From the eleventh century to the fifteenth, they are the chief figures who in that whirlwind of war contested the possession of the Levant with the Saracens and the Turks. In the forefront of every battle was seen their burnished9 mail, in the gloomy rear of every retreat were heard their voices of constancy and of courage; wherever there were crowns to be cracked, or wounds to be bound up, or broken hearts to be ministered to, there were the Knights of St. John, soldiers, priests, servants, laying aside the gown for the coat of mail if need be, or exchanging the cuirass for the white cross on the breast. Originally a charitable order, dwelling10 in the Hospital of St. John to minister to the pilgrims to Jerusalem, and composed of young soldiers of Godfrey, who took the vows11 of poverty, chastity, and obedience12, they resumed their arms upon the pressure of infidel hostility13, and subsequently divided the order into three classes: soldiers, priests, and servants. They speedily acquired great power and wealth; their palaces, their fortifications, their churches, are even in their ruins the admiration14 and wonder of our age. The purity of the order: was in time somewhat sullied by luxury, but their valor never suffered the slightest eclipse; whether the field they contested was lost or won, their bravery always got new honor from it.
Nearly opposite the court of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the green field of Muristan, the site of the palace, church, and hospital of the Knights of St. John. The field was, on an average, twenty-five feet above the surrounding streets, and a portion of it was known to rest upon vaults15. This plot of ground was given to the Prussian government, and its agents have been making excavations16 there; these were going on at the time of our visit. The disclosures are of great architectural and historical interest. The entrance through a peculiar18 Gothic gateway19 leads into a court. Here the first excavations were made several years ago, and disclosed some splendid remains20: the apse of the costly21 church, cloisters22, fine windows and arches of the best Gothic style. Beyond, the diggings have brought to light some of the features of the palace and hospital; an excavation17 of twenty-five feet reaches down to the arches of the substructure, which rest upon pillars from forty to fifty feet high. This gives us some notion of the magnificent group of buildings that once occupied this square, and also of the industry of nature as an entomber, since some four centuries have sufficed her to bury these ruins so far beneath the soil, that peasants ploughed over the palaces of the knights without a suspicion of what lay beneath.
In one corner of this field stands a slender minaret23, marking the spot where the great Omar once said his prayers; four centuries after this, Saladin is said to have made his military headquarters in the then deserted24 palace of the Knights of St. John. There is no spot in Jerusalem where one touches more springs of romance than in this field of Muristan.
Perhaps the most interesting and doleful walk one can take near Jerusalem is that into the Valley of Kidron and through Aceldama, round to the Jaffa Gate, traversing "the whole valley of the dead bodies, and of the ashes," in the cheerful words of Jeremiah.
We picked our way through the filthy26 streets and on the slippery cobble-stones,—over which it seems dangerous to ride and is nearly impossible to walk,—out through St. Stephen's Gate. Near the gate, inside, we turned into an alley25 and climbed a heap of rubbish to see a pool, which the guide insisted upon calling Bethesda, although it is Birket Israil. Having seen many of these pools, I did not expect much, but I was still disappointed. We saw merely a hole in the ground, which is void of all appearance of ever having been even damp. The fact is, we have come to Jerusalem too late; we ought to have been here about two thousand years ago.
The slope of the hill outside the gate is covered with the turbaned tombs of Moslems; we passed under the walls and through this cemetery29 into the deep valley below, crossing the bed of the brook30 near the tombs of Absalom, Jehoshaphat, St. James, and Zacharias. These all seem to be of Roman construction; but that called Absalom's is so firmly believed to be his that for centuries every Jew who has passed it has cast a stone at it, and these pebbles31 of hate partially32 cover it. We also added to the heap, but I do not know why, for it is nearly impossible to hate any one who has been dead so long.
The most interesting phenomenon in the valley is the Fountain of the Virgin33, or the Fountain of Accused Women, as it used to be called. The Moslem28 tradition is that it was a test of the unfaithfulness of women; those who drank of it and were guilty, died; those who were innocent received no harm. The Virgin Mary herself, being accused, accepted this test, drank of the water, and proved her chastity. Since then the fountain has borne her name. The fountain, or well, is in the side-hill, under the rocks of Ophel, and the water springs up in an artificial cave. We descended34 some sixteen steps to a long chamber35, arched with ancient masonry36; we passed through that and descended fourteen steps more into a grotto37, where we saw the water flowing in and escaping by a subterranean38 passage. About this fountain were lounging groups of Moslem idlers, mostly women and children. Not far off a Moslem was saying his prayers, prostrating39 himself before a prayer-niche. We had difficulty in making our way down the steps, so encumbered40 were they with women. Several of them sat upon the lowest steps in the damp cavern41, gossiping, filling their water-skins, or paddling about with naked feet.
The well, like many others in Syria, is intermittent42 and irregular in its rising and falling; sometimes it is dry, and then suddenly it bubbles up and is full again. Some scholars think this is the Pool Bethesda of the New Testament43, others think that Bethesda was Siloam, which is below this well and fed by it, and would exhibit the same irregular rising and falling. This intermittent character St. John attributed to an angel who came down and troubled the water; the Moslems, with the same superstition44, say that it is caused by a dragon, who sleeps therein and checks the stream when he wakes.
On our way to the Pool of Siloam, we passed the village of Si-loam, which is inhabited by about a thousand Moslems,—a nest of stone huts and caves clinging to the side-hill, and exactly the gray color of its stones. The occupation of the inhabitants appears to be begging, and hunting for old copper45 coins, mites46, and other pieces of Jewish money. These relics47 they pressed upon us with the utmost urgency. It was easier to satisfy the beggars than the traders, who sallied out upon us like hungry wolves from their caves. There is a great choice of disagreeable places in the East, but I cannot now think of any that I should not prefer as a residence to Siloam.
