obstructed by John and his associates, in conjunction with the Zealots." V. IX. 2. [Sidenote: Mounds and their positions. Struthios reservoir.] [Sidenote: Amygdalon.] "One of those at the Antonia was thrown up by the fifth legion, opposite to the middle of the reservoir, called Struthios; and the other by the twelfth legion at the distance of about twenty cubits. The tenth legion, which was considerably apart from these, was occupied on the northern quarter, and by the reservoir designated Amygdalon, and about thirty cubits from thence the fifteenth legion, at the high-priest's monument." V. XI. 4. [Sidenote: The assailants make the wall of circumvallation.] "Commencing at the camp of the Assyrians, where his own tent was pitched, he drew the wall to the lower Cænopolis, and thence through the Kedron to the Mount of Olives. Then bending back towards the south, he encompassed the mount as far as the rock called Peristereon, and the adjoining hill, which overhangs the ravine near Siloam. Thence inclining towards the west, he went down into the valley of the Fountain, beyond which he ascended by the monument of the high-priest Ananus, and, taking in the mount where Pompey encamped, turned to the north, proceeding as far as a hamlet, called 'The house of Erebinths:' passing which, he enclosed Herod's monument, and on the east once more united it to his own camp at the point whence it commenced. "The wall was in length forty furlongs, wanting one. Attached to it on the outside were thirteen forts, whose united circumferences measured ten furlongs." V. XII. 2. [Sidenote: Number of the dead.] "Mannæus, the son of Lazarus, who at this period took refuge with Titus, declared that, from the fourteenth of the month of Xanthicus, the day on which the Romans encamped before the walls, until the new moon of Panemus, there were carried through that one gate which had been entrusted to him, a hundred and fifteen thousand eight hundred and eighty corpses." V. XIII. 7. [Sidenote: Number of the dead.] "After him many of the higher ranks escaped; and they brought word that full six hundred thousand of the humbler classes had been thrown out through the gates. Of the others it was impossible to ascertain the number." V. XIII. 7. [Sidenote: Excavations in Jerusalem.] "The Jews fled into the temple; the Romans also making their way in through the mine which John had excavated under their mounds." VI. I. 7. [Sidenote: Titus destroys the Tower Antonia.] "Titus now ordered his troops to raze the foundations of the Antonia, and prepare an easy ascent for his whole force." VI. II. 1. [Sidenote: Titus enters the outer court of the Temple.] "In the meantime, the remainder of the Roman force, having in seven days overturned the foundation of the Antonia, had prepared a wide ascent as far as the temple. The legions now approached the first wall, and commenced their mounds--one opposite the north-west angle of the inner temple, a second at the northern chamber, which was between the two gates, and of the remaining two, one at the western colonnade of the outer court of the temple, the other without, at the northern." VI. II. 7. [Sidenote: Titus takes the Temple.] "Titus now withdrew into the Antonia, determined on the following morning about daybreak to attack with his whole force and invest the temple. That edifice God had, indeed, long since destined to the flames; but now in revolving years had arrived the fated day, the tenth of the month Lous, the very day on which the former temple had been burned by the king of Babylon." VI. IV. 5. [Sidenote: Bridge of Xystus.] "Titus took his stand on the western side of the outer court of the temple; there being a gate in that quarter beyond the Xystus, and a bridge which connected the upper town with the temple, and which then intervened between the tyrants and Cæsar." VI. VI. 2. [Sidenote: Titus gives up the city to pillage.] "Orders were then issued to the troops to plunder and burn the city. On that day, however, nothing was done; but on the following day they set fire to the residence of the magistrates, the Acra, the council chamber, and the place called Ophla, the flames spreading as far as the palace of queen Helena, which was in the centre of the Acra. The streets also were consumed." VI. VI. 3. [Sidenote: The Romans in the lower town.] "On the ensuing day the Romans, having driven the brigands from the lower town, burned all, as far as Siloam." VI. VII. 2. [Sidenote: Titus attacks the upper city.] "The works of the four legions were raised on the western side of the city, opposite to the royal palace, while the auxiliaries and the rest of the force laboured in the region of the Xystus, the bridge, and the tower which Simon, during his contest with John, had built as a fortress for himself." VI. VIII. 1. [Sidenote: Destruction of the city.] "And when, at a later period, he destroyed the remainder of the city, and razed the walls, he allowed these towers to stand as a memorial of the favour of fortune, by whose cooperation he had become master of those strongholds, which could never have been reduced by force of arms." VI. IX. 1. [Sidenote: Number of Jews killed and taken prisoners.] "The whole number of prisoners taken during the entire course of the war was calculated at ninety-seven thousand; while those who perished in the siege, from its commencement to its close, amounted to one million one hundred thousand. Of these the greater part were of Jewish blood, though not natives of the place. Having assembled from the whole country for the feast of unleavened bread, they were suddenly hemmed in by the