THE HOLY CITY.
The three principal sights in Jerusalem are the Mosque of Omar, now
standing on the site of Solomon’s Temple, the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre, and the Muristan, which is the conglomerate remains of
numerous edifices raised on the same spot in the course of ages, from
Charlemagne to Saladin, but named from the madhouse built there by the
Knights of St. John of Jerusalem. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre
should be visited in the sunniest part of the day, as the interior is
awfully dark. It may be that it is what it assumes to be. There are
people who doubt this, as they do everything; but here countless pilgrims
in all ages have come to pray and weep, and have kissed every stone and
shrine to be seen within the sacred precincts. I have read somewhere how
a young lady from the country came to town to hear the immortal Siddons,
then in the zenith of her fame. As soon as the performance began, the
young lady began to weep immediately. ‘If you weep in this way,’ said a
gentleman to her, ‘you will have no tears to shed when the real Siddons
appears.’ The same feeling occurs to you in Jerusalem. One is never
sure that the people are wailing and weeping at the right place. People
seem there so much taken up with the dead Christ that they are actually
in danger of forgetting the living one, who speaks to us to-day as when
He lifted up His Divine voice in the crowded streets of Jerusalem or
beneath the proud pillars of the Temple itself.
The question has long been discussed whether the traditional site on
which stands the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the true one. The
matter turns upon the course of the city walls in the time of Christ.
All are agreed that wherever the sepulchre was, it was without the gate,
and not within Jerusalem. From the Gospels we learn that the tomb was
rock-hewn, and that it was nigh the place of the Crucifixion. Major
Conder’s excavations have almost conclusively proved that the traditional
site was without the circuit of the city wall, and though the point
cannot be considered as quite settled, there are very strong grounds for
believing that the site was elsewhere. By the common consent of experts,
the true site has been found a short distance north-east from the
Damascus gate of the present city on the rocky knoll immediately above
the Jeremiah Grotto of our Bible map. Indirectly, the so-called Jeremiah
Grotto contributes some support to the modern identification. It is the
spot where executions by stoning were carried out. The locality General
Gordon brought into notice as the Holy Sepulchre seems to be quite
unfounded. Major Conder points out that the tomb was no new discovery
when the General was in Jerusalem—that it is probably not a Jewish tomb
at all, and may be assigned to the middle ages.
It is a wonderful city, this old Jerusalem. It was here Solomon built
his Temple a thousand years before Christ. This structure was
subsequently destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar, rebuilt by Zorobabel, and
afterwards by Herod. Then came Titus and the Romans, who left the city a
desolation. Of all its stateliness—the populous streets, the palaces of
the kings, the fortresses of her warriors—not a ruin remains, except
three tall towers and part of the western wall, which was left for the
defence of the Roman camp. From a Roman point of view, Titus had well
earned the honour of a triumph.
Of course in this connection one falls back on Gibbon: ‘In the midst of a
rocky and barren country the walls of Jerusalem inclosed the two
mountains of Sion and Acra within an oval figure of about three miles.
Towards the south the upper town and the fortress of David were erected
on the lofty ascent of Mount Zion; on the north side the buildings of the
lower town covered the spacious summit of Mount Acra, and a part of the
hill distinguished by the name of Moriah, and levelled by human industry,
was crowned with the stately temple of the Jewish nation. After the
final destruction of the temple by the arms of Titus and Hadrian a
ploughshare was drawn over the consecrated ground, as a sign of perpetual
interdiction. Sion was deserted, and the vacant space of the lower city
was filled with the public and private edifices which spread themselves
over the adjacent hill of Calvary. The holy places were polluted with
monuments of idolatry; and, either from design or accident, a chapel was
dedicated to Venus on the spot which had been sanctified by the death and
resurrection of Christ. Almost 300 years after these stupendous events
the profane chapel of Venus was demolished by the order of Constantine,
and the removal of the earth and stone revealed the Holy Sepulchre to the
eyes of mankind. A magnificent church was erected on that mystic ground
by the first Christian emperor; and the effects of his pious munificence
were extended to every spot which had been consecrated by the footsteps
of patriarchs and prophets and the Son of God.’
