Leading the Blind

CHAPTER FOURTEEN THE HOLY LAND

Murray strikes exactly the right tone in the preface to his two-volume 1868 guide: ‘The Bible is the best Hand-book for Palestine; the present work is only intended to be a companion to it.’

Even so, he loses no time in passing judgement on the people the traveller can’t avoid meeting: ‘Their dress, their manners and customs, and their language, are all primitive. No European nation, with the exception perhaps of the Spaniards, bears the least resemblance to them. Like Spain, too, the best specimens of humanity are found among the lower classes. The farther we go from government offices, the more successful shall we be in our search after honesty, industry, and patriarchal hospitality. The Arabs are illiterate, and ignorant of all Frank inventions; but there is a native dignity in their address and deportment, which will both please and astonish those who have seen the awkward vulgarity of the lower classes in some more favoured lands. Whether we enter the tent of the Bedawy or the cottage of the fellah, we are received and welcomed with an ease and courtesy that would not disgrace a palace. One is apt to imagine, on hearing the long series of enquiries after the health, happiness, and prosperity of the visitor who drops in, and the evasive replies given, that there is some hidden grief which politeness would fain conceal, but which the heartfelt sympathy of the host constrains him to search into. It is disappointing to discover, as every one will in time discover, that this is all form. Still there is something pleasing in these inquiries, compliments, and good wishes, empty though they may be.’

The further we get from Europe, i.e. civilization, the more romantic is travelling shown to be, though Murray is too astute to allow such feelings to become overwhelming. ‘An Arab when eating, whether in the house or by the wayside, however poor and scanty his fare, never neglects to invite the visitor, or passing wayfarer, to join him. And this is not always an empty compliment; indeed there are few Arabs who will not feel honoured by the traveller’s tasting their humble fare. The invitation, however, is generally declined by a courteous phrase.’

The politeness of an Arab shopkeeper can be embarrassing: ‘… when the price is asked, he replied, “Whatever you please, my lord.” When pressed for a more definite answer, he says, “Take it without money.” Our feelings of romance, however, are somewhat damped when we find the price ultimately demanded is four or five times the value of the article. An Arab always tells you that his house is yours, his property is yours, he himself is your slave; that he loves you with all his heart, would defend you with his life, etc., etc. This all sounds very pretty, but it will be just as well not to rely too much on it. Nothing, however, is lost by politeness; and so one may seem to believe all that is said. It has been sometimes the practice of travellers to rule their Arab servants and muleteers by bullying and browbeating; but this is a great mistake. I need not say that such conduct is beneath the dignity of an English gentleman. Unvarying courtesy, accompanied with as unvarying firmness, will gain the desired object far more effectually. This is especially the case with the Bedawin, who can often be persuaded by a kind word when they could not be driven by a rod of iron. At the same time, any approach to undue familiarity will be attributed by the Arab to weakness of character, perhaps in some cases to fear, of which he will not be slow to take advantage.’

With regard to Arabs in general, they ‘are and have been for centuries “lords of the soil,” and they constitute the great majority of the community. They are proud, fanatical, and illiterate. They are taught by the faith they hold to look with contempt on all other classes, and to treat them not merely as inferiors but as slaves. They are generally noble in bearing, polite in address, and profuse in hospitality; but they are regardless of truth, dishonest in their dealings, and immoral in their conduct. In large towns the greater proportion of the upper classes are both physically and mentally feeble, owing to the effects of polygamy, early marriages, and degrading vices; but the peasantry are robust and vigorous, and much might be hoped for from them if they were brought under the influence of liberal institutions, and if they had examples around them of the industry and enterprise of Western Europe.’

With regard to the Jews of Palestine the handbook tells us that they are ‘in one sense the most interesting people of the land. 18 centuries ago they were driven from the home of their fathers, and yet they cling to its “holy places” still. They moisten the stones of Jerusalem with their tears; “her very dust to them is dear,” and their most earnest wish is that the dust of their bodies should mingle with it. The tombs that whiten the side of Olivet tell a tale of mournful bereavement and undying affection unparalleled in the world’s history.’

