Laws of the Credibility of Tradition. ―― Dean Trench on Words.
―― Scenes of the historical Events of Christianity not well
defined. ―― Palm Sunday in Jerusalem. ―― Crossing the Mount
of Olives. ―― Journey to Bethany. ―― Site of the City. ―― Home
of Mary and Martha. ―― Tomb of Lazarus. ―― Christ frequented
Bethany. ―― To his Visits is due its Significance. ―― Touching
Legends. ―― Resurrection of Lazarus. ―― Scene of Christ’s
triumphal March to Jerusalem. ―― Garden of Gethsemane. ―― Old
Gardener. ―― Walls and Iron Gate. ―― Place of Sweet Repose.
―― Flowers. ―― Pictures. ―― Aged Olive-trees. ―― Overwhelming
Emotions. ―― Ascent of the Mount of Olives. ―― Three Paths.
―― David’s Ascent. ―― Connection of the Mount with the two
Dispensations. ―― Scene of the Ascension. ―― True Place. ――
Commanding View from the Summit of Olivet. ―― Passion Week
in Jerusalem. ―― Footsteps of our Lord. ―― Good Friday in
the Holy City. ―― Visit to the Garden. ―― Lord’s Supper.
―― Sleepless Night. ―― Calvary. ―― True Location. ―― Its
Appearance. ―― Appropriate Place. ―― Via Dolorosa. ―― Pilate’s
Judgment-hall. ―― Ecce Homo Arch. ―― Legendary Stations. ――
Crucifixion of Christ dramatized by the Latin Monks. ―― The
Procession. ―― Ascent to Calvary. ―― Tumult. ―― Spectators.
―― Sermons. ―― The Cross. ―― Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
―― Architecture. ―― Scene in the Court. ―― The Façade. ――
Imposing Interior. ―― Chapel of the Greeks. ―― Rotunda. ――
Dome. ―― Holy Sepulchre. ―― Magnificent Decorations. ―― Its
Interior. ―― The Tomb. ―― Holy Shrines. ―― Not the Tomb of
Christ. ―― Difficulties of the Question. ―― Evidence for its
Identity. ―― Objections. ―― Argument against the Site.
SOME general laws are yet to be deduced touching the credibility of
tradition as to biblical topography. At present, the traditional sites
of many important events in sacred history are accepted or rejected
according to the taste, creed, or judgment of the traveler. There is a
lack of harmony among chorographers upon the localities where occurred
the great facts of our religion, and not unfrequently eminent scholars
are found maintaining opposite theories. The inspired writers were too
much absorbed in recording the stupendous facts of their history to
define, at all times, with accuracy the boundaries of those places
where such events transpired. Facts, not places, are the burden of
their record. They tell us of the deed, and fearing lest, by adoring
the spot, we might fail to reap the full advantage of the transaction,
they leave the localities subject to inference. Yet they never ignore
the sacredness of places consecrated by memorable deeds, nor could they
have been unconscious of the important relation which frequently exists
between the natural features of the scene and the fact they commend
to our belief. Indeed, the proof of many of their statements depends
upon the exact position of mountain and plain, of valley and river, of
desert and sea, which we are left to gather from close investigation
and comparative induction. Tradition, therefore, has its claims upon
our faith no less than written history.
The traveler is guided, in his search for sacred places, by the
information derived from three general sources: prevailing tradition,
the language of the common people, and the Bible. The first is reliable
in proportion to its approximation to the event the memory of which
it perpetuates, and to the unity of the rival sects in the land upon
the subject. But, owing to the fact that the prevailing traditions
were first collated and recorded by Eusebius and Jerome in the fourth
century, the absence of any authentic record of such legends during
the three preceding centuries requires us to receive the testimony of
those eminent fathers with due precaution. It is of little moment how
long these traditions have since been received; the question of greater
importance is, How nearly can they be traced to the events the memory
of which they transmit? While with pleasure we accord to those early
fathers varied learning and superior advantages to acquire information,
yet it is due to an intelligent faith to accept what they record only
so far as it is supported by contemporary history and by the harmony
existing between the physical features of the locality and the inspired
account.
Dean Trench has said that “language is fossil history.”[181] With
slight alterations, the familiar names of the Bible have been preserved
in the Arabic language, which derived them from the Aramean, the
vernacular language of the country when invaded by the Arabs.[182] In
some instances the proper names of large cities have been changed, but
the ancient appellations of rural places are retained, and this not
unfrequently is the only hint to identify some renowned site. But the
marvelous minuteness and accuracy of the Bible constitute it the great
guide-book in the Holy Land, and, when read with care and reflection
upon the spot, in connection with the light derived from other sources,
never fail to lead to right conclusions, and at the same time they
afford the reader the satisfaction of treading in the footsteps of
those illustrious men whose words and deeds are the enduring glory of
our race.
There is less difficulty in identifying those places connected with
Jewish history than in determining those sites forever sanctified by
the acts and teachings of our Lord. For more than fifteen centuries
the Jews were permanent residents in the land, and during that long
and prosperous period they reared monuments commemorative of historic
events, which the spoliations of war have not been sufficient to efface,
nor the attritions of time able to destroy; hence, without a doubt, the
traveler of to-day stands with delight within their ancient cities, or
lingers with melancholy interest amid their ruined towns.
It is otherwise, however, with Christian antiquities. The Founder of
our faith was but a sojourner in the land, and his followers failed
to become a distinct and ruling people till the early part of the
fourth century. Always oppressed, and never respected, till the son of
Helena bore the Cross in triumph to the gates of Jerusalem, they were
without the rights and destitute of the means to perpetuate by enduring
monuments the memory of those places hallowed by the presence of the
Great Teacher of mankind. Driven from the city in the year 69 A.D.,
they were compelled to seek an asylum at Pella, on the eastern bank of
the Jordan, near Jabesh Gilead, and for seventy years thereafter, from
its capture by Titus to its rebuilding by Adrian, Jerusalem ceased to
be the home of the Christians. It is not, therefore, surprising, that
during the exile of so many years hallowed sites should have passed to
the shades of oblivion, and that any attempt to recall them now should
be attended with some uncertainty.
Though unable at all times to stand with confidence where Jesus stood,
and walk where he walked, it is nevertheless a source of unspeakable
delight to know that Jerusalem is the city in which he taught; that
there are the skies he sat beneath; there the hills and vales he
traversed; there the garden of his agony; and that rising above is
Olivet, whose flowers were moistened with his tears, whose echoes were
awakened by his prayers, and whose summit was the last spot of earth
pressed by his adorable feet.
Palm Sunday dawned upon the Holy City in all the beauty of a Syrian
spring. A sweet repose pervaded earth and sky; the very air was at rest,
and a vernal sun shone softly from skies of a purple tint. It was the
anniversary of our Lord’s triumphal entry into the city of David, and
I was in the spirit to join the imaginary throng on the same highway,
and shout, “Blessed is he who cometh in the name of the Lord; Hosanna
in the highest.” From early dawn, through all the lanes and streets of
the city, pilgrims were hastening to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre,
thronging the spacious aisles, rotundas, and lateral chapels of that
venerable edifice. Differing from the Greeks a moon or a month as to
the time of the festival, the Latins were assembled in their Franciscan
chapel adjoining the rotunda. The altar was decorated with vases of
flowers, and over it were suspended palm-branches, the symbol of the
day. The bishop and officiating priests were attired in their elegant
robes; a noble organ pealed forth the responses to the intoned service,
and in the vast audience were monks and nuns, officers of the state and
of the army, and pilgrims and strangers from all lands.
The scene of our Lord’s triumphal march from Bethany to Jerusalem is no
less distinctly marked by a universally received tradition than by the
everlasting hills and valleys whose awakening echoes responded to the
anthems of the rejoicing multitude. The distance from the Holy City to
Bethany is correctly stated by the Evangelist as fifteen furlongs, or a
little less than two miles, counting eight furlongs to the Roman mile.
The ancient path leads from St. Stephen’s Gate down the steep sides
of Moriah, and, after crossing the stone bridge that spans the Kidron,
ascends to the walls of Gethsemane. From the garden three roads lead to
the village home of Lazarus. One, winding up a slight depression in the
western side of Olivet, sweeps round the hamlet of Jebel et-Tûr, which
crowns the summit, and descends the green slopes on the eastern side.
The second branches from the first just above the garden, and, winding
upward, skirts the valley on the south, intersecting the former a
short distance above Bethany. The third, which is the most ancient and
frequented of the three, turns to the right below the garden wall, and,
following the devious base of Olivet on the south, leads to Bethany,
to Jericho, and to the heights of Moab beyond the Jordan. In the East,
the land itself is not older than the great highways of the nation.
Chosen alike for ease and directness, the valleys and mountain slopes
are the principal thoroughfares, which, to succeeding generations,
remain the landmarks of the past.