Admirably Gibbon puts the case. Nevertheless, from that praiseworthy
zeal on the part of Constantine, innumerable woes and awful
demoralization have ensued. The history of Jerusalem has been dark and
dolorous ever since. The priests reaped a golden harvest, and found a
believing generation ever ready to accept even the most marvellous of
their statements, the Empress Helena leading the way. The clergy made
the most of these devout pilgrimages, and exhibited their powers of
invention on an enormous scale. The more the pilgrims demanded, the
greater the supply. The clergy fixed the scene of each memorable event.
They exhibited the instruments which had been used in the passion of
Christ: the nails and the lance that had pierced His hands, His feet, and
His side; the crown of thorns that was planted on His head; the pillar at
which he was scourged; and, above all, they showed the cross on which He
had suffered—dug miraculously out of the ground! It seems to us
impossible that the credulity of people could ever have been so great;
but, alas! there are no miracles or traditions which devoted men and
women are unable to swallow. Such miracles as seemed necessary found
ample credence.
‘The custody of the _true cross_, which on Easter Tuesday,’ writes
Gibbon, ‘was solemnly exposed to the people, was intrusted to the Bishop
of Jerusalem; and he alone might gratify the curious devotion of the
pilgrims by the gift of small pieces, which they enchased in gold or
gems, and carried away in triumph to their respective countries. But as
this gainful branch of commerce must soon have been annihilated, it was
found convenient to suppose that the marvellous wood possessed a secret
power of vegetation, and that its substance, though continually
diminished, still remained entire and unimpaired.’ That is enough. It
is unnecessary to carry our investigations any further. The only relics
in which I could believe were the spurs of that grand old crusader,
Godfrey of Bouillon. In that city of pretended sanctity, with its
doubtful hallowed ground, it does one good to think of Campbell’s
vigorous lines, never more applicable than now:
‘To incantations dost thou trust,
And pompous rites in domes august?
See, mouldering stone and metal’s rust
Belie the vaunt
That man can bless one pile of dust
With chime or chaunt.’
Be that as it may, all steps in Jerusalem are dogged with doubt. You
hear a great deal more than you can believe. We tread on ruins and know
what they are,—so far we can believe their testimony. Yet the city is
full of surpassing interest. ‘After Rome,’ writes Dr. Russell Forbes, in
his valuable little work, ‘The Holy City: its Topography, Walls, and
Temples,’ ‘there is no city which appeals to the feelings like Jerusalem;
the sympathy is deeper and stronger than that of Athens, which we place
third on the list. As the sympathy towards the Eternal City is derived
from profane history, so as it were in opposition, one’s feelings toward
the Holy City owe their origin to sacred history. These two cities,
sacred and profane, stand out boldly on the world’s surface like the
figures in Titian’s celebrated picture—one appealing to the sun, the
other to the wind. The sacred is more ancient than the profane, and the
wind of controversy has swept equally over both, while the spade of
modern science has in each case confounded the sceptic and established
the truth of the unbroken records of the past.’ That is putting the case
rather strongly. At any rate, in studying the topography of Ancient Rome
the authorities are many. In Jerusalem they are few—but the Bible,
Josephus and the Talmud. It is only of late that we got at the real
Jerusalem. It was not till explorations, surveys, and excavations were
made that anything beyond tradition, mostly false, was known of the
ancient city. It is below its modern level that one has to trace the
remains of the real Jerusalem. As Byron wrote of Rome, so we may say of
the Holy City:
‘The Goth, the Christian, time, war, flood, and fire
Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city’s pride.
She saw her glories star by star expire,
And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,
Where the car climbed the Capitol; far and wide,
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site:
Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void,
O’er the dim fragments cast a lunar light,
And say, “Here was, or is,” where all is doubly night?’
