第32章

WhenIwasaboyIsomehowgottheimpressionthattheriverJordanwasfourthousandmileslongandthirty—fivemileswide。Itisonlyninetymileslong，andsocrookedthatamandoesnotknowwhichsideofitheisonhalfthetime。Ingoingninetymilesitdoesnotgetovermorethanfiftymilesofground。ItisnotanywiderthanBroadwayinNewYork。ThereistheSeaofGalileeandthisDeadSea——neitherofthemtwentymileslongorthirteenwide。AndyetwhenIwasinSundaySchoolIthoughttheyweresixtythousandmilesindiameter。

Travelandexperiencemarthegrandestpicturesandrobusofthemostcherishedtraditionsofourboyhood。Well，letthemgo。IhavealreadyseentheEmpireofKingSolomondiminishtothesizeoftheStateofPennsylvania;

IsupposeIcanbearthereductionoftheseasandtheriver。

Welookedeverywhere，aswepassedalong，butneversawgrainorcrystalofLot\'swife。Itwasagreatdisappointment。Formanyandmanyayearwehadknownhersadstory，andtakenthatinterestinherwhichmisfortunealwaysinspires。Butshewasgone。HerpicturesqueformnolongerloomsabovethedesertoftheDeadSeatoremindthetouristofthedoomthatfelluponthelostcities。

Icannotdescribethehideousafternoon\'sridefromtheDeadSeatoMarsSaba。Itoppressesmeyet，tothinkofit。Thesunsopeltedusthatthetearsrandownourcheeksonceortwice。Theghastly，treeless，grassless，breathlesscanonssmotheredusasifwehadbeeninanoven。Thesunhadpositiveweighttoit，Ithink。Notamancouldsiterectunderit。Alldroopedlowinthesaddles。Johnpreachedinthis"Wilderness！"

Itmusthavebeenexhaustingwork。WhataveryheaventhemessytowersandrampartsofvastHarsSabalookedtouswhenwecaughtafirstglimpseofthem！

Westaidatthisgreatconventallnight，guestsofthehospitablepriests。

MarsSaba，percheduponacrag，ahumanneststockhighupagainstaperpendicularmountainwall，isaworldofgrandmasonrythatrises，terraceuponterraceawayaboveyourhead，liketheterracedandretreatingcolonnadesoneseesinfancifulpicturesofBelshazzar\'sFeastandthepalacesoftheancientPharaohs。Nootherhumandwellingisnear。Itwasfoundedmanyagesagobyaholyreclusewholivedatfirstinacaveintherock——acavewhichisinclosedintheconventwalls，now，andwasreverentlyshowntousbythepriests。Thisrecluse，byhisrigoroustorturingofhisflesh，hisdietofbreadandwater，hisutterwithdrawalfromallsocietyandfromthevanitiesoftheworld，andhisconstantprayerandsaintlycontemplationofaskull，inspiredanemulationthatbroughtabouthimmanydisciples。

Theprecipiceontheoppositesideofthecanyoniswellperforatedwiththesmallholestheydugintherocktolivein。ThepresentoccupantsofMarsSaba，aboutseventyinnumber，areallhermits。Theywearacoarserobe，anugly，brimlessstove—pipeofahat，andgowithoutshoes。Theyeatnothingwhateverbutbreadandsalt;theydrinknothingbutwater。

Aslongastheylivetheycannevergooutsidethewalls，orlookuponawoman——fornowomanispermittedtoenterMarsSaba，uponanypretextwhatsoever。

Someofthosemenhavebeenshutupthereforthirtyyears。Inallthatdrearytimetheyhavenotheardthelaughterofachildortheblessedvoiceofawoman;theyhaveseennohumantears，nohumansmiles;theyhaveknownnohumanjoys，nowholesomehumansorrows。Intheirheartsarenomemoriesofthepast，intheirbrainsnodreamsofthefuture。Allthatislovable，beautiful，worthy，theyhaveputfarawayfromthem;againstallthingsthatarepleasanttolookupon，andallsoundsthataremusictotheear，theyhavebarredtheirmassivedoorsandrearedtheirrelentlesswallsofstoneforever。Theyhavebanishedthetendergraceoflifeandleftonlythesappedandskinnymockery。Theirlipsarelipsthatneverkissandneversing;theirheartsareheartsthatneverhateandneverlove;theirbreastsarebreaststhatneverswellwiththesentiment，"I

haveacountryandaflag。"Theyaredeadmenwhowalk。

Isetdownthesefirstthoughtsbecausetheyarenatural——notbecausetheyarejustorbecauseitisrighttosetthemdown。Itiseasyforbook—makerstosay"IthoughtsoandsoasIlookeduponsuchandsuchascene"——

whenthetruthis，theythoughtallthosefinethingsafterwards。One\'sfirstthoughtisnotlikelytobestrictlyaccurate，yetitisnocrimetothinkitandnonetowriteitdown，subjecttomodificationbylaterexperience。Thesehermitsaredeadmen，inseveralrespects，butnotinall;anditisnotproper，that，thinkingillofthematfirst，Ishouldgoondoingso，or，speakingillofthemIshouldreiteratethewordsandsticktothem。No，theytreatedustookindlyforthat。Thereissomethinghumanaboutthemsomewhere。TheyknewwewereforeignersandProtestants，andnotlikelytofeeladmirationormuchfriendlinesstowardthem。Buttheirlargecharitywasaboveconsideringsuchthings。Theysimplysawinusmenwhowerehungry，andthirsty，andtired，andthatwassufficient。

