JERUSALEM.
We approach at length the centre of interest in Palestine--the Holy
City. In this chapter are gathered up the results of fifteen visits to
the capital, and of two winters, one passed in a country villa outside,
and a second within the walls, in our “own hired house.” During this
time I penetrated into almost every nook and corner of the city, and
visited its underground passages, and its smallest churches and mosques.
From my room in the Mediterranean Hotel I looked out at dawn. The
orange-coloured light behind the Mount of Olives showed a black outline
of mosque and tree and hill, with steel-coloured mountains to the right,
capped by long wreaths of leaden vapour. The town lay in darkness below,
its roofs shining wet with the heavy dew. Dimly visible the great dome
of the Chapel of the Rock shone with its new coat of lead, and the tall
minaret on the north wall of the Haram, together with the dark
cypresses, was just distinguishable. A vapour went up over the whole
city, and gave it a weird and dream-like aspect.
Soon the town awoke, and the morning hubbub began. Long trains of camels
came in, and the swarthy Bedawîn wrangled with the soldiers at the gate.
The market-girls from Bethlehem appeared under David’s Tower, and, as
the crowd thickened, black priests in saucepan-like hats jostled sickly
Jews, with fur caps, long lovelocks, and dirty gabardines. The
heavily-shod, unkempt Russian pilgrims mingled with sleek Rabbis, with
Europeans, and German residents; Armenians with apple-cheeks and broad
red sashes, and fierce Kurds with long moustachios and swords, were also
numerous.
So motley a scene as that which is presented daily in David Street and
in the market-place under David’s Tower, is perhaps to be found nowhere
else. The chatter of the market-people, the shouting of the
camel-drivers, the tinkling of bells, mingle with the long cry of the
naked derwish, as he wanders, holding his tin pan for alms, and praising
unceasingly “the Eternal God.” The scene is most remarkable in the
morning, before the glare of the sun, beating down on the stone city,
has driven its inhabitants into the shadow; for, later on, the white
houses, white chalk hills, and dull grey domes, present a truly
unattractive prospect; but about eight a.m. the market still lies in
cool shadow, under the huge ochre-coloured tower, with a background of
cypresses, and of white walls belonging to the Bible Warehouse. The
foreground is composed of a tawny group of camels lying down, donkeys
bringing in vegetables or carrying out rubbish, and women in blue and
red dresses slashed with yellow, their dark faces and long eyes (tinged
with blue) shrouded in white veils, which are fringed perhaps with black
or red. Soldiers in black, and Softas in spotless robes, are haggling
about their change, or praying in public undisturbed by the din.
Horsemen ride by in red boots with red saddles, and spears fifteen feet
long. The Greek Patriarch walks past on a visit, preceded by his
macebearers and attended by his secretary. Up the narrow street comes
the hearse of a famous Moslem, followed by a long procession of women,
in white “izars,” which envelop the whole figure, swelling out like
balloons, and leaving only the black mask of the face-veil visible;
their voices are raised in the high-pitched tremulous ululation which is
alike their cry for the dead and their note of joy for the living. Next,
perhaps, follows a regiment of sturdy infantry marching back to the
castle, with a colonel on a prancing grey--men who have shown their
mettle since then, and fat, unwieldy officers, who have perhaps broken
down under the strain of campaigning. Their bugles blow a monotonous
tune, to which the drums keep time, and the men tread, not in step, but
in good cadence to the music. If it be Easter, the native crowd is
mingled with the hosts of Armenian and Russian pilgrims, the first ruddy
and stalwart, their women handsome and black-eyed, the men fierce and
dark; the Russians, yet stronger in build and more barbarian in air,
distinguished from every other nationality by their unkempt beards,
their long locks, their great fur caps, and boots. Not less distinct are
the Spanish, Mughrabee, Russian, and German Jews, each marked by a
peculiar and characteristic physiognomy.
Jerusalem is a city of contrasts, and differs widely from Damascus, not
merely because it is a stone town in mountains, whilst the latter is a
mud city in a plain, but because, while in Damascus Moslem religion and
Oriental custom are unmixed with any foreign element, in Jerusalem every
form of religion, every nationality of East and West, is represented at
one time.
Jerusalem is quite a small town, the circumference of its walls being
only two miles and three-quarters; yet within this space it contains a
population of 20,000 souls. Ten sects or religions are established in
it, and, if their various sub-divisions are counted, they amount to a
total of twenty-four, more than half of which are Christian. Prophets
and visionaries of no particular sect are also not wanting at any time
in the Holy City.
Jerusalem is a very ugly city. It is badly built of mean stone houses
perched on the slope of the watershed, and seems in constant danger of
sliding into the Kedron Valley. Beautiful bits of architecture are to be
admired in its interior--the Gothic façade of the Holy Sepulchre, the
grand walls of the Temple, the glowing interior of the mosque; the view
towards the east is also very fine, a long wall of far-off mountains,
with a foreground of embattled parapets and slender minarets standing
out against the distance. Yet, with all this, the city as a whole is not
beautiful; its flat-roofed houses and dirty lanes are neither pleasing
nor healthy, and the surrounding chalk hills are barren and shapeless.
Shechem is a fine well-watered city. Damascus is bedded in gardens, and
bristles with minarets, but there is nothing in the site or architecture
of Jerusalem, as a whole, which can save it from the imputation of
ugliness.