The Pool of Siloam, magnified in my infant mind as "Siloam's shady rill," is an unattractive sink-hole of dirty water, surrounded by modern masonry. The valley here is very stony48. Just below we came to Solomon's Garden, an arid49 spot, with patches of stonewalls, struggling to be a vegetable-garden, and somewhat green with lettuce50 and Jerusalem artichokes. I have no doubt it was quite another thing when Solomon and some of his wives used to walk here in the cool of the day, and even when Shallum, the son of Colhozeh, set up "the wall of the Pool of Siloah by the king's garden."
We continued on, down to Joab's Well, passing on the way Isaiah's Tree, a decrepit51 sycamore propped52 up by a stone pillar, where that prophet was sawn asunder53. There is no end to the cheerful associations of the valley. The Well of Joab, a hundred and twenty-five feet deep, and walled and arched with fine masonry, has a great appearance of antiquity54. We plucked maidenhair from its crevices55, and read the Old Testament references. Near it is a square pool fed by its water. Some little distance below this, the waters of all these wells, pools, drains, sinks, or whatever they are, reappear bursting up through a basin of sand and pebbles, as clear as crystal, and run brawling56 off down the valley under a grove57 of large olive-trees,—a scene rural and inviting58.
I suppose it would be possible to trace the whole system of underground water ways and cisterns59, from Solomon's Pool, which send? its water into town by an aqueduct near the Jaffa Gate, to Hezekiah's Pool, to the cisterns under the Harem, and so out to the Virgin's Well, the Pool of Siloam, and the final gush60 of sweet water below. This valley drains, probably artificially as well as naturally, the whole city, for no sewers61 exist in the latter.
We turned back from this sparkling brook, which speedily sinks into the ground again, absorbed by the thirsty part of the valley called Tophet, and went up the Valley of Hinnom, passing under the dark and frowning ledges62 of Aceldama, honey-combed with tombs. In this "field of blood" a grim stone structure forms the front of a natural cave, which is the charnel-house where the dead were cast pell-mell, in the belief that the salts in the earth would speedily consume them. The path we travel is rugged63, steep, and incredibly stony. The whole of this region is inexpressibly desolate64, worn-out, pale, uncanny. The height above this rocky terrace, stuffed with the dead, is the Hill of Evil Counsel, where the Jews took counsel against Jesus; and to add the last touch of an harmonious65 picture, just above this Potter's Field stands the accursed tree upon which Judas hanged himself, raising its gaunt branches against the twilight66 sky, a very gallows-tree to the imagination. It has borne no fruit since Iscariot. Towards dusk, sometimes, as you stand on the wall by Zion Gate, you almost fancy you can see him dangling67 there. It is of no use to tell me that the seed that raised this tree could not have sprouted68 till a thousand years after Judas was crumbled69 into dust; one must have faith in something.
This savage70 gorge71, for the Valley of Hinnom is little more than that in its narrowest part, has few associations that are not horrible. Here Solomon set up the images ("the groves," or the graven images), and the temples for the lascivious72 rites73 of Ashta-roth or the human sacrifices to Moloch. Here the Jews, the kings and successors of Solomon, with a few exceptions, and save an occasional spasmodic sacrifice to Jehovah when calamity74 made them fear him, practised all the abominations of idolatry in use in that age. The Jews had always been more or less addicted75 to the worship of the god of Ammon, but Solomon first formally established it in Hinnom. Jeremiah writes of it historically, "They have built the high places of Tophet, which is in the valley of the son of Hinnom, to burn their sons and their daughters in the fire." This Moloch was as ingenious a piece of cruelty as ever tried the faith of heretics in later times, and, since it was purely76 a means of human sacrifice, and not a means of grace (as Inquisitorial tortures were supposed to be), its use is conclusive77 proof of the savage barbarity of the people who delighted in it. Moloch was the monstrous78 brass79 image of a man with the head of an ox. It was hollow, and the interior contained a furnace by which the statue was made red-hot. Children—the offerings to the god—were then placed in its glowing arms, and drums were beaten to drown their cries. It is painful to recall these things, but the traveller should always endeavor to obtain the historical flavor of the place he visits.
Continuing our walks among the antiquities of Jerusalem, we went out of the Damascus Gate, a noble battlemented structure, through which runs the great northern highway to Samaria and Damascus. The road, however, is a mere27 path over ledges and through loose stones, fit only for donkeys. If Rehoboam went this way in his chariot to visit Jeroboam in Samaria, there must have existed then a better road, or else the king endured hard pounding for the sake of the dignity of his conveyance80. As soon as we left the gate we encountered hills of stones and paths of the roughest description. There are several rock tombs on this side of the city, but we entered only one, that called by some the Tombs of the Kings, and by others, with more reason, the Tomb of Helena, a heathen convert to Judaism, who built this sepulchre for herself early in the first century. The tomb, excavated81 entirely82 in the solid rock, is a spacious83 affair, having a large court and ornamented84 vestibule and many chambers85, extending far into the rock, and a singular network of narrow passages and recesses86 for the deposit of the dead. It had one device that is worthy87 of the ancient Egyptians. The entrance was closed by a heavy square stone, so hung that it would yield to pressure from without, but would swing to its place by its own weight, and fitted so closely that it could not be moved from the inside. If any thief entered the tomb and left this slab88 unsecured, he would be instantly caught in the trap and become a permanent occupant. Large as the tomb is, its execution is mean compared with the rock tombs of Egypt; but the exterior89 stone of the court, from its exposure in this damp and variable climate, appears older than Egyptian work which has been uncovered three times as long.
At the tomb we encountered a dozen students from the Latin convent, fine-looking fellows in long blue-black gowns, red caps, and red sashes. They sat upon the grass, on the brink90 of the excavation, stringing rosaries and singing student songs, with evident enjoyment91 of the hour's freedom from the school; they not only made a picturesque appearance, but they impressed us also as a Jerusalem group which was neither sinful nor dirty. Beyond this tomb we noticed a handsome modern dwelling-house; you see others on various eminences92 outside the city, and we noted93 them as the most encouraging sign of prosperity about Jerusalem.