It was not till 1868 that the time arrived for cheap excursions to
Jerusalem. The credit of the idea is to be given to the late Mr. Thomas
Cook. In the time of the Crusades the bands which visited Palestine did
so under a leader. At a later date parties travelled in the form of a
caravan. Before visiting the lands of the Bible Mr. Cook consulted that
eminent traveller and at one time popular author and lecturer, Mr. James
Silk Buckingham, as to the best route,—and collected information from
every available quarter. Then he made the trip by himself in 1868. On
his return home he advertised a tour in Palestine and the Nile in the
following spring. Before a month had elapsed thirty-two ladies and
gentlemen had taken tickets for the trip to the Nile and Palestine, and
thirty to Palestine only; and now they come by the hundred at a time, so
popular is the trip. From the year 1868 up to 1891, 1,200 persons had
visited Palestine under Cook’s protection. Many of these travellers held
high social positions, such as their Royal Highnesses the Duke of
Edinburgh, the Duke of Clarence and Avondale, Prince George of Wales;
their Imperial Highnesses the Grand Duke and Duchess Sergius, the Grand
Duke Paul of Russia, the King of Servia, and other travellers of
distinction. It is a part of the business of the firm much patronized by
American tourists and the clergy of all denominations. Up to the time of
the firm taking up the matter, travellers were at the mercy of savage
chiefs, who made them pay dearly for the permission which they granted to
pass through their districts. These chiefs were as fickle as they were
avaricious, and as dilatory as they were exacting. All this vexatious
delay has vanished. When you start you are certain of arrival at the day
indicated, and of being able to return in a similar manner. Moreover,
the element of danger has been eliminated. You are safe in Jerusalem as
in London—perhaps safer; for as there is always danger in the streets of
London from hardened criminals and careless drivers of cabs and
omnibuses, and the ever-increasing multitude of men and women who have
taken to the bicycle—and ‘rush in where angels fear to tread.’
Finally, after Omar and Saladin, Syria and Palestine were conquered by
Selim, and since then, with the slight advent of the Crusaders, have
formed part of the Turkish Empire. The inhabitants complain a good deal
of the injustice and corruption of the Turkish tax-gatherers, and I fancy
not without reason; but that the city is prosperous and flourishing now
is evident to the most superficial observer, from the number of new
buildings erected in every direction. I believe it is a fact that the
number of people living outside the city is far greater than the
population within. It is a fashion to build schools and churches and
convents everywhere, Russia in this respect standing ahead of the rest.
I don’t care to go into the city. What I see there is all fiction,
hallowed, if you like, by the superstition of ages. In the daytime all
is noise and confusion. The trader sits in his little shop in a narrow
street, covered from the sun, and there the people collect in every
variety of costume—some in rags and almost naked; others, like the cavass
of some consulate, in a dark, showy dress, with a grand sword hanging
from his thigh; but the prevailing fashion seems to be a brown or blue
jacket hanging over a print skirt extending down to the feet. Some are
almost as black as niggers.
Immense as is the traffic of the city and the noise and tumult by day,
the silence by night is equally wonderful. There is no living soul or
body to be seen in the streets by night—nor a light; not even the bark of
a dog is heard. There is scarce a street in which you can walk
comfortably either inside Jerusalem or outside. There are stones
everywhere to throw you down, and then there is the dust. That deserves
a chapter in itself. It is simply awful. There is a cartload of it
inside me now. It is white as snow; it fills the air; you can see
nothing. As we got out of the railway-station, and got into carriages to
drive towards the hotel, we could not see an inch of the way on account
of the dust. To make it worse, the drivers all set out at full speed,
and in the race to get in first it seemed to me that a collision was
inevitable; however, happily, no casualty occurred. A poor unfortunate
donkey was run over—that was all.
As an illustration of what the natives have to suffer under Turkish rule,
let me give the following account of a gossip with a driver I met with.