Going down David Street and through the fruit bazaar, with its
background of arches, wooden balconies, marble portals brown with age,
and fragments of Crusading architecture, you come at length through a
bye-lane to the Jews’ wailing-place--a narrow street with the high
Temple rampart rising on the east. All along the narrow court the Jews
are crowded on Friday. The scene is striking from the great size and
strength of the mighty stones, which rise without door or window up to
the domes and cypresses above, suggesting how utterly the original
worshippers are cast out, by men of alien race and faith, as they here
congregate to bewail “our people that are wanderers, our priests that
are defiled, our Temple that is cast down.”
Nearest to us stood the Pharisees from Germany, the Ashkenazi Jews,
dressed in their best; the old men with grey locks and thin grey beards,
on their heads the high black velvet cap edged with fur, their lovelocks
curling on either side of their lank faces, their robes long gabardines
of many colours; the younger men had blue-black hair, and pale
strongly-marked features; here and there one saw a richly-dressed boy, a
few little red-haired children, and occasionally an old woman, their
faces all stamped with that subtle likeness which betrays the Jews in
any country, and in any dress.
There were bits of colour in these groups which would have delighted
Rembrandt. An aged white-haired man, in a mulberry gabardine and black
velvet cap, contrasted with the black satin and fur of his next
neighbour, and in front of both was a third in a green dress. All these
dark rich costumes were set in a warm background of tawny colour made by
the great wall towering above.
Beyond the Ashkenazi were the Spanish and Mughrabee Jews, in quieter
colours with black turbans, brown-eyed and more dignified in bearing.
Presently came in a hulking fellow in citron-coloured coat and blue
trousers, with a tall black pointed lambs-wool cap--a Russian Jew. The
little Pharisees seemed to dwindle beside this giant, and his handsome,
fresh-coloured face, blue eyes, and russet beard, seemed hardly to allow
of his being one of the same nation; but it is the greatest peculiarity
of the Jews that while never intermarrying, they yet approach in
appearance most nearly the natives of the country in which they live,
without entirely losing national traits of a distinctive character--a
striking proof of the influence of climate and surroundings on race.
The emotion of a few of the worshippers was affecting. Here an aged
woman in a white veil stood mute, her eyes fixed on the great stones of
the Eternal House; there an elder leant his tearful face against the
wall, his lips moving, his prayer-book unheeded. But as a rule the crowd
maintained the tranquillity of an English congregation, and their dress
and appearance was rather ludicrous than otherwise. The Rabbi read verse
by verse the touching lamentation service, leaning his book on the wall,
and lighted by two or three ordinary candle-lanterns placed before him.
The assembly gave the responses in the peculiar manner of the Jews,
which reminds one of the buzzing of a swarm of flies when disturbed, and
they swayed their bodies all the time with the extraordinary bobbing
motion which always accompanies their prayers.
Strange and indeed unique is the spectacle, and it reminds one forcibly
of the unchanged character of the Jews. After nineteen centuries of
wandering and exile, they are still the same as ever, still bound by the
iron chain of Talmudic law, a people whose slavery to custom outruns
even that of the Chinese to etiquette, and whose veneration for the past
appears to bar the way of progress or improvement in the present.
Entering by the gate of the Cotton Bazaar, we stand at length within the
Temple courts. Before us are the steps which lead up to the platform
where shoes must be removed; for while the outer court, like the old
Court of the Gentiles, is a promenade, the paved platform is a sacred
enclosure, not to be trodden except barefoot.
From the bright sunlight we pass suddenly into the deep gloom of the
interior, lit with the “dim religious light” of the glorious purple
windows. The gorgeous colouring, the painted wood-work, the fine marble,
the costly mosaics, the great dome flourished all over with arabesques
and inscriptions, and gilded to the very top, all this splendour gleams
out here and there from the darkness.
And in honour of what is this beautiful chapel built? A low canopy of
rich silk covers the dusty limestone ledge round which the “Dome of the
Rock” has risen. The Rock of Paradise is the scene of Mohammed’s
ascension, the source of the rivers of Paradise, the Place of Prayer of
all the Prophets, the Foundation-stone of the World.
Such was the holy spot enshrined by the Dome. The sacred rock, recovered
and purified by Omar, was soon after enclosed by the Khalif Abd el
Melek, and the inscriptions on the walls give the history of this
building with most remarkable detail.
The Arab historians relate that the Dome of the Chain was the model for
the Dome of the Rock. Now this is possible, if we except the outer wall
of the latter. Take that wall away, and you have a building consisting
of two concentric polygons, with pillars bound together by a wooden
beam, and supporting arcades. The Dome of the Rock is just three times
the size of the Dome of the Chain, and the various measures of plan and
height are proportional. The smaller building may therefore have been
originally the model of the larger.
Over the outer arcade of the Dome of the Rock runs the great Cufic
inscription, giving the date of the erection of the building in 688 A.D.
The name of Abd el Melek, the fourth of the Ommiyah Khalifs, has been
taken out at a later period, and that of Mamûn, one of the Abbasîyeh
Khalifs, substituted; but the clumsy forger has forgotten the date, and
has used a lighter blue in the grounding, thus the antiquity of the text
is the more confirmed by the alteration.