Totally different from these, he tells us, are the Jews of Damascus and Aleppo, who must be considered as much natives as any of the inhabitants of Syria. ‘They are Arabs in language, habits, and occupations, in so far at least as religion will permit. Some of them are men of great wealth and corresponding influence. For generations they have been the bankers of the local authorities, and have often fearfully realized the strange fluctuations of Eastern life — now ruling a province, now gracing a pillory — at one time the all-powerful favourites, at another the disgraced and mutilated outcasts.’

The Turks, who are few in number, and foreigners in race and language, are ‘hated by every sect and class, wanting in physical power, destitute of moral principle, and yet they are the despots of the land. They obtain their power by bribery, and they exercise it for extortion and repression.’

Murray sums up with one final — as he thought — nail in the coffin of the Ottoman Empire that the observant Englishman must be sure to notice: ‘There is not a man in the country, whether Turk or Arab, Mohammedan or Christian, who would give a para to save the empire from ruin; that is, if he be not in government pay, in which case of course his salary and the empire would go together. The patriotism of the Syrian is confined to his own house; anything beyond it does not concern him — selfishness reigns supreme. The consequence is, that there is not a road in the whole country except the one recently made by a French company; the streets of the great cities and villages are in winter all but impassable, and in summer reeking with the stench of dead dogs and cats and other abominations. Dogs are the only scavengers; anything which is too corrupt or filthy for them to eat, rots where it lies. One would imagine, in traversing Syria, that the whole country had recently been shaken to its centre by an earthquake, there are so many broken bridges, ruinous mosques, and roofless caravanserais. It is emphatically a land of ruins, and ruins are increasing in number every year.’

As for the best seasons for visiting Syria and Palestine, in a country without railways or coaches, and with only one road, ‘progress must necessarily be slow, and the summer’s sun and winter’s rain are alike to be avoided’. The traveller is reminded that ‘there are no inns along the great thoroughfares, with cheerful chamber, well-aired bed, and tempting cuisine to make one forget the fatigues of a day’s ride, or to afford a pleasant asylum from drenching rain and muddy road’.

Tent-life is the only solution, which is ‘very romantic; it reads well in a poetical traveller’s journal, and there are few who have tried it but will look back to it as to a sunny spot. But it requires fine weather; it is no pleasant task to pitch your tent and spread your bed in mud: there is little romance in canvas when the rain is pouring through it.’

For those who are old, or a traveller in ill health, a long journey on horseback may prove too much, therefore the easiest mode of conveyance is ‘a light arm-chair, without legs (which are apt to get entangled among rocks), securely fastened on two long poles, like a sedan-chair. Two easy-paced mules attached to this machine carry the occupant with considerable comfort.’

Murray perhaps has toilet paper in mind when he says that, among the provisions: ‘There are a few things I recommend the more fastidious, and especially ladies, to take with them for their own use; and I advise them also not to trust such precious commodities to the exclusive care of servants, whether English or Arab.’

A tour in the region was, in those days, still rare enough for the following comments: ‘Every traveller should have his note-book to record incidents and describe scenes to which memory will look back with pleasure in after years. Descriptions written on the spot will “photograph” scenes and events on the mind. As to the propriety of publishing I say nothing. Every one must exercise his own good taste and wisdom in that respect. But a “journal” has a real and absorbing interest, apart from all thought of Albermarle Street or Paternoster Row.’

There was, of course, the matter of security, for the roads in Syria weren’t always safe from bandits, and Murray recommends that a small revolver may be carried, which ‘should be worn in a leather belt so as to be visible, especially when the traveller sees fit to indulge in solitary rides or walks. The robbers of Syria are generally amateurs, who take up the profession when opportunity offers. They will seldom venture on a party of Franks if there be any show of arms among them; but a few peasants, when they meet a timid traveller, will first beg, then demand, and finally take a bakshish. By cool self-possession and a determined manner one can generally overawe them. There should be no blustering or hurry in such cases, for noise seems to rouse an Arab’s “pluck”; but the traveller should be careful to show all whom it may concern, by the ease and dignity of his bearing, that, while he may enjoy a joke, it would scarcely be safe to carry it too far.’