Crossing the Mount of Olives, in less than half an hour I reached
the native town of Lazarus. From the numerous date-palms that once
flourished in its environs the village was called Bethany, or the
“House of Dates;” but, in honor of him who was raised from the dead, it
bears the name of El-Lazirêyeh.[183] It is situated in a semicircular
vale, with an opening toward the east to admit the morning’s earliest
light. Amid groves of olive, fig, and almond trees are twenty Arab huts,
containing 100 inhabitants. The villagers are quiet and happy, and the
half-nude children leap for joy on the reception of a few piastres for
the milk and fruit they sell to strangers. All the Bible memories of
the place are cherished by the people, and an old man is in waiting to
point out the traditional sites.
In the absence of positive proof either for or against these legendary
places, the traveler is left to his own conclusions, drawn from history
and from the probabilities of location. Of the house of Simon but
little remains, and only a fragment of the residence of Lazarus has
survived the waste of ages. The latter occupies a commanding position
on a scarped rock, and in its day was a building of some elegance.
Formed of large beveled stones, it was twenty-one feet square. From
the top of a remaining arch a prospect of singular beauty opens to view
through the ravine on the east, and, no doubt, often was enjoyed by the
master and his three friends.
Archæologists have called in question the identity of this ruin,
and have claimed it as the remains of the Convent of the Black Nuns,
founded in 1132 A.D. by Mesilinda, Queen of Fulco of Jerusalem, over
which she placed her sister Ireta as abbess, a matron of approved piety.
Yet it is highly probable that, as Bethany has always been inhabited,
and as the recollection of the raising of a man from the dead would be
among those longest and most tenaciously cherished by a people, either
this arch is a part of the stone house which tradition asserts to have
been occupied by Lazarus and his sisters, or, if the remains of the
convent of Mesilinda, it marks the spot where he resided.
Illustration: BETHANY.
Under the brow of a hill in the northeast part of the town is the
supposed tomb of Lazarus. Twenty-six stone steps lead to a vaulted
chamber twenty-two feet below the surface of the ground, which is
excavated in the rock, and measures eleven feet long, nine wide, and
seventeen high. On the left a small door opens to a narrow vault where
the dead once rested. Bearing marks of great antiquity, there is no
reason to doubt the identity of this tomb. The saying of those Jews
who came to comfort Mary, that “she goeth unto the grave to weep,”[184]
would indicate, at first, that her brother had been interred some
distance from the town; this, however, does not necessarily follow,
as the same remark would be appropriate if the sepulchre was in the
village, whatever may have been the distance from her dwelling.
Like many other Syrian towns, Bethany has risen to importance,
and inherits an imperishable name from the presence and miracles of
Jesus. It was to Judea what Capernaum was to Galilee――the scene of
his greatest works, and the place where he delivered his most sublime
lessons of wisdom and love. When the ingratitude of Jerusalem forced
him from her gates, he sought repose in Bethany, as, when driven by the
Nazarenes from his native city, he selected Capernaum as the place of
his adoption. Bethany was his temporary abode in his frequent journeys
from Moab to Judea. Coming from the land of Moab, “a certain woman
named Martha received him into her house;”[185] and from the same
region he came to raise Lazarus from the dead.[186] At a later period,
here he dined in the house of Simon the leper;[187] here the grateful
Mary washed his feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her
head,[188] and from an alabaster box, which “she had kept against the
day of his burial,” she poured the precious ointment on his head as he
sat at meat. From this humble village he made his triumphant entry into
Jerusalem, and here, in the house of pious orphanage, he spent the last
night but one prior to his crucifixion.
There is a touching legend in the East that the father of Lazarus
was a pious Levite, and his mother a Jewish matron, after the model
of Hannah and Elizabeth; that Lazarus himself was a scribe, who
gained a living by copying the Law and the Prophets for the various
synagogues in Palestine, and that Mary and Martha devoted their time
to needle-work――embroidering veils for the Temple and garments for the
priests; that previous to the visits of Jesus to Bethany the parents
had ascended to their reward, leaving on earth their three orphan
children; that the native sweetness of their spirit, the purity of
their devotion, and their constant attention to his recurring wants,
engaged his affection and secured his benediction; that here, in their
midst, he laid aside the awful grandeur of Teacher and Judge of mankind,
and in all the refined amenities of social life he displayed the finer
traits of his character, which were hidden from the common eye. And how
intimate must have been that friendship for the care-burdened Martha to
come to him with her little domestic troubles;[189] and how tender the
attachment for those stricken sisters to think only of him when their
brother died. A greater benefactor than beneficiary, he rewarded those
pious sisters with a gift worthy of a God. The brief but sad message
they sent him――“Lord, behold, he whom thou lovedst is sick”――awakened
all the deeper emotions of his friendship. Though even a melancholy
relief to be with those we love in the hour of death, yet, that the
Son of Man might be glorified, Jesus delayed his coming till after
the demise and burial of his friend. Many a time had those sorrowing
sisters passionately exclaimed, “Oh that the Master were here!” Coming
from the fountains of Bethabara, he sought the sepulchre of Lazarus.
Omnipotence stirred within him; a groan for life escaped his lips,
a prayer entered heaven that knew no denial, a voice was heard in
the spirit world calling back a departed soul to earth and to a new
probation. That voice was obeyed. Lazarus came forth, and joy filled
the hearts of those orphan sisters.[190] And now, after the lapse of
so many centuries, the inspired story, read upon the spot, has all the
freshness of reality; and though time has marred the beauty of that
mountain home, and borne to the grave the friends of Jesus, yet Mary’s
alabaster box of costly ointment and spikenard, very precious, is still
fragrant with the odor of undying love, and “wheresoever this gospel is
preached throughout the whole world, this also that she hath done shall
be spoken of for a memorial of her.”[191]
In the month of March of the succeeding spring Jesus was again
in Bethany. The moment of his triumph had come. The shouts of the
people awaited the presence of their King. On the previous day he had
descended from the Mountains of Moab, crossed the Jordan, traversed the
Plain of Jericho, restored eyesight to the importunate Bartimeus, and
dined with Zaccheus.[192] Resuming his journey, he passed round the
base of Quarrantania, the scene of his temptation, crossed the Brook
Cherith, where Elijah was fed by the ravens, ascended the Vale of Achor,
where Achan was stoned to death, entered the wilderness of Judea, the
scene of the parable of the good Samaritan, and, continuing his upward
march, reached Bethany as the sun descended behind the heights of
Gibeon. That night he was entertained in the house of Simon the leper.
Attracted to Bethany to attend the feast of Simon and behold Lazarus,
who had been raised from the dead, a vast multitude were the next
morning on their way to Jerusalem.[193]
Solemnly intending to assert his regal rights and fulfill an ancient
prophecy,[194] Jesus dispatched two of his disciples to secure an ass
for the triumphal occasion. A knowledge of his coming had reached the
countless strangers who had assembled in the Holy City to celebrate the
Passover, and who, seized by a sudden inspiration that bore every heart
upon its resistless wave, hastened to greet their coming King. Passing
through the palm-groves that formerly lined the path, they cut down the
lengthened branches, and descended toward Bethany with shouts of
triumph.
Spreading their loose garments upon the unsaddled ass, the disciples
had set their Master thereon, who was slowly approaching the city of
David. At length the descending and ascending processions met, and
in the rapture of the moment vied with each other in expressions of
gladness and in tokens of respect. Those who had escorted him from
Bethany threw from their shoulders their loose robes, and, spreading
them on the highway, formed a temporary carpet for his triumphal march;
and those who had come from Jerusalem spread their palm-branches before
him, while from that vast multitude arose that more than regal shout,
“Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who cometh in the name
of the Lord! Hosannah in the highest!”[195] It was the hour of the
exaltation of the Son of God. The people had gathered unto Shiloh;
the visions of the past were realized, and prophecy was fulfilled.
The interruption over, the great procession re-formed. Those who had
come from Jerusalem, turning round, led the advance; those who had come
from Bethany brought up the rear; while in the centre Jesus rode in
triumph.
Midway the two cities, the ancient path burrows the side of Olivet,
and, after sweeping round a deep ravine, ascends a shoulder of the
sacred mount, where the whole city, as by enchantment, bursts upon the
view. Where now appears the Tomb of David then were seen the palaces
of Herod, and where now stands the Mosque of Omar then stood the Jewish
Temple. Charmed by a vision so grand, the people again shouted, but,
unelated by the praise or view, “Jesus beheld the city, and wept over
it.” While the scenic grandeur of the prospect thrilled the multitude
with joy, the view of a doomed city caused him to shed more than human
tears. Once more the procession advanced. Descending a shelving path,
with the groves of Gethsemane on the right and the Tomb of Absalom on
the left, the Savior crossed the Kidron, and, mounting the sides of
Moriah, he entered his Temple amid the astonishment of enemies and the
acclamation of friends.
At the junction of the three roads which lead to Bethany is the Garden
of Gethsemane. It is a quiet spot, and wears the air of sweet repose.