war; so that their confined situation caused at first a pestilential disease, and afterwards famine also, still more rapid in its effects." VI. IX. 3. [Sidenote: Final destruction of Jerusalem.] "Cæsar ordered the whole of the city and the sanctuary to be razed to the foundations, leaving the three loftiest towers, Phasaëlus, Hippicus, and Mariamne, and that portion of the wall which enclosed the town on the west; the latter as an encampment for those who should remain there in garrison; the towers, to indicate to future times how splendid and how strong a city had yielded to Roman valour. All the rest of the wall that encompassed the city was so completely levelled with the ground that there was no longer anything to lead those who visited the spot to believe that it had ever been inhabited. So fell Jerusalem, a victim of revolutionary frenzy: a magnificent city, and celebrated throughout the world." VII. I. 1. * * * * * [Sidenote: Population of Jerusalem indicated by Hecatæus of Abdera.] "There are many strong places and villages in the country of Judæa, but one strong city there is, about fifty furlongs in circumference, which is inhabited by a hundred and twenty thousand men or thereabout." (Against Apion, I. 22.) INDEX. A. Abraham, Mount Moriah the scene of his sacrifice, 46, 47. Abraham, S., Greek Convent of, 111. Absalom, his tomb examined, 181. Abyssinians in Jerusalem, their number, 13. Aceldama, description of, 206; its curious legend tested, 207. Acra, the hill of, identified, 17, 18, 20; levelled under the Maccabees, 52. Adam, Chapel of, 106, 113. Adamnanus, his account of the Mosque of Omar, 58. Adoration of the Cross, Chapel of, in the Church of the Resurrection, 122. Ælia Capitolina, Jerusalem so named by Hadrian, 2, 3, 6, 43. Agony, Chapel of the, 112; Grotto of, 177, Note X. 309. Agrippa's Walls, 35, 37, 41. Altar in Chapel of the Crucifixion, 122. Altar of burnt-offerings, its position and dimensions, 54; its site proved to be on the Sacred Rock, 89; the cisterns beneath it examined, 97. See Araunah. Americans, their wanton destruction of monuments, 233. Amygdalon pool, probably Hezekiah's, 32; identified from the Bible, 252; the cisterns filled from it, 259. Ananus, Monument of, its site, 40. Angel, Chapel of the, in Holy Sepulchre, 116. Angels, the Holy, Church of, 156. Annas, the High Priest, traditionary site of his house, 156. Ann, S., Church of, its present state, 144; its history and vicissitudes, 145; Notes II. III. 306. Ann, S., pretended tomb of, 175. Antiochus Epiphanes despoils the second temple, 51. Antonia, tower of, 17, 18, 19, 55, 137; its supposed site, 32; its site in the N.W. angle of the Haram, 59, 64. Antoninus of Piacenza, his account of Justinian's Basilica, 79; Note XXXIV. 295. Aqueduct from Etham, its skilful construction, 249; subsequent history, 250. Arabs, the number of, in Jerusalem, 11; their position, 273. Araunah, threshing-floor of, 24; its history and description, 47; cisterns beneath it, 47; it survives the destruction of Solomon's temple, 50; Mosque built over it by Omar, 57; identical with the Sacred Rock, 88; and the Altar of burnt-offerings, 89; cisterns beneath it examined, 97; Notes IV. 291, and XVI. 292. Arch of the Ecce Homo investigated, 60, 140, Note I. 306. Arch, remarkable fragment of one, in S.W. angle of the Haram, 70. Arculf, his account of Christ's Tomb, 116; his description of the Holy places, Note IV. 299. Armenians, their numbers and position in Jerusalem, 12; their Convents, 16, 164; their prospects, 162; their charitable institutions, 278. Ascension, the Mount of, its site on the Mount of Olives, 191; grand panorama from its summit, 193; its traditionary spots examined, 194; successive Churches built upon it, _ib._; the present Mosque, 196; Tomb of S. Pelagia, 197. B. Babylas, S., ruins of Church of, 242. Baris Castle on Moriah, 52; restored as Antonia Tower by Herod, 55; pontifical robes kept in it, Note XI. 292. Barrack in the Haram, 20; the rock near it the site of Antonia Tower, 59, 64. Bathsheba, traditionary pool of, 259. Bazaar of the Haram gate, 54. Bazaars of Jerusalem, 78. Benjamin, high gate of, its doubtful site, 26. Bethany, its site incontestable, 200; proofs of this, 201; Tomb and house of Lazarus there, 202. Bethesda, pool of, 15, 20, 59; its history and present state, 65; its connection with the temple sacrifices, 92; its masonry examined, 260. Bethphage, site of, 199. Bethsura, fortress of, 22. Betrayal, the, traditionary site of, 179. Bezetha, position of, 18. Bible, the Holy, passages from it bearing upon the statements in this work, 315. Bird of Solomon, 86; legend of, Note XXXVII. 296. Bir Eyub, see Joab, well of. Birket es-Sultan (Prince's pool), 15; account of, 96, 209. Bishops of Jerusalem, list of, Note II. 297. Bordeaux, Pilgrim of, his description of Jerusalem, Note XI. 287. Breydenbach, his account of Christ's Tomb, 117. Bridge between Moriah and Sion, 70; supposed site of that mentioned by Josephus, 71, 74. Bridge (invisible), of Mohammed, its position and legend, 76. Broad wall, its supposed site, 27. Buildings, modern, in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, 5. Buildings of Saracenic period in Jerusalem, 153. Burial-places of Kings of Judah, Note XVI. 310. C. Cadytis of Herodotus, possibly Jerusalem, 2. Caiaphas, site of his house on Sion, 220. Calvary, Chapel of the, 105. Calvary, position of, 103; its site questionable, 105; its present appearance, 122. Camp of the Assyrians, its site, 40. Caverns, the Royal, account of, 226; method of quarrying them, 227; danger in exploring them, 228. Chamber