For visiting remote districts an escort was necessary, ‘composed of members of that tribe to which the country we propose to visit belongs. Even friendly tribes have no right to conduct strangers through the territories of others. It not unfrequently happens that adventurous chiefs will undertake such a task, and, for the sake of the pay, run the risk of a sound drubbing, if not worse. When an attack is made under such circumstances, and especially if it be by the Bedawin of the desert, no attempt at resistance should be made. Leave the matter wholly to your escort, and act as if you had no interest in it whatever. It may be well to explain to the enemy that you had no intention of breaking the laws of desert life; that you had engaged a sheikh to escort you under the impression he was the proper person; that he had become guarantee for your safety; and now it was his affair, not yours, if he had trespassed on the territory of others. A calm and conciliatory bearing, aided in the end by a small present, will in nine cases out of ten clear away all difficulties.’

Such delicate negotiations with desert tribes will be conducted through an interpreter, since it is ‘useless to burden a Handbook with a collection of words and phrases’. There is, however, no better propagandist for the trip to the Holy Land than Murray:

A spring tour in Syria is to the invalid an admirable sequel to a winter in Egypt. The soft and balmy air of the desert, with its cool nights and bracing mornings, gradually prepares him for a return to more northern climes. The noble scenery of the Sinai peninsula, with its holy associations, occasions sufficient excitement to release the physical frame from the depressing influence of melancholy. Then follow the rough rides over Syrian mountains; the constant variety of scene; the engrossing interest of place — all rose-tinted by a dash of danger and romance. Others besides the invalid might reap lasting benefit from such a ramble. The city merchant who has been cramped up for years within the dingy confines of a counting-house, and who has grown dyspeptic and gouty on London fog and turtle-soup; the ‘West-end’ politician, whose physical man has been dried up by late ‘Houses,’ later assemblies, and the harassing cares of party; — these, if they wish again to know what life and liberty are, should try a tour in Syria. After the murky magnificence of the London house, or the solemn splendour of the country mansion or baronial hall, Syria would be a new world. The pure air from morning till night and from night till morning; the constant exercise; the excitement of novel scenes and novel circumstances; the relief of thought; and the relaxation of overstrained mental powers — all tend to make a new physical man, while they contribute in no small degree to give a healthy tone to the intellect.

The usual land route into the country for British and American travellers was said by Murray to be from Cairo to Suez and across the Sinai peninsula. In 1858 the three principal stations on the road to Suez provided the following high cholesterol fare: ‘Breakfast, consisting of tea or coffee, bread and butter, a plate of eggs or a chicken; dinner, consisting of rice, a chicken or pigeon, potatoes, English cheese, and fruit; supper, consisting of tea, bread and butter, a plate of eggs or a chicken. N.B. The use of a bed, as well as wines and all other extras, must be paid for separately according to tariff.’

Suez was the last civilized outpost, and to reach Jerusalem meant a journey of some four hundred miles over mostly uninhabited ashy-looking waste, only the occasional oasis, monastery or ruin to vary the scenery, which was desolate and spectacular in turn. The first notable stopping place was the Monastery of St Catherine at the foot of Mount Sinai, but to get there from Suez ‘it will be necessary to engage some of the Tor Arabs, who will supply camels, and act as guides through their desert’. Before starting it was necessary to make sure that every camel had its full and proper load, ‘if not, the Arabs will put a few things on each, and go away pretending they are loaded, their object being to get as many engaged as possible’.

Another trick practised by the Arabs was pointed out: ‘It sometimes happens that a traveller is stopped on the road by what is said to be a party of hostile Arabs, and obliged to pay a sum of money, as he supposes, to save his life, or to secure the continuation of his journey in safety.’ It is obvious, however, that: ‘If no resistance is made on the part of those who conduct the traveller, the attacking party are either some of their own, or of a friendly tribe who are allowed to spoil him by the very persons he pays to protect him; for an Arab would rather die than suffer such an affront from a hostile tribe in his own desert. If then his Arabs do not fight on the occasion, he may be sure it is a trick to extort money … he should, therefore, use no arms against the supposed enemies, but afterwards punish his faithless guides by deducting the sum taken from their pay; and it is as well, before starting, to make them enter into an agreement that they are able as well as willing to protect him.’