Formerly it was open and accessible to all, but now it is surrounded by
a stone wall twenty feet high. It is an area of 120 feet east and west,
and 150 north and south. The entrance is through a low iron gate on the
eastern side, and the keeper is an old Franciscan monk. With a skillful
hand he has transformed the inclosure into a pretty but not gorgeous
garden. On the east are three terraces, adorned with flowers. On the
first is a well of delicious water, covered with trellis-work, on which
are vines, and in the northeast corner is the monk’s cell. A graveled
walk follows the circuit of the walls, and on the interior of the walls
are pictures representing memorable scenes in the last night of our
Lord’s life. The centre of the area is inclosed with a high picket
fence, and the ground within is laid out in flower-beds. As memorials
of the past, he has cultivated the graceful but bitter wormwood, and
also the beautiful passion-flower――the symbol of agony. Near them are a
few palms and cypresses. With parental care he has nourished the eight
remaining olive-trees, beneath which he thinks the fearful struggle
occurred. They bear marks of great age, and are now the oldest on the
face of the earth. Their trunks are gnarled and hollow, their foliage
scanty, and, true to their species in old age, their roots are far
above the ground, but at present covered with an artificial soil. One,
more venerable than the rest, is seven feet in circumference, and has
separated into four parts from the roots upward to the branches; a
second is twisted with age; and a third is hollow. But the branches
are strong, the leaf green, and from the aged roots young trees are
sprouting――successors to these patriarchal shades.
Illustration: GETHSEMANE AND THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.
Gethsemane is the only place in all my travels I hesitated for a
moment to visit. I had passed it many times before, but always felt
unwilling to disturb its solemn repose. But, unattended by companion
or guide, I determined to enter. Rapping on the low gate, the venerable
Franciscan bade me welcome. His countenance was pale with watchings,
and a pensive smile played over his dry and wrinkled face. Entering
his solitary cell, he left me alone. Not a sound disturbed the quiet
of the hour. Kneeling beneath an aged olive, I gave myself up to the
undisturbed reflections and hallowed memories of the place. The story
of our Lord’s agony had a reality I had never before experienced.
This lonely vale, these ancient hills, these serene skies, heard the
Sufferer’s cry. Here the compassionate Redeemer lay prostrate upon the
ground, and, yielding to his Father’s will, accepted the cup of death.
Here descended that kind angel who strengthened the fainting Savior.
Here resounded the horrid tramp of that ruffian band, whose huge staves
smote the earth, and whose swords glittered in the starlight. Here
the betrayer’s signal-kiss polluted the cheek of innocence, and the
Master’s words of surprise startled the dull ear of night. Here the
impetuous spirit of Peter, gaining the mastery of his discretion, moved
him to smite off the ear of Malchus; and, losing sight of the dangers
that threatened him, and unmindful of the hatred of his foes, the
benevolent Savior asked as an unselfish favor, “Suffer ye thus far, and
he touched his ear and healed him.” Here the Shepherd was smitten and
the flock scattered. Here John fled, leaving the linen cloth in the
hands of the ruffians, and Jesus was led to judgment. It was passing
strange to be in such a place.
At every station where Israel had encamped _en route_ for the Mount of
the Law; on the awful summit of Sinai; beside the cave of Machpelah and
the tomb of Rachel; in the stable of the Nativity at Bethlehem; along
the Jordan; on Zion, Moriah, and Olivet; and on Gibeon, where Solomon
received a wise and understanding heart, I had offered my devotions to
God; but Gethsemane seemed the nearest to heaven in the hour of prayer.
Gathering a few flowers and olive leaves for loved ones at home, I
left the garden with impressions as blessed as they are imperishable,
and began the ascent of Olivet. The Mount of Olives is no less
memorable in the annals of Jewish and Christian history than its aspect
is impressive to the eye of the beholder. Rising 2800 feet above the
Mediterranean, its base is 1000 feet from the city, and its summit half
a mile from St. Stephen’s Gate. Having an elevation of more than 400
feet above the bed of the Kidron Valley at “Absalom’s Pillar,” it is
104 feet higher than the crown of Zion, and rises 127 feet above the
summit-level of Mount Moriah. Owing to its irregular outline, both its
form and cardinal points are difficult to define. Its general direction
is north and south, with spurs shooting out toward every point of the
compass, and its location agrees with the description by the prophet,
who places it before Jerusalem on the east.[196] Including the Hill
of Scandal, it may be said to have three peaks, though with equal
propriety Scopus might be enumerated among them. Topographically
this may be correct, but historically the Hill of Scandal is too
far southwest to be included as a part of Olivet, as Mount Scopus is
too far north. The two adjacent peaks are distinct, the northern one
bearing the name of Galilee, from the supposition that there the angels
addressed the Galileans, and the southern one, called by the Arabs
Jebel et-Tûr, but by the Christians the Mount of Ascension.
The sides of the mountain gently descend east and west, and are
streaked horizontally with stripes of green and gray. From base to
summit it is terraced and planted with olives, from which the mount
derives its name. Though rough and stony, yet in spring-time and summer
flowers bloom upon it luxuriantly. On its broad and level summit is
the small village of Jebel et-Tûr, clustering around the Church of
the Ascension, and, in turn, is surrounded by fields of grain. From
Gethsemane three paths lead to this Arab town; one strikes up boldly
along a projecting cliff, a second winds up more gradually to the south,
while the third follows a gentle ravine, and is the most ancient of
the three. It was up the latter path David fled from the rebellion of
Absalom, “weeping as he went up, with his head uncovered, and his feet
bare.” On the summit, where he lingered to worship, he was met by the
faithful Hushai, who, by the king’s command, returned to the city to
defeat the counsels of Ahithophel. Just over the hill-top the kind Ziba
met the royal fugitive with refreshments. And not far down the eastern
declivities is Bahurim, where the cowardly Shimei cursed the king,
and where the heroic Abishai was impatient to vindicate his insulted
master.[197]
This is, no doubt, the path Jesus frequented when returning to
Bethany after the thankless labors of the day in the Holy City. And how
significantly do these two reverent names recall the history of Olivet,
as associated with the two great dispensations of our religion. On its
summit was the Luna Station, from which the first appearance of the new
moon was announced by torch-light signals to the priests of the Temple,
which had been previously seen and communicated in the same manner by
those stationed on the loftier peaks of Moab. Somewhere on its upland
slopes stood two cedar-trees, beneath which pigeons were sold as
offerings for purification. In one of its depressions was the lavatory,
where unclean persons washed preparatory to presenting themselves
before the Lord. At its base the red heifer was burnt, the ashes of
which were preserved for the purification of the people,[198] and
crowning the summit the Shekinah rested, like a cloud of glory,
when forced from the Holy of Holies by the ingratitude of a fallen
people.[199]
But, contemplated in its connection with the private life and public
ministry of our Lord, Olivet has a higher significance to the Christian,
and awakens within him profounder emotions. It was his house of prayer,
where he ofttimes resorted with his disciples.[200] From some of its
shaded slopes, with the city full in view, he predicted the final
overthrow of Jerusalem.[201] With a matchless purity of thought
and diction, he delivered to his disciples the parables of the “Ten
Virgins,” of the “Five Talents,” and concluded his marvelous discourse
by a description of the “Last Judgment.”[202] At its base he was
betrayed,[203] and from its summit he ascended to glory.
Charmed with the purity of his life, convinced of the divinity of his
person, and conscious of a debt of gratitude for his vicarious death,
the Christian seeks the exact spot where for the last time he touched
our earth. But, wisely neglecting to designate any particular portion
of the Mount, the Evangelists point us to Olivet as the place of
ascension. According to Eusebius, the traditional site is directly
opposite St. Stephen’s Gate, and, prior to the visit of St. Helena, was
visited by pilgrims from all lands. To honor the spot and commemorate
the event, the mother of Constantine ordered the erection of a church
upon the site, which, in the waste of time, has given place to a
humbler structure. By a singular amalgamation, it stands connected with
a Mohammedan mosque, whose solitary minaret is seen from afar.
The tradition, however, does too much violence to the text to claim for
a moment the intelligent faith of the present age. He led them out as
far as to Bethany,[204] and they returned unto Jerusalem from the Mount
called Olivet, which is from Jerusalem a Sabbath-day’s journey,[205]
are the only authentic intimations we have of the place, and the only
data from which we can draw our conclusions. Though “as far as to
Bethany” is indefinite, it is sufficiently explicit to throw doubt
upon the traditional site, and to lead us to search for another more
in harmony with the spirit and letter of the text. To the southeast of
the village there is a narrow isthmus, connecting the peak on which it
stands with one of less altitude and more retired. It is one mile, or
a “Sabbath-day’s journey,” from St. Stephen’s Gate, and overlooks the
little town of Bethany, lying 500 yards below the cliff. From the ruins
which lay scattered on the rocks beneath the isthmus, it is evident
that Bethany once extended farther to the northwest than at present,
which more completely corresponds with the distance as stated by
St. Luke. But it is enough that Olivet extends toward the home of
Lazarus a “Sabbath-day’s journey” from Jerusalem, and that from its
summit Jesus ascended to glory, leading captivity captive, and giving
gifts to men. It is enough that these hills saw the Prince of life and
glory rise, and leaped for joy; that these valleys beheld him ascend,
and swelled with delight; and these skies reached down their ethereal
arms to bear him on high. It is enough that earth is linked to heaven,
humanity is the abode of divinity, and a descendant of Adam is on the
throne of the universe. Let us adore!
