interest and
spirit, had been for the Hebrew nation a principle which contributed
to their moral growth. Every nation called to high destinies ought to
be a little world in itself, including opposite poles. Greece
presented, at a few leagues' distance from each other, Sparta and
Athens--to a superficial observer, the two antipodes; but, in reality,
rival sisters, necessary to one another. It was the same with Judea.
Less brilliant in one sense than the development of Jerusalem, that of
the North was on the whole much more fertile; the greatest
achievements of the Jewish people have always proceeded thence. A
complete absence of the love of Nature, bordering upon something dry,
narrow, and ferocious, has stamped all the works purely Hierosolymite
with a degree of grandeur, though sad, arid, and repulsive. With its
solemn doctors, its insipid canonists, its hypocritical and
atrabilious devotees, Jerusalem has not conquered humanity. The North
has given to the world the simple Shunammite, the humble Canaanite,
the impassioned Magdalene, the good foster-father Joseph, and the
Virgin Mary. The North alone has made Christianity; Jerusalem, on the
contrary, is the true home of that obstinate Judaism which, founded by
the Pharisees, and fixed by the Talmud, has traversed the Middle Ages,
and come down to us.

A beautiful external nature tended to produce a much less austere
spirit--a spirit less sharply monotheistic, if I may use the
expression, which imprinted a charming and idyllic character on all
the dreams of Galilee. The saddest country in the world is perhaps
the region round about Jerusalem. Galilee, on the contrary, was a very
green, shady, smiling district, the true home of the Song of Songs,
and the songs of the well-beloved.[1] During the two months of March
and April, the country forms a carpet of flowers of an incomparable
variety of colors. The animals are small, and extremely
gentle--delicate and lively turtle-doves, blue-birds so light that
they rest on a blade of grass without bending it, crested larks which
venture almost under the feet of the traveller, little river tortoises
with mild and lively eyes, storks with grave and modest mien, which,
laying aside all timidity, allow man to come quite near them, and seem
almost to invite his approach. In no country in the world do the
mountains spread themselves out with more harmony, or inspire higher
thoughts. Jesus seems to have had a peculiar love for them. The