We returned over the hill and by the city wall, passing the Cave of Jeremiah and the door in the wall that opens into the stone quarries94 of Solomon. These quarries underlie95 a considerable portion of the city, and furnished the stone for its ancient buildings. I will not impose upon you a description of them; for it would be unfair to send you into disagreeable places that I did not explore myself.
The so-called Grotto of Jeremiah is a natural cavern in the rocky hill, vast in extent, I think thirty feet high and a hundred feet long by seventy broad,—as big as a church. The tradition is that Jeremiah lived and lamented97 here. In front of the cave are cut stones and pieces of polished columns built into walls and seats; these fragments seem to indicate the former existence here of a Roman temple. The cave is occupied by an old dervish, who has a house in a rock near by, and uses the cavern as a cool retreat and a stable for his donkey. His rocky home is shared by his wife and family. He said that it was better to live alone, apart from the world and its snares98. He, however, finds the reputation of Jeremiah profitable, selling admission to the cave at a franc a head, and, judging by the women and children about him, he seemed to have family enough not to be lonely.
The sojourner99 in Jerusalem who does not care for antiquities can always entertain himself by a study of the pilgrims who throng100 the city at this season. We hear more of the pilgrimage to Mecca than of that to Jerusalem; but I think the latter is the more remarkable101 phenomenon of our modern life; I believe it equals the former, which is usually overrated, in numbers, and it certainly equals it in zeal102 and surpasses it in the variety of nationalities represented. The pilgrims of the cross increase yearly; to supply their wants, to minister to their credulity, to traffic on their faith, is the great business of the Holy City. Few, I imagine, who are not in Palestine in the spring, have any idea of the extent of this vast yearly movement of Christian4 people upon the Holy Land, or of the simple zeal which characterizes it. If it were in any way obstructed103 or hindered, we should have a repetition of the Crusades, on a vaster scale and gathered from a broader area than the wildest pilgrimage of the holy war. The driblets of travel from America and from Western Europe are as nothing in the crowds thronging104 to Jerusalem from Ethiopia to Siberia, from the Baltic to the Ural Mountains. Already for a year before the Easter season have they been on foot, slowly pushing their way across great steppes, through snows and over rivers, crossing deserts and traversing unfriendly countries; the old, the infirm, women as well as men, their faces set towards Jerusalem. No common curiosity moves this mass, from Ethiopia, from Egypt, from Russia, from European Turkey, from Asia Minor105, from the banks of the Tagus and the Araxes; it is a true pilgrimage of faith, the one event in a life of dull monotony and sordid106 cares, the one ecstasy107 of poetry in an existence of poverty and ignorance.
We spent a morning in the Russian Hospice, which occupies the hill to the northwest of the city. It is a fine pile of buildings, the most conspicuous108 of which, on account of its dome109, is the church, a large edifice110 with a showy exterior, but of no great merit or interest. We were shown some holy pictures which are set in frames incrusted with diamonds, emeralds, rubies111, and other precious gems112, the offerings of rich devotees, and displaying their wealth rather than their taste.
The establishment has one building for the accommodation of rich pilgrims, and a larger one set apart for peasants. The hospice lodges113, free of charge, all the Russian pilgrims. The exterior court was full of them. They were sunning themselves, but not inclined to lay aside their hot furs and heavy woollens. We passed into the interior, entering room after room occupied by the pilgrims, who regarded our intrusion with good-natured indifference114, or frankly115 returned our curiosity. Some of the rooms were large, furnished with broad divans116 about the sides, which served for beds and lounging-places, and were occupied by both sexes. The women, rosy-cheeked, light-haired, broad, honest-looking creatures, were mending their clothes; the men were snoozing on the divans, flat on their backs, presenting to the spectator the bottoms of their monstrous shoes, which had soles eight inches broad; a side of leather would be needed for a pair. In these not very savory117 rooms they cook, eat, and sleep. Here stood their stoves; here hung their pilgrim knapsacks; here were their kits118 of shoemaker's tools, for mending their foot-gear, which they had tugged119 thousands of miles; here were household effects that made their march appear more like an emigration than a pilgrimage; here were the staring pictures of St. George and the Dragon, and of other saints, the beads120 and the other relics, which they had bought in Jerusalem.
Although all these pilgrims owed allegiance to the Czar, they represented a considerable variety of races. They came from Archangel, from Tobolsk, from the banks of the Ural, from Kurland; they had found their way along the Danube, the Dnieper, the Don. I spoke121 with a group of men and women who had walked over two thousand miles before they reached Odessa and took ship for Jaffa. There were among them Cossacks, wild and untidy, light-haired barbarians122 from the Caucasus, dark-skinned men and women from Moscow, representatives from the remotest provinces of great Russia; for the most part simple, rude, clumsy, honest boors123. In an interior court we found men and women seated on the sunny flagging, busily occupied in arranging and packing the souvenirs of their visit. There was rosemary spread out to dry; there were little round cakes of blessed bread stamped with the image of the Saviour124; there were branches of palm, crowns of thorns, and stalks of cane125 cut at the Jordan; there were tin cases of Jordan water; there were long strips of cotton cloth stamped in black with various insignia of death, to serve at home for coffin-covers; there were skull-caps in red, yellow, and white, also stamped with holy images, to be put on the heads of the dead. I could not but in mind follow these people to their distant homes, and think of the pride with which they would show these trophies126 of their pilgrimage; how the rude neighbors would handle with awe127 a stick cut on the banks of the Jordan, or eat with faith a bit of the holy bread. How sacred, in those homes of frost and snow, will not these mementos128 of a land of sun, of a land so sacred, become! I can see the wooden chest in the cabin where the rosemary will be treasured, keeping sweet, against the day of need, the caps and the shrouds129.