This inscription dates the arcade, and thus apparently the inner circle,
but not necessarily the outer wall, which may be later. The doors in
this outer wall bear Cufic inscriptions dating 831 A.D., at which time
Mamûn restored the building; the beams in the roof resting on the wall
bear the date 913 A.D. In the ninth century the pointed arch began to be
used by the Arabs, and the outer wall cannot be dated later than this;
but if it be, as may naturally be supposed, of the same date with its
doors, it is part of the work of El Mamûn, and this agrees with the idea
that ’Abd el Melek’s Dome of the Rock consisted of two concentric
arcades only, proportional to those of the Dome of the Chain. The
symmetry of the present proportions is destroyed by the great breadth of
the larger building in comparison with its height, which is due simply
to the addition of the outer wall. Once remove the outer wall, and the
pleasing proportions of the Dome of the Chain are reproduced to three
times their scale.
The Dome of the Rock belongs to that obscure period of Saracenic art
when the Arabs had not as yet created an architectural style of their
own, and when they were in the habit of employing Byzantine architects
to build their mosques. Among the rare specimens of their work at this
time, is the Mosque of ’Amrû, at Cairo, commenced in 642 A.D., and
apparently almost rebuilt by that very ’Abd el Melek whose work in
Jerusalem we are now considering.
Of the Egyptian building Mr. Fergusson writes: “It probably now remains
in all essential parts as left by these two Caliphs” (’Abd el Melek and
his successor, Walid). It is therefore very interesting to compare the
Jerusalem Haram with the Cairo mosque, and the resemblance is striking.
In both there is a large rectangular area surrounded by colonnades; the
pillars in the Cairo mosque are torn from older buildings, and support
round arches, and a wooden beam runs above the capitals,--details also
observable in the Dome of the Rock.
In both cases there is a mosque on the south wall of the enclosure, that
at Jerusalem being, however, a Christian church adapted to Moslem
worship, as is the great mosque at Damascus, also partly rebuilt by
Walid.
In both the enclosures there is also the same feature of an octagonal
building in the centre of the area, with an inner arcade supporting the
dome; and this kind of structure is found in many other mosques at
Damascus and in Cairo, being essentially an Arab building, suited either
to give shade to a fountain useful for ablutions before prayer, or for
the protection of some spot sacred, as the Mukam or “standing-place” of
a saint or prophet. Such is the Dome of the Rock, not a mosque, as it is
sometimes wrongly called, but a “station” in the outer court of the Aksa
mosque.
In 831 A.D. the Khalif El Mamûn restored the Dome of the Rock, and if I
am correct, enclosed it with an outer wall and gave it its present
appearance. The beams in the roof of the arcade bear, as above stated,
the date 913 A.D.: a well-carved wooden cornice, hidden by the present
ceiling, must then have been visible beneath them.
In 1016 A.D. the building was partly destroyed by earthquake. To this
date belong restorations of the original mosaics in the dome, as
evidenced by inscriptions. The present wood-work of the cupola was
erected by Husein, son of the Sultan Hakem, as shown by an inscription
dated 1022 A.D.
The place next fell into the hands of the Crusaders, who christened it
Templum Domini, and established in 1112 A.D. a chapter of Canons. The
Holy Rock was then cut into its present shape and covered with marble
slabs, an altar being erected on it. The works were carried on from 1115
A.D. to 1136 A.D. The beautiful iron grille between the pillars of the
drum, and various fragments of carved work are of this date, including
small altars with sculptured capitals, having heads upon
them--abominations to the Moslem, yet still preserved within the
precincts. The interior of the outer wall was decorated in the twelfth
century with frescoes, traces of which still remain. The exterior of the
same wall is surmounted by a parapet, with dwarf pillars and arches,
which is first mentioned by John of Wurtzburg, but must be as old as the
round arches of the windows below. The Crusaders would seem to have
filled up the parapet arches, and to have ornamented the whole with
glass mosaic, as at Bethlehem.
In 1187 A.D. Saladin won the city, tore up the altar, and once more
exposed the bare rock, covered up the frescoes with marble slabs, and
restored and regilded the dome, as evidenced by an inscription in it
dating 1189 A.D.
In 1318 A.D. the lead outside and the gilding within were restored by
Nakr ed Dîn, as evinced by an inscription.
In 1520 A.D. the Sultan Soliman cased the bases and upper blocks of the
columns with marble. The wooden cornice, attached to the beam between
the pillars, seems to be of this period, and the slightly pointed marble
casing of the arches under the dome is probably of the same date. The
windows bear inscriptions of 1528 A.D. The whole exterior was at this
time covered with Kishâni tiles, attached by copper hooks, as evidenced
by inscriptions dated 1561 A.D. The doors were restored in 1564 A.D., as
also shown by inscriptions.
The date of the beautiful wooden ceiling of the cloisters is not known,
but it partly covers the Cufic inscription, and this dates 72 A.H. (688
A.D.), and it hides the wooden cornice, dating probably 913 A.D. The
ceiling is therefore probably of the time of Soliman.
In 1830 A.D. the Sultan Mahmûd, and in 1873-5 A.D. the late ’Abd el
’Azîz, repaired the Dome, and the latter period was one specially
valuable for those who wished to study the history of the place.
Such is a plain statement of the gradual growth of the building. The
dates of the various inscriptions on the walls fully agree with the
circumstantial accounts of the Arab writers who describe the Dome of the
Rock.