of the Cradle of Jesus, 77. Chosroes II. destroys the Basilica of Constantine, 108. Christ, His Tomb described, 116. Christian quarter of Jerusalem, 9. Chronological summary of the history of Jerusalem, 311. Cistern beneath the supposed site of Eudoxia's Church, 169. Cisterns for water and grain described, 47; their necessity for the Temple services, 49; they survive the destruction of Solomon's temple, 50; examination of those beneath the Haram, 90; conclusions drawn from this, 100; their number in Jerusalem, 261. Climate of Jerusalem, 10. Coenaculum, traditions connected with it, 216; the buildings on its site, 217; its present state, 219; Note XVII. 310. Coins found in the Kidron, 170. Column, gate of the, 6. See Damascus gate. Columns of proof, 81. Commerce of Jerusalem, 265. Constantine the Great destroys the Temple of Jupiter on the site of the Temple, 57; his Basilica on the true site of the Holy Sepulchre, 105; description of, by Eusebius, Note III. 297; destruction of this by Chosroes II. 108. Constantine, S., Greek Convent of, 12, 111, 163. Copts, their numbers in Jerusalem, 13; their Convent, 126, 165; their charitable institutions, 269. Corner-gate, its supposed site, 21. Cotton Merchants' gate, 74. Court of the Gentiles in the Temple, 53. Court of the Israelites, or Priests, 54. Cradle of Jesus, Chamber containing it, 77. Crassus plunders the Second Temple, 52. Crosses on Calvary, their probable position, 106. Cross, Invention of the, Chapel of, in the Church of the Resurrection, 121. Cross, S., Greek Convent of, its history and traditions, 242; the Church described, 243, Note III. 306. Crucifixion, Chapel of, in the Church of the Resurrection, 122. Crusaders, their works at Jerusalem, 43; they consecrate the Mosque of Omar as a Christian church, 59; their various positions during the siege of Jerusalem, 241; the architectural characteristics of their walls, Note V. 286. Cubit measure, its relative value, Note II. 282. Cyril, S., on the Tomb of Christ, 118. Cyrus permits the rebuilding of the Temple, 50. D. Damascus Gate, 6, 8, 15, 36; Cufic inscription on it, 223. Daughters of Sion, Convent of, excavations beneath it, 60; discovery of a spring there, 63; its course traced, 258; the Convent described, 162. David, the Castle of, 6; its present state, 159. David, the City of, identified from Josephus, 16; its wall discovered, 23. David, King, his purchase of the threshing floor of Araunah, 46; his hydraulic works at Jerusalem, 245; the architectural characteristics of his walls, Note V. 285; traditionary site of his judgement-seat, 86, Note XXXVI. 295. David, Millo of, its site discussed, 23-25. David, Sepulchres of, their site, 27. David, street of, 9, 15. David, street of the Castle of, 16. David, the Tomb of, the authenticity of its site proved, 210; the sarcophagus fictitious, 214; the vault near it the probable Sepulchre of the Jewish Kings, 215. Dead Sea, where visible from Jerusalem, 35. Dervishes, various orders of, at Jerusalem, 165. Dives, Palace of, fictitious site of, 142. Divisions of Jerusalem, 8. Dome of the Holy Sepulchre, 114. Dome of the Rock, its position on Moriah, 45; date of its erection, 58; detailed description of, 85; the cisterns beneath it examined, 97; see Omar, Mosque of, Rock, the Sacred. Dragon Well, its supposed site, 27. Drainage system of Jerusalem, its divisions, Note I. 281. Dung Gate, the, 7, 15, 27; false tradition concerning it, 70, Note XXXI. 295. E. East Gate, the, its supposed site, 27; the site of the present Golden Gate, 69. Ecce Homo, the arch of, 60, 140, Note I. 306. El-Aksa Mosque, originally Justinian's Basilica, 57; this proved by history, 59; gateway beneath it, 69; its architectural history, 78; description of it, 80; monolith in its vaults, 82; this taken from the royal caverns, 227. England, Church of, cause of its unpopularity with the Jews, 158; its mission houses at Jerusalem, 165. Environs of Jerusalem, account of, 5; the numerous ancient remains there, Notes III. IV. 284-5. Ephraim, Gate of, its supposed site, 26; its exact site, 143; when so called, 144. Erebinthi, house of, its site, 41. Essenes, Gate of, its site unknown, 31. Etham, the source of the water supply of Jerusalem, 14, 50, 73, 91, 95, 100; its pools described, 246; reasons for assigning them to Solomon, 249; their advantages in supplying Jerusalem, 250; ruins of the Castle there, 246. Eudoxia, Empress, supposed site of her Church, 169; her Church dedicated to S. Stephen, 224. Evil Counsel, Hill of, 4; its site identified, 21; its legend and account of the tombs there, 205; the ruins on its summit, 208. Extent of Jerusalem northward examined, 39. F. Fish Gate, its supposed site, 26, 27. Flagellation, the, Chapel of, 139. Food, the supply of, at Jerusalem, 264. Fortress of the Jebusites, its probable position, 16, 22. Fountain Gate, its supposed site, 27. Fountain of the Virgin, 15, 91; description of it, 184; its water system examined, 254; cause of its intermittent flow, 257. Franciscan Convent in the Church of the Resurrection, 120, 160, Notes IV. V. 307; the Good Friday service there, Note XV. 305. Fuller's Monument, its supposed site, 39. Fuller's Pool, 241. Furnaces, tower of the, supposed site, 27. G. Gardens, Gate of, 7; see Herod, Gate of. Gareb, Hill of, 18. Gate between two walls, its probable site, 26. Gates of Jerusalem at the present time, 6; before the Captivity, 26; as rebuilt by Nehemiah, 27; as described by Josephus, 28; M. Munk's enumeration of them, Note VII. 286; Arabic inscriptions above them, Note IV. 281; regulations for closing them, Note V. _ib._ Gennath Gate, its probable site, 32. Gethsemane, its site indubitable, 177; its present state, 178. Gihon, Mount, 4; its site identified, 21. Gihon, Upper Pool of, see Mamillah. Gihon, Valley of, 4, 17; examination of it, 208. Giles, S., supposed Church of, 153. Golden Gate, the, 7, 27; its architecture, and present condition, 67; the view from its top, 76; Mohammedan tradition concerning it, _ib._; legends connected with it, Notes XXIX. XXX. 294, XXXIII. 