DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.5074#0133
'aw jidi.
117
'Aih Jidi is exactly opposite the ravine of Wady
Mojib, on the eastern coast—the Kiver Arnon of Scrip-
ture. The view from the fountain is beautiful, but by
no means so fine as that from Sebbeh : Jebel Usdom
stands out well, but from hence it hides the salt hills at
the southern end of the sea: the three promontories we
had rounded between Sebbeh and 'Ain Jidi rose grandly,
one behind another, with the ruined fortress crowning
the last and loftiest. This was the view, with the calm,
still, sullen-looking lake below, which met the eyes of
the Essenes, those earnest strivers after purity and holi-
ness who inhabited these caves in the time of our Lord.
Here, too, long after, came many a Christian hermit to
spend the evening of his days, in silent communion
with his Grod, apart from the noisy world: and in the
short, sweet twilight I almost fancied I heard them— the
" anchorites beneath En-gedi's palms,
Pacing the Dead Sea beach,
And singing slow their old Armenian psalms,
In half-articulate speech: "
but, alas! no sound of Christian prayer or praise rises
now from the shores of that beautiful but desolate
lake.
All sorts of stories have been related of the horrible
aspect of the accursed Sea, of the lurid glare that illu-
minated its banks with supernatural light, of the strange
sounds and terrible forms that were seen around its
shores, — and until lately it was really believed that no
bird could fly over its waters, and that every creature,
man or beast, that inhaled its malaria either perished or
went raving mad, as if its very atmosphere was impreg-
nated with the visible wrath of God. The story of the
malaria ought to have been proved false by the remem-
I 3
117
'Aih Jidi is exactly opposite the ravine of Wady
Mojib, on the eastern coast—the Kiver Arnon of Scrip-
ture. The view from the fountain is beautiful, but by
no means so fine as that from Sebbeh : Jebel Usdom
stands out well, but from hence it hides the salt hills at
the southern end of the sea: the three promontories we
had rounded between Sebbeh and 'Ain Jidi rose grandly,
one behind another, with the ruined fortress crowning
the last and loftiest. This was the view, with the calm,
still, sullen-looking lake below, which met the eyes of
the Essenes, those earnest strivers after purity and holi-
ness who inhabited these caves in the time of our Lord.
Here, too, long after, came many a Christian hermit to
spend the evening of his days, in silent communion
with his Grod, apart from the noisy world: and in the
short, sweet twilight I almost fancied I heard them— the
" anchorites beneath En-gedi's palms,
Pacing the Dead Sea beach,
And singing slow their old Armenian psalms,
In half-articulate speech: "
but, alas! no sound of Christian prayer or praise rises
now from the shores of that beautiful but desolate
lake.
All sorts of stories have been related of the horrible
aspect of the accursed Sea, of the lurid glare that illu-
minated its banks with supernatural light, of the strange
sounds and terrible forms that were seen around its
shores, — and until lately it was really believed that no
bird could fly over its waters, and that every creature,
man or beast, that inhaled its malaria either perished or
went raving mad, as if its very atmosphere was impreg-
nated with the visible wrath of God. The story of the
malaria ought to have been proved false by the remem-
I 3