The materials employed were all apparently designed for their present
uses and positions, with exception of the columns supporting the dome
and the outer arcade. These have a Byzantine character, and they appear
to have been torn from some other building or buildings, probably from
Christian churches, just as in the case of the Mosque of ’Amrû at Cairo,
or like the pillars which Jezzar Pacha at Acre collected for his mosque.
Of every capital in the place I made a careful sketch; of those under
the dome, as shown in the illustration, only three are alike. The cross
is said to occur on one boss, as at Bethlehem. I have searched for this
in vain, though I have a sketch of every boss, but there would be no
impossibility in its presence if the pillar came from a church. The
bases differ as much as the capitals, as we saw when the marble slabs
were removed in 1875. The shafts are also of various heights and
diameters, and one at least is upside down, with the capital of another
pillar placed on its base end.
Leaving this beautiful and interesting building we crossed the platform
southward, having on our right the old sun-dial, which the Crusaders
held to mark the site of the Temple altar; and passing the beautiful
summer pulpit we descended to the southern court. The most picturesque
view is from this point. The Dome of the Rock is seen behind the
venerable cypresses of the lower court--a great cupola on which sit
innumerable doves, while, beneath it, the walls are resplendent with the
harmonious colouring of the tiles--white, blue, green, black, and
yellow, in elegant tracery which cannot now be imitated. In front are
the flat steps leading up to the pillars and arches called “balances” by
the Moslems, and below them are the little chambers of the Sheikhs who
live in the enclosure.
The black fanatics who guard the holy place lounged among the trees, and
a funeral procession was slowly marching, with subdued murmurs, round
the Chapel of the Rock, while, by a curious coincidence, a gorgeous
wedding-party in bright-coloured silks, was also approaching the same
place.
The great enclosure outside the platform is not paved; it is covered
with grass and planted with olives and cypresses. Only the platform is
fairly level, and its flagging in parts is covered with Crusading
masons’-marks. There is, as above noticed, only one mosque in the
enclosure--the great building on the south wall. The whole area is
called Haram esh Sherîf, “High Sanctuary,” and Masjid el Haram,
“Praying-place of Sanctuary;” also sometimes Masjid el Aksa, “the
far-off praying-place,” in allusion to its distance from Mecca and to
the Prophet’s long night journey. The mosque itself is called Jami’a el
Aksa, or the “far-off meeting-house.” To it we next repaired.
The history of the mosque differs from that of the Dome of the Rock.
Justinian, in the sixth century, erected a basilica in honour of the
Virgin, partly supported by vaults beneath. The remains of such a
basilica are distinguishable in the Aksa, and the vault beneath the
mosque has the peculiarity of Byzantine vaulting--the narrow keystone,
which is not found in the round arches of the Kubbet es Sakhrah, or Dome
of the Rock.
In 637 A.D. the Church of St Mary was visited by Omar, and the “station”
where he prayed is still shown in the Aksa. In 688 A.D. Abd el Melek
covered the doors with gold and silver plates. Additions were made in
the eighth century, and the width of the building was increased. The
cupola bears the date 728 A.D. The Crusaders called the place Solomon’s
Palace, Solomon’s Porch, or Solomon’s Temple. The Templars remodelled
it, adding an apse on the east and a long hall on the west. Again it
fell into Moslem hands, and further alterations were made; thus at the
present day it presents a confusion of style and plan requiring the eye
of a practised architect to distinguish the various additions.
The general effect is poor, for the interior is whitewashed and coarsely
painted; only at the south end do any remains of the old glass mosaics
still exist, and here are found close together the beautiful pulpit of
parquetted wood-work from Damascus, and the new glass chandelier from
Constantinople, the twisted columns of the Templars’ dining-hall, and
the heavy basket-work capitals of the Byzantine basilica, while, in the
vault beneath, is the huge monolith, which three men can scarcely girth,
supporting the porch of the Temple-gate--a mixture of styles which
cannot perhaps be found in any other building in the world.
Many chapters might be written on the High Sanctuary and its buildings,
but space is wanting to describe the gates, the underground passages,
the chambers and cisterns, which I again and again explored, and which
had, already, been minutely examined and described by Major Wilson and
Captain Warren. We must hasten therefore to another building, surpassing
in interest even the Temple enclosure itself, namely, the Church of the
Holy Sepulchre.
It is a grim and wicked old building that we now approach. Perhaps no
other edifice has been directly the cause of more human misery, or
defiled with more blood. There are those who would willingly look upon
it as the real place of the Saviour’s Tomb, but I confess that, for
myself, having twice witnessed the annual orgy which disgraces its
walls, the annual imposture which is countenanced by its priests, and
the fierce emotions of sectarian hate and blind fanaticism which are
called forth by the supposed miracle, and remembering the tale of blood
connected with the history of the Church, I should be loth to think that
the Sacred Tomb had been a witness for so many years of so much human
ignorance, folly, and crime.
The place is nevertheless venerable from its many memories, for whether
or no it encloses the Sepulchre of Christ, it may at least claim to be
the site which Christians, from the fourth century downwards, have
venerated as such. Of this we cannot well have any doubt when we review
the descriptions of the place which have been written in consecutive
centuries, including several recently published.
Jerome places Golgotha north of Sion, and the early Christians included
under the title Sion only the Upper City of Josephus. Eucherius, Bishop
of Lyons, writing in 440 A.D., repeats this description of its position,
and speaks of Siloam as below the city wall, and beneath the
precipitous _eastern_ rock of Sion--a description of relative position
which can only apply to the hill now known as Mount Sion. Jerome himself
speaks of Sion as the citadel of the town, which is still true of the
modern site.