In all the Holy Land there is not a nobler panoramic view to be enjoyed
than the one which greets the eye from the Mount of Olives. Owing to
the extreme transparency of the atmosphere, and to the absence of that
peculiar haze which lends such an enchanting perspective to the Italian
landscape, distance at times seems annihilated, and remote objects
appear to view with extraordinary distinctness of form and outline.
Sweeping over an area of more than twenty miles, the prospect is as
varied as it is grand. Turning to the north, the eye rests on Mizpeh,
where Samuel held his court and Israel gathered for judgment; hard by
are Gibeon and Ajalon, where the sun and moon paused in their brilliant
course; while far to the northward is Michmash, the scene of Jonathan’s
exploits; and nearer are Gibeah of Saul and “poor little Anathoth,”
where the weeping eyes of Jeremiah first saw the light. Looking
eastward, desolation and beauty compose the landscape. From Bethany to
Jericho, and for many miles north and south, is the wilderness of Judea,
sinking down to the verdureless shore of the Dead Sea, whose shining
waters are seen through the opening cliffs. Far down in the deep chasm
through which the Jordan flows appear the green banks of the sacred
river, and beyond rise the Mountains of Moab, vast and craggy, and
colored with “chatozant tents of azure-red.” On the south is the rich
Plain of Rephaim, where Daniel heard the “sound of a going in the
tops of the mulberry-trees,”[206] and farther on are seen the Convent
of Elias, the domes of Bethlehem, and the Frank Mountain――the “Tomb
of Herod the Great,” while to the west and at your feet is the “City
of the Great King;” and to no other city does distance lend such
“enchantment to the view.” In walking its streets and in mingling in
the careless throng who share not in the grateful memories of the place,
the charm of its hallowed associations is broken; but when viewed from
the summit of Olivet, the spell of history entrances the soul, the
attention becomes serious and fixed, the eyes dreamy and motionless.
The interest experienced in standing on any historic site is increased
by being present on the anniversary of the event which has given
significance to the place. There is in such a coincidence somewhat of
reality at no other time realized, and the emotions excited on such an
occasion are no less tender than real; and to read a description of the
great transaction as written by an eyewitness amid the scenes of its
occurrence invests the present with the actuality of the past, and one
fondly imagines he beholds what transpired centuries ago. It is in view
of such apparent facts that “Passion Week” in Jerusalem has an interest
to the Christian traveler not common to any other period of the year,
and, conscious of such an advantage, pilgrims from all lands assemble
in the Holy City at that time to recall in imagination the memorable
events which occurred during the last week of our Lord’s earthly career.
Indebted to the Evangelists for our knowledge of what Jesus said and
did on the six days preceding his death, we could wish the narrative
more consecutive and the description more complete.
On Sunday he made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem as King of the
Jews.[207] On Monday he cursed the barren fig-tree,[208] drove the
money-changers from the court of the Temple for the second time,[209]
and asserted his authority in the presence of his enemies.[210] On
Tuesday he entered the Temple for the last time, was questioned again
as to his authority, delivered in reply several impressive parables,
warned the people against the corruptions of the age, pronounced
the most fearful woes on Scribe and Pharisee, and foretold the last
judgment and his second coming.[211] On Wednesday Judas contracted
with the chief priests for the betrayal of his Master, while our Lord
himself spent the day, either at Bethany or on the Mount of Olives,
in preparation for the solemn events that were crowding upon the heel
of time.[212] On Thursday he kept the Passover,[213] instituted the
sacramental supper in commemoration of his death,[214] laid aside
his vestments and washed his disciples’ feet; foretold his own death,
his betrayal by Judas, and Peter’s denial of his Lord; comforted his
apostles, and exhorted them to mutual love; promised them the Holy
Ghost, offered the customary sacerdotal prayer, and, having sung a
hymn, in the darkness and stillness of that night, attended by a few
chosen friends, he passed over the “Brook Kidron,” entered the Garden
of Gethsemane to endure the agony for the world’s redemption; was there
betrayed, arrested, forsaken by his disciples, led into the city for
trial before Annas and Caiaphas, denied by Peter, and imprisoned till
morning.[215] In the gray of the dawn on Friday he was accused before
Pilate, “set at naught by Herod and his men of war,” and at midday,
bearing his own cross, he was led out to Calvary, where, at the ninth
hour, he expiated by his death the sins of the world.[216]
Following in the footsteps of the Master, on Good Friday eve I
descended the acclivities of Moriah, crossed the same stone bridge over
which he had passed,[217] and, entering the Garden of Gethsemane, I sat
down beneath the aged olive-trees, and read the touching story of his
passion. Returning to the city, in an “upper room,” in company with
a few friends, I partook of the Lord’s Supper. That night I could not
sleep. Walking out upon the house-top, I looked down upon Gethsemane.
Unbroken silence reigned. The city slumbered. The lights around the
balcony of the minaret burned dimly. The night wind blew softly from
over the deep sea. The paschal moon was descending in the west. A
silvery haze, like a gauze of purity, overspread the serene heavens.
It was four o’clock in the morning. From an adjacent court-yard a cock
announced the dawn of day. The distant east began to glow with the
morning’s earliest light. It was Good Friday in Jerusalem――the hour
and the event of all time. Well may Christian affection ask, “Where is
Calvary?” Who would not approach such a place in silent prayer? Wisely
its identity is unknown to earth. Though its location is the first
object of research by the Christian traveler when he enters the Holy
City, yet it is the last to be determined with satisfaction. Tradition
designates a rock, inclosed within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre,
as the Mount of Crucifixion; but the site involves a controversy so
complicated, that the mind prefers the recollection of the event to
the examination of the argument. Rejecting this legendary Calvary of
the monks, I sought for one more in harmony with the topography of the
city and with the casual allusions of the Evangelists. Though it is
now impossible to identify Golgotha with certainty, yet topographical
facts and sacred history are so concurrent that the mind is left almost
without a doubt as to the direction of the place.
As the final scene in our Lord’s trial occurred in the Tower of Antonia,
which was near St. Stephen’s Gate, it is more than probable that the
executioners, instead of leading Jesus through the crowded and excited
city, led him out of this, the nearest gate. And as at that time there
was no place suitable for capital executions either on the south,
west, or north side of Jerusalem, we must search for one on the east
side of the city. According to St. John, “The place where Jesus was
crucified was nigh unto the city,”[218] and St. Paul assures us that
Christ suffered without the gate.[219] As the priests of old were
accustomed to drive the red heifer to sacrifice, and the scapegoat to
the wilderness, out of the eastern gate of the Temple inclosure, so it
would be only another instance of the remarkable correspondence between
the types of the Old Testament and the life of Jesus if the Jews,
though unwittingly, led the Savior to execution out of St. Stephen’s
Gate. Where, then, should Calvary be sought for but in the environs of
Jerusalem on the east?
Toward the northeast corner of the city wall the sides of Bezetha
are steep, rocky, and broken. There desolation is complete, and
the seclusion profound. The Kidron Valley winds around those rugged
declivities, and the opposite sides of Olivet are barren and cheerless.
Midway the hill there is a projecting rock, not unlike in form a human
skull; on the north of it, a small ravine descends into the vale below,
and just beneath it, on the east, the highway passes to the Heights
of Benjamin. The sides are steep and covered with black moss. The term
Calvary neither implies, nor is it used to designate a mount, but,
coming from the Latin _calvaria_ or _calva_, means a skull. If Golgotha
is descriptive of a place where skulls lay uninterred, then this
location agrees well with the sense of the word, as the dead that were
here interred were so slightly covered with earth that the bones of
such now lay scattered upon the ground; or if, as is more probable, it
is the designation of a place where violent deaths occurred――the place
for the capital punishment of criminals, whose bones, after the flesh
had been devoured by wild beasts, lay bleaching in the sun, then
this, of all other portions of the environs of the city, is singularly
adapted for such a melancholy purpose.
Reason and Scripture alike point to this spot as the scene of that
great death, which has no parallel in suffering as it has no equal in
results. Reading the four Evangelists from the brow of this desolate
rock, all the details of the inspired account appeared fulfilled
with an exactitude not unworthy an intelligent faith. Coming out of
St. Stephen’s Gate, the mournful procession proceeded along that
ancient road on which Simon of Cyrene was returning from the country,
to whom fell the honorable part to bear the cross of the fainting
Son of God.[220] Reaching this desolate scene, the horrid tragedy was
enacted. The place was no less appropriate to the mind of the Divine
Sufferer than to those who were the instruments of his death. It is
nigh unto the city that had rejected him.[221] Before him rose Olivet,
his bower of prayer; beneath his eye lay Gethsemane, the scene of his
agony; while, as if to mitigate the sorrow of the final struggle and
light up the darkest hour of his life, the Mount of Ascension rose
in grandeur before him, crowned with the glory of his exaltation.