Hints of danger were not exaggerated. Richard Burton, in The Land of Midian, 1879, had, with reason, a poor opinion of the Bedouin law of honour: ‘They will eat bread and salt with the traveller whom they intend to murder.’ Cook’s guidebook Palestine and Syria, 1911, tells us that near the beginning of their journey Professor Palmer, Lieutenant Charrington and Captain Gill were killed by Arabs on 11 August 1882.

Two groups of the same tribe would sometimes argue over who was to escort the traveller, ‘and after he had gone some distance on his journey, he and his goods are taken by the opposition candidates, and transferred to their camels. The war is merely one of words, which the inexperienced in the language cannot understand; but he fully comprehends the annoyance of being nearly pulled to pieces by the rivals, and his things are sometimes thrown on the ground, to the utter destruction of everything fragile.’

In spite of these possible perfidies, the author concludes: ‘An extra supply of coffee and tobacco, to give the Arabs occasionally, will be found useful.’

By the time of the first English edition of Baedeker’s Palestine and Syria, 1876, the dragoman system had come into operation, and many of the above difficulties were taken care of by him. All the same: ‘It is customary for the traveller to enter into a written contract with the dragoman, and to get it signed by him and attested at the consulate’, otherwise ‘it is often a matter of great difficulty to induce them to make the slightest deviation from the usual routes, which in all probability have been followed by the caravans for many centuries.’

Baedeker tells us that though there is no danger on the more frequented routes of the area, ‘in the valley of the Jordan, and more particularly to the east of Jordan, danger from nomadic Beduins might perhaps be apprehended but for the custom of travellers in these parts to provide themselves with a Beduin escort’. Certain sums are specified which must be paid, and ‘in return for these fees, a number of Beduin village sheiks, settled near Jerusalem, have undertaken to protect the interests of travellers, make compensation for thefts, etc., and the traveller who neglects to avail himself of this kind of insurance will profit little by appealing to his consul. Far higher demands are of course made for escorting travellers beyond Jordan, where the Turkish supremacy is but nominally recognised, and where, especially in the border districts, the petty sheiks affect to disdain francs and shillings, and often demand English sovereigns for their services.’

Nevertheless, the bordering deserts were ‘infested with marauders of all kinds, but once in the interior of the territory of a desert-tribe, and under the protection of one of its sheiks, the traveller will generally meet with much kindness and hospitality. Predatory attacks are occasionally made on travellers by Beduins from remote districts, but only when the attacking party is the more powerful. To use one’s weapons in such cases may lead to serious consequences, as the traveller who kills an Arab immediately exposes himself to the danger of retaliation from the whole tribe.’

In unsafe districts at night a guard should be posted outside the tents, and objects of value placed either under the traveller’s pillow or as near the middle of the tent as possible, ‘lest they should be within reach of hands intruding from the outside. The traveller should likewise be on his guard against the thievish propensities of beggars.’

With regard to the ownerless ill-looking dogs which the traveller encounters in the villages and towns, they are often ‘a source of some alarm, but they fortunately never bite. Each town and village is infested with as many masterless dogs as its refuse can support. Unowned dogs will sometimes follow caravans if they are fed, in which case they will generally make themselves useful by their watchfulness at night.’

In the Baedeker of 1912 the above remarks are substantially the same, and though there had been some improvement in communications, a dragoman was still necessary for most places beyond Damascus and Jerusalem. Protection on the road to Jericho is discussed by a writer in 1909 in the magazine Travel and Exploration, and he tells the following story:

A few years ago two tourists, considering that the armed escort was an obsolete and futile custom, decided to dispense with them on their excursion to Jericho. Reaching their destination after an uneventful journey, they were not unnaturally jubilant. The arrival of two unaccompanied tourists reached the ears of the sheik (whose livelihood depended on his fees for escorts), and he laid his plans promptly. When the tourists reached the Wady Kelt on the return journey, they were waylaid and, though not injured in any way, all their clothes were taken from them. In this sorry plight the two victims were fain to fashion themselves some sort of covering out of a copy of The Times (the only possession left them by the sheik’s hirelings), and thus quaintly garbed they slunk into Jerusalem at nightfall, sadder and wiser men.