These people will need to make a good many more pilgrimages, and perhaps to quit their morose130 land altogether, before they can fairly rank among the civilized131 of the earth. They were thickset, padded-legged, short-bodied, unintelligent. The faces of many of them were worn, as if storm-beaten, and some kept their eyes half closed, as if they were long used to face the sleet132 and blasts of winter; and I noticed that it gave their faces a very different expression from that produced by the habit the Egyptians have of drawing the eyelids133 close together on account of the glare of the sun.
We took donkeys one lovely morning, and rode from the Jaffa Gate around the walls on our way to the Mount of Olives. The Jerusalem donkey is a good enough donkey, but he won't go. He is ridden with a halter, and never so elegantly caparisoned as his more genteel brother in Cairo. In order to get him along at all, it needs one man to pull the halter and another to follow behind with a stick; the donkey then moves by inches,—if he is in the humor. The animal that I rode stopped at once, when he perceived that his driver was absent. No persuasions134 of mine, such as kicks and whacks135 of a heavy stick, could move him on; he would turn out of the road, put his head against the wall, and pretend to go to sleep. You would not suppose it possible for a beast to exhibit so much contempt for a man.
On the high ground outside the wall were pitched the tents of travellers, making a very pretty effect amid the olive-trees and the gray rocks. Now and then an Arab horseman came charging down the road, or a Turkish official cantered by; women, veiled, clad in white balloon robes that covered them from head to foot, flitted along in the sunshine, mere white appearances of women, to whom it was impossible to attribute any such errand as going to market; they seemed always to be going to or returning from the cemetery.
Our way lay down the rough path and the winding137 road to the bottom of the Valley of Jehoshaphat. Leaving the Garden of Gethsemane on our right, we climbed up the rugged, stony, steep path to the summit of the hill. There are a few olive-trees on the way, enough to hinder the view where the stone-walls would permit us to see anything; importunate138 begging Moslems beset139 us; all along the route we encountered shabbiness and squalor. The rural sweetness and peace that we associate with this dear mount appear to have been worn away centuries ago. We did not expect too much, but we were not prepared for such a shabby show-place. If we could sweep away all the filthy habitations and hideous140 buildings on the hill, and leave it to nature, or, indeed, convert the surface into a well-ordered garden, the spot would be one of the most attractive in the world.
We hoped that when we reached the summit we should come into an open, green, and shady place, free from the disagreeable presence of human greed and all the artificiality that interposed itself between us and the sentiment of the place. But the traveller need not expect that in Palestine. Everything is staked out and made a show of. Arrived at the summit, we could see little or nothing; it is crowned with the dilapidated Chapel141 of the Ascension. We entered a dirty court, where the custodian142 and his family and his animals live, and from thence were admitted to the church. In the pavement is shown the footprint of our ascending143 Lord, although the Ascension was made at Bethany. We paid the custodian for permission to see this manufactured scene of the Ascension. The best point of view to be had here is the old tower of the deserted convent, or the narrow passage to it on the wall, or the top of the minaret near the church. There is no place on wall or tower where one can sit; there is no place anywhere here to sit down, and in peace and quiet enjoy the magnificent prospect144, and meditate145 on the most momentous146 event in human history. We snatched the view in the midst of annoyances147. The most minute features of it are known to every one who reads. The portion of it I did not seem to have been long familiar with is that to the east, comprising the Jordan valley, the mountains of Moab, and the Dead Sea.
Although this mount is consecrated148 by the frequent presence of Christ, who so often crossed it in going to and from Bethany, and retired149 here to meditate and to commune with his loved followers150, everything that the traveller at present encounters on its summit is out of sympathy with his memory. We escaped from the beggars and the showmen, climbed some stone-walls, and in a rough field near the brow of the hill, in a position neither comfortable nor private, but the best that we found, read the chief events in the life of Christ connected with this mount, the triumphal entry, and the last scenes transacted151 on yonder hill. And we endeavored to make the divine man live again, who so often and so sorrowfully regarded the then shining city of Zion from this height.
To the south of the church and a little down the hill is the so-called site of the giving of the Lord's Prayer. I do not know on what authority it is thus named. A chapel is built to mark the spot, and a considerable space is enclosed before it, in which are other objects of interest, and these were shown to us by a pleasant-spoken lady, who is connected with the convent, and has faith equal to the demands of her position. We first entered a subterranean vaulted152 room, with twelve rough half-pillars on each side, called the room where the Apostles composed the creed153. We then passed into the chapel. Upon the four walls of its arcade154 is written, in great characters, the Lord's Prayer in thirty-two languages; among them the "Canadian."
In a little side chapel is the tomb of Aurelia de Bossa, Princesse de la Tour d'Auvergne, Duchesse de Bouillon, the lady whose munificence155 established this chapel and executed the prayer in so many tongues. Upon the side of the tomb this fact of her benevolence156 is announced, and the expectation is also expressed, in French, that "God will overwhelm her with blessing157 for ever and ever for her good deed." Stretched upon the sarcophagus is a beautiful marble effigy158 of the princess; the figure is lovely, the face is sweet and seraphic, and it is a perfect likeness159 of her ladyship.
I do not speak at random160. I happen to know that it is a perfect likeness, for a few minutes after I saw it, I met her in the corridor, in a semi-nunlike costume, with a heavy cross hanging by a long gold chain at her side. About her forehead was bound a barbarous frontlet composed of some two hundred gold coins, and ornaments161 not unlike those worn by the ladies of the ancient Egyptians. This incongruity162 of costume made me hesitate whether to recognize in this dazzling vision of womanhood a priestess of Astarte or of Christ. At the farther door, Aurelia de Bossa, Princesse de la Tour d'Auvergne, Duchesse de Bouillon, stopped and blew shrilly163 a silver whistle which hung at her girdle, to call her straying poodle, or to summon a servant. In the rear of the chapel this lady lives in a very pretty house, and near it she was building a convent for Carmelite nuns164. I cannot but regard her as the most fortunate of her sex. She enjoys not only this life, but, at the same time, all the posthumous165 reputation that a lovely tomb and a record of her munificence engraved166 thereon can give. We sometimes hear of, but we seldom see, a person, in these degenerate167 days, living in this world as if already in the other.