Theodorus, in 530 A.D., is quite as explicit with regard to the position
of the church. “In the middle of the city,” he says, “is a basilica;
from the west side you may enter to the Holy Resurrection, where is the
Sepulchre of our Lord Jesus Christ, and there is the Mount of Calvary,
to which Mount the way is by steps, and it is under one roof.”
We know by contemporary evidence (the Pascal Chronicle) that this
Basilica of Constantine was destroyed, in 614 A.D., by Chosroes the
Persian. Several small chapels were soon after erected instead, by the
monk Modestus, and they are described in 630 A.D. In 700 A.D. Arculphus
gives a detailed account of these new buildings, including the round
Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the square Church of the Virgin, the
Chapel of Golgotha, and, on the east, the Basilica of Constantine
separated by an open space from the round church and from Golgotha. The
relative positions of Calvary and of the Sepulchre in this account, are
the same described by the previous writers, and by Eusebius in his
history of the building of the original Basilica in 333 A.D. Arculphus’
description of the Sepulchre as a place “large enough to allow nine men
to pray standing,” might have been written of the Holy Tomb in the
present church. In 722 A.D. it is again described, and the door of the
tomb is then said to be, as it still is, on the east.
We are thus able to identify the site chosen by Constantine in the
fourth century, with that recognised in the fifth, sixth, seventh, and
eighth centuries. The chapels of Modestus were destroyed, according to
contemporary writers, in 1009 A.D. by the mad Khalif Hakem, but were
restored in 1048. From the year 1033 down to 1099 A.D. innumerable
pilgrimages took place, but accounts of the buildings are not known. The
Crusaders, however, replaced the third system of churches by a
magnificent cathedral, and united once more the Sepulchre and Calvary
under one roof. Their erection dated from 1103 A.D., and remained intact
till 1808, when it was partly destroyed by fire; the southern façade is
however still attributable to the twelfth century. Of the position of
the Crusading site there is also no doubt, and it is shown on charts of
the fourteenth century. Sæwulf, in 1102 A.D., places the site of Calvary
“on the _declivity_ of Mount Sion,” thus agreeing with Eucherius, who
had described it in the fifth century as “placed outside Mount Sion,
where a knoll of scanty size exists to the north.” Both these
expressions fit well, as the plan will show, with the actual site of the
present building.
We approach the church from the south, where is an open court in which,
according to the legend, the Wandering Jew stays for a moment once in
every century to beg admission, and hears a voice which bids him resume
his endless journey. In front of us rise the beautiful Gothic doorways,
the pillars scrawled over with the names of pilgrims, and with dates
from the fourteenth century downwards; beneath our feet lies old Philip
D’Aubigny, close by the threshold, and over his head each year thousands
of pilgrims press through the narrow portal.
Passing through the doorway we enter the vestibule, in which is the
Stone of Unction, a slab of marble with lanterns of ground-glass hung
above it. On the left is the diwân of the Turkish custodians, to the
right the stairs of the Chapel of Calvary, beneath which is the place
where the “rent in the rock” is shown, and where were once the tombs of
Godfrey and Baldwin. Immense wax candles, reaching half-way to the lofty
roof, flank the Stone of Unction, which is devoutly kissed by the
pilgrims. Passing round it to the left, the rotunda of the church is
reached; to the right a narrow passage, with small chapels, runs behind
the apses of the Greek Church, and here a flight of steps leads down to
the subterranean Chapel of Helena, with its picturesque lighting and
heavy eighth-century basket-work capitals; beneath this again is the
dark cave so suggestively named “Chapel of the Invention of the Cross.”
The rotunda is well lighted, with a dome, light blue in colour and
covered with golden lilies in memory of its repair by the French; the
drum is of good white stone. In the centre rises the old Chapel of the
Sepulchre, dark and gloomy, of marble discoloured by age, surmounted by
a queer cupola, of Italian taste, and ornamented all along the top with
gilt nosegays and modern framed pictures. Its entrance is flanked by
very handsome marble candlesticks, and in front of the vestibule are
hung beautiful gold and silver lamps, suspended by chains, and glowing
with a subdued light through glass cups, red, yellow, and green; they
number forty-three in all, thirteen for Franciscans, Greeks, and
Armenians respectively, and four for the poor Copts.
Stooping to enter, we pass into the vestibule or Chapel of the Angel,
walled with marble slabs, and thence into the inner Chapel of the
Sepulchre itself, where the darkness is only relieved by the glowing
lamps over the altar on the Tomb.
The most impressive portion of the church is, however, the nave east of
the rotunda belonging to the Greeks, with its great screen in front of
the three eastern apses. The floor is unoccupied, save by the short
column marking the “centre of the world.” The dome above is poor, rudely
whitewashed, and painted in fresco, with the long strings of globular
lamps usually seen in Greek churches; but the glory of the place
consists in the lofty screen and the panelling of the side walls. Into
the panelling dark pictures are framed, and gilded thrones for the
bishop and patriarch stand, one each side, beyond the dark wooden
choir-stalls. The screen towers up to the roof, and presents figures, in
rows one above another, standing in canopied recesses, but all in low
relief: in the screen are the gates of the apses, and over each gale is
a little purple glass lamp, the colour of which, in the gloom and beside
the tarnished gilding, is truly magnificent. Four candlesticks of grey
marble beautifully carved, the central pair eight feet high, stand
before the steps to the screen; they are presents from the Czar, and
have the Russian eagle on them.