An earlier issue of the same magazine relates that violence wasn’t only to be expected from local marauders near Jericho, because ‘an enterprising German society is making extensive excavations under special firman, and hundreds of native women are employed to uncover the secrets of forty centuries. The zeal of these scientific Germans would be more admirable if it were tempered with a little more courtesy. Not since spies first came to Jericho has the stranger been regarded with such suspicion. The overseers resent the presence of a camera within a hundred yards. One unhappy tourist, ignorant of these restrictions, was suddenly accosted last season, his Kodak wrenched from his grasp and dashed upon the ground.’

Anyone wanting to lodge in Jericho would be faced with an inn described by Baedeker as ‘a dirty mud-hut surrounded by hedges. The beds are bad, the rooms small and close, and vermin abundant. The inhabitants of Jericho appear to be a degenerate race, as the hot and unhealthy climate has an enervating effect. The traveller should be on his guard against thieves.’

In 1876 Baedeker relates that an unusual system of accommodation prevailed in the area south of Damascus, because ‘every village possesses its public inn, where every traveller is entertained gratuitously, and the Hauranians deem it honourable to impoverish themselves by contributing to the support of this establishment. As soon as a stranger arrives he is greeted with shouts of welcome, and is conducted to the inn. A servant or slave roasts coffee for him, and then pounds it in a wooden mortar, accompanying his task with a peculiar melody. Meanwhile the whole village assembles, and after the guest has been served, each person present partakes of the coffee. Even at an early hour in the morning we have been pressed to spend the whole day and the following night at one of these hospitable village inns. Now, however, that travellers have become more numerous, the villagers generally expect a trifling bakshish from Europeans. A sum of 10–20 piastres, according to the refreshment obtained, may therefore by given to the servant who holds the stirrup at starting. The food consists of fresh bread, eggs, sour milk, raisin-syrup, and in the evening a dish of wheat boiled with a little leaven and dried in the sun, with mutton.’ This is reprinted verbatim in the 1912 edition.

Hotel accommodation in the main cities was often of an indifferent nature, as well as being expensive. In Damascus the Hotel Dmitri was said by Baedeker to be tolerable, but ‘the management is chiefly in the hands of an insolent set of waiters’. The city was not known for its tolerance of Christians, 6000 of whom had been massacred in 1860, only sixteen years before. There were booksellers in the bazaar, ‘whose fanaticism is so great that they despise even the money of the “unbeliever”, and often will not deign to answer when addressed by him’.

A. & C. Black’s guidebook of 1911 tells us that in Damascus ‘a European stranger cannot, even at the present day, wander about the streets alone without risk of insult, especially in the neighbourhood of a mosque’. In a Saharan town of Algeria, not so many years ago, stones began landing around me when I got to within a hundred yards of one such temple.

The traveller can’t even console himself in another direction, when in the afternoon he may ‘encounter a crowd of women enveloped in their white sheets and closely veiled, waddling from shop to shop, carefully examining numberless articles which they do not mean to buy … but in this jealous and fanatical city it is imprudent and even dangerous to be too observant of the fair sex’.

Women, Christian though they might be, were not wanted at the Monastery of Mar Saba near Jerusalem, which seems just as well, since: ‘The divans are generally infested with vermin. The accommodation is very poor, but bread and wine are to be had, and there are kitchens for the use of travellers who bring their dragoman and cook.’ At Hebron, the accommodation at several Jewish houses was said to be tolerable, but the Muslims in that place ‘are notorious for their fanaticism, and the traveller should therefore avoid coming into collision with them. The children shout a well-known curse after “Franks”, of which of course no notice should be taken.’ The Baedeker of 1912 gives the same warning, to which is added: ‘Travellers are earnestly warned against that arrant beggar, the son of the deceased old sheikh Hamza’, though why is not stated.

Black’s guide recommends a day’s excursion to the town: ‘The unique historical associations of Hebron, its striking topography, and the intense jealousy with which the shrine of the great Jewish patriarch is guarded from Jews and Christians alike, make this excursion one of peculiar interest, and it should not be omitted by those who can only devote a week to Jerusalem.’ King Edward VII (then Prince of Wales) had been a visitor there in 1862, furnished with a special permit from the Sultan, though ‘in the face of the bitterest opposition from the inhabitants’. Since then, ‘nearly a score of distinguished travellers have been permitted to visit this sacro-sanct spot’. Baedeker says that a dragoman is unnecessary, but Black’s guide disagrees: ‘Travellers who value their comfort should take one, in view of the unfriendly attitude of the inhabitants.’