We went on over the hill to Bethany; we had climbed up by the path on which David fled from Absalom, and we were to return by the road of the Triumphal Entry. All along the ridge168 we enjoyed a magnificent panorama169: a blue piece of the Dead Sea, the Jordan plain extending far up towards Herraon with the green ribbon of the river winding through it, and the long, even range of the Moab hills, blue in the distance. The prospect was almost Swiss in its character, but it is a mass of bare hills, with scarcely a tree except in the immediate170 foreground, and so naked and desolate as to make the heart ache; it would be entirely desolate but for the deep blue of the sky and an atmosphere that bathes all the great sweep of peaks and plains in color.
Bethany is a squalid hamlet clinging to the rocky hillside, with only one redeeming171 feature about it,—the prospect. A few wretched one-story huts of stone, and a miserable172 handful of Moslems, occupy this favorite home and resting-place of our Lord. Close at hand, by the roadside, cut in the rock and reached by a steep descent of twenty-six steps, is the damp and doubtful tomb of Lazarus, down into which any one may go for half a franc paid to the Moslem guardian173. The house of Mary and Martha is exhibited among the big rocks and fragments of walls; upon older foundations loose walls are laid, rudely and recently patched up with cut stones in fragments, and pieces of Roman columns. The house of Simon the leper, overlooking the whole, is a mere heap of ruins. It does not matter, however, that all these dwellings174 are modern; this is Bethany, and when we get away from its present wretchedness we remember only that we have seen the very place that Christ loved.
We returned along the highway of the Entry slowly, pausing to identify the points of that memorable175 progress, up to the crest176 where Jerusalem broke upon the sight of the Lord, and whence the procession, coming round the curve of the hill, would have the full view of the city. He who rides that way to-day has a grand prospect. One finds Jerusalem most poetic177 when seen from Olivet, and Olivet most lovely when seen from the distance of the city walls.
At the foot of the descent we turned and entered the enclosure of the Garden of Gethsemane. Three stone-wall enclosures here claim to be the real garden; one is owned by the Greeks, another by the Armenians, the third by the Latins. We chose the last, as it is the largest and pleasantest; perhaps the garden, which was certainly in this vicinity, once included them all. After some delay we were admitted by a small door in the wall, and taken charge of by a Latin monk178, whose young and sweet face was not out of sympathy with the place. The garden contains a few aged179 olive-trees, and some small plots of earth, fenced about and secured by locked gates, in which flowers grow. The guardian gave us some falling roses, and did what he could to relieve the scene of its artificial appearance; around the wall, inside, are the twelve stations of the Passion, in the usual tawdry style.
But the birds sang sweetly in the garden, the flowers of spring were blooming, and, hemmed180 in by the high wall, we had some moments of solemn peace, broken only by the sound of a Moslem darabooka drum throbbing181 near at hand. Desecrated182 as this spot is, and made cheap by the petty creations of superstition, one cannot but feel the awful significance of the place, and the weight of history crowding upon him, where battles raged for a thousand years, and where the greatest victory of all was won when Christ commanded Peter to put up his sword. Near here Titus formed his columns which stormed the walls and captured the heroic city after its houses, and all this valley itself, were filled with Jewish dead; but all this is as nothing to the event of that awful night when the servants of the high-priest led away the unresisting Lord.
It is this event, and not any other, that puts an immeasurable gulf183 between this and all other cities, and perhaps this difference is more felt the farther one is from Jerusalem. The visitor expects too much; he is unreasonably184 impatient of the contrast between the mean appearance of the theatre and the great events that have been enacted185 on it; perhaps he is not prepared for the ignorance, the cupidity186, the credulity, the audacious impostures under Christian names, on the spot where Christianity was born.
When one has exhausted188 the stock sights of Jerusalem, it is probably the dullest, least entertaining city of the Orient; I mean, in itself, for its pilgrims and its religious f阾es, in the spring of the year, offer always some novelties to the sight-seer; and, besides, there is a certain melancholy189 pleasure to be derived190 from roaming about outside the walls, enveloped191 in a historic illusion that colors and clothes the nakedness of the landscape.
The chief business of the city and the region seems to be the manufacture of religious playthings for the large children who come here. If there is any factory of relics here I did not see it. Nor do I know whether the true cross has still the power of growing, which it had in the fourth century, to renew itself under the constant demand for pieces of it. I did not go to see the place where the tree grew of which it was made; the exact spot is shown in a Greek convent about a mile and a half west of the city. The tree is said to have been planted by Abraham and Noah. This is evidently an error; it may have been planted by Adam and watered by Noah.
There is not much trade in antiquities in the city; the shops offer little to tempt136 the curiosity-hunter. Copper coins of the Roman period abound192, and are constantly turned up in the fields outside the city, most of them battered193 and defaced beyond recognition. Jewish mites are plenty enough, but the silver shekel would be rare if the ingenious Jews did not keep counterfeits194 on hand. The tourist is waited on at his hotel by a few patient and sleek195 sharks with cases of cheap jewelry196 and doubtful antiques, and if he seeks the shops of the gold and silver bazaars197 he will find little more. I will not say that he will not now and then pick up a piece of old pottery198 that has made the journey from Central Asia, or chance upon a singular stone with a talismanic199 inscription200. The hope that he may do so carries the traveller through a great many Eastern slums. The chief shops, however, are those of trinkets manufactured for the pilgrims, of olive-wood, ivory, bone, camels' teeth, and all manner of nuts and seeds. There are more than fifty sorts of beads, strung for profane201 use or arranged for rosaries, and some of them have pathetic names, like "Job's tears." Jerusalem is entitled to be called the City of Beads.