295. Golgotha, its identity questionable, 107; its present appearance, 122. Golgotha, the Cistern of, 260. Good Friday, Franciscan Service upon, Note XV. 305. Greeks, their number and position in Jerusalem, 12; their chapel in the Church of the Resurrection, 120; their convents in Jerusalem, 163, Note VI. 307; their nunneries, 164; their charitable institutions, 278; the accommodation for their pilgrims, _ib._ Greek Catholics, their Convent at Jerusalem, 162. Grotto of the Agony, account of, 177, Note X. 309. H. Hadrian rebuilds Jerusalem, 3, 6; its form and size unaltered, 43; builds a temple to Jupiter on the site of the Temple, 57. Hammam-es-Shefa, 15, 91, 257. Haram es-Sherîf, 18; its history, 57; proved to be Mount Moriah, 59; north side examined, 63; Antonia Tower in north-west angle, 64; the east side, 65; the foundation of the east wall the work of Solomon, 66; the south wall examined, 69; the west side, 70; remarkable arch in south-west angle, _ib._; its interior described, 75; its three elevations examined, 88; its water system and subterranean works investigated, 90; conclusion arrived at, 100; regulations and difficulties of admission to it, Notes I. II. 290. Hebron, Gate of, 8; see Jaffa Gate. Helena of Adiabene, her monument, 223. Helena, S., Tomb of, its probable site, 37; Chapel of, 111, 121; throne of, 112; Abyssinian Church of, 125; the so-called cistern of, 126, 260; her traditionary hospital, 150; her churches on the Mount of Ascension, 194, 197; her work at the Tomb of the Virgin, 170, Note IV. 308; at Aceldama, 207; her church near the Grotto of Jeremiah, 228; Justinian's Basilica wrongly ascribed to her, Note XV. 292. Herod Antipas, site of his palace, 141. Herod, Gate of, 7, 39. Herod the Great, his splendid additions to Jerusalem, 3; his monument, 41; its suggested site, 242; he builds the third Temple, 52; description of his masonry, 67; a portion of his wall described by De Saulcy, 72. Herodian Walls, their architectural characteristics, Note V. 286. Herods, the, Jerusalem under their sway, 28. Hezekiah, his pool, 14; the supposed Millo of David, 24, 25, 32; traces of his wall, 25. Hierosolyma, derivation of by Lysimachus, 2. Hinnom, Valley of, 4, 17, 22; its course examined, 204; origin of the name, Note XV. 309. Hippicus tower, its supposed site, 28. Holy Fire, Greek Festival of, account of, Note XIV. 304. Holy Sabbath, Armenian festival, account of, Note XIV. 305. Holy Sepulchre; the question of its site examined, 102; its traditionary history traced, 103; Eusebius's account of it, 105; the monument described, 115; its interior and the tomb examined, 116; proofs of its genuineness, 117; stones said to have closed it, 220; Notes XI. XII. 303-4; Arculf's description of it, Note IV. 299. Horse Gate, its supposed site, 26. Hosea, supposed tomb of, 184. House of Erebinthi, its site, 41. House of the Prince, 126. Houses in Jerusalem, their present state, 266. Huldah, Gate of, 7, 70, 82. Huldah Prophetess, her tomb on Mount Ascension, 197. I. Ibrahim, Mosque of, 127. Inhabitants of Jerusalem, 268. Inspector's Gate, 75; legend connected with it, 295. Invention of the Cross, Chapel of, in the Church of the Resurrection, 121. Iron Gate, 74. Isaiah, tradition as to his death and tomb, 187. Israel, minaret of, 75. J. Jacob's Dream: Mount Moriah possibly the scene of it, 46. Jadagat el-Ahel, Grotto of the "store of food," 38; tradition concerning it, 236. Jaffa Gate, 8, 26, 27; regulations for closing it, Note V. 281. Jaffa, port of, its accommodation for travellers, 262. James, S., the Great, Church of, its history and description, 157; tomb of described, 183. James, S., the Less, Church of, 158. Jebusites, their connection with Jerusalem, 1, 2; situation of their fortress, 16, 22; condition of Jerusalem in their time, 22; the architectural characteristics of their walls, Note V. 285. Jehoshaphat, Gate of, 7. Jehoshaphat, Tomb of, explored, 180. Jehoshaphat, Valley of, explored, 167; its dreary solemnity, 179; its monuments examined, 180; conclusions regarding them, 184; belief connected with it, 168; Note V. 307. Jehovah-jireh, the probable equivalent of Moriah, 17. Jeremiah, Grotto of, described, 228; its tradition examined, 229. Jerome, S., on the residence of Melchizedek, 1. Jesus, the chamber of His cradle, 77; His tomb described, 116; the spot where He was crowned with thorns, 138; scourged, 139; shewn by Pilate, 140; the Station of His first fall in the Via Dolorosa, 141; place of the meeting with His mother, _ib._; with Simon the Cyrenian, 142; His second fall, 143; meeting with the Daughters of Jerusalem, 144; His third fall, _ib._; the tree to which He was bound, 156; the site of His betrayal, 179; spot where He wept over the city, 190; the scene of His Ascension, 191, 193; prints of His feet on Mount Ascension, 197. Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem, 9. Jews of Jerusalem, their social habits, 9; their numbers and sectarian divisions, 10; their objection to enter the Temple enclosure, 154; their Synagogues, 155; cause of their dislike to the Church of England, 158; their cemetery in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, 180; their hospice in the Valley of Gihon, 208; their degraded condition in Jerusalem, 271; their charitable institutions there, 277. Jews' Wailing place, 72, 154. Joab, the well of, visited, 188; detailed account of, 253; curious legend concerning it, 254. Joachim, S., pretended tomb of, 175. John, S., of Jerusalem, Hospital of, its history, 129; state of its remains, 131; its original position, 133; Notes XVI. XVIII. 306. Joseph of Arimathea, his tomb, 119. Joseph, S., his pretended tomb, 175. Joseph, S., sisters of, their convent, 162. Josephus, his account of the city of David verified, 16; identification of his "New City," 18; of the Tyropoeon, 19; of Ophel and Mount Olivet, 21; Mount Shafat, 22; his account of the city of the Herods our sole authority, 28; his exaggeration of the population of Jerusalem, 41; the passages from his Antiquities of the Jews illustrating this work, 323; ditto from the Jewish War, 327. Jotham, his wall on Ophel, 25. Judah, kings of, their burial places, Note XVI. 310. Judgement Gate, legend of, 143. Judges, the tombs of, described, 239. Julian the Apostate attempts to rebuild the Temple, 57; the so-called miracle which prevented this, Note XIV. 292. Jupiter, Temple to, on the site of the Temple built and destroyed, 57. Justinian, his Basilica near the site of the Temple, 57; converted into a mosque, _ib._; into a dwelling-house, 59; its ruins, 70; its history and description, 78; Antoninus of Piacenza's account of it, Note XXXIV. 295. K. Kerm es-Sheikh (ancient Arab house), curious tradition concerning it, 230. Kidron torrent, its present state, 169; coins found in its bed, 170; the pool forming its source, 283. Kidron, pool of, 14; account of it, 256. Kidron Valley, 4, 5, 18; exploration of it, 167; the site of the King's dale, 182, Note II. 308. King's garden, the, identified, 27. Kings, Jewish, their Tombs on Mount Sion, 215; their burial places as mentioned in the Bible, Note XVI. 310. Kings, Latin, their tombs, 113; Inscriptions on them, Note XI. 303. Knights Hospitaler, account of, 129. Knights Templar, their stables in the vaults of the Haram, 78. Kubbet es-Sakharah, see Dome of the Rock; Omar, Mosque of. L. Land proprietors at Jerusalem, 268. Latin Kings, their tombs, 113; Inscriptions on them, Note XI. 303. Latin Patriarchate, the, 152. Latins, their chapel in the Church of the Resurrection, 120; their charitable institutions at Jerusalem, 278. Lazarus (the beggar), fictitious site of his house, 142. Lazarus, his tomb in Bethany, 202; ruins of his convent and house there, 203. Lepers, their houses and miserable appearance, 221. "Lower City" of the Jebusites, its position, 22. "Lower pool" of Isaiah, see Birket es-Sultan, Prince's Pool. Lysimachus, his derivation of Hierosolyma, 2. M. Maccabees, the, recover the second Temple, 52. Magdalene, Church of the, its history and remains, 148. Mamillah, pool of, 5, 14; identified as the "Upper pool," 241; description of it, 251; identified from the Bible, 252. Manasseh, traces of his wall, 26. Mariamne Tower, its supposed site, 28. Mariti (Abbé), on the position of the three Crosses, 106; on the arch of the Ecce Homo, 140. Mark, S., traditional site of his house, 158. Mary, S., of Egypt, Oratory of, 112. Mary, S., the Virgin, tradition, &c. of her birth-place, 145, 6, 7; Chapel of her Nativity, 150; her tomb, 148; erected by S. Helena, 170; enquiries as to the Church built over it, 171; its present state, 175; site of her house on Sion, 219; Notes III. to XII. 308-9. Mary, S., the Great, ruins of Church of, 125; its history, 128; present state of its remains, 130. Mary, S., the Less, Church of, its history, 129; its present state, 130. Mary, S., Gate of, 78. Mary, Lady, Pool of the bath of, 7, 14, 167. Masonry of east wall of Haram, 66; Solomon's and Herod's compared, 67; Note V. 286. Meah, tower of, its site, 27. Measures, Hebrew, their relative value, Note II. 282. Mekhemeh, or Mohammedan Court of Justice, 73. Melchizedek, his residence according to S. Jerome, 1. Milisendis, Queen, her Convent of S. Lazarus at Bethany, 203. Millo of David, its probable site, 24. Millo of Solomon, 25. Mislin, M., his account of the so-called tomb of David, 212. Mogarabins, the, gate and wall of, 72; Mosque of, 85. Mohammedan quarter of Jerusalem, 9. Mohammedans, they capture Jerusalem, 57; their number and position there, 11; their charitable institutions, 277. Mohammed's invisible bridge, its position and legend, 76. Moloch, account of the worship of, Note XV. 309. Monks dwelling in the Church of the Resurrection, remarks on, 122; disputes among them, 124. Monolith in the vaults of El-Aksa, 82; this taken from the royal caverns, 227. Montefiore, Sir M., his Hospice for Jews, 208. Moriah, Mount, identified, 17, 18; added to the city by Solomon, 24; its site unquestionable, 41; the author's opportunities of exploring it, 46; its history, _ib._; its appearance changed by the Temple, 49; fortified by Simon Maccabeus, 52; proved to be the present Haram es-Sherîf, 59. Mosaic work in the Dome of the Rock, 87; Note XXXVIII. 