Passing over without description the many minor chapels, which are dingy
and uninteresting, there remains only the Chapel of Calvary to notice.
It is as dark as the greater part of the rest of the church, yet on
arriving at the top of the steep stairs, the general effect is a blaze
of gold. Nearly the whole of the east end is occupied by the Greek
altar. The pictures above it have been covered with gold plates, leaving
only the faces visible. The lamps are gold, the sacred vessels are gold.
The roof is very low, and painted in well executed and ancient fresco on
a blue ground. A faint smell of rosewater pervades the chapel, mingled
with an odour of stale incense.
Sunday after Sunday we revisited the venerable church, and followed the
brown Franciscans in their march round the sacred stations, listening
to the deep sonorous tones of their chant. On one occasion this was
suddenly drowned by the high nasal scream of the Armenians, and we found
the celebrant of the latter rite in the Calvary Chapel,--a priest with a
long beard and peaked Armenian hood. The responses were made by
black-robed acolytes in fezzes, and a second minister, in gaudy robes,
with a gilt-paper crown much too large for him, swung a censer. The
Latin ritual seemed simple and dignified, its music melodious, and its
ministers reverential, when contrasted with the unearthly screeching and
childish mummeries of the Oriental sect.
The plaintive chant of the Franciscans attracted us to the spot where
the officiating priest stood, at the door of the Chapel of the Angel.
The monks knelt in a double row, and the scene was impressive; the
background was formed by the great screen; in front was the dark
chapel--a church within a church. Not less affecting was the aspect of
the congregation, many with sad pale faces telling of no common
histories. One man especially used to draw my attention; light haired,
pale, gaunt, and shabby, kneeling with his little taper in one hand, the
other held out in an attitude of entreaty; his wild eyes were fixed on
the marble Tomb, as though he could hardly believe that, after many
miles of journey, he at last really beheld the Holy Sepulchre. In him
one might fancy a penitent of the old Crusading times, sent on
pilgrimage to expiate some great crime; and the memories of seven
centuries rose up--of the king who refused to be crowned where his
Master had suffered; of the strong men in mail who had knelt in tears on
these stones, and clanked their iron heels about the church; of the time
when the proudest chivalry of Europe had devoted their lives to redeem
the few feet of rock, where they believed the Holy Saviour to have hung
on the cross.
But the time to see the church is the season of Easter. In 1873 and 1875
I was present at the so-called Holy Fire. On the first occasion alone,
on the second with Lieut. Kitchener, with whom I rode sixty miles in one
day from Gaza to see the spectacle.
On the evening before the day of the Fire, the whole huge building was
full of pilgrims, and the long winding passages and galleries were
blocked with human beings, fast asleep, crouched against the walls or
extended on mattresses. In the passage from the door to the rotunda,
Armenian women were propped in long rows against the walls, on a kind
of bench. Most of the pilgrims were asleep, but some still showed by
frequent crossings, prostrations, and sighs, that the keenness of their
ecstasy was unabated.
In 1875 the pilgrimage to Neby Mûsa was going on at the same time, and
parties of wild fanatical Moslems paraded the streets of Jerusalem,
bearing green banners surmounted with the crescent and inscribed with
Arabic texts. A bodyguard armed with battle-axes, spears, and long
brass-bound guns accompanied each flag, and a couple of big drums with
cymbals followed. It speaks well for the Turks, that with all the
elements of a bloody riot thus ready to hand, with crowds of fanatics,
Christian and Moslem, in direct contact, still no disturbances occurred.
By 11.30 a.m. on the 19th of April, 1873, and by the same time on the
22nd of April, 1875, we had been marshalled to a place in the Latin
gallery, west of the Sepulchre, and looking down on the rotunda. Between
the Chapel of the Sepulchre and the rotunda wall is a space some fifteen
paces wide; a double line of Turkish soldiers kept open a narrow lane,
in the middle of this space, round the tomb--a lane sufficiently wide
for three men to walk abreast. On either side the crowd was packed
against the rotunda wall, and against that of the Sepulchre chapel, and
packed so thickly, that it seemed impossible for one single body more to
be squeezed in. To say that you could walk on the heads of the crowd
conveys but a poor idea of its compactness; the whole mass seemed welded
into one body, and any movement of a single individual swayed the entire
crowd, which seemed to tremble like a huge jelly.
But who can describe this wonderful scene? The sunlight came down from
above on the north side where the Greeks were gathered, while on the
south all was in shadow. The mellow grey of the marble was lit up, and a
white centre of light was formed by the caps, shirts, and veils of the
native Christians.
A narrow cross-lane was made at the fire-hole on the north side, and
here first two, and in 1875 six herculean guardians, in jerseys and with
handkerchiefs bound to their heads, kept watch--the only figures plainly
distinguishable among the masses.
The effect of colour was remarkable; it seemed to run in patches, as all
of one nationality were near one another. In the sunlight, brown faces
and arms, salmon colour, pink, light blue, and cinnamon in the
clothing, were blended with the white; but, in the shadow, the dark blue
uniforms, the black dresses of nuns, and the brown frieze and red sashes
of the Armenians, were streaked across by the long line of the soldiers’
red fezzes.