There is considerable activity in Jewish objects that are old and rather unclean; and I think I discovered something like an attempt to make a "corner" in phylacteries, that is, in old ones, for the new are made in excess of the demand. If a person desires to carry home a phylactery to exhibit to his Sunday school, in illustration of the religion of the Jews, he wants one that has been a long time in use. I do not suppose it possible that the education of any other person is as deficient202 as mine was in the matter of these ornamental203 aids in worship. But if there is one, this description is for him: the phylactery, common size, is a leathern box about an inch and a half square, with two narrow straps204 of leather, about three feet long, sewed to the bottom corners. The box contains a parchment roll of sacred writing. When the worshipper performs his devotions in the synagogue, he binds205 one of the phylacteries about his left arm and the other about his head, so that the little box has something of the appearance of a leathern horn sprouting206 out of his forehead. Phylacteries are worn only in the synagogue, and in this respect differ from the greasy207 leathern talismans208 of the Nubians, which contain scraps209 from the Koran, and are never taken off. Whatever significance the phylactery once had to the Jew it seems now to have lost, since he is willing to make it an article of merchandise. Perhaps it is poverty that compels him also to sell his ancient scriptures210; parchment rolls of favorite books, such as Esther, that are some centuries old, are occasionally to be bought, and new rolls, deceitfully doctored into an appearance of antiquity, are offered freely.
A few years ago the antiquarian world was put into a ferment211 by what was called the "Shoepira collection," a large quantity of clay pottery,—gods, votive offerings, images, jars, and other vessels212,—with inscriptions213 in unknown characters, which was said to have been dug up in the land of Moab, beyond the Jordan, and was expected to throw great light upon certain passages of Jewish history, and especially upon the religion of the heathen who occupied Palestine at the time of the conquest. The collection was sent to Berlin; some eminent214 German savans pronounced it genuine; nearly all the English scholars branded it as an impudent215 imposture187. Two collections of the articles have been sent to Berlin, where they are stored out of sight of the public generally, and Mr. Shoepira has made a third collection, which he still retains.
Mr. Shoepira is a Hebrew antiquarian and bookseller, of somewhat eccentric manners, but an enthusiast216. He makes the impression of a man who believes in his discoveries, and it is generally thought in Jerusalem that if his collection is a forgery217, he himself is imposed on. The account which he gives of the places where the images and utensils218 were found is anything but clear or definite. We are required to believe that they have been dug up in caves at night and by stealth, and at the peril219 of the lives of the discoverers, and that it is not safe to visit these caves in the daytime on account of the Bedaween. The fresh-baked appearance of some of the articles is admitted, and it is said that it was necessary to roast them to prevent their crumbling220 when exposed to the air. Our theory in regard to these singular objects is that a few of those first shown were actually discovered, and that all the remainder have been made in imitation of them. Of the characters (or alphabet) of the inscriptions, Mr. Schepira says he has determined221 twenty-three; sixteen of these are Phoenician, and the others, his critics say, are meaningless. All the objects are exceedingly rude and devoid222 of the slightest art; the images are many of them indecent; the jars are clumsy in shape, but the inscriptions are put on with some skill. The figures are supposed to have been votive offerings, and the jars either memorial or sepulchral223 urns224.
The hideous collection appeared to me sui generis, although some of the images resemble the rudest of those called Phoenician which General di Cesnola unearthed225 in Cyprus. Without merit, they seem to belong to a rude age rather than to be the inartistic product of this age. That is, supposing them to be forgeries226, I cannot see how these figures could be conceived by a modern man, who was capable of inventing a fraud of this sort. He would have devised something better, at least something less simple, something that would have somewhere betrayed a little modern knowledge and feeling. All the objects have the same barbarous tone, a kind of character that is distinct from their rudeness, and the same images and designs are repeated over and over again. This gives color to the theory that a few genuine pieces of Moabite pottery were found, which gave the idea for a large manufacture of them. And yet, there are people who see these things, and visit all the holy places, and then go away and lament96 that there are no manufactories in Jerusalem.
Jerusalem attracts while it repels227; and both it and all Palestine exercise a spell out of all proportion to the consideration they had in the ancient world. The student of the mere facts of history, especially if his studies were made in Jerusalem itself, would be at a loss to account for the place that the Holy City occupies in the thought of the modern world, and the importance attached to the history of the handful of people who made themselves a home in this rocky country. The Hebrew nation itself, during the little time it was a nation, did not play a part in Oriental affairs at all commensurate with its posthumous reputation. It was not one of the great kingdoms of antiquity, and in that theatre of war and conquest which spread from Ethiopia to the Caspian Sea, it was scarcely an appreciable228 force in the great drama.
The country the Hebrews occupied was small; they never conquered or occupied the whole of the Promised Land, which extended from the Mediterranean229 Sea to the Arabian plain, from Hamath to Sinai. Their territory in actual possession reached only from Dan to Beersheba. The coast they never subdued230; the Philistines231, who came from Crete and grew to be a great people in the plain, held the lower portion of Palestine on the sea, and the Phoenicians the upper. Except during a brief period in their history, the Jews were confined to the hill-country. Only during the latter part of the reign232 of David and two thirds of that of Solomon did the Jewish kingdom take on the proportions of a great state. David extended the Israelitish power from the Gulf of Akaba to the Euphrates; Damascus paid him tribute; he occupied the cities of his old enemies, the Philistines, but the kingdom of Tyre, still in the possession of Hiram, marked the limit of Jewish sway in that direction. This period of territorial233 consequence was indeed brief. Before Solomon was in his grave, the conquests bequeathed to him by his father began to slip from his hand. The life of the Israelites as a united nation, as anything but discordant234 and warring tribes, after the death of Joshua, is all included in the reigns235 of David and Solomon,—perhaps sixty or seventy years.