At Nablus there was for a long time only the camping ground for accommodation, though by 1912 one of the two hotels had been established by the Hamburg-Amerika shipping line. The camping ground still existed, however, and Baedeker recommends: ‘The commandant should be requested to furnish one or two soldiers as a guard for the tents, as the inhabitants are fanatical and quarrelsome.’

Cook’s guide tells us: ‘The people have a bad reputation for their discourteous treatment of strangers, and even today Christian visitors are sometimes greeted with cries of Nazarene! accompanied by pelting of stones.’ Henry S. Lunn, in his How to Visit the Mediterranean, 1896, gives a more final verdict: ‘The Moslems, noted for their fanatical and turbulent character, offer no inviting prospect for residents alien in race and creed.’

One also had to endure the ‘plaintive cry of the lepers. Unhappily, these poor creatures intrude their misfortunes before the gaze of the stranger, who is often sorely tried at witnessing the distorted faces and wasting limbs, and to hear the horrible and husky wail peculiar to themselves.’

And so to Jerusalem, the star of all places for Jewish and Christian pilgrims, first and foremost the City of David, and nearer to God than any other. Baedeker’s guidebook provides a magnificent fold-out panorama, fit for framing, which shows the main sights and almost every building. We are reminded that ‘Jerusalem’ comes from the Hebrew, meaning ‘Vision of Peace’, and that to most travellers it is ‘a place of overwhelming interest, but at first many will be sadly disappointed in the Holy City, the venerable type of the heavenly. Zion. It would seem at first as though little were left of the ancient city of Zion and Moriah, the far-famed capital of the Jewish empire; and little of it indeed is to be discovered in the narrow, crooked, ill-paved, and dirty streets of the modern town. It is only by patiently penetrating beneath the modern crust of rubbish and rottenness which shrouds the sacred places from view that the traveller will at length realise to himself a picture of the Jerusalem of antiquity, and this will be the more vivid in proportion to the amount of previously acquired historical and topographical information which he is able to bring to bear upon his researches.’

Baedeker suggests at least a week to see the main sights, while Black’s, perhaps in consideration of the Sabbath, thinks six days should be enough. Murray makes no comment on the matter, assuming that the intelligent reader can decide for himself.

Accommodation was possible at the Mediterranean Hotel, where the landlord was Moses Hornstein, said to have a Scottish wife; and at the Damascus Hotel, owned by his brother: ‘Food generally good; rooms small, but sufficiently large for ordinary travellers who are seldom in-doors.’ Murray’s earlier edition also recommends the Hornstein hotels, the first being ‘a large and commodious house. The reports are favourable of the landlord’s civility and attention to the comforts of his guests.’

By 1912 there were more hotels, and Black’s guide commends an English pension run by a Mr Hensman, said to be a ‘favourite resort of the clergy’, where English cooking was the rule. Thomas Cook used the Grand New Hotel for his clients.

Several hospices catered for Roman Catholic travellers, though: ‘In the height of summer many of the inhabitants camp outside the gates for the sake of the purer air, but the traveller should not attempt this in the spring, as the weather is then often bitterly cold, unless he is compelled to do so from want of accommodation within the city.’

Regarding bankers: ‘Valero, in David Street, is a good Jewish house … Small change, with which the traveller should always be well supplied, may be obtained at the bazaar, but as reckoning in piastres is puzzling at first, he should be on his guard against imposition.’

Among medical men, Dr Chaplin, of the Jewish Mission, is recommended, followed by ‘Dr. Sandreszki, a skilful operator, physician of the German institutions’.

In 1912 Baedeker gives the population of Jerusalem as 70,000, including 45,000 Jews and 15,000 Christians. Of the Jews, the number ‘has greatly risen in the last few decades, in spite of the fact that they are forbidden to immigrate or to possess landed property. The majority subsist on the charity of their European brethren, from whom they receive their regular khaluka, or allowance, and for whom they pray at the holy places.’

In order to visit the Moslem Haram esh-Sherif, ‘the permission of the Turkish authorities and the escort of a soldier is necessary, but on Friday and during the time of festivals, entrance is entirely prohibited to strangers’. Access to Jewish and Christian sites was unimpeded.