Around the cross, both on the summit of Bezetha and on the slopes of
Olivet beyond, is room for the multitude who had assembled to witness
the melancholy spectacle, and for those women who, “beholding afar
off,”[222] “bewailed and lamented him.”[223] From the adjacent walls
of the city the chief priests, scribes, and elders beheld him, and
mockingly said, “He saved others, himself he can not save.”[224] On the
road which passed beneath the cross came those Jewish travelers who,
on reading Pilate’s superscription, wagged their heads in disdain, and
tauntingly greeted him, saying, “Thou that destroyest the Temple and
buildest it in three days, save thyself.”[225] Here the rocks are torn
and riven; for when he gave up the ghost, “the earth did quake and
the rocks were rent.”[226] In the hill-side are tombs, which probably
are “the graves that were opened, and from which the saints who slept
arose.”[227] Down in the sequestered vale of the Kidron are gardens,
where some old sepulchres still remain, any one of which answers well
the description of the Savior’s tomb――“Now in the place where he was
crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new sepulchre.”[228]
Where else in the environs of the Holy City should Joseph, a rich
man of Arimathea, have his own new tomb but in the renowned Valley
of Jehoshaphat, where sleep in death his ancestors, whose sepulchral
monuments continue to this day? And where within the circuit of the
city of his rejection should Jesus rise triumphant from the grave but
in sight of the garden of his sorrow, the rock of his crucifixion, and
the mount of his ascension?
The Via Dolorosa is a lane-like street, narrow and crooked,
leading from St. Stephen’s Gate to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre,
and its dolorous name is no less significant of the tragical events
which, according to tradition, occurred along its course, than of
its forbidding and gloomy aspect. Like the “street which is called
straight” in Damascus, and the Via Sacra in ancient Rome, the Via
Dolorosa has a world-wide renown. Its windings, its rough pavement, its
prison-like walls――penetrated with low doorways and grated windows――its
rude arcade, excluding the sunlight and casting a deeper gloom within,
sadden the mind, and are in keeping with the monkish legends that
have given to it universal notoriety. Along this dreary walk, amid its
shadows and solemn memories, a wounded spirit finds companionship. As
the industrious shrine-makers of this and of other ages, the monks have
consecrated eight stations in this narrow street, commemorative of as
many events in our Lord’s journey from the dungeons of Antonia to the
site of Calvary. In the northern wall of the Temple area are the two
arches, now walled up, where stood Pilate’s staircase, down which
our Lord descended after his sentence was pronounced, and directly
opposite is the Church of Flagellation, marking the place where he was
scourged. Not many paces to the west is the _Ecce Homo_ arch, where
Pilate exclaimed to the infuriated mob, “Behold the man!” At the bottom
of a gentle descent the lane turns to the left, and then to the right.
Beyond this angle is shown a deep impression in the solid stone wall,
made by the shoulder of Jesus when he leaned against it at the time he
fainted. Near it is the house of St. Veronica, the illustrious woman
who presented the Savior with a handkerchief to wipe his bleeding brow.
From her residence to the terminus of the street the gloom and silence
are painful; and at well-apportioned intervals are indicated, by broken
columns, the places where Simon was compelled to bear the Redeemer’s
cross, where Jesus addressed the weeping daughters of Jerusalem, and
where his tragical death occurred.
Illustration: VIA DOLOROSA AND THE ARCH OF THE ECCE HOMO.
Throughout Good Friday groups of pious pilgrims were threading the
Via Dolorosa and offering their prayers at its legendary shrines.
That night the Latin monks dramatized the crucifixion of Christ in the
Church of the Holy Sepulchre. At an early hour the venerable Church
of St. Helena was thronged with natives and strangers, consisting
of Greeks, Latins, Copts, Armenians, Turks, and Franks. To prevent a
disturbance, the military governor of the city had ordered a detachment
of Turkish soldiers to be present. Among the dignitaries in attendance
to witness the fictitious tragedy were foreign consuls attended by
liveried cawasses, a hundred French officers, with their orderlies, who
had that day arrived from Beîrut, and prominent among the distinguished
persons was Lessep, the famous canal-digger, who had ascended from
Egypt in an improvised chariot drawn by a pair of the noblest camels,
and was the first who had crossed that ancient road since the day of
Roman chariots.
It was past eight o’clock when the solemn drama was opened with the
recitation of prayers in the sacristy of the Latin chapel. The light of
a hundred gold and silver lamps, fed by olive-oil, scarcely dispelled
the darkness of the hour. At 9 P.M. the pageant was fully commenced,
and the long procession began its march, each person bearing a wax
taper that shone dimly on the air of night. First came Augustine friars,
attired in brown cowls and cassocks; then followed a stalwart monk,
bearing an immense cross of light-colored wood, curiously figured. On
the cross was nailed the carved figure of a man, covered with thorns,
from whose side the life-blood was flowing, and around whose loins
was drawn a white linen cloth. Behind the crucifix came two choirs of
monks and catechumens robed in white, chanting a funeral dirge, with
responsive chorus; following the singers was Rome’s eminent prelate,
the patriarchal Bishop of Jerusalem, crowned with a gold mitre, wearing
a black velvet cloak richly trimmed with gold lace, and bearing in his
right hand a gold crucifix adorned with jewels; following in his train
were priests of lesser rank in dark robes, and barefooted friars with
shaven heads, to imitate the crown of thorns, and nuns in blue and
black garments and white linen bonnets; and next came the French
consul, the military officers, the common soldiers, poor pilgrims, and
strangers from all nations, whose devotion or curiosity prompted them
to join the imposing procession.
Within the church are lateral chapels, regarded as shrines by the pious,
such as the prison of Christ, the chapel where he was bound, where he
was mocked, and where his vestments were divided by the Roman soldiers.
At the chapels the procession halted to listen to sermons preached
in the Italian, French, German, Arabic, and English languages. It was
near midnight when the procession reached the foot of Calvary. Slowly
ascending the rude steps cut in the solid rock, the heavy cross was
set in its original resting-place on the summit. In imitation of the
supernatural darkness, every light was extinguished. At that moment a
tumult occurred. The rough voice of derision rose above the universal
clamor, and echoed through the aisles and arches of that ancient
building, as the Turkish soldiers charged upon the people. Enraged at
the insult offered to his religion, the French consul drew his sword,
threatening death to Turk or Christian who should crowd upon him. In
a moment quiet was restored and the scene went on. Accident gave the
charm of reality to the occasion. There stood the captain of the guard,
with the smile of scorn upon his attractive though stern features;
around him were his troops, and near them were fanatical Moslems
reviling the spectacle; standing afar off were Christian women, robed
in white sheets, concealing their person except their soft dark eyes,
which peered out above their veils; and surging to and fro, like
mighty waves, was a motley throng eager to behold the drama. Amid the
solemnities human nature was revealed. A magnificent French priest,
who had been appointed to preach at the cross of the unrepentant thief,
so far forgot his duty as to pronounce a glowing eulogium upon France,
and the part she had taken in supporting the Catholic faith in the
East. His commanding eloquence touched alike the pride and vanity of
the French, and the otherwise decorous officers, forgetting the time
and place, applauded the time-serving priest.
The three sermons at the several crosses ended, the lights burn dimly
again. And now began the descent from the cross, after the style of
Rubens’s great picture. Three venerable monks, impersonating Joseph of
Arimathea, Nicodemus, and St. John the Evangelist, approached the cross
to take the body down. One, climbing up behind the cross, and throwing
a sheet around the body and under the arms of the image, held it fast,
while another tenderly drew out the nails, kissing each one in turn
as he laid them upon a silver plate; then receiving the body into his
arms, with the head resting on his shoulder, wrapped it in fine linen,
placed it upon a bier, and to the chant of another dirge the procession
descended to the pavement of the church, where the image was placed
upon the stone of unction for anointing, and hence borne to the tomb of
Joseph, to await the joyous notes of Easter Sunday.
Such is a brief description of a scene which annually occurs in
Jerusalem; and though producing a transient impression on the common
mind, darkened by error and deluded by superstition, the sublime
farce is as irreverent as it is offensive to the enlightened Christian.
Debased must be the intellect and vitiated the moral sensibilities of a
people who delight in such mournful tragedies, and corrupt must be the
church which sanctions ceremonies so degrading to earth and repugnant
to heaven. With equal propriety, the murder scene of a beloved friend
might be yearly re-enacted, harrowing the soul with the bloody memories
of the past, and imitating in fiction the ghastly deeds of veritable
murderers. Who could be induced to witness a sight so mournful? The
last request of the Redeemer to his people was to remember his death,
and not to re-enact it; to cherish his memory, and not perpetuate the
triumph of his foes. Devotion attains its greatest purity, and piety
its highest form of spirituality, as pompous ceremonials are displaced
by the simple aspirations of the heart for God, and by the practical
embodiment of faith, hope, and charity.
For fifteen hundred years the Church of the Holy Sepulchre has been the
shrine of devout worshipers from all lands, and the antiquity of its
traditions, together with the profound reverence in which it is held
by the Christian world, render it an object worthy of consideration.