The Israelites were essentially236 highlanders. Some one has noticed their resemblance to the Scotch237 Highlanders in modes of warfare238. In fighting they aimed to occupy the heights. They descended into the plain reluctantly; they made occasional forays into the lowlands, but their hills were their strength, as the Psalmist said; and they found security among their crags and secluded239 glens from the agitations240 which shook the great empires of the Eastern world. Invasions, retreats, pursuits, the advance of devouring241 hosts or the flight of panic-stricken masses, for a long time passed by their ridge of country on either side, along the Mediterranean or through the land of Moab. They were out of the track of Oriental commerce as well as of war. So removed were they from participation242 in the stirring affairs of their era that they seem even to have escaped the omnivorous243 Egyptian conquerors244. Eor a long period conquest passed them by, and it was not till their accumulation of wealth tempted245 the avarice246 of the great Asiatic powers that they were involved in the conflicts which finally destroyed them. The small kingdom of Judah, long after that of Israel had been utterly247 swept away, owed its continuance of life to its very defensible position. Solomon left Jerusalem a strong city, well supplied with water, and capable of sustaining a long siege, while the rugged country around it offered little comfort to a besieging248 army.
For a short time David made the name of Israel a power in the world, and Solomon, inheriting his reputation, added the triumphs of commerce to those of conquest. By a judicious249 heathen alliance with Hiram of Tyre he was able to build vessels on the Red Sea and man them with Phoenician sailors, for voyages to India and Ceylon; and he was admitted by Hiram to a partnership250 in his trading adventures to the Pillars of Hercules. But these are only episodes in the Jewish career; the nation's part in Oriental history is comparatively insignificant251 until the days of their great calamities252. How much attention its heroism253 and suffering attracted at that time we do not know.
Though the Israelites during their occupation of the hill-country of Palestine were not concerned in the great dynastic struggles of the Orient, they were not, however, at peace. Either the tribes were fighting among themselves or they were involved in sanguinary fights with the petty heathen chiefs about them. We get a lively picture of the habits of the time in a sentence in the second book of Samuel: "And it came to pass, after the year was expired, at the time when kings go forth254 to battle, that David sent Joab and his servants with him, and all Israel; and they destroyed the children of Ammon, and besieged255 Rabbah." It was a pretty custom. In that season when birds pair and build their nests, when the sap mounts in the trees and travellers long to go into far countries, kings felt a noble impulse in their veins256 to go out and fight other kings. But this primitive257 simplicity258 was mingled259 with shocking barbarity; David once put his captives under the saw, and there is nothing to show that the Israelites were more moved by sentiments of pity and compassion260 than their heathen neighbors. There was occasionally, however, a grim humor in their cruelty. When Judah captured King Adoni-bezek, in Bezek, he cut off his great toes and his thumbs. Adoni-bezek, who could appreciate a good thing, accepted the mutilation in the spirit in which it was offered, and said that he had himself served seventy kings in that fashion; "threescore and ten kings, having their thumbs and great toes cut off, gathered their meat under my table."
From the death of Joshua to the fall of Samaria, the history of the Jews is largely a history of civil war. From about seven hundred years before Christ, Palestine was essentially a satrapy of the Assyrian kings, as it was later to become one of the small provinces of the Roman empire. At the time when Sennacherib was waiting before Jerusalem for Hezekiah to purchase his withdrawal261 by stripping the gold from the doors of the Temple, the foundations of a city were laid on the banks of the Tiber, which was to extend its sway over the known world, to whose dominion262 the utmost power of Jerusalem was only a petty sovereignty, and which was destined263 to rival Jerusalem itself as the spiritual capital of the earth.
If we do not find in the military power or territorial consequence of the Jews an explanation of their influence in the modern world, still less do we find it in any faithfulness to a spiritual religion, the knowledge of which was their chief distinction among the tribes about them. Their lapses264 from the worship of Jehovah were so frequent, and of such long duration, that their returns to the worship of the true God seem little more than breaks in their practice of idolatry. And these spasmodic returns were due to calamities, and fears of worse judgments265. Solomon sanctioned by national authority gross idolatries which had been long practised. At his death, ten of the tribes seceded266 from the dominion of Judah and set up a kingdom in which idolatry was made and remained the state religion, until the ten tribes vanished from the theatre of history. The kingdom of Israel, in order to emphasize its separation from that of Judah, set up the worship of Jehovah in the image of a golden calf267. Against this state religion of image-worship the prophets seem to have thought it in vain to protest; they contented268 themselves with battling against the more gross and licentious269 idolatries of Baal and Ashtaroth; and Israel always continued the idol-worship established by Jeroboam. The worship of Jehovah was the state religion of the little kingdom of Judah, but during the period of its existence, before the Captivity270, I think that only four of its kings were not idolaters. The people were constantly falling away into the heathenish practices of their neighbors.
If neither territorial consequence nor religious steadfastness271 gave the Jews rank among the great nations of antiquity, they would equally fail of the consideration they now enjoy but for one thing, and that is, after all, the chief and enduring product of any nationality; we mean, of course, its literature. It is by that, that the little kingdoms of Judah and Israel hold their sway over the world. It is that which invests ancient Jerusalem with its charm and dignity. Not what the Jews did, but the songs of their poets, the warnings and lamentations of their prophets, the touching272 tales of their story-tellers, draw us to Jerusalem by the most powerful influences that affect the human mind. And most of this unequalled literature is the product of seasons of turbulence273, passion, and insecurity. Except the Proverbs and Song of Solomon, and such pieces as the poem of Job and the story of Ruth, which seem to be the outcome of literary leisure, the Hebrew writings were all the offspring of exciting periods. David composed his Psalms—the most marvellous interpreters of every human aspiration274, exaltation, want, and passion—with his sword in his hand; and the prophets always appear to ride upon a whirlwind. The power of Jerusalem over the world is as truly a literary one as that of Athens is one of art. That literature was unknown to the ancients, or unappreciated: otherwise contemporary history would have considered its creators of more consequence than it did.