Cook’s handbook, forty years after the above, tells us: ‘It is only recently that Christians have been at liberty to enter any of the Mosques. The restrictions have now, however, been removed, and some of the principal Mosques, which bold travellers of an earlier date risked their lives to enter, may be visited by any one who makes the proper application to the consul, and pays the proper fees.’

Cook reminds the visitor that ‘although he may not believe in the religion of the Moslems, he should respect their institutions so far as to adopt those customs which are deemed by them to be due to their religion. It will be well to observe these things, not only as a matter of good taste, but also from prudential motives, as there is still a strong feeling against this invasion of holy places by infidels — as the Christians are called — and Mohammedan fanaticism is a passion which it is unsafe to arouse.’

One ought not to leave Jerusalem, however, without an example of Christian fanaticism, and I quote from Murray’s handbook of 1868: ‘A description of the Church of the Sepulchre could hardly be considered complete without some account of the scenes enacted at the time of the miracle (imposture?) of the Holy Fire. On the Easter-eve of each returning year it is affirmed that a miraculous flame descends from heaven into the Holy Sepulchre, kindling all the lamps and candles there, as it did of yore Elijah’s sacrifice on Carmel. The Greek patriarch or his representative alone enters the tomb at the prescribed time; and the fire soon appearing is given out to the expectant and excited multitude through a hole in the northern wall. The origin of this extraordinary scene is involved in mystery. It is singular, too, and worthy of notice, that at a few of the Moslem saints’ tombs a supernatural fire is said to blaze on every Friday, superseding all necessity for lamps.’

Murray continues: ‘The imposture of the Holy Fire is unquestionably one of the most degrading rites performed within the walls of Jerusalem. It is not too much to say that it brings disgrace on the Christian name. It makes our boasted Christian enlightenment a subject of scorn and contempt to both Jews and Mohammedans. Its effects upon those who sanction or take part in it are most melancholy. It makes their clergy, high and low, deliberate imposters; it rouses the worst passions of the poor ignorant pilgrims who assemble here from the ends of the earth: and it tends more than aught else to convert the pure, spiritual, elevating faith of the Lord Jesus into a system of fraud and degrading superstition.

‘The fostering of fanaticism, superstition, and imposture is not the only evil result of the Holy Fire. Scarcely a year passes in which some accident does not occur at the exhibition — an unfortunate woman is crushed to death, or an old man is trampled over by the crowd; or oftener still one or two are stabbed in the quarrels of rival sects. In the year 1834 a fearful tragedy occurred …’

The description of it is given over to Lord Curzon, from his Monasteries of the Levant:

The guards outside, frightened at the rush from within, thought that the Christians wished to attack them, and the confusion soon grew into a battle. The soldiers with their bayonets killed numbers of fainting wretches, and the walls were spattered with blood and brains of men who had been felled, like oxen, with the butt-ends of the soldiers’ muskets. Every one struggled to defend himself, and in the mêlée all who fell were immediately trampled to death by the rest. So desperate and savage did the fight become, that even the panic-struck and frightened pilgrims appeared at last to have been more intent upon the destruction of each other than desirous to save themselves.

For my part, as soon as I had perceived the danger I had cried out to my companions to turn back, which they had done; but I myself was carried on by the press till I came near the door where all were fighting for their lives. Here, seeing certain destruction before me, I made every endeavour to get back. An officer of the Pasha’s, equally alarmed with myself, was also trying to return; he caught hold of my cloak, and pulled me down on the body of an old man who was breathing out his last sigh. As the officer was pressing me to the ground, we wrestled together among the dying and the dead with the energy of despair. I struggled with this man till I pulled him down, and happily got again upon my legs — (I afterwards found that he never rose again) — and scrambling over a pile of corpses, I made my way back into the body of the church … The dead were lying in heaps, even upon the Stone of Unction; and I saw 400 wretched people, dead and living, heaped promiscuously one upon another, in some places above 5 ft. high.

A final comment from Murray wonders whether or not it isn’t ‘high time for enlightened Russia to step in, and put an end, by the high hand of her authority, to this most disgraceful and degrading imposture’.