The City of Christ.
Modern Jerusalem--The Site of the City--Mount Zion--Mount Moriah--The
Temple--the Valley of Jehosaphat--The Olives of Gethsemane--The Mount of
Olives--Moslem Tradition--Panorama from the Summit--The Interior of the
City--The Population--Missions and Missionaries--Christianity in
Jerusalem--Intolerance--The Jews of Jerusalem--The Face of Christ--The
Church of the Holy Sepulchre--The Holy of Holies--The Sacred
Localities--Visions of Christ--The Mosque of Omar--The Holy Man of
Timbuctoo--Preparations for Departure.
"Cut off thy hair, O Jerusalem, and cast it away, and take up a
lamentation in high places; for the Lord hath rejected and forsaken the
generation of his wrath."--Jeremiah vii. 29.
"Here pilgrims roam, that strayed so far to seek
In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heaven."
Milton.
Jerusalem, _Monday, May_ 3, 1852.
Since travel is becoming a necessary part of education, and a journey
through the East is no longer attended with personal risk, Jerusalem will
soon be as familiar a station on the grand tour as Paris or Naples. The
task of describing it is already next to superfluous, so thoroughly has
the topography of the city been laid down by the surveys of Robinson and
the drawings of Roberts. There is little more left for Biblical research.
The few places which can be authenticated are now generally accepted, and
the many doubtful ones must always be the subjects of speculation and
conjecture. There is no new light which can remove the cloud of
uncertainties wherein one continually wanders. Yet, even rejecting all
these with the most skeptical spirit, there still remains enough to make
the place sacred in the eyes of every follower of Christ. The city stands
on the ancient site; the Mount of Olives looks down upon it; the
foundations of the Temple of Solomon are on Mount Moriah; the Pool of
Siloam has still a cup of water for those who at noontide go down to the
Valley of Jehosaphat; the ancient gate yet looketh towards Damascus, and
of the Palace of Herod, there is a tower which Time and Turk and Crusader
have spared.
Jerusalem is built on the summit ridge of the hill-country of Palestine,
just where it begins to slope eastward. Not half a mile from the Jaffa
Gate, the waters run towards the Mediterranean. It is about 2,700 feet
above the latter, and 4,000 feet above the Dead Sea, to which the descent
is much more abrupt. The hill, or rather group of small mounts, on which
Jerusalem stands, slants eastward to the brink of the Valley of
Jehosaphat, and the Mount of Olives rises opposite, from the sides and
summit of which, one sees the entire city spread out like a map before
him. The Valley of Hinnon, the bed of which is on a much higher level than
that of Jehosaphat, skirts the south-western and southern part of the
walls, and drops into the latter valley at the foot of Mount Zion, the
most southern of the mounts. The steep slope at the junction of the two
valleys is the site of the city of the Jebusites, the most ancient part of
Jerusalem. It is now covered with garden-terraces, the present wall
crossing from Mount Zion on the south to Mount Moriah on the east. A
little glen, anciently called the Tyropeon, divides the mounts, and winds
through to the Damascus Gate, on the north, though from the height of the
walls and the position of the city, the depression which it causes in the
mass of buildings is not very perceptible, except from the latter point,
Moriah is the lowest of the mounts, and hangs directly over the Valley of
Jehosaphat. Its summit was built up by Solomon so as to form a
quadrangular terrace, five hundred by three hundred yards in dimension.
The lower courses of the grand wall, composed of huge blocks of gray
conglomerate limestone, still remain, and there seems to be no doubt that
they are of the time of Solomon. Some of the stones are of enormous size;
I noticed several which were fifteen, and one twenty-two feet in length.
The upper part of the wall was restored by Sultan Selim, the conqueror of
Egypt, and the level of the terrace now supports the great Mosque of Omar,
which stands on the very site of the temple. Except these foundation
walls, the Damascus Gate and the Tower of Hippicus, there is nothing left
of the ancient city. The length of the present wall of circumference is
about two miles, but the circuit of Jerusalem, in the time of Herod, was
probably double that distance.