His father had died and left him a little property in the fertile plain
of Sharon. The man did all he could to improve it—fenced it with stones,
dug it over and enriched the soil, planted olive-trees and dates, and
then, when the crop was nearly ready, the Turkish taxpayer came and
demanded a third of the estimated value, and got it. In a fortnight
after he was visited by the Bedouins, who took another third, and in the
end the poor man had to give up his little farm. The Turks are bad, but
the lawless Bedouins who harry the land are infinitely worse. For
instance, one of our party drove down to Jericho by himself. He got out
to walk in one part of the road, and got ahead of his driver.
Immediately he found himself surrounded by a crew of these ruffians.
Happily, he had with him the American Consul’s cavass, who, seeing the
position, came up with his [Picture: General view of Jerusalem from the
Convent of the Sisters of Zion] loaded revolver, at the sight of which
the gentleman was rescued, as the rascals fled. There is no taming the
Bedouin of the desert. He only owns the rule of his sheikh. The Turkish
ruler of the province is afraid of him, and actually pays him a tribute
to be allowed to send his yearly offering to Mecca. No wonder the land
is bare of life. It is a wonder that there is any cultivation at all.
The people are forced to live in villages, remote from one another, and
there they defend themselves against the enemy as best they can. You see
nowhere a farmhouse, a cottage, or country house. For miles and miles
not a human habitation is visible.
As most of us are sitting half asleep in the smoking-room after our
mid-day meal, a wailing sound reaches my ears. I rush to the window and
see a funeral procession. Someone has died in one of the houses above
us, and they are bearing the dead body into the city for burial. About
100 men and women follow, wailing as they go, while on each side of the
coffin—a very unsightly structure borne on a rude bier—walk the
black-robed priests, evidently of the Greek Church. The sight is not
particularly imposing as the procession makes its way, while the world
goes on selling and buying much as usual. I pity the poor mourners and
the priests as they move slowly along. I know not, but perhaps the
presence of so many priests may indicate that the deceased was a person
of some consequence in his community.
I resume my writing, and then a native comes in to rub off the white dust
which has come in through the open window. It is impossible to keep out
the fine white dust, and all day the flies are equally troublesome. I
hear of some of the ladies being bitten by the mosquitoes, but the
latter, happily, leave me alone. The courteous manners of the dragomans
who fill the hall of the hotel are amusing. All of them seem much
interested as to my health, and anxiously inquire how I slept. As I
write, Mr. Howard’s nephew is arranging the papers in the smoking-room; a
native enters, who kisses the back of his hand with effusion—a [Picture:
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre] pledge, I learn, of faithful service.
As to the people in general, they seem to be mere drudges and to have
little idea of amusement; amusement in the Holy City is not tolerated.
Now and then you see in the narrow, darkened streets a few sitting round
a hookah, enjoying a quiet smoke, but the people, dressed out in all the
colours of the rainbow, plod up and down wearily in a never-ending
stream, in pursuance of their daily tasks. A good deal of building is
going on outside the city walls. There is no scaffolding, no hodman with
bricks and mortar; the solid stone walls seem to grow up in the most
hopeless confusion. Of course you see no decent carriages. Around the
door of the hotel there is a daily collection of donkeys and horses and
carriages, the last all white with dust and of the most rickety
character. One would think they would fall to pieces over the bad roads,
almost as bad as those of Constantinople; but I hear of no accident,
though it seems as you watch the flying crowd that one may occur at any
moment.
As I chat with my dragoman, I ask him if he is married. His reply is
that he cannot afford it; it would cost him £60 to get a wife. Perhaps
it were as well that the cost of a wife in England were as much; we might
have fewer marriages of the kind that tend to misery and want. The
servants in the hotel seemed remarkably honest. There was a lock to my
door, but I could not get it to act, so my room remained unlocked, and I
missed nothing, even when one morning I left my purse on the table,
containing all my money, when I went to breakfast. A breakfast consists
of hot rolls, good coffee, and delicious honey. At lunch the first
course consists of olives, radishes, lemons and vegetables, which are
supposed to create an appetite. At dinner we have a wonderful lot of
stewed flesh, and vegetables are often served up as a separate course.