We speak, we have been speaking, of the Jerusalem before our era, and of the interest it has independent of the great event which is, after all, its chief claim to immortal275 estimation. It becomes sacred ground to us because there, in Bethlehem, Christ was born; because here—not in these streets, but upon this soil—he walked and talked and taught and ministered; because upon Olivet, yonder, he often sat with his disciples276, and here, somewhere,—it matters not where,—he suffered death and conquered death.
This is the scene of these transcendent events. We say it to ourselves while we stand here. We can clearly conceive it when we are at a distance. But with the actual Jerusalem of to-day before our eyes, its naked desolation, its superstition, its squalor, its vivid contrast to what we conceive should be the City of our King, we find it easier to feel that Christ was born in New England than in Jud鎍.
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1
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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excavations
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| n.挖掘( excavation的名词复数 )；开凿；开凿的洞穴（或山路等）；（发掘出来的）古迹 | |
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excavation
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| n.挖掘，发掘；被挖掘之地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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minaret
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| n.（回教寺院的）尖塔 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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Moslem
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| n.回教徒，穆罕默德信徒；adj.回教徒的，回教的 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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prostrating
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的现在分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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43
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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45
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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mites
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| n.（尤指令人怜悯的）小孩( mite的名词复数 )；一点点；一文钱；螨 | |
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47
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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lettuce
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| n.莴苣；生菜 | |
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decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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cisterns
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| n.蓄水池，储水箱( cistern的名词复数 )；地下储水池 | |
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gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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sewers
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| n.阴沟，污水管，下水道( sewer的名词复数 ) | |
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ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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66
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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67
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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68
sprouted
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| v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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69
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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70
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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71
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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72
lascivious
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| adj.淫荡的，好色的 | |
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73
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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74
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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75
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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76
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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77
conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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78
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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79
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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80
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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81
excavated
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| v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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82
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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83
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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84
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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86
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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87
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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88
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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89
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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90
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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91
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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92
eminences
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| 卓越( eminence的名词复数 )； 著名； 高地； 山丘 | |
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93
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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94
quarries
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| n.（采）石场( quarry的名词复数 )；猎物（指鸟，兽等）；方形石；（格窗等的）方形玻璃v.从采石场采得( quarry的第三人称单数 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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95
underlie
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| v.位于...之下，成为...的基础 | |
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96
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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97
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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99
sojourner
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| n.旅居者，寄居者 | |
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100
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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101
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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102
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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103
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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104
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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105
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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106
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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107
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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108
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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109
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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110
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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111
rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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112
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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113
lodges
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| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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114
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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115
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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116
divans
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| n.（可作床用的）矮沙发( divan的名词复数 )；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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117
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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118
kits
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| 衣物和装备( kit的名词复数 )； 成套用品； 配套元件 | |
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119
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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121
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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122
barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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123
boors
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| n.农民( boor的名词复数 )；乡下佬；没礼貌的人；粗野的人 | |
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124
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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125
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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126
trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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127
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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128
mementos
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| 纪念品，令人回忆的东西( memento的名词复数 ) | |
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129
shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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130
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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131
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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132
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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133
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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134
persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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135
whacks
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| n.重击声( whack的名词复数 )；不正常；有毛病v.重击，使劲打( whack的第三人称单数 ) | |
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136
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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137
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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138
importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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139
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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140
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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141
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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142
custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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143
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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144
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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145
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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146
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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147
annoyances
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| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
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148
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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149
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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150
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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151
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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152
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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153
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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154
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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155
munificence
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| n.宽宏大量，慷慨给与 | |
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156
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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157
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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158
effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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159
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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160
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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161
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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162
incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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163
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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164
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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165
posthumous
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| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
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166
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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167
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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168
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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169
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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170
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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171
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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172
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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173
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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174
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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175
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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176
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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177
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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178
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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179
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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180
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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181
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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182
desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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183
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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184
unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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185
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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186
cupidity
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| n.贪心，贪财 | |
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187
imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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188
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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189
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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190
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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191
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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192
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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193
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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194
counterfeits
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| v.仿制，造假( counterfeit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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195
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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196
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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197
bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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198
pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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199
talismanic
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| adj.护身符的，避邪的 | |
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200
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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201
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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202
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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203
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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204
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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205
binds
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| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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206
sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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207
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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208
talismans
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| n.护身符( talisman的名词复数 )；驱邪物；有不可思议的力量之物；法宝 | |
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209
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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210
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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211
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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212
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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213
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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214
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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215
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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216
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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217
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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218
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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219
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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220
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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221
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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222
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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223
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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224
urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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225
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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226
forgeries
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| 伪造( forgery的名词复数 )； 伪造的文件、签名等 | |
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227
repels
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| v.击退( repel的第三人称单数 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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228
appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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229
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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230
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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231
philistines
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| n.市侩，庸人( philistine的名词复数 )；庸夫俗子 | |
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232
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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233
territorial
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| adj.领土的，领地的 | |
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234
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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235
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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236
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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237
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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238
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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239
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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240
agitations
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| （液体等的）摇动( agitation的名词复数 )； 鼓动； 激烈争论； （情绪等的）纷乱 | |
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241
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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242
participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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243
omnivorous
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| adj.杂食的 | |
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244
conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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245
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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246
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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247
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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248
besieging
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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249
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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250
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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251
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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252
calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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253
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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254
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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255
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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256
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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257
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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258
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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259
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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260
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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261
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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262
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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263
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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264
lapses
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| n.失误，过失( lapse的名词复数 )；小毛病；行为失检；偏离正道v.退步( lapse的第三人称单数 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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265
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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266
seceded
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| v.脱离，退出( secede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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267
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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268
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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269
licentious
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| adj.放纵的，淫乱的 | |
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270
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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271
steadfastness
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| n.坚定，稳当 | |
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272
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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273
turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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274
aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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275
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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276
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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