About it and through it climbed such walls, planted on such bold natural escarpment, that made it the most inaccessible fortification in the world.  On its highest hill stood a vision of marble and gold—­a fortress in gemstone—­the Temple.  Behind it towered Roman Antonia.  Westward the Tyropean Bridge spanned a deep, populous ravine.  The high broad street upon which the giant causeway terminated was marked by the solemn cenotaphs of Mariamne and Phaselis and ended against the Tower of Hippicus—­a vast and unflinching citadel of stone.  Under the shadow of this pile was the high place of the Herods; in sight was a second Herodian palace.  South was the open space of the great markets; near the southernmost segment of the outer wall was the semicircular Hippodrome.  Cut off from its neighbor by ancient walls were Ophlas, overlooking Tophet and under the shadow of the Temple; Mount Zion which the Lord had established, Akra of the valley, Moriah, the Holy Hill, and Coenopolis or Bezetha which Agrippa I had walled.  About the immense outer fortifications crawled the shadowy valleys of Tophet, of Brook Kedron and of Hinnom.  Thickly scattered like fallen patches of skies the pools of Siloam, Gihon, Shiloh, En-Rogel, the Great Pool, the Serpent’s Pool and the Dragon’s Well reflected the color of the mountain heavens.  Between them wandered the blue threads of certain aqueducts that supplied them.  Everywhere rose the shafts of monuments and memorials, old as the pride of Absalom, new as the folly of the Herods; everywhere the aggressive paganism of Rome and Greece, which would have paganized this monotheistic race out of very rancor against its uprightness, violated with insolent beauty the hieratic severity of the city’s face.  Rich, bold, strong, beautiful, Jerusalem was at that hour, as viewed from the hill to the north, the perfection of beauty and the joy of the whole earth.

For a moment ambition struggled nobly in the breast of the man that overlooked it.  Except for the obstacles he had placed in his own way by his misdeeds, Julian of Ephesus at that moment might have become great.  But he had struck down his kinsman on the way, and such deeds were remembered even in war-ridden Judea; he had come to Jerusalem wearing his kinsman’s name that he might despoil that kinsman’s bride of her dowry; a hundred other crimes of his commission stood in the way to peace and success.

But about him the Passover pilgrims, catching their first glimpse of the Holy City, gave way to the storm of emotion that had gradually gathered as they drew near to the threatened City of Delight.