296. Moses, chapel of, 99. Mountains round Jerusalem, 4, 21; within the city, 16. Munk, on the Babylonish Captivity, Note VII. 291. N. Name of Jerusalem, its origin and meaning, 1. Nebuchadnezzar destroys Jerusalem, 2, and Solomon's Temple, 50. Neby Samwîl village, position of, 4; Note II. 281. Nehemiah completes the rebuilding of Jerusalem, 3; aspect of the city in his time, 27; characteristics of his masonry, Note V. 285; tradition attached to his well, 188. "New City" of Josephus identified, 18. Nicanor's Gate in the Temple, 54; tradition regarding its doors, Note X. 292. Nicodemus, his tomb, 119. Nicoforus, Archimandrite, his agricultural improvements in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, 5, 208, 244. Northern extent of Jerusalem examined, 39. North Gate of Josephus, its site, 36. O. Offence, Mount of, its position indisputable, 21; its present state, 189; forms the third summit of Mount Olivet, 191. Old Gate, its supposed site, 27. Olivet, Mount, 4; Panoramic view from its summit, 8, 16; its position indisputable, 21; its points of interest examined, 190; its three summits, 191; histories attached to these, 192. Olive-tree, traditionary, to which our Saviour was bound, 156; those remaining in the garden of Gethsemane, 178; Note XIII. 309. Omar, Mosque of, built over the threshing-floor of Araunah, 57; this proved by history, 58, 59; Notes XVI-XXIV. XXVI. 292-4; see Dome of the Rock. Omar, Mosque of, the octagonal monument so called, 81, 130; Note VI. 286. Omar, remains of his boys' school and hospital, 153. Onuphrius, chapel of, on the Hill of Evil Counsel, 206. Ophel, the hill of 18; its site identified, 21; works of defence on, 25, 26. Oratory near the Haram barrack, 75. P. Palace of the Council, its supposed site, 30; of Dives, its fictitious site, 142; of Herod Antipas, its site, 141. Panorama of Jerusalem from Mount Olivet, 8. Passages from the Holy Bible bearing on the statements in this work, 315. Patriarch's Pool, 241. Pelagia, S., her tomb on Mount Ascension, 197. Peristerion, the supposed site of, 40. Peter, S., Church of, 150. Peter's, S. prison, traditional site of, 158 Peter, S. at the Cock-crow, ruins of Church of, 221. Phasaëlus Tower, its supposed site, 28. Pilate, conduit of, 14. Pilgrims, the numbers of, visiting Jerusalem, 10; their unseemly conduct at the Holy Sepulchre, 123; the different communities of, at Jerusalem, 274. Pilgrim's Pool, 7, 14; account of it, and its traditions, 229. Pisans, castle of the, 159; Adrichomius' account of, Note VIII. 286. Place of the Ashes, 50; its probable position, 89, 91, 100. Pompeius the Great captures the second Temple, 52. Pools of Jerusalem, 14, 27. "Pool that was made," the, (Birket es-Sultan), 27, 96. Population of Jerusalem, 10; compared with its size, 14; at the time of Alexander the Great, 41; exaggerated by Josephus, _ib._ Postal system at Jerusalem, 264. Potter's field, the site of, 206. Prætorium, the, situated in the Antonia Tower, 55, 64; its position identified, 137. Prince's Pool, (Birket es-Sultan), 15, 96, 209. Procopius, his account of the Basilica of Justinian, 78, 83. Prophets, the tombs of, 198; their authenticity considered, 199. Proselytism at Jerusalem, its failure, 273, 4. Protestants, their number in Jerusalem, 13. Protestant Missions at Jerusalem, their ill success, 172; their charitable institutions, 278. Provisions, supply of, at Jerusalem, 264. Prussian Mission-house at Jerusalem, 165. Psephinus tower, its supposed site, 35. Q. Quarries used for the Temple and walls, 38; see Royal Caverns. Quarries of red breccia, 243. R. Ramah identified with Neby Samwîl, Note II. 281. Ramleh, its accommodation for travellers, 262. Religious communities in Jerusalem, 10, 13. Resurrection, Church of the, its history, 108; its present dangerous condition, 110; its exterior described, _ib._; its interior, 113; the great Dome, 114; state of the Monks living there, 122; Pilgrims visiting it, 123; account of its neighbourhood, 125; Notes III.-XIII. 299-304; see Holy Sepulchre. Retreat of the Apostles, see James, S. tomb of. Road of the Capture, 182. Robinson, Dr, his opinion of the Tyropoeon disputed, 19. Rock near the Haram barrack, site of the Tower Antonia, 59, 64. Rock, the Sacred, description of, 87; proved to be the site of the threshing-floor of Araunah, 88; and the Altar of burnt-offerings, 89; legends and traditions connected with it, Notes III. IV. XXXIX. XL. 291, 296. Rogel, its supposed site, 188; Fountain of, see Joab, Fountain of. Roman Catholics, their number and position in Jerusalem, 12. Roman inscription on El-Aksa gateway, 69. Roman Walls, the characteristics of their masonry, Note V. 286. Rossellane the Sultana, her munificence, 59; description of her hospital, 151; view from its roof, 152. Royal Caverns of Josephus, their supposed site, 38; description of them, 226. Russia, her position in Jerusalem, 13. Russians, their conventual buildings in Jerusalem, 13, 240; their charitable institutions, 279. S. Sæwulf, his account of the Holy Places, Note V. 300. Saladin's school, fragment of, 74; his hospice, 127; his generosity to the Christians, Note XXV. 294. Salem and Jerusalem distinct places, 1. Sanhedrim, hall of, in the Temple, 54. Sanitary condition of Jerusalem, 9, 15, 261. Saracenic buildings in Jerusalem, 153; the characteristics of their masonry, Note V. 286. Saviour, S. Church of, on Mount Sion, 220; Convent of, 160. Scala Sancta, the, in Via Dolorosa, 138. Scopus, Mount, 4; Note from Josephus upon, Note III. 281; see Shafat. Sea of Bronze, its dimensions, 49; Note VI. 291. Sects, Christian, at Jerusalem, their animosity to each other, 269; their property, &c. 270. Sennacherib, spot of his encampment, 241. Sepulchre, the Holy; see Holy Sepulchre. Sepulchre, vertical, near the Tombs of the Kings, 236. Sepulchres, Mount of the, 4, 205. Serai, the, Minaret of, 75. Serpents' pool, 241. Sewer discovered near the Convent of the daughters of Sion, 62. Sewers of Jerusalem, 15, 19. Shafat, mountain of, 4; its site identified, 22. Shaveh, the valley of, 1. Sheep-gate, its supposed site, 27. Shefa, Bath of, 15, 16, 91. Sheikh Jerrah, Arab building, 