Theyopenedtheirdoorsandgaveuswelcome。Theyaskednoquestions，andtheymadenoself—righteousdisplayoftheirhospipitality。Theyfishedfornocompliments。Theymovedquietlyabout，settingthetableforus，makingthebeds，andbringingwatertowashin，andpaidnoheedwhenwesaiditwaswrongforthemtodothatwhenwehadmenwhosebusinessitwastoperformsuchoffices。Wefaredmostcomfortably，andsatlateatdinner。Wewalkedalloverthebuildingwiththehermitsafterward，andthensatontheloftybattlementsandsmokedwhileweenjoyedthecoolair，thewildsceneryandthesunset。Oneortwochosecosybed—roomstosleepin，butthenomadicinstinctpromptedtheresttosleeponthebroaddivanthatextendedaroundthegreathall，becauseitseemedlikesleepingoutofdoors，andsowasmorecheeryandinviting。Itwasaroyalrestwehad。

Whenwegotuptobreakfastinthemorning，wewerenewmen。Forallthishospitalitynostrictchargewasmade。Wecouldgivesomethingifwechose;weneedgivenothing，ifwewerepoororifwewerestingy。ThepauperandthemiserareasfreeasanyintheCatholicConventsofPalestine。

IhavebeeneducatedtoenmitytowardeverythingthatisCatholic，andsometimes，inconsequenceofthis，IfinditmucheasiertodiscoverCatholicfaultsthanCatholicmerits。ButthereisonethingIfeelnodispositiontooverlook，andnodispositiontoforget:andthatis，thehonestgratitudeIandallpilgrimsowe，totheConventFathersinPalestine。Theirdoorsarealwaysopen，andthereisalwaysawelcomeforanyworthymanwhocomes，whetherhecomesinragsorcladinpurple。TheCatholicConventsareapricelessblessingtothepoor。Apilgrimwithoutmoney，whetherhebeaProtestantoraCatholic，cantravelthelengthandbreadthofPalestine，andinthemidstofherdesertwastesfindwholesomefoodandacleanbedeverynight，inthesebuildings。Pilgrimsinbettercircumstancesareoftenstrickendownbythesunandthefeversofthecountry，andthentheirsavingrefugeistheConvent。Withoutthesehospitableretreats，travelinPalestinewouldbeapleasurewhichnonebutthestrongestmencoulddaretoundertake。Ourparty，pilgrimsandall，willalwaysbereadyandalwayswilling，totouchglassesanddrinkhealth，prosperityandlonglifetotheConventFathersofPalestine。

So，restedandrefreshed，wefellintolineandfiledawayoverthebarrenmountainsofJudea，andalongrockyridgesandthroughsterilegorges，whereeternalsilenceandsolitudereigned。Eventhescatteringgroupsofarmedshepherdswemettheafternoonbefore，tendingtheirflocksoflong—hairedgoats，werewantinghere。Wesawbuttwolivingcreatures。

Theyweregazelles，of"soft—eyed"notoriety。Theylookedlikeveryyoungkids，buttheyannihilateddistancelikeanexpresstrain。Ihavenotseenanimalsthatmovedfaster，unlessImightsayitoftheantelopesofourowngreatplains。

AtnineorteninthemorningwereachedthePlainoftheShepherds，andstoodinawalledgardenofoliveswheretheshepherdswerewatchingtheirflocksbynight，eighteencenturiesago，whenthemultitudeofangelsbroughtthemthetidingsthattheSaviourwasborn。AquarterofamileawaywasBethlehemofJudea，andthepilgrimstooksomeofthestonewallandhurriedon。

ThePlainoftheShepherdsisadesert，pavedwithloosestones，voidofvegetation，glaringinthefiercesun。Onlythemusicoftheangelsitknewoncecouldcharmitsshrubsandflowerstolifeagainandrestoreitsvanishedbeauty。Nolesspotentenchantmentcouldavailtoworkthismiracle。

InthehugeChurchoftheNativity，inBethlehem，builtfifteenhundredyearsagobytheinveterateSt。Helena，theytookusbelowground，andintoagrottocutinthelivingrock。Thiswasthe"manger"whereChristwasborn。AsilverstarsetinthefloorbearsaLatininscriptiontothateffect。Itispolishedwiththekissesofmanygenerationsofworshipingpilgrims。ThegrottowastrickedoutintheusualtastelessstyleobservableinalltheholyplacesofPalestine。AsintheChurchoftheHolySepulchre，envyanduncharitablenesswereapparenthere。ThepriestsandthemembersoftheGreekandLatinchurchescannotcomebythesamecorridortokneelinthesacredbirthplaceoftheRedeemer，butarecompelledtoapproachandretirebydifferentavenues，lesttheyquarrelandfightonthisholiestgroundonearth。

Ihaveno"meditations，"suggestedbythisspotwheretheveryfirst"MerryChristmas！"wasutteredinalltheworld，andfromwhencethefriendofmychildhood，SantaClaus，departedonhisfirstjourney，togladdenandcontinuetogladdenroaringfiresidesonwintrymorningsinmanyadistantlandforeverandforever。Itouch，withreverentfinger，theactualspotwheretheinfantJesuslay，butIthink——nothing。

YoucannotthinkinthisplaceanymorethanyoucaninanyotherinPalestinethatwouldbelikelytoinspirereflection。Beggars，cripplesandmonkscompassyouabout，andmakeyouthinkonlyofbucksheeshwhenyouwouldratherthinkofsomethingmoreinkeepingwiththecharacterofthespot。

Iwasgladtogetaway，andgladwhenwehadwalkedthroughthegrottoeswhereEusebiuswrote，andJeromefasted，andJosephpreparedfortheflightintoEgypt