take the dates also?"
"No, I am not an Arab."
"Nor figs?"
"That would be to make me a Jew. No, nothing but the grapes.
Never waters mixed so sweetly as the blood of the Greek and
the blood of the grape."
The singer in the grimed and seething market, with all his airs
of the court, is a vision not easily shut out of mind by such
as see him; as if for the purpose, however, a person follows
him challenging all our wonder. He comes up the road slowly,
his face towards the ground; at intervals he stops, crosses his
hands upon his breast, lengthens his countenance, and turns his
eyes towards heaven, as if about to break into prayer. Nowhere,
except in Jerusalem, can such a character be found. On his forehead,
attached to the band which keeps the mantle in place, projects a
leathern case, square in form; another similar case is tied by
a thong to the left arm; the borders of his robe are decorated
with deep fringe; and by such signs—the phylacteries, the enlarged
borders of the garment, and the savor of intense holiness pervading
the whole man—we know him to be a Pharisee, one of an organization
(in religion a sect, in politics a party) whose bigotry and power
will shortly bring the world to grief.
The densest of the throng outside the gate covers the road leading
off to Joppa. Turning from the Pharisee, we are attracted by some
parties who, as subjects of study, opportunely separate themselves from
the motley crowd. First among them a man of very noble appearance—clear,
healthful complexion; bright black eyes; beard long and flowing, and rich
with unguents; apparel well-fitting, costly, and suitable for the season.
He carries a staff, and wears, suspended by a cord from his neck, a large
golden seal. Several servants attend him, some of them with short swords
stuck through their sashes; when they address him, it is with the
utmost deference. The rest of the party consists of two Arabs of
the pure desert stock; thin, wiry men, deeply bronzed, and with
hollow cheeks, and eyes of almost evil brightness; on their heads
red tarbooshes; over their abas, and wrapping the left shoulder
and the body so as to leave the right arm free, brown woollen
haicks, or blankets. There is loud chaffering, for the Arabs are
leading horses and trying to sell them; and, in their eagerness,
they speak in high, shrill voices. The courtly person leaves the
talking mostly to his servants; occasionally he answers with
much dignity; directly, seeing the Cypriote, he stops and buys
some figs. And when the whole party has passed the portal, close
after the Pharisee, if we betake ourselves to the dealer in fruits,
he will tell, with a wonderful salaam, that the stranger is a Jew,
one of the princes of the city, who has travelled, and learned the
difference between the common grapes of Syria and those of Cyprus,
so surpassingly rich with the dews of the sea.
And so, till towards noon, sometimes later, the steady currents of
business habitually flow in and out of the Joppa Gate, carrying with
them every variety of character; including representatives of all
the tribes of Israel, all the sects among whom the ancient faith
has been parcelled and refined away, all the religious and social
divisions, all the adventurous rabble who, as children of art and
ministers of pleasure, riot in the prodigalities of Herod, and all
the peoples of note at any time compassed by the Caesars and their
predecessors, especially those dwelling within the circuit of the
Mediterranean.
In other words, Jerusalem, rich in sacred history, richer in
connection with sacred prophecies—the Jerusalem of Solomon,
in which silver was as stones, and cedars as the sycamores of
the vale—had come to be but a copy of Rome, a center of unholy
practises, a seat of pagan power. A Jewish king one day put on
priestly garments, and went into the Holy of Holies of the first
temple to offer incense, and he came out a leper; but in the time
of which we are reading, Pompey entered Herod's temple and