236. Siloam, fountain of, its undoubted site, 31. Siloam, gardens of, 4, 5. Siloam, pool of, 8, 15; its site identified, 8, 16; reverence attached to it, 185; its history, 186; its present appearance, 187. Siloam, village of, described, 189; ancient Egyptian monument there, 190. Simon the Cyrenian, spot of his meeting with Jesus in Via Dolorosa, 142. Simon the Just, Tomb of, 237. Simon the Pharisee, traditionary site of his house, 148, 9. Sion gate, 7, 8. Sion, Mount, 6, 16, 17; excavations there, 23; examination of it, 209; the tomb of David, 210; Tombs of the Jewish Kings, 215; the Coenaculum, 216; the house of the Virgin, 219; of Caiaphas, 220; remains of antiquity found there, Note III. 284. Slaughter, valley of, 22. Society in Jerusalem, its present state, 268. Soil of the environs of Jerusalem, 5. Solomon, the Conduit of, 14; his additions to the city of David, 24; situation of his "Millo" and house, 25; excavations in his pool, 31; its present state, 187; masonry of his wall described, 66; Note V. 285, XXVIII. 294; traditional site of his throne, 76; his hydraulic works at Jerusalem, 245, 6. Solomon's Temple; see Temple. Solyman the Magnificent restores the walls of Jerusalem, 6; leaving their form unchanged, 44. Sources of water supply of Jerusalem, 14. Spring discovered near the Daughters of Sion Convent, 63; great sensation caused by this, Note XXVII. 294. Springs in Jerusalem, 257. Stables of the Templars in the vaults of the Haram, 78. Stairs from the city of David, site of, 27. State of Jerusalem and its environs, 267. Station of the first fall in Via Dolorosa, 141; of the second, 143; of the third, 144. Stephen, S. gate of, 7. Stephen, S. pretended site of his martyrdom, 168; the genuine site on the north of the city, 223; the Empress Eudoxia's Church there, 224. Stone, the, of Unction, 114, 122. Stones of largest size in Solomon's walls, Note XXVIII. 294. Strato's Tower on Moriah, 52; its site discovered, 62. Streets of Jerusalem, 8, 10; their present state, 266; the principal ones enumerated, Note VI. 282. Struthium pool, its supposed site, 64, 65. Syrian Convent, the, 164. Summary of the history of Jerusalem, 2. ---- chronological, of ditto, 311. T. Tacitus, his description of Jerusalem, Note X. 287. Temple of Solomon, its site, 17; stone quarries used for it, 38; account of its building, 48; its exact description impossible, _ib._; its ground plan, 49; water supply necessary for its services, _ib._; its destruction by Nebuchadnezzar, 50; its position fixed by the Sacred Rock, 88; Rabbinical plan of, 90; the principal modern accounts of it, Note V. 291. Temple, the Second, as rebuilt by Zerubbabel, 51; its history, _ib._; taken by Antiochus Epiphanes, _ib._; recovered by the Maccabees, 52; its subsequent history, _ib._; its height according to Josephus, 51; Note VIII. 291. Temple, the third, as built by Herod the Great, 52; its ground plan, _ib._; dimensions, 54; the scene of our Saviour's ministry, 55; its destruction by Titus, 56; subsequent history of its site, 57; various writers upon it, Note IX. 292. Temple, dates of its burnings, Note XII. 292. Terrace roofs in the East, Note XLII. 297. Threshing-floors, ancient, description of, 47. Throne of Solomon, its traditional site, 76. Titus destroys Jerusalem and Herod's Temple, 3, 56; the city at his time, 28; his wall of circumvallation, 40; the site of his head-quarters, 241. Tomb of the Lord's Body; see Holy Sepulchre. Tombs in the environs of Jerusalem, 5. Tombs in the Valley of Jehoshaphat examined, 180; conclusions regarding them, 184. Tombs, Mount of the, 4, 205. Tombs of the Judges, account of, 239. Tombs of the Jewish Kings on Sion, 215. Tombs of the Kings examined; the vestibule, 232; the sepulchral chambers, 233; controversies as to their origin and use, 235. Tombs of the Latin Kings of Jerusalem, 113; the inscriptions on them, Note XI. 303. Tombs of the Prophets, 198; their authenticity considered, 199. Tophet in the Valley of Hinnom, 204; probably the Hill of Evil Counsel, 21; origin of the name, Note XV. 309. Tradesmen of Jerusalem, their extortion, 264. Traditions of the East, their unvarying character, Note IX. 286. Travellers at Jerusalem, advice to, 263, 266. Tree, traditionary, to which our Saviour was bound, 156. Turks in Jerusalem, their numbers, 11; their extortion, 273. Tyre, William of, his account of the Mosque of Omar, 58; Note XVII. 292; of the Church of the Resurrection, Note VI. 301. Tyropoeon, the, identified with the central valley, 19. U. "Upper Pool;" see Mamillah. Uzza, garden of, its supposed site, 184. V. Valley Gate, its supposed site, 26, 27, 69. Valleys round Jerusalem, 4; within the city, 16, 19, 20, 62. Vault, immense one discovered beneath the Convent of the Daughters of Sion, 61; the supposed site of Strato's Tower, 62; its purpose and architectural history, 77; converted into stables for the Templars, 78. Vaults under the site of Antonia Tower, 64; under El-Aksa, 81; the mosque Abu Bekr, 84; the tomb of David, the sepulchre of the Jewish Kings, 215. Veronica, S. house of, in the Via Dolorosa, 143. Via Dolorosa, 8, 9; account of its fourteen stations, 135; summary of the evidence of its identity, 144. Virgin, Fountain of the, see Fountain. Virgin, Tomb of, see Mary S. Virgin's swoon, the, chapel of, in Via Dolorosa, 141. Viri Galilæi, the north summit of Mount Olivet, 192. W. Walls of Jerusalem, now surrounding it, 6; remains of that built by the Jebusites, 22; by David, 23; by Solomon, 24; by Jotham and Hezekiah, 25; by Manasseh, 26; under Nehemiah, 27; the Herods and Titus, 28; the Agrippas, 35, 37; the course of the first wall explored, 28; of the second, 31; of the third, 34; the wall of Titus, 40; of Solyman the Magnificent, 44; their different architectural characteristics, Note V. 285; the largest stones remaining in that of Solomon, Note XXVIII. 