In the evening the hall is lighted up with many lamps, and the dealers
come and turn it into a bazaar. They are not above making a considerable
reduction. But really there is very little manufactured in Jerusalem—the
Sacred City. Oh, how I loathe the term as I tread the church of the
reputed Holy Sepulchre—its stones slippery with the tread of millions of
pilgrims in all ages, its sacred shrines worn away by the kisses of the
faithful. As I sit outside, a cripple comes to a pillar of the door, on
which a cross has been rudely carved. He kisses that cross and stands
there praying. Those poor devotees—how they kiss, and kneel, and crawl,
and pray!
The most interesting man I have seen is the Rev. Ben Oliel. Born in
Morocco in 1826, a man wonderfully active for his years, you would not
take him to be more than sixty at the best. At Tangiers he attended the
Rabbinical schools, learning Spanish at home, Arabic out of doors, and
Hebrew and Chaldee at school. He speaks English with great readiness and
fluency. When eighteen years of age he read the New Testament for the
first time, but his father took it away from him—however, not before a
spirit of inquiry was raised in his mind. In 1847, while visiting at
Gibraltar, he became acquainted with a Christian friend, who gave him the
‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ and ‘Keith on Prophecy’ to read. From them he
learnt that Jesus was the Messiah and the Saviour of men. He then
resolved to come to England to prepare to preach the Gospel to the Jews.
The committee of the Society for the Promotion of Christianity among the
Jews accepted his services, and sent him to labour in Gibraltar and North
Africa. During a visit to England in 1850 he translated the Gospel of
St. Luke into Hebrew-Spanish, and also a number of tracts into Hebrew and
Spanish. In 1852 he was ordained to the ministry in Orange Street
Chapel, London, by twelve ministers representing Presbyterian,
Congregational, Baptist, and Lutheran Churches. Shortly after he was
recognised by the Presbytery of Edinburgh as a minister, and ordained a
missionary of that church, and was sent to Thessalonica and Smyrna, where
he established missions. Later on his old society—the British—sent him
to Algiers, when he succeeded in inducing his relatives to become
Christians, who are now usefully employed in Christian work. Mr. Ben
Oliel has been twice married—first to a daughter of Rev. B. Lewis, a
Baptist minister of London, and then, after a widowerhood of some years,
to a sister of Mr. Seeley, Vicar of Clacton-on-Sea, and a cousin of
Professor Seeley, author of ‘Ecce Homo.’
We next find him in Spain. In Cadiz he laboured with much success,
sometimes having a congregation of 1,000 hearers. He opened schools for
both sexes, where he had as many as 360 children. His success provoked
the animosity and opposition of the Romish priests, who started a
newspaper to put him down. Thence, for reasons perfectly satisfactory,
he returned to his old scene of labour in Algeria, and commenced a very
successful mission at Oran. From Oran he was sent to Rome to labour
among the Jews, and then the question was put to him—would he go to
Jerusalem? To this question there could be only one, and that an
affirmative, reply. In the ancient city he is certainly the right man in
the right place. In the first place, he can converse in Hebrew with
learned Jews and Rabbis, with whom the city is full. It is a curious
fact that Hebrew is fast becoming a living tongue in Jerusalem, as is
evident from the fact that the only newspapers now published in Palestine
are two weeklies in Jerusalem, both in the Hebrew tongue. Another
advantage Mr. Ben Oliel possesses is that he can talk to the Sephardim
Spanish Jews in their own dialect; and they, it seems, are the most
ancient in the city and the most easy of access; and then, again, as an
undenominationalist, he has provided an upper room, where he holds an
English service on a Sunday, sometimes attended by as many as 100
English-speaking travellers from all parts of the world. His work is now
entirely supported by friends, especially Americans, who sympathize in
his aim. He has no great society at his back; he fights on his own
behalf, in faith that the supplies when needed will come. In his work he
is greatly aided by his devoted wife and daughter, who have established
schools—one of them a sewing-class of girls, to which I paid a visit.
