A century earlier Jerusalem had presented a dull and even squalid appearance; but, thanks to that magnificent despot, Herod the Great, a monarch distinguished by his taste for Grecian architecture, the city was now a dream of beauty, with its imperial mantle of proud towers; its marble palaces gleaming through the clear, transparent air of a Syrian morn; its stately colonnades and triumphal arches, interspersed with the foliage of the tall and graceful palm; and, above all, the pure, white temple, “a mount of alabaster, topped with golden spires,” flashing in the morning sunlight with a splendor that forced the eyes to turn aside. Crispus looked at it, and thought of his dream. “Mark me,” said Rufus, “it will never be well with Rome till yon fair city be leveled with the dust, and the plow passed over it.” Prophetic words! If those Jews, among whom Crispus and Rufus were now making their way, could but have foreseen the future, their daggers would have flashed in the sunny air, and the two Romans would have been no more! The supreme emotion evoked among the peasant pilgrims by the sight of the holy city was expressed in characteristic fashion. Some laughed aloud in the insanity of joy; others, with clasped hands and tears in their eyes, sank upon their knees, and not a few among the women fainted. Some pulled off their sandals, and walked barefoot towards the city, as though the way were hallowed ground; others assumed their richest robe, as if they were about to enter a holy synagogue. One member of the throng, a Levite, lifting up a sonorous voice, began the chanting of a psalm, appropriate to the occasion; and the refrain was immediately taken up by the whole multitude, slow-moving towards the city: “The hill of Zion is a fair place, and the joy of the whole earth; upon the north side lieth the citadel of the Great King.” “Now, if by the Great King is meant Cæsar, which is to be doubted,” remarked Rufus, “these fanatics are right. Thou seest yon edifice, Crispus, towering high above the temple. ’Tis my Roman citadel, of whose hospitality you must partake.” Making their way through a region of groves and gardens, adorned with the mansions of the wealthy residents, the Roman troops entered the city, and threading its narrow, winding streets, came to their quarters in the citadel Antonia, so named by Herod the Great in memory of his friend and patron, Marc Antony, its usual name among the Jews being Baris, or the Tower.