294. Wandering Jew, the imaginary house of, in the Via Dolorosa, 143. Water Gate, its supposed site, 27. Water supply of Jerusalem, 14; a good supply required for the Temple services, 49. Waters of the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, 245; inside the city, 257. Wezn, or invisible balance, Mohammedan legend of, Note XLI. 296. Willibrand of Oldenburg, his account of Christ's Tomb, 117. Window of Judgment, its position and legend, 76. X. Xystus, the, its supposed site, 30. Z. Zacharias, Tomb of, 183. Zerubbabel rebuilds the Temple, 51. Cambridge: PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS. * * * * * Transcriber's note: Obvious typesetting errors have been corrected. Questionable or archaic spelling has been left as printed in the original publication. Variations in spelling have been left as printed, unless otherwise noted in the following. Corrections to printing errors supplied in the "CORRIGENDA ET ADDENDA", immediately following the Table of Contents, have been applied in this transcription. Inconsistencies in abbreviations frequently used have been regularized. The formation of references to works frequently cited have been regularized. E.g., for all instances like "Jewish War, V. 4, § 1." commas have been inserted, if missing, after War and before the "§" symbol. All instances of "Sherif" have been normalized to "Sherîf". Alternate spellings of Phasælus/Phasaelus/Phasaëlus Tower have been regularized to Phasaëlus. Alternate spellings of Neby Samwil/Samwîl have been regularized to Samwîl. Alternate spellings of Arimathæa/Arimathea have been regularized to Arimathea. Varying formats of the abbreviation "A.D." have been regularized in this transcription to appear in upper case letters. Page 26: Transcribed "fellahin" as "fellahîn". As originally printed: "The answers given to me by the _fellahin_...." Page 38: Transcribed "them" as "they". As originally printed: "with the old level of the north gate, and found them correspond". Page 48: Supplied the word "in" (shown in brackets here) to the following phrase: "those found [in] 1 Kings vi. 7 and 2 Chron. iii. and iv. are very incomplete, and often hard to reconcile". Page 49: Supplied the word "in" (shown in brackets here) to the following phrase: "The inner is mentioned [in] 1 Kings vi. 36". Page 58: Supplied a quotation mark missing in the original publication, as follows, immediately preceding "but": 'He says (speaking of the mosque) "but on that celebrated spot...'. Page 58: Supplied a quotation mark missing in the original publication at the close of the following: "May God render illustrious the great king, son of Meruan, who enlarged this majestic temple, and grant him mercy." Page 128: Transcribed "Harun er-Rashid" as "Harûn er-Rashîd". As originally printed: "The amicable relations between Harun er-Rashid...." Page 138: Two footnote markers on this page in the original publication, both numbered 1, reference one footnote. The markers have been numbered 470 and 471 and footnote 471 has been added as "Ibid." Page 140 (footnote 477): Corrected "Jérus" to "Jésus." Page 210: Footnote 4 on this page references non-existant Note "XXII." Number was corrected to "Note XIV." Page 212: Supplied the word "it" (shown in brackets here) to the following phrase: "some however less anxiously cautious, say that [it] is on the site...". Page 229: Footnote 7 on this page was marked in the text, but the note at the bottom of the page, referring internally to "Page 14", had no note number associated with it. The footnote has been numbered and appears in this transcription as footnote 826. Page 270 (footnote 898): Transcribed "pamplet" as "pamphlet". As originally printed: "the following account published in a pamplet...." In the table showing Spanish Reals sent to the Holy Land, the individual contributions by country in this transcription match the figures in the original publication; however, the total Reals stated in the original publication (239,737,060) does not match the sum of the countries' contributions (239,927,060). Page 275: In the table showing pilgrims visits to Jerusalem and lengths of stays, the annual totals in this transcription match the figures in the original publication; however, the total of days stated in the original publication (229,346) does not match the sum of the annual totals (229,266). Pages 283-4: Endnotes marked in the original publication with numerical references (1 to 7) have been transcribed as notes A to G and appear as endnotes to Note II of Chapter II. Page 295: A reference to the Itinerary of Antoninus of Piacenza printed as "Anton. Placent. Itin. Sect. 23" in the original publication has been left as printed, a likely typesetting error in which an L was substituted for the I in Piacen(t)za. Pages 304: Endnotes to Note XIV of Chapter IV., marked in the original publication as (a) and (b), have been transcribed as footnotes that appear at the end of the notes for Chapter IV. Page 311: Transcribed "Adonizedec" (king of Jerusalem) as "Adonizedek". As originally printed: "1451 Adonizedec king of Jerusalem". Page 314: Alternate spellings of Al-Mostander-Billah/Al-Mostanser-Billah have been regularized to Al-Mostanser-Billah. Page 331: Possibly incomplete phrase in sidenote has been left as printed in the original publication: "The Jews see the review of the troops Titus."