Whether considered as a work of art, or as a historic site around which
cluster the most sacred legends of the Eastern churches, it awakens a
thrilling interest in the thoughtful and intelligent mind. Such are the
number and complications of the added apartments, a delineation of the
structure is as tedious as it is difficult. Though, as a whole, the
architecture is of the Romanesque order, yet in its different parts it
combines a greater variety of styles than any other edifice of equal
notoriety extant. Standing on the eastern slope of Mount Akra, in
the most populous part of the Holy City, its approaches are from the
east and west through low, narrow doorways leading into a spacious
court ninety feet long and seventy wide, formed laterally by the two
projecting wings of the church, by the façade of the basilica on the
north, and by a stone wall on the south, inclosing the green plateau
once adorned by the palace of the Knights of St. John. A more novel
sight is not to be seen on earth than is daily presented in this stone
court-yard during Passion Week. Lining three of its sides, with now
and then one in the centre, sit the hucksters of pious wares, recalling
the money-changers in the court of Solomon’s Temple. It is the great
religious mart for holy trinkets in Jerusalem, and the most auspicious
place for the ethnologist to study human varieties, for the costumer to
examine diversities of dress, for the traveler to witness the manners
of many nations, and for the artist to sketch the most picturesque of
living scenes. There are Turks, with lofty turbans and flowing robes;
wild Bedouins of the Desert, clad in capotes of camel’s hair, and
girt about the loins with leathern girdles, or attired in their gay,
fantastic riding costume, brandishing the polished spear; Franciscan
friars in coarse brown cowls, and ivory crucifix dangling at their side;
Greek monks in long black flowing garments, high square hats, with
magnificent beards, and hair long as a woman’s, twirling a rosary of
mother-of-pearl or of beautiful agate; French and Italian nuns in black,
with white linen bonnets, and rosary and crucifix falling from their
waist; beggars in rags, the lame with crutches, the blind protected
by a dog, invoking the charities of the rich; and pilgrims from every
nation――Syrians, Turks, Arabs, Nubians, Egyptians, Algerines, Armenians,
Copts, Greeks, Jews, Italians, French, Russians, Germans, English, and
the ubiquitous American. Passing through this motley throng, beggars
implore your charities and the venders of pious wares solicit your
patronage. Here are for sale sandal-wood beads from Mecca, bowls of
bitumen from the shores of the Dead Sea, glass rings and bracelets from
Hebron, olive-wood rosaries from Olivet, crosses of mother-of-pearl
from Bethlehem, and shells on which are rudely carved representations
of the birth and resurrection of Jesus, small tin cans in which water
from the Jordan is carried to the ends of the earth, wax tapers to be
lit at the sacred tomb, and shrouds of cotton cloth or fine linen to
be laid in consecration on the Holy Sepulchre, and then borne to the
uttermost parts of the earth by the faithful, to be wrapped in in death
as a pledge of their resurrection.
Illustration: CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE――FRONT VIEW.
Around the court are the ruins of antique and nobler edifices. Along
the southern side are the broken bases of a colonnade once supporting
a cloister or arcade. Running along the western side is an immense
stone structure, from the northern end of which rises the grand
unfinished tower of the Basilica of St. Helen; and on the opposite
end stands a solitary column, crowned with a beautiful Corinthian
capital, supporting the foot of a broken arch. Within this projecting
structure are two Greek chapels, older than the days of the Crusaders;
one dedicated to St. James, the other to the blessed Trinity. On
the opposite side of the court is a plain stone building, the Greek
Monastery of Abraham, through which entrance is had to the Armenian
Church of St. John, to the Coptic Convent, and to the Chapel of
St. Michael. Along the base of the building is a stone bench, where
monks and priests spend their idle hours playing with their rosaries.
The best view of the face of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is to
be had from this court. It is the chief entrance to the interior, and
consists of the southern end of the transept, presenting to the eye a
grand old façade of Romanesque composition, now dingy with the dust of
ages and the wear of time. It is divided into two stories. In the upper
one are two corresponding windows, arched and slightly pointed, massive
in mouldings and rich in sculpture. In the lower story is a double
portal, surmounted by noble arches, supported by clustered columns,
formed of layers of stone resting on heavy bases, and over the doorway
are richly-sculptured architraves, representing our Lord’s triumphant
entry into Jerusalem. Only the western section of the portal is now
open, the other having been walled up since the reign of the Crusaders.
On the right of the façade are the remains of that grand tower, once
consisting of five stories, only three of which remain. In each of the
three sides of the second story is a massive pointed window, and in
the third, rising proudly above the domes of the church, are plain and
arched windows. Though conjointly owned by the Greeks and Latins, the
Armenians and Copts, the church is now subject to the control of the
Turkish governor of the city, who holds the keys, and levies a heavy
tax upon the rival sects worshiping at its sacred shrines. On the
left in entering this ancient edifice, the traveler’s attention is
attracted by the lordly Turkish guard and his friends, lounging on
softly-cushioned divans, where the hours are idly spent drinking
Mocha coffee and whiffing the best Stamboul from chibouks of elegant
construction.
Except St. Peter’s in Rome, there is no religious edifice now
standing more imposing than the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Owing
to the addition of chapels and the numerous partitions within for
the accommodation of the several sects, it is not easy to give the
dimensions and form of the interior. It may be said, however, to
consist of a nave 300 feet in length east and west, and of a transept
extending north and south 180 feet. The ceiling is eighty feet high.
Excepting the rotunda, the nave contains the magnificent chapel of the
Greeks, measuring ninety-eight feet in length and forty in width, which
is a church within a church. The walls are of wood, carved and gilded,
reaching to the lofty ceiling above. The entrance is in the western end,
beneath a pointed arch, now filled with a heavy screen, serving as a
massive door. From four large piers within, fifty-two feet high, spring
noble arches, supporting the central dome. In the eastern end is the
gorgeous high altar, the throne of the Greek patriarchs, and on either
side are stalls for the choral singers. Behind the throne, formed by a
wooden screen, is the robing-room for the priests, those ecclesiastical
actors of a corrupted Christianity. Nothing can excel the gorgeous
decorations of the interior, which is adorned according to the barbaric
taste of the Greeks. The sides of their chapel are elaborately carved
and gilded; from column and ceiling depend lamps and chandeliers of
gold, and ostrich eggs curiously ornamented; while on pier and screen
are rude pictures of the Byzantine style. Rising from the marble floor,
in the very centre of the chapel, is a marble column, inclosed with an
iron railing, marking the centre of the earth, and the identical spot
from which was taken the red clay for the formation of Adam’s body.
At the western end of this chapel is the great rotunda of the church,
measuring ninety-nine feet in diameter, encircled by eighteen colossal
piers, supporting a clere-story pierced with windows, above which
is the majestic dome, a hundred feet from the pavement below, with a
circular opening in the top for light and ventilation, similar to the
aperture in the dome of the Pantheon in Rome. In the very centre of
this rotunda, and directly beneath the dome, is the reputed sepulchre
of our Lord. In form it is not unlike a miniature temple, ten feet
in breadth, twenty in length, and of equal height. The exterior is
ornamented with semi-columns and pilasters, with rich cornices and
mouldings; with a dome resembling an imperial crown, and with a
thousand lamps of gold and silver, interspersed with wax tapers and
vases of flowers. The entrance is on the east, through a small inclosed
area, along which are rows of candles perpetually burning. Over the
portal floats the banner of the Cross, and beneath its silken folds is
a magnificent picture of Christ’s resurrection. It is the most spirited
representation of that grandest of all events ever thrown upon the
canvas. The Redeemer’s form is drawn with all the harmony of parts
and the grace of action of an Apollo Belvidere. With one foot resting
on the tomb, he is leaving the sepulchre with an air of triumph as
majestic as it is natural.
Illustration: VIEW OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE.
The interior is divided into two small chapels; the first is where
the angel was seen, and contains the throne on which he sat, and in the
second is the Holy Sepulchre. The vault is seven feet long and six wide,
surmounted with a small dome. The tomb occupies the whole length of the
north side of the chamber, incased with marble, and is three feet above
the floor; the upper slab is cracked through the centre, and its edges
are worn smooth by the kisses of pilgrim lips. Forty-two gold lamps
burn continually before the tomb, and from a golden censer clouds of
incense ascend as a memorial offering. Whether accepting or rejecting
its traditional identity with the sepulchre of Joseph of Arimathea,
no one can approach this revered shrine without profound emotions. For
fifteen centuries Christians have guarded it with a solicitude no less
tender than constant. To rescue it from the hands of infidel Moslems,
Peter the Hermit and the Pontiff Urban roused all Europe to war against
the Turk; to restore it to the Church, kings and princes, bishops and
nobles, gave their treasure, and the millions of Christendom flew to
arms to perish in the daring crusade; to it longing eyes in all lands
turn, and he whose lips have pressed its cold marble in devotion is
esteemed a saint with a charmed life. Such is the religious reverence
with which it is held, that none are allowed to approach it till hat
and shoes have been removed, while the more devout drag themselves
along the marble floor and fondly kiss the unconscious stone. Impelled
by a superstitious faith and a tender affection for their offspring,
mothers come from afar to lay their children on the tomb, and many an
invalid is only too happy if he may be laid beside his Master’s
sepulchre.