The best views of the city are from the Mount of Olives, and the hill
north of it, whence Titus directed the siege which resulted in its total
destruction. The Crusaders under Godfrey of Bouillon encamped on the same
hill. My first walk after reaching here, was to the summit of the Mount of
Olives. Not far from the hotel we came upon the Via Dolorosa, up which,
according to Catholic tradition, Christ toiled with the cross upon his
shoulders. I found it utterly impossible to imagine that I was walking in
the same path, and preferred doubting the tradition. An arch is built
across the street at the spot where they say he was shown to the populace.
(_Ecce Homo_.) The passage is steep and rough, descending to St. Stephen's
Gate by the Governor's Palace, which stands on the site of the house of
Pontius Pilate. Here, in the wall forming the northern part of the
foundation of the temple, there are some very fine remains of ancient
workmanship. From the city wall, the ground descends abruptly to the
Valley of Jehosaphat. The Turkish residents have their tombs on the city
side, just under the terrace of the mosque, while thousands of Jews find a
peculiar beatitude in having themselves interred on the opposite slope of
the Mount of Olives, which is in some places quite covered with their
crumbling tombstones. The bed of the Brook Kedron is now dry and stony. A
sort of chapel, built in the bottom of the valley, is supposed by the
Greeks to cover the tomb of the Virgin--a claim which the Latins consider
absurd. Near this, at the very foot of the Mount of Olives, the latter
sect have lately built a high stone wall around the Garden of Gethsemane,
for the purpose, apparently, of protecting the five aged olives. I am
ignorant of the grounds wherefore Gethsemane is placed here. Most
travellers have given their faith to the spot, but Dr. Robinson, who is
more reliable than any amount of mere tradition, does not coincide with
them. The trees do not appear as ancient as some of those at the foot of
Mount Carmel, which are supposed to date from the Roman colony established
by Titus. Moreover, it is well known that at the time of the taking of
Jerusalem by that Emperor, all the trees, for many miles around, were
destroyed. The olive-trees, therefore, cannot be those under which Christ
rested, even supposing this to be the true site of Gethseniane.
The Mount of Olives is a steep and rugged hill, dominating over the city
and the surrounding heights. It is still covered with olive orchards, and
planted with patches of grain, which do not thrive well on the stony soil.
On the summit is a mosque, with a minaret attached, which affords a grand
panoramic view. As we reached it, the Chief of the College of Dervishes,
in the court of the Mosque of Omar, came out with a number of attendants.
He saluted us courteously, which would not have been the case had he been
the Superior of the Latin Convent, and we Greek Monks. There were some
Turkish ladies in the interior of the mosque, so that we could not gain
admittance, and therefore did not see the rock containing the foot-prints
of Christ, who, according to Moslem tradition, ascended to heaven from
this spot. The Mohammedans, it may not be generally known, accept the
history of Christ, except his crucifixion, believing that he passed to
heaven without death, another person being crucified in his stead. They
call him the _Roh-Allah,_ or Spirit of God, and consider him, after
Mahomet, as the holiest of the Prophets.
We ascended to the gallery of the minaret. The city lay opposite, so
fairly spread out to our view that almost every house might be separately
distinguished. It is a mass of gray buildings, with dome-roofs, and but
for the mosques of Omar and El Aksa, with the courts and galleries around
them, would be exceedingly tame in appearance. The only other prominent
points are the towers of the Holy Sepulchre, the citadel, enclosing
Herod's Tower, and the mosque on mount Zion. The Turkish wall, with its
sharp angles, its square bastions, and the long, embrasured lines of its
parapet, is the most striking feature of the view. Stony hills stretch
away from the city on all sides, at present cheered with tracts of
springing wheat, but later in the season, brown and desolate. In the
south, the convent of St. Elias is visible, and part of the little town of
Bethlehem. I passed to the eastern side of the gallery, and looking
thence, deep down among the sterile mountains, beheld a long sheet of blue
water, its southern extremity vanishing in a hot, sulphury haze. The
mountains of Ammon and Moab, which formed the background of my first view
of Jerusalem, leaned like a vast wall against the sky, beyond the
mysterious sea and the broad valley of the Jordan. The great depression of
this valley below the level of the Mediterranean gives it a most
remarkable character. It appears even deeper than is actually the case,
and resembles an enormous chasm or moat, separating two different regions
of the earth. The _khamseen_ was blowing from the south, from out the
deserts of Edom, and threw its veil of fiery vapor over the landscape. The
muezzin pointed out to me the location of Jericho, of Kerak in Moab, and
Es-Salt in the country of Ammon. Ere long the shadow of the minaret
denoted noon, and, placing his hands on both sides of his mouth, he cried
out, first on the South side, towards Mecca, and then to the West, and
North, and East: "God is great: there is no God but God, and Mohammed is
His Prophet! Let us prostrate ourselves before Him: and to Him alone be
the glory!"
Jerusalem, internally, gives no impression but that of filth, ruin,
poverty, and degradation. There are two or three streets in the western or
higher portion of the city which are tolerably clean, but all the others,
to the very gates of the Holy Sepulchre, are channels of pestilence. The
Jewish Quarter, which is the largest, so sickened and disgusted me, that I
should rather go the whole round of the city walls than pass through it a
second time. The bazaars are poor, compared with those of other Oriental
cities of the same size, and the principal trade seems to be in rosaries,
both Turkish and Christian, crosses, seals, amulets, and pieces of the
Holy Sepulchre. The population, which may possibly reach 20,000, is
apparently Jewish, for the most part; at least, I have been principally
struck with the Hebrew face, in my walks. The number of Jews has increased
considerably within a few years, and there is also quite a number who,
having been converted to Protestantism, were brought hither at the expense
of English missionary societies for the purpose of forming a Protestant
community. Two of the hotels are kept by families of this class. It is
estimated that each member of the community has cost the Mission about
£4,500: a sum which would have Christianized tenfold the number of English
heathen. The Mission, however, is kept up by its patrons, as a sort of
religious luxury. The English have lately built a very handsome church
within the walls, and the Rev. Dr. Gobat, well known by his missionary
labors in Abyssinia, now has the title of Bishop of Jerusalem. A friend of
his in Central Africa gave me a letter of introduction for him, and I am
quite disappointed in finding him absent. Dr. Barclay, of Virginia, a most
worthy man in every respect, is at the head of the American Mission here.
There is, besides, what is called the "American Colony," at the village of
Artos, near Bethlehem: a little community of religious enthusiasts, whose
experiments in cultivation have met with remarkable success, and are much
spoken of at present.
Whatever good the various missions here may, in time, accomplish (at
present, it does not amount to much), Jerusalem is the last place in the
world where an intelligent heathen would be converted to Christianity.
Were I cast here, ignorant of any religion, and were I to compare the
lives and practices of the different sects as the means of making my
choice--in short, to judge of each faith by the conduct of its
professors--I should at once turn Mussulman. When you consider that in the
Holy Sepulchre there are _nineteen_ chapels, each belonging to a different
sect, calling itself Christian, and that a Turkish police is always
stationed there to prevent the bloody quarrels which often ensue between
them, you may judge how those who call themselves followers of the Prince
of Peace practice the pure faith he sought to establish. Between the Greek
and Latin churches, especially, there is a deadly feud, and their
contentions are a scandal, not only to the few Christians here, but to the
Moslems themselves. I believe there is a sort of truce at present, owing
to the settlement of some of the disputes--as, for instance, the
restoration of the silver star, which the Greeks stole from the shrine of
the Nativity, at Bethlehem. The Latins, however, not long since,
demolished, _vi et armis_, a chapel which the Greeks commenced building on
Mount Zion. But, if the employment of material weapons has been abandoned
for the time, there is none the less a war of words and of sounds still
going on. Go into the Holy Sepulchre, when mass is being celebrated, and
you can scarcely endure the din. No sooner does the Greek choir begin its
shrill chant, than the Latins fly to the assault. They have an organ, and
terribly does that organ strain its bellows and labor its pipes to drown
the rival singing. You think the Latins will carry the day, when suddenly
the cymbals of the Abyssinians strike in with harsh brazen clang, and, for
the moment, triumph. Then there are Copts, and Maronites, and Armenians,
and I know not how many other sects, who must have their share; and the
service that should be a many-toned harmony pervaded by one grand spirit
of devotion, becomes a discordant orgie, befitting the rites of Belial.
A long time ago--I do not know the precise number of years--the Sultan
granted a firman, in answer to the application of both Jews and
Christians, allowing the members of each sect to put to death any person
belonging to the other sect, who should be found inside of their churches
or synagogues. The firman has never been recalled, though in every place
but Jerusalem it remains a dead letter. Here, although the Jews freely
permit Christians to enter their synagogue, a Jew who should enter the
Holy Sepulchre would be lucky if he escaped with his life. Not long since,
an English gentleman, who was taken by the monks for a Jew, was so
severely beaten that he was confined to his bed for two months. What worse
than scandal, what abomination, that the spot looked upon by so many
Christians as the most awfully sacred on earth, should be the scene of
such brutish intolerance! I never pass the group of Turkish officers,
quietly smoking their long pipes and sipping their coffee within the
vestibule of the Church, without a feeling of humiliation. Worse than the
money-changers whom Christ scourged out of the Temple, the guardians of
this edifice make use of His crucifixion and resurrection as a means of
gain. You may buy a piece of the stone covering the Holy Sepulchre, duly
certified by the Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem, for about $7. At Bethlehem,
which I visited this morning, the Latin monk who showed us the manger, the
pit where 12,000 innocents were buried, and other things, had much less to
say of the sacredness or authenticity of the place, than of the injustice
of allowing the Greeks a share in its possession.
The native Jewish families in Jerusalem, as well as those in other parts
of Palestine, present a marked difference to the Jews of Europe and
America. They possess the same physical characteristics--the dark, oblong
eye, the prominent nose, the strongly-marked cheek and jaw--but in the
latter, these traits have become harsh and coarse. Centuries devoted to
the lowest and most debasing forms of traffic, with the endurance of
persecution and contumely, have greatly changed and vulgarized the
appearance of the race. But the Jews of the Holy City still retain a noble
beauty, which proved to my mind their descent from the ancient princely
houses of Israel The forehead is loftier, the eye larger and more frank in
its expression, the nose more delicate in its prominence, and the face a
purer oval. I have remarked the same distinction in the countenances of
those Jewish families of Europe, whose members have devoted themselves to
Art or Literature. Mendelssohn's was a face that might have belonged to
the House of David.
On the evening of my arrival in the city, as I set out to walk through the
bazaars, I encountered a native Jew, whose face will haunt me for the rest
of my life. I was sauntering slowly along, asking myself "Is this
Jerusalem?" when, lifting my eyes, they met those of Christ! It was the
very face which Raphael has painted--the traditional features of the
Saviour, as they are recognised and accepted by all Christendom. The
waving brown hair, partly hidden by a Jewish cap, fell clustering about
the ears; the face was the most perfect oval, and almost feminine in the
purity of its outline; the serene, child-like mouth was shaded with a
light moustache, and a silky brown beard clothed the chin; but the
eyes--shall I ever look into such orbs again? Large, dark, unfathomable,
they beamed with an expression of divine love and divine sorrow, such as I
never before saw in human face. The man had just emerged from a dark
archway, and the golden glow of the sunset, reflected from a white wall
above, fell upon his face. Perhaps it was this transfiguration which made
his beauty so unearthly; but, during the moment that I saw him, he was to
me a revelation of the Saviour. There are still miracles in the Land of
Judah. As the dusk gathered in the deep streets, I could see nothing but
the ineffable sweetness and benignity of that countenance, and my friend
was not a little astonished, if not shocked, when I said to him, with the
earnestness of belief, on my return: "I have just seen Christ."
I made the round of the Holy Sepulchre on Sunday, while the monks were
celebrating the festival of the Invention of the Cross, in the chapel of
the Empress Helena. As the finding of the cross by the Empress is almost
the only authority for the places inclosed within the Holy Sepulchre, I
went there inclined to doubt their authenticity, and came away with my
doubt vastly strengthened. The building is a confused labyrinth of
chapels, choirs, shrines, staircases, and vaults--without any definite
plan or any architectural beauty, though very rich in parts and full of
picturesque effects. Golden lamps continually burn before the sacred
places, and you rarely visit the church without seeing some procession of
monks, with crosses, censers, and tapers, threading the shadowy passages,
from shrine to shrine It is astonishing how many localities are assembled
under one roof. At first, you are shown, the stone on which Christ rested
from the burden of the cross; then, the place where the soldiers cast lots
for His garments, both of them adjoining the Sepulchre. After seeing this,
you are taken to the Pillar of Flagellation; the stocks; the place of
crowning with thorns; the spot where He met His mother; the cave where the
Empress Helena found the cross; and, lastly, the summit of Mount Calvary.
The Sepulchre is a small marble building in the centre of the church. We
removed our shoes at the entrance, and were taken by a Greek monk, first
into a sort of ante-chamber, lighted with golden lamps, and having in the
centre, inclosed in a case of marble, the stone on which the angel sat.
Stooping through a low door, we entered the Sepulchre itself. Forty lamps
of gold burn unceasingly above the white marble slab, which, as the monks
say, protects the stone whereon the body of Christ was laid. As we again
emerged, our guide led us up a flight of steps to a second story, in which
stood a shrine, literally blazing with gold. Kneeling on the marble floor,
he removed a golden shield, and showed us the hole in the rock of Calvary,
where the cross was planted. Close beside it was the fissure produced by
the earthquake which followed the Crucifixion. But, to my eyes, aided by
the light of the dim wax taper, it was no violent rupture, such as an
earthquake would produce, and the rock did not appear to be the same as
that of which Jerusalem is built. As we turned to leave, a monk appeared
with a bowl of sacred rose-water, which he sprinkled on our hands,
bestowing a double portion on a rosary of sandal-wood which I carried But
it was a Mohammedan rosary, brought from Mecca, and containing the sacred
number of ninety-nine beads.
I have not space here to state all the arguments for and against the
localities in the Holy Sepulchre, I came to the conclusion that none of
them were authentic, and am glad to have the concurrence of such
distinguished authority as Dr. Robinson. So far from this being a matter
of regret, I, for one, rejoice that those sacred spots are lost to the
world. Christianity does not need them, and they are spared a daily
profanation in the name of religion. We know that Christ has walked on the
Mount of Olives, and gone down to the Pool of Siloam, and tarried in
Bethany; we know that here, within the circuit of our vision, He has
suffered agony and death, and that from this little point went out all the
light that has made the world greater and happier and better in its later
than in its earlier days.
Yet, I must frankly confess, in wandering through this city--revered
alike by Christians, Jews and Turks as one of the holiest in the world--I
have been reminded of Christ, the Man, rather, than of Christ, the God. In
the glory which overhangs Palestine afar off, we imagine emotions which
never come, when we tread the soil and walk over the hallowed sites. As I
toiled up the Mount of Olives, in the very footsteps of Christ, panting
with the heat and the difficult ascent, I found it utterly impossible to
conceive that the Deity, in human form, had walked there before me. And
even at night, as I walk on the terraced roof, while the moon, "the balmy
moon of blessed Israel," restores the Jerusalem of olden days to my
imagination, the Saviour who then haunts my thoughts is the Man Jesus, in
those moments of trial when He felt the weaknesses of our common humanity;
in that agony of struggle in the garden of Gethsemane, in that still more
bitter cry of human doubt and human appeal from the cross: "My God, my
God, why hast Thou forsaken me!" Yet there is no reproach for this
conception of the character of Christ. Better the divinely-inspired Man,
the purest and most perfect of His race, the pattern and type of all that
is good and holy in Humanity, than the Deity for whose intercession we
pray, while we trample His teachings under our feet. It would be well for
many Christian sects, did they keep more constantly before their eyes the
sublime humanity of Christ. How much bitter intolerance and persecution
might be spared the world, if, instead of simply adoring Him as a Divine
Mediator, they would strive to walk the ways He trod on earth. But
Christianity is still undeveloped, and there is yet no sect which
represents its fall and perfect spirit.
It is my misfortune if I give offence by these remarks. I cannot assume
emotions I do not feel, and must describe Jerusalem as I found it. Since
being here, I have read the accounts of several travellers, and in many
cases the devotional rhapsodies--the ecstacies of awe and reverence--in
which they indulge, strike me as forced and affected. The pious writers
have described what was expected of them, not what they found. It was
partly from reading such accounts that my anticipations were raised too
high, for the view of the city from the Jaffa road and the panorama from
the Mount of Olives are the only things wherein I have been pleasantly
disappointed.
By far the most interesting relic left to the city is the foundation wall
of Solomon's Temple. The Mosque of Omar, according to the accounts of the
Turks, and Mr. Gather wood's examination, rests on immense vaults, which
are believed to be the substructions of the Temple itself. Under the dome
of the mosque there is a large mass of natural rock, revered by the
Moslems as that from which Mahomet mounted the beast Borak when he visited
the Seven Heavens, and believed by Mr. Catherwood to have served as part
of the foundation of the Holy of Holies. No Christian is allowed to enter
the mosque, or even its enclosure, on penalty of death, and even the
firman of the Sultan has failed to obtain admission for a Frank. I have
been strongly tempted to make the attempt in my Egyptian dress, which
happens to resemble that of a mollah or Moslem priest, but the Dervishes
in the adjoining college have sharp eyes, and my pronunciation of Arabic
would betray me in case I was accosted. I even went so far as to buy a
string of the large beads usually carried by a mollah, but unluckily I do
not know the Moslem form of prayer, or I might carry out the plan under
the guise of religious abstraction. This morning we succeeded in getting a
nearer view of the mosque from the roof of the Governor's palace.
François, by assuming the character of a Turkish _cawass,_ gained us
admission. The roof overlooks the entire enclosure of the Haram, and gives
a complete view of the exterior of the mosque and the paved court
surrounding it. There is no regularity in the style of the buildings in
the enclosure, but the general effect is highly picturesque. The great
dome of the mosque is the grandest in all the Orient, but the body of the
edifice, made to resemble an octagonal tent, and covered with blue and
white tiles, is not high enough to do it justice. The first court is paved
with marble, and has four porticoes, each of five light Saracenic arches,
opening into the green park, which occupies the rest of the terrace. This
park is studded with cypress and fig trees, and dotted all over with the
tombs of shekhs. As we were looking down on the spacious area, behold! who
should come along but Shekh Mohammed Senoosee, the holy man of Timbuctoo,
who had laid off his scarlet robe and donned a green one. I called down to
him, whereupon he looked up and recognised us. For this reason I regret
our departure from Jerusalem, as I am sure a little persuasion would
induce the holy man to accompany me within the mosque.
We leave to-morrow for Damascus, by way of Nazareth and Tiberius. My
original plan was to have gone to Djerash, the ancient Geraza, in the land
of Gilead, and thence to Bozrah, in Djebel Hauaran. But Djebel Adjeloun,
as the country about Djerash is called, is under a powerful Bedouin shekh,
named Abd-el Azeez, and without an escort from him, which involves
considerable delay and a fee of $150, it would be impossible to make the
journey. We are therefore restricted to the ordinary route, and in case we
should meet with any difficulty by the way, Mr. Smith, the American
Consul, who is now here, has kindly procured us a firman from the Pasha of
Jerusalem. All the travellers here are making preparations to leave, but
there are still two parties in the Desert.