On the west a striking contrast was observable; here stood and sat the
Abyssinians and Copts, silent and dusky, with many women among them,
some with small babies in their arms, whose cries of half-suffocation
were plainly heard above the din of many voices and many languages. The
Coptic men were in loose dark robes, with white, twisted turbans, the
women were closely veiled, in flowing indigo-coloured garments. The
Abyssinians, swathed in voluminous white drapery, sat gloomily silent
against the wall. On the east a few Arabs were gathered, also in dark
robes, and behind them was seen the rich colouring of the Greek chancel,
dark and dusky in the dim light.
The pilgrims had been standing in their places for at least ten hours,
yet they showed no signs of weariness. Every face was turned to the
fire-hole, and but one interest seemed to absorb them, save when the
great pewter cans of water, supplied by the charity of the priests, were
brought round.
The variety of national character was also remarkable. Patient and
stolid the Russians and Armenians stood in their places, and a little
forest of candles rose from amongst them, ready to receive the fire,
each pilgrim having a bunch of perhaps a dozen in his hand. Silent and
motionless sat the Egyptians, awaiting the event with all the apathy and
dignified indifference of Orientals. On the north, however, an entirely
different scene was enacted. Here stood the Greek Christians, mostly
Syrians by birth, who were worked up into a state of hysterical frenzy
which would not allow them to be quiet for a moment, and which seemed
ever on the increase. Every now and then a man would struggle on to the
shoulders of his neighbours; in one case six arms, extended full length,
supported him, three to each foot, whilst his baggy trousers were
grasped to keep him steady; another man was pushed and rolled along,
over the people’s heads, as if he was swimming. These individuals became
fugle-men, and led the numerous well-known chants, of which I collected
the following:
“Hádha Kúb-er Sáid-ná.”
This is the most common chant, meaning “This is the Tomb of our Lord,”
and repeated by hundreds of voices in perfect time with the accentuation
as given above. Another chant was to the same cadence:
“A’llah únser és Sul--tán.”
“God help the Sultan.” The next was rarely heard:
“Yá Ye-húd, Yá Ye-húd,
’Aíde-kúm, ’Aid el ku-rúd.”
“O Jews, O Jews! your feast is a feast of apes.”
Two longer chants were also used pretty frequently.
“El Messíh ’Atá-na
Bi dumhu, Ishterá-na
Ahna el yóm fe-rána
Wa el Ye-húd hizá-na.”
“The Christ is given us, with His blood He bought us. We celebrate the
day, and the Jews bewail.”
“Sebt en Nár wa ’Aíd-na
Wa hádha kub-er Sa-ídna.”
“The seventh is the fire and our feast, and this is the Tomb of our
Lord.”
* * * * *
Nothing was more remarkable than the patience of the soldiery who had to
keep order. The Greeks gave most trouble, and in 1873 the feeling
evinced by them was very bitter, because their favourite Patriarch had
just been deposed. A very fat old colonel walked up and down, armed with
a murderous _kurbaj_, or whip of hippopotamus hide; he would sit on the
floor and look at the crowd, sometimes putting an additional big soldier
at a weak point in the line. The men were armed with the Snider, and
were very stalwart and tall. Sometimes the crowd became dangerous, and
hissed. As fast as his legs could carry him, the Colonel rushed to the
spot, and down came the whip; then where a moment before were angry
faces and arms stretched out with clenched fists, there was suddenly
nothing but a flat surface of backs, or a few arms raised to protect the
heads. Yet on the whole it was a good-natured crowd, and the soldiers
were wonderfully patient. Little incidents of a comic nature occurred,
and an Arab chief, who tried to swagger down the lane, found his
head-shawl off and far away in a moment, tossed from hand to hand amid
shouts of laughter.
Two wooden galleries were erected, under the arches to the west, each
three storeys high; and here sat native women of the better class, in
their best silks, yellow and red stuffs, cachemire shawls, white muslin
and blue cloth, with flashing eyes and painted faces. They lay scattered
over the bright carpets, presenting an effect of colour more brilliant
than that of the broad masses of sombre tints below.
About one o’clock in the afternoon, the natives of Jerusalem arrived--a
long wave of human beings bursting suddenly in from the south, and
surging along the narrow lane. Many were stripped to their vests and
drawers--in regular fighting costume. They rushed at the fire-hole, and
the first comers thrust their arms into it to keep their places. The
effect of this crowd within a crowd--a moving wave, ploughing through
the two packed masses--was very curious. No sooner was it pushed and
swept into place and the lane cleared, than it burst into one long loud
shout of repetition--
“Hádha kúb-er Sáid--ná!
Hádha kúb-er Sáid--ná!”
which was repeated twenty or thirty times at a breath; and a big man was
hoisted up, and fairly pounded the walls of the Sepulchre with his fist,
shrieking the same refrain and pointing at the chapel with his fingers,
while the crowd joined in the last syllable--a tremendous shout of “Na!”
And now the rotunda contained some 2000 persons, and the church probably
10,000 in all, when, at 2.15 p.m., the procession was formed, and the
nasal chant of the priests was heard in the Greek church.
First came the banners, looking very shabby, the crosses above them bent
on one side in bygone fights. The procession was a short and hurried
one; the old Patriarch (just elected in 1872) had a frightened air, and
shuffled along, flanked by the Archimandrite and by another dignitary,
each carrying a great silver globe, with holes in it, mounted on a
silver handle, and intended to hold the fire. The tuneless singing was
interrupted by the chorus of the crowd and the shrill cries of the
women. For a moment, in 1873, there seemed danger of a riot. A man
raised his arm and shouted something at the Patriarch in a loud voice.