On leaving the tomb I fortunately met a young Irish monk whose
acquaintance I had previously formed, and who on this occasion
kindly offered to be my guide in the more thorough exploration of
this renowned church. With singular infatuation for holy places, the
shrine-makers both of the Greek and Latin Churches have identified
within this venerable building the sites of nearly all those solemn
events attending the death and resurrection of our Lord. In the
northern end of the transept is the Latin chapel, which has been in
the possession of the Franciscans since 1257 A.D.; though unpretending
both in its proportions and ornaments, it traditionally marks the spot
where Christ appeared to Mary, and bears the name of the Chapel of the
Apparition. Passing down the dark northern aisle, we lingered for a
moment in the legendary prison of Jesus, at the altar of Longinus, the
repentant soldier who had pierced the Savior’s side, and in the Chapel
of the Division of the Vestments. A few feet beyond, we descended a
flight of twenty-nine steps leading into the crypt or Chapel of St.
Helena, containing the marble chair she occupied while superintending
the search for the Holy Cross. A descent of twelve steps more leads
to the cavern where the mother of Constantine found the three crosses,
with the title Pilate wrote detached. From the sides of the rock drops
of water were dripping down which had percolated the surface above,
but which the young monk assured me were holy tears, the rocks still
weeping for the dead. Ascending to the floor of the church, and
threading the southern aisle, we came to the foot of the traditional
Calvary――a natural rock thirty feet long, fifteen high, and as many
wide, reached by eighteen steps cut in the living rock. The summit is
reached by two flights of steps, one used exclusively by the Greeks and
the other by the Latins, for, like the Jews and Samaritans, the former
have no dealings with the latter. On the summit is the Chapel of the
Elevation of the Cross, measuring forty-five feet in length, the floor
of which is paved with marble, the walls draped with silken velvet, and
from the ceiling gold lamps depend, dimly burning. At the eastern end
is a raised platform ten feet long, two high, and six wide, supporting
an altar; and directly before it is a hole in the rock, two feet
deep by one and a half square, in which once rested the foot of the
Redeemer’s cross. On either side is a similar hole for the crosses of
the two thieves, and near them is the rent in the rock caused by the
earthquake at the moment the Lord expired. Reverently regarding it as
real, the Christians of the East approach this shrine upon their knees,
fondly kissing what they believe to be the summit of Golgotha. Covered
as it is with a marble floor, it is impossible to determine whether the
elevation is masonry or living rock; if the latter, it is remarkable
that such a rocky eminence should be left in this portion of the city;
and if a natural rock, its sides and top should be exposed to view.
Descending the Greek staircase and turning to the right, we came to a
gloomy vault called the Tomb of Adam, near where once stood the tombs
of the chivalrous Godfrey and the heroic Baldwin. Returning to the
transept, we passed a yellow marble slab, inclosed with a low railing
which pilgrims fondly kiss, and over which lamps burn continually.
It is the legendary Stone of Unction, on which the body of Jesus was
anointed for his burial. Passing through the rotunda, we descended
into the tombs of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, together with two
others, excavated in the living rock, and which, if ancient, are the
most remarkable antiquities within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
Returning again to the rotunda, my good Franciscan gave me his
benediction, and, parting from me, left me to the reflections of the
hour.
Whether this church covers the Golgotha of the crucifixion and the
place of our Lord’s sepulture remains an open question. No subject
within the range of sacred archæology presents greater difficulties,
and none has been contested with a more brilliant display of acute
argumentation and varied learning. Pre-eminently it is a question of
two sides, and the contest is sometimes so evenly balanced that an
assumed victory by the advocates of either theory is one of doubtful
certainty. To argue against the supposition, one is forced to reason
against his inclination to stand on the site of the Redeemer’s death
and sit within the shadow of his tomb; to reject it is to leave the
world without a substitute, and consign the remembrance of those grand
events which it commemorates to the memory of man, without a knowledge
of the scene of their occurrence; to deny the identity of the spot is
to call in question the traditions of fifteen centuries, to which the
Christians of Europe and of the East have fondly clung, and for which
the brave have died; to accept it is to argue against the unbroken
silence of three hundred years――against equivocal history――against
topography――against analogy――against eminent scholarship――against the
Bible. The argument for it is tradition and history; the proof against
it is the Bible and topography.
Traditionally considered, the argument in its favor runs thus: Such was
the popularity of Jesus, and such the publicity of his death, burial,
and resurrection, as to stamp the place of their occurrence with
imperishable memory; that the descent of the Holy Ghost, the conversion
of three thousand, the early founding of his Church in the city of his
rejection, and the maintenance of its unity for thirty-seven years,
combined to cherish in the public mind the recollection of the place;
that though, just previous to the siege of the Holy City by Titus,
his followers fled to Pella, beyond the Jordan, it was but a temporary
departure, and that, after the storm of war had spent its fury, they
returned to the city of their choice; that the desolation of seventy
years which followed the conquest of the Romans was partial, and that,
while the more wealthy of the population were sold into captivity, many
of the common people retained their humbler homes; that, from the year
130 A.D. to the present time, Jerusalem has been an inhabited city, and
that the Emperor Hadrian rebuilt the city, and, to dishonor alike the
Jew and Christian, he reared a fane in honor of Jupiter on the site of
Solomon’s Temple, and covered the tomb of Jesus with a temple to Venus;
and that this temple to Venus remained standing for two hundred years
after its erection, and was seen by Eusebius in the year 326 A.D.
Illustration: GROUND PLAN OF THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE.
Such is the evidence for the identity of the Holy Sepulchre as the tomb
of Jesus, from his resurrection down to the commencement of authentic
history. It is unwritten tradition, and, at best, presumptive proof.
Extending through a period of three hundred years of wars, revolutions,
and desolations, it is the most unreliable period of all the centuries
subsequent to the Christian era. Whatever may have been the temporary
interest attached to Golgotha and to the tomb of Joseph to the idle
and curious, to the friend and foe of Jesus, it is evident, from
their inspired narrative, that the sacred writers neither shared
the excitement, nor considered it incumbent on them to describe with
minuteness the scene of their Master’s death and burial. They were too
much absorbed in recording the stupendous facts of our Lord’s expiatory
sufferings, and the glory of his resurrection, to entertain their
readers with an accurate account of the rock on which he expired, and
of the sepulchre from which he arose triumphant. The place is forgotten
in the significance of the event; the actor, and not the stage, is the
burden of their history. Their simple story is, They led him away to
crucify him;[229] When they came to the place which is called Calvary,
there they crucified him;[230] The place where Jesus was crucified was
nigh to the city;[231] Now in the place where he was crucified there
was a garden, and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man
yet laid.[232] This is the sum of their record. They must have been
familiar both with the place of execution and of interment, but, from
Matthew to Revelation, the apostles are silent to indifference as
to the one and the other. Had they deemed it important, they might
have intimated out of which gate the mournful procession passed, and
on which side of the city the Son of God was slain; but, regarding
such information as unworthy their sublime narrative, or fearing
our idolatry, they leave us to the uncertainty of conjecture. The
invitation of the angels to the devoted Marys, Come, see the place
where the Lord lay, was not to enshrine the tomb, but to unshrine it,
by convincing them by their own sight that he is not here, for he is
risen, as he said; and, dear as the spot might be, they were not to
linger, but to go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from
the dead.[233] We never read of their return to that tomb. Convinced
of his resurrection, they sought him among the living and not among the
dead. From the summit of Olivet they watched his ascending form, till
a cloud received him out of their sight, and then returned with great
joy, not to the tomb, but to an “upper room,” waiting the “promise
of the Father.”[234] In his wondrous sermon on the day of Pentecost,
St. Peter declared the resurrection of Christ, but made no allusion to
his tomb, while he reminded his hearers that David’s sepulchre is with
us unto this day.[235] In all the subsequent apostolic letters, neither
the zealous Peter, nor the beloved John, nor St. Paul, that devoted
worshiper of our Lord, ever alluded to those memorable places.
History is comparatively silent as to the return of the Christians
from Pella. Many of the first followers of Christ were strangers in
Jerusalem, who had come to the Holy City from distant countries to
celebrate the annual festivals of their nation. Such must have been
most of the three thousand converted on the day of Pentecost, who,
returning to their far-off homes, spread the glad tidings of a risen
Savior as they went.[236] And although all who “believed were together
and had all things common, and sold their possessions and goods, and
parted them to all men as every man had need, and continued daily with
one accord in the Temple, and breaking bread from house to house,”[237]
yet in a brief time thereafter St. Stephen was martyred, “and at that
time there was a great persecution against the church which was in
Jerusalem, and they were all scattered abroad throughout the regions
of Judea and Samaria, except the apostles.”[238] The number who fled
to Pella, which was but a small town on the eastern bank of the Jordan,
must have been exceedingly small. Those who found refuge there remained
for seventy years, during which time Jerusalem was a desolation; and,
excepting the military towers on Mount Zion, “the rest of the wall was
so entirely thrown down even with the ground by those who digged it up
to the very foundation, that there was left nothing to make those who
came thither believe it had ever been inhabited.”[239] By some this
account is regarded as exaggerated, and at most it can only refer to
the walls of the city. Granting the correctness of such a supposition,
and that some of the poorer inhabitants clung to the ruins of the
capital, yet historians agree that the Christians did not return to
Jerusalem till about the year 130 A.D., which was after the town had
been rebuilt by the Emperor Adrian, and by him called _Ælia Capitolina_.
