The wind blew hard from the northwest as I traced up the hill-side the ancient aqueduct, repeating those impressive words of the great proverbialist, “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” Like the melancholy strains of a dirge, the winds moaned as they swept round the mountain brow, and the waters sighed as they languidly fell from pool to pool. Was it not the requiem of his departed glory? A solitary descendant of his mighty kingdom now grubs a living where once his royal gardens stood, of whose beauty he sang in all the tenderness of the Canticles; and the robber of the desert and the wild Bedouin of the hills now bathe in those fountains which once sent murmuring streamlets along verdant banks and flowery beds, and supplied the imperial table with the cooling beverage.
The aqueduct is constructed of red earthen pipes, covered, for protection, by common limestone flagging. In many places the flagging is removed and the pottery broken, to accommodate the traveler with water. To preserve a proper level, it sweeps around the hills and heads of the valleys; and, though fatiguing to follow its windings, it repaid the toil, as illustrating the fact that, while the ancients could construct the most complicated works of masonry, they were ignorant of the simple method of conducting water over a level higher than its source. Having followed the aqueduct two miles, we crossed the wild valley of Ta’âmirah, and reached Bethlehem in time to enjoy a Christian wedding. Ten pretty maidens had assembled at the door of the bride, and were singing a simple but sweet melody, accompanied with the clapping of hands. Unlike the music of the Moslems, there was a warmth in these bridal songs thrilling and joyous. From a scene so happy we passed through the town, and, a mile from the ancient gateway to the northwest, we came to the tomb of Rachel. “And they journey from Bethel; and there was but a little way to come to Ephrath; and Rachel died and was buried in the way to Ephrath, which is Bethlehem. And Jacob set a pillar upon her grave; that is the pillar of Rachel’s grave unto this day.”[373] The pillar reared to the memory of a beloved wife has given place to a small white square building, surmounted by a dome. It is a Mohammedan wely. Standing by the side of the great road from Jerusalem to Hebron, the site has never been lost, its identity never questioned. Jew, Christian, Moslem, equally revere it, and never pass it without some token of affectionate remembrance. Gathering a few wild flowers growing near the dust of Rachel, we resumed our journey toward Jerusalem. In half an hour we reached the convent dedicated to Elijah, called Mâr Eliâs, and here came upon the new and noble macadamized road, extending from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, constructed by the monks of Mâr Eliâs, which is the first of the kind in Palestine, since the construction of a similar road by the French, running from Beîrut to Damascus. The wind had increased to a tornado as we swept by the Plain of Rephaim. It was the last object of Biblical interest to heighten the joy of a long and interesting tour. Stretching from the rocky brow of Hinnom to the Convent of Elias, it gradually declines to the narrow Valley of Roses. A mile in length, it is one of the richest plains in the Holy Land. It is remarkable in sacred history as the camp of the Philistines in the days of Saul, and as containing a mulberry-grove, now gone, in the tops of the trees, of which David heard a “sound of a going,”[374] which to him was the signal of war and the pæan of victory.