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19th Century Travel Notes - Visit to Mar Saba MonasteryFrom James Kean M.A.,
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Photo of Mar Saba Monastery, reputedly taken in the 19th Century. | "Forced to turn westward, the range being too
steep to be descended on the north, you come upon a long gradual slope downwards
to the dry bed of a stream. All the way down this slope are broad patches of red
anemones, at the cheering sight of which the beasts take fresh courage. It is
now but a little way to Mar Saba: a few turns, and you ride down a glen, whose
lower or eastern end is filled up with buildings.
Knocking at a small iron door in the wall, you are answered by a man who looks down from a square tower at the north side of the door: and in a few minutes you enter the precincts of the monastery. Never were you more glad to find a place of rest and refreshment." |
[Looking down from gate of Mar Saba Monastery, photo taken in 1982] |
"This monastery is said to have been founded in the fifth century by a certain St. Euthymius. Sabas was a pupil of his. The history of the place, as also of the man whose name it bears, is very vague. Sabas, it seems, died about 530, after having founded several monasteries, and distinguished himself --zealous man--as a stout opponent of the Monophysites, that is, the heretics who held that Christ had only one nature--the Divine. The place has been repeatedly plundered; and in consequence it became necessary to fortify it. For the last half- century [written at end of 19th Century] it has been in the hands of the Russians, who restored and enlarged it."
"Of more interest to you at present than these somewhat isolated historical facts is the question of the material resources of the establishment. To say that you are thirsty would be to use a very inadequate expression: your tongue is like a piece of hard wood. You trot down the stair, then, without delay: through a second doorway, and down another stair: across a paved court; up a stair on the south side, and so into the refectory or dining-room. This is a large, handsome hall, fitted with broad divans all round. Here you tumble down your aching bones, and eagerly watch for the return of the little monk who has gone to fetch some wine. Thankful would you be, beyond all words, could you have a glass of spring water; but they have nothing but the stagnant tank stuff, the same as at Jerusalem; and that you cannot drink. Nor does this decanter of wine look at all inviting: it utterly lacks sparkle, and bears the stamp of being amateur-made. This, in fact, it turns out to be: they make it here, from their own vineyards. Not that there are vineyards about: the monastery possesses lands elsewhere."
"Unpalatable as the liquor is, you are fain to have a draught. All you can say about it, however, is that it is better than nothing at all: it wets the parched tongue, and gives partial relief. But your guides disdain such trashy tipple: they have been here before, and know that the cellars can produce something more potent than drumly white wine: a liqueur of the nature of whisky is what they order up. Out of curiosity you wish to taste this spirit; but you at once regret you did not let it alone, for this peppermint sort of essence with which it is flavoured is peculiarly nauseous, and threatens to stick to you permanently. The monk does not exactly sell spirits, but he looks for a fair price, all the same."
"The monastery lies at the mouth of a glen, just where that glen runs through the west side of a much larger glen. This latter is the Kidron valley, which here runs south, and is of immense depth--some six hundred feet. The mouth of the smaller valley, or, in other words, the open in the west side of the Kidron valley, is walled across with very strong stone-work, buttressed, to keep it from falling into the deep Kidron. Inside this wall, the smaller valley has been, so far, levelled up; and the land sides--north and south--as well as the upper reach of this small valley, have been protected with strong walls. The area of the place, therefore, is triangular, the apex side pointing to the west, and the base lying against the west rise in succession on the north and south sides. As for the Kidron wall, it rises only to about the level of the paved court; and you look over it, down into the abyss."
| "In the centre of the paved court stands a richly decorated shrine, a dome-roofed, arbour-like little structure. This, the monk who guides you over the place is eager to have you take note, contains the empty tomb of St. Saba. You think you can hardly be hearing rightly, when he says 'empty tomb', the man's enthusiasm being quite out of keeping with such an idea: it is empty, however, the saint's body, or bones, having been removed to Venice long ago." |  |
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"From this shrine you turn and go a few paces towards the north-west, and enter the rock-hewn church of St. Nicholas. This is a ghastly place: skulls in considerable numbers stare at you from behind gratings in the walls, the skulls of the inmates murdered by the Persians who sacked the monastery so long ago as about the year six hundred." |
"Another church, a much finer one, stands east of the shrine. This contains a number of pictures, after the manner of the Eastern Church. On the north side of this church are the quarters set apart for pilgrims. Here you wander up and down flights of steps, and along galleries, looking down upon lower galleries, and altogether gathering the impression of doing a civilian barracks overhanging a precipice, or, in view of the birds that come here to be fed, a lighthouse on some lonely rock."
"Returning to the paved court, you pass to the south side as if going again to the dining-hall. You keep nearer to the buttressed wall, however, and ascend a stair which leads to the rock-hewn cells in the cliffs overhanging the Kidron. Here is the saint's grotto, a small low-roofed den; and beyond it is a still smaller one called the lion's grotto. The absurd story runs that Sabas, on entering his grotto one day, found it tenanted by a lion. The saint betook himself to repeating his prayers as hard as he could; but the lion, quite regardless of this pious proceeding, dragged him out twice. Nothing daunted, the saint came in again; and at last a Modus Vivendi, or mutual arrangement, was arrived at, the lion undertaking to keep to his own corner. These dens are not inhabited now: they are show-rooms, and a good deal of attention has been bestowed upon them, in the way of decoration, by holy hands in the days of old...."
Read more about the findings of early Christianity in the area of the Dead Sea...
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