And, at best, only the descendants of those who had fled returned, as
during the lapse of seventy years most of the fugitives had ascended to
their reward. It is also difficult to conceive how those who had never
visited Jerusalem before, and especially after it had been rebuilt by
the Romans, could have identified an obscure tomb which had remained
unmarked by any enduring monument.
The historic accounts which have come down to us that Adrian
desecrated the tomb of Jesus by erecting over it an idol monument, are
as contradictory as they are inconsistent. As the emperor was the enemy
of the Jew rather than of the Christian, it is impossible to conceive
what motive impelled him to dishonor an humble shrine held sacred by a
handful of harmless religionists. The erection of a proud fane on the
site of Solomon’s Temple is in keeping with the character of the man
and his hatred for the Jews, but the desecration of Golgotha and of
the Holy Sepulchre is inconsistent with his reign in the East, and with
the admission of the Christians to his new colony and city. But the
early Church historians are not agreed as to the name and character of
this idol monument. Writing after the death of Constantine, Eusebius
speaks of a temple to Venus covering the Holy Sepulchre, ascribing
its erection to impious men; writing sixty years later than Eusebius,
Jerome ascribes it to the Emperor Adrian. Eusebius declares it was
a temple, Jerome affirms it was a statue; Eusebius asserts it was in
honor of Venus, Jerome informs us it was dedicated to Jupiter.
There are similar discrepancies in the writings of these fathers as to
the discovery of the Holy Sepulchre, and as to the founder of the first
Christian church reared in honor of our Lord’s resurrection. According
to Eusebius, “impious men, or rather the whole race of demons through
the agency of impious men, had labored to deliver over that illustrious
monument of immortality to darkness and oblivion. They had covered the
cave (or tomb) with earth brought from other quarters, and then erected
over it a sanctuary to Venus, in which to celebrate the impure rites
and worship of that goddess. Moved by a divine intimation made by
the Spirit of the Savior himself, the Emperor Constantine ordered
the obstructions removed, the holy tomb purified, and a magnificent
church to be erected in commemoration of the event.” In this miraculous
interposition to discover the veritable tomb of Christ, Eusebius
concedes that there was no existing tradition identifying its locality.
Either the place of our Lord’s burial was known to Eusebius, or it was
not. If it was certainly known to him by a pagan temple standing on
the spot, no miracle was necessary for its recognition; if it was not
known to him, then there was no unbroken tradition extending through a
period of three centuries, and the question turns upon the credibility
of the pretended miracle. The “Father of History” can only be saved
from palpable contradiction by supposing that after the tomb had been
supernaturally discovered he found over it a pagan temple. But what
proof have we that such a miracle was wrought? What good to mankind
has resulted from such an interposition? In all Bible miracles, the
great moral purposes to be attained justified the departure from
the established course of nature. The history of this church, from
Constantine to our own times, has been a series of religious rivalries,
of bitter contentions between opposing sects, of wars between
Christians and Turks, of weary and inefficacious pilgrimages from the
snows of Russia and the sands of Africa, of useless expenditures of
treasure, of relic worship, and of the utter absence of moral influence
on Moslem and Jew.
Such a miraculous intimation given to the apostles would have been
more appropriate than to a warrior whose piety is as questionable as
the results of his conversion have proved disastrous to mankind. To
an enlightened Christian mind it would afford a melancholy pleasure to
stand on Calvary and sit in the Savior’s tomb, but the temptation to
idolatry would be too strong for the common mind to brook. Duped by a
mercenary priesthood for fifteen centuries, millions of Greek and Latin
pilgrims have bowed in idolatrous veneration before the reputed tomb of
Jesus; and for a boon so humble, immense donations have been demanded
for the support of ecclesiastical establishments. The genuineness
of this divine intimation is affected by the character of the age of
Constantine. It was the age of pious frauds. Monkery had existed for
two centuries; heresies had taken deep root; saints were worshiped,
martyrs canonized, relics adored; and, sanctioned by imperial example,
the people were ripe for any deception. Either the theory of an
unbroken tradition coming down from the apostolic age to the time of
Eusebius, and the existence of a pagan temple upon the well-known tomb
must be abandoned, or the pretended miracle for its recognition must be
relinquished, as the one supersedes the necessity of the other. Both
can not co-exist; one or the other is without foundation in truth.
Jerome and his contemporaries, together with his successors, give a
different version of the identification of the Holy Sepulchre and of
the founder of the first church over the consecrated spot; and, what
must appear as a little remarkable to every intelligent mind, these
later historians, who wrote in succeeding centuries, are far more full
and minute in their details than Eusebius, who was an eyewitness of
what he wrote. According to them, the Empress Helena, the mother of
Constantine, moved by a pious desire to worship at those shrines sacred
to the memory of our Lord, visited Palestine in the year 326 A.D., at
the advanced age of eighty. Having identified the sites of the principal
events connected with our Lord’s history, she determined to rescue them
from oblivion by the erection of enduring monuments, no less expressive
of her own gratitude than for the guidance of those devout pilgrims
whose devotions might lead them in future years to the Holy Land.
Discovering to her satisfaction the stable and manger of the nativity
at Bethlehem, and the exact spot of the ascension on Olivet, she
ordered the erection of monumental structures on the site of such
extraordinary events, at once worthy the Redeemer’s glory and the
magnificent reign of her imperial son. Naturally desiring to supply the
intermediate link, and perpetuate the memory of the Savior’s death and
resurrection, she earnestly sought for Calvary and the reputed tomb of
Joseph. Whether the recollection of these most sacred places had been
lost, or whether to confirm her faith in the traditional sites, she
diligently inquired of the oldest Jewish and Christian inhabitants of
the city as to their location, who pointed her to the area at present
inclosed within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. But the accumulation
of rubbish during the lapse of so many years rendered the search
difficult and uncertain. Intent, however, on the consummation of an
object so laudable, and guided by a divine intimation, she at length
came to the sepulchre of Jesus, and near it discovered the three
crosses, with Pilate’s tablet, still bearing his superscription. The
joy experienced by the unexpected discovery of the crosses was lessened
by the tablet being detached from its original cross, precluding the
possibility of determining to which of the three it had belonged.
Ever fruitful in expedients, Macarius, then Bishop of Jerusalem,
suggested the happy thought that the three crosses should be presented
in succession to the person of a noble lady at that moment afflicted
with an incurable disease, and the one which should impart healing
virtue should be regarded as the cross on which the Lord of life and
glory suffered. Singly each cross was presented, the first and second,
however, without effect, but on the touch of the third she immediately
recovered. Content with the accomplishment of a work so grand, and
sincerely grateful for the honor Heaven had conferred upon her, she
ordered the erection of a magnificent basilica over the Redeemer’s tomb,
and, full of holy joy, the venerable Helena returned to Constantinople,
where she expired in her eighty-second year. Nine years subsequent
to her visit, and seven years after her demise, the Church of the
Holy Sepulchre was completed, and with unrivaled pomp dedicated to
Jesus in the year 335 A.D. With these additional facts and palpable
discrepancies, it is impossible to determine to which belongs the honor
of the work――to the Emperor of the West or to his imperial mother.
In both accounts there is the incompatible mingling of tradition and
miracle, mutually destroying the force of each other. An intelligent
Christian, visiting Jerusalem for the first time, and remembering his
Lord expired and was interred “nigh unto the city,” would not be a
little surprised to find Golgotha and the tomb of Joseph in the heart
of the modern town. At the time of those great events the city was
encompassed on the north with two walls. The first, beginning at the
Tower of Hippicus on Mount Zion, ran along its northern brow, and,
crossing the Tyropean Valley, terminated at the western wall of the
Temple inclosure, a distance of 630 yards. As the third wall was not
built till after the Crucifixion, a description of it is not material
to the argument; but on the direction of the second wall hangs the
decision of this long-contested question. According to Josephus, the
second wall commenced at the Gennath Gate, which signifies “garden,”
and was used as a means of ingress either to a royal garden on Mount
Zion, or of egress to the gardens in the Valley of Hinnom. In either
case the gate would have been located near the western wall of the city,
at which point the second wall commenced, and, running northward over
the level portion of Mount Akra to the Damascus Gate, and thence coming
down over Mount Bezetha, terminated at the northwest corner of the
Tower of Antonia, including in its course the traditional Golgotha.
To the most unpracticed eye such a line of wall would be in harmony
with good sense, with correct civil engineering, and with the approved
principles of military defensive works. To locate the Gennath Gate
at the north base of Mount Zion, and run the second wall along Bazar
Street up to the Damascus Gate and thence back to the Tower of Antonia,
would certainly exclude the present site of the Holy Sepulchre, but
would also exclude the large Pool of Hezekiah, give but a narrow space
to the “Lower City” of ancient Jerusalem, and leave the whole of Mount
Akra uninclosed. Such a line of wall would have left a large part,
and the weakest portion, of the northern wall of Zion unprotected, and
skirting, as it must have done, the steep sides of Akra, been entirely
unavailing as a defensive structure