Instantly an officer was on the spot; the man, who had hidden, was
dragged out, held by the legs, and beaten over head and face, then
thrust back into the crowd, and an extra guard placed over him.
And now a moment of breathless silence followed. Many faces were raised
to the roof, perhaps expecting the fire to drop through the quiet shaft
of light above, or the dove, which used to be let loose, to appear. Two
priests stood bareheaded by the fire-hole, guarded by the giants on
either side.
Suddenly a lighted torch was in their hands passed from within, where
was the Patriarch. The two priests turned and fled, and the giants
closed in round them, trampling like furies through the crowd. In a
moment the thin line of soldiers was gone, and two huge hustling masses
surged up like waves round the great torch, which, now high, now low,
was tossed on the seething flood, scattering sparks right and left, but
gradually drifting towards the exterior of the church, where the
horseman sat, ready to take the fire to Bethlehem. A great forest of
arms was stretched out towards the torch, and they seemed to writhe like
serpents after it; but not a single taper was lighted. Soon, however,
other torches were passed out of the fire-hole, and the fire spread over
the church, as the roar grew louder and louder. A flame next broke out
behind the grating of the Coptic chapel, and a yet more wonderful scene
here presented itself. The dark mass of blue and black was streaked with
livid flesh-colour, as bare arms stretched towards the light with their
bundles of tapers. Woe to the owner of the taper first lit; it was
snatched from him, and extinguished by a dozen others thrust into it.
Delicate women and old men fought like furies; long black turbans flew
off and uncoiled like snakes on the ground, and what became of the
babies I do not know.
The change from the stagnation of the motionless crowd to the wild storm
now raging was as marvellous as it was sudden. The flame spread, seeming
to roll over the whole crowd, till the church was a sea of fire, which
extended over the roof of the chapel, and ran up the galleries and along
the choir. Meantime a dreadful bell was clanging away, and the
grey-bearded Patriarch was borne out aloft into the chancel, on the
shoulders of a body-guard of priests. A dense blue fog, made by the
smoke, and a smell of burning wax rose up, and above all the quiet gleam
of light shone down from the roof.
The fury of the crowd seemed to increase. A stalwart negro, struggling
and charging like a mad bull, ran round the church, followed by the
writhing arms; then, as all got their candles lighted, men might be seen
bathing in the flame, and singeing their clothes in it, or dropping wax
over themselves as a memorial, or even eating it. The dancing is not
allowed now; but here and there knots were formed, of men who jumped and
hopped, rolling along the centre and out of the church. The whip came
down on crowd and soldiers alike, until the lane had been re-formed; and
at last the excitement abated, as the gorgeous second procession came
forth in an endless string.
This procession is the grandest to be seen in Jerusalem, but only a few
of the Greeks assist at it.
First came a priest in yellow, with a crown and great jewelled cross,
flanked by others in pink satin, with censers; four banners followed,
and six priests in embroidered cloth of gold; next came twenty Armenians
in cloth of silver; next, two censer-bearers with red-and-gold crowns,
and four priests in cloth of gold, with candles; then came the Armenian
bishop, in a large cope lined with rose satin, with a white beard and a
gigantic mitre of gold, having a central medallion of enamel; on each
side of him was a priest in a black cap, holding his robe. Next came the
Copts, with six banners, a cross, and two books in silver covers; the
priests in cloth of gold, with crowns of red-velvet and gold; then six
monks in the same, with white hoods; two censer-bearers with yellow
tippets, and crowns; followed by the Coptic bishop, in cloth of silver
lined with crimson, and with a great silver crown; two acolytes and a
banner-bearer in silver and white went before him. A cross, four
banners, and two censers were borne next; then came four priests in
silver embroidered with blue, bearing books in rich silver covers; then
the Syrian bishop, in plain cloth-of-gold, with a hood of the same; and
behind him a banner, borne by a priest in pink and silver robes
embroidered with flowers.
Again in the evening we went to the church, and found our way into the
gallery, where we remained till one in the morning. The crowd was almost
as thick, but the majority were Russian women; and the old cry, “Hadha
kuber Saidna,” still rang at intervals. A new procession of eighty
priests and seven crowned bishops in silver robes was formed, these
being of the Greek rite. The glare of countless candles lit up the
scene; and after the procession had gone thrice round the Tomb, the
bells began clanging, the crowd roared, and all the banners and crosses
were spun round and round with a rapid whirl, till the flashing, the
noise, and this extraordinary spinning of the flags made one giddy.
Such is a plain account of this wonderful feast, from notes made on the
spot. The Latins have long discountenanced the imposture, though it was
once recognised by them, and dates back to the miraculous lighting of
lamps in the time of the Christian kings of Jerusalem, and is even
mentioned by the monk Bernard the Wise in 867 A.D. Every educated Greek
knows it to be a shameful imposition; but the ignorant Syrians and the
fanatical Russian peasants still believe the fire to descend from
heaven. The clergy dare not enlighten them, and that crafty diplomacy
which encourages pilgrimages to Jerusalem by government aid, fosters the
superstition which is the main inducement for the Russian pilgrims to
visit the Holy City.
[Illustration: THE TEMPLE WALL.]