In his schools Mr. Oliel met with great opposition from the Jewish
Rabbis. They held a conference on the subject. The outcome of their
conference was seen the following Saturday. Great and solemn warning was
preached in every synagogue at morning prayer to the Jews not to continue
going to the Christians, and earnest pleading with them to put an end to
this sin in Israel. On the doors of all synagogues, inside and outside
town, were placards, some of which were handed to individuals. Here is a
translation of one:
‘Inasmuch as we hear that two schools of the English have been
opened, one inside and the other outside the town, and women, sons
and daughters of the Israelite people are going to them, and
according to the information that reaches us they are stumbling in
the sin of idolatry, for above all they are required to believe in
their religion, as their conditions, as it is heard; we heard and our
bowels trembled, how can it be that because of straits we should
forsake our faith, God forbid, and believe in the sin of idolatry,
and the end will be that in a short time they will abandon the Holy
Law and turn to the law of the Protestants, God forbid, whose whole
interest is to tempt and push precious souls of Israel and bring them
to their faith, thereupon they are told in the name of the _First in
Zion_, and in the name of the exalted Rabbis, even _all the fathers
of the House of Judges_, _the righteous_, and in the name of all the
Rabbis, that from this day forward, after we have given them to
understand the heavy forbidden thing they are doing—certain that
Israel are holy—they should withdraw and not go to those places,
neither women nor young men, nor girls or little children at all, and
let them trust in the Blessed be His Name, who feeds and nourishes
all, and to whom is the power and the greatness, and let them not
think for a moment of benefit, whose end is bitter like poison of
losing their Judaism, God forbid; and no benefit will they derive
from those cents, and keep this exhortation before their eyes
continually all the days; and in eight days from to-day those schools
will be found empty, that no Jew’s foot shall tread in them any more,
which we shall hear and rejoice, and if, which God forbid, that time
arriving and any still continue to go, let them know assuredly that
as they sought to separate themselves from the community of the
people of Israel, we also therefore will endeavour with all our
strength to separate from them. If sons are born to them, there will
be no one to circumcise them, if any get married, there will be no
one to give the nuptial blessings. If any die, they will not be
buried with the Jews. The women will not be married to Jews. To
young men no Jewesses will be given. They will be a separate people.
We trust that from this day forward they will withdraw from the said
schools, and despise them as unclean, and will not go near their
doors; and will have trust in God, exalted be His Name, preferring to
starve to death as Jews, and not arrive to this measure [of
punishment]. And let them not suppose that we shall be silent, but
we shall persecute them to the bitter end as far as our hands can
reach.
‘Blessing to those who obey.’
Seal of the Chief Rabbi.
Seal of the Judges.
Considering that the Rabbis have considerable sums of money sent them
from abroad to distribute among the poor every month, and that many
houses are given to the worthy penniless free of rent for several years,
it is no wonder that the parents of the little ones were afraid to
disobey their tyrannic rulers, and kept their children away from the
school.
I find the Y.M.C.A. have a branch here, founded by Mr. Hind Smith in
1890, and are doing useful work, and just outside the Jaffa Gate is a
depot for the sale of Bibles. But I have been somewhat astonished at the
bitter, exclusive spirit displayed in some quarters where I might have
hoped for better things. It is difficult for a Jew to make a profession
of Christianity. If he does so, he has to leave the place at once. The
strong caste spirit among the Jews is also very great. The high caste
will not associate with the men of a lower caste. But where people dare
not go to the recognised agencies for Jewish conversion, many come to Mr.
Oliel for a chat, and Turks as well. Such missionary work as he does
seems to be of the right stamp and worthy of British support. An
increasing interest is being taken in Jerusalem, though, alas! I cannot
say with the Psalmist, ‘Thy servants take pleasure in her stones and
favour the dust thereof.’ They are my stumbling-block by night and day.