PILGRIMAGES—ORIGIN AND GROWTH OF THE CUSTOM—EXTENT.
Old Testament religion made much of sacred places. In the early
occupancy of Palestine, Hebron, Bethel, Shiloh, and Shechem were the
resorts of the faithful; in later ages Jerusalem became the shrine
“whither the tribes went up” by divine command. For this localized
devotion there was an evident reason in the purpose of Providence to
localize a “peculiar people” for religious training, such as they could
not obtain if scattered among the nations. The sacredness was not in the
site, but in its living associations, as the rendezvous of wise and holy
men. Christianity had no such necessity, and reversed this narrower
policy with our Lord’s command, “Go ye into all the world, and preach
the gospel to every creature.” Therefore, in the ruling of Providence,
the places most closely associated with the life of the Son of God were
either unknown, as the spot of the temptation in the wilderness and the
mountain where He retired for prayer; or these spots were left unmarked
by the first disciples, as “a high mountain” on which He was
transfigured, the room of the Last Supper, the site of the crucifixion
and of the tomb which witnessed His resurrection. This was a commentary
of Providence on Jesus’ words, “The hour cometh, when ye shall neither
in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father; ... when the
true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth.”
This relic of the Jewish custom, together with the universal pagan
practice of venerating shrines and consulting local oracles, became an
ever-pressing temptation to the early Christian church. It was difficult
for either Jewish or heathen converts not to regard the land trodden by
the feet of Jesus as peculiarly a holy land, and not to imagine that the
celestial interest that once centred upon the scenes of His death and
resurrection made “heaven always to hang lowest” over these spots. There
was nothing in the teaching or practice of the apostles and early
fathers of the church to suggest or approve these notions. They were
willing exiles from the home of the faith; unlike the patriarch Joseph,
they gave no “commandment concerning their bones” being interred in the
dust of Palestine.
The conversion of Constantine to Christianity may have been genuine, but
it did not completely exorcise the paganism to which he had been
habituated. The pilgrimage of his mother, Helena, to Palestine, the
alleged reidentification of sacred sites and relics by miraculous
agencies, and their adornment with lavish magnificence, were the natural
efflorescence of the hybrid religion that sprang up. Multitudes imitated
the example of emperors and princes in the show of devotion. The new
glory which Constantine gave to Jerusalem engaged their reverence, as
his new capital on the Bosporus gratified their pride.
St. Jerome (345-420) wrote to Paulinus: “The court of heaven is as open
in Britain as at Jerusalem.” Nevertheless the saint took up his abode in
the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem. Paula, his companion, wrote:
“Here the foremost of the world are gathered together.” St. Augustine
(354-430), oppressed by the fact that the beauty of the heavenly city
was shadowed by men’s reverence for the earthly Jerusalem, wrote: “Take
no thought for long voyages; it is not by ship, but by love, that we go
to Him who is everywhere.”
But the enthusiasm for pilgrimage could be checked neither by the voice
of saint nor by common sense. From the depths of the German forests,
from the banks of the Seine and the bleak shores of Britain, as well as
from the cities of southern Europe, poured the incessant streams of
humanity, to bathe in the waters of the Jordan where their Lord was
baptized, or perchance to die at the tomb which witnessed his
resurrection.
As early as the fourth century itineraries were published to guide the
feet of the pious across the countries of Europe and Asia Minor;
hospitals were also established along the road, the support of which by
those who stayed at home was regarded as specially meritorious in the
sight of Heaven.
In 611 Chosroes the Persian and Zoroastrian captured Jerusalem,
slaughtered ninety thousand Christian residents and pilgrims, and, more
lamentable in the estimate of that age, carried off the wood of the true
cross. But Heraclius, the Greek emperor, after a ten years’ war
triumphed over the Persian power. Neither conquered lands nor the spoils
of princely tents compared in stirring enthusiasm with the recapture of
this relic. With great pomp the emperor left a part of the cross to
glorify his capital, Constantinople. On September 14, 629, Heraclius
entered Jerusalem, bearing, like Simon the Cyrenian, the remainder of
the sacred beams upon his back. With bare feet and in ragged garments he
traversed the city and re-erected the symbol of the world’s faith upon
the assumed site of Calvary. This event is still commemorated throughout
the Roman Catholic world by the annual festival of the “exaltation of
the holy cross.”
Marvellous stories, the innocent exaggerations of weak minds or the
designed invention of less conscionable shrewdness, fed the credulity of
the people. Bishop Arculf told of having seen the three tabernacles
still standing upon the Mount of Transfiguration. Bernard of Brittany as
an eye-witness described the angel who came from heaven each Easter morn
to light the lamp above the Holy Sepulchre.
At the opening of the ninth century the friendship of Haroun-al-Raschid,
King of Persia, for Charlemagne extended the privileges of pilgrims. The
keys of the sepulchre of Jesus were sent by him as a royal gift to the
Emperor of the West. Charlemagne’s capitularies contain references to
“alms sent to Jerusalem to repair the churches of God,” and to provide
lodging, with fire and water, to pilgrims _en route_.
The cruel persecution by Mad Hakem, the caliph of Egypt (see p. 57),
made scarcely an eddy in the current of humanity moving eastward. Counts
and dukes vied with prelates in the multitude of their companions. In
1054 the Bishop of Cambray started with a band of three thousand
fellow-pilgrims. In 1064 the Archbishop of Mayence followed with ten
thousand, nearly half of whom perished by the way.
In the latter part of the eleventh century, as has been related, the
strong hand of the Turk first effectually checked the pilgrims. The
horrors of the atrocities perpetrated by this new Mohammedan power
afflicted Europe less than the cessation of the popular movement. The
evil was twofold, secular and spiritual.
Pilgrimage was often a lucrative business as well as a pious
performance. In the intervals of his visits to the sacred places the
European sojourner plied his calling as a tradesman; the Franks held a
market before the Church of St. Mary; the Venetians, Genoese, and Pisans
had stores in Jerusalem and the coast cities of Phenicia. The courtiers
of Europe dressed in the rich stuffs sent from Asia, and drank the wine
of Gaza. A great traffic was done in relics. The pilgrim returned having
in his wallet the credited bones of martyrs, bits of stone from sacred
sites, splinters from furniture and shreds of garments made holy by
association with the saints. These were sold to the wealthy and to
churches, and their value augmented from year to year by reason of the
fables which grew about them.
In more generous minds the passion for pilgrimage was fed by the desire
for increased knowledge. Travel was the only compensation for the lack
of books. One became measurably learned by visiting, while going to and
returning from Palestine, such cities as Constantinople or Alexandria,
to say nothing of the enlightening intercourse with one’s
fellow-Europeans while passing through their lands.
Mere love of change and adventure also led many to take the staff. If in
our advanced civilization men cannot entirely divest themselves of the
nomadic habit, but tramp and tourist are everywhere, we need not be
surprised at the numbers of those who indulged this passion in days when
home life was exceedingly monotonous and its entertainment as meagre.
But the chief incentive to pilgrimage was doubtless the supposed merit
of treading the very footprints of our Lord. Not only was forgiveness of
sins secured by kneeling on the site of Calvary, but to die _en route_
was to fall in the open gateway of heaven, one’s travel-soiled shirt
becoming a shroud which would honor the hands of angels convoying the
redeemed soul to the blissful abodes. Great criminals thus penanced
their crimes. Frotmonde, the murderer, his brow marked with ashes and
his clothes cut after the fashion of a winding-sheet, tramped the
streets of Jerusalem, the desert of Arabia, and homeward along the North
African coast, only to be commanded by Pope Benedict III. to repeat his
penance on even a larger scale, after which he was received as a saint.
Foulques of Anjou, who had brought his brother to death in a dungeon,
found that three such journeys were necessary to wear away the
guilt-mark from his conscience. Robert of Normandy, the father of
William the Conqueror, as penance for crime walked barefoot the entire
distance, accompanied by many knights and barons. When Cencius assaulted
Pope Hildebrand, the pontiff uttered these words: “Thy injuries against
myself I freely pardon. Thy sins against God, against His mother, His
apostles, and His whole church, must be expiated. Go on a pilgrimage to
Jerusalem.”
We are thus prepared to appreciate the incentive to the crusades which
men of all classes found in the speech of Pope Urban at Clermont, in
inaugurating the movement: “Take ye, then, the road to Jerusalem for the
remission of sins, and depart assured of the imperishable glory which
awaits you in the kingdom of heaven.”
Othman, the founder of the Ottoman dynasty of Turks, once had a dream in
which he saw all the leaves of the world-shading tree shaped like
cimeters and turning their points towards Constantinople. This he
interpreted into a prophecy and command for the capture of that city.
Similarly we may conceive the various conditions and sentiments of
Europe in the eleventh century, which have been described in our
previous chapters, as directing the way to Jerusalem. Subsequent events,
however, prove that, unlike Othman’s leaves, the Christian incentives to
the crusades were not directed by the breath of Heaven.
THE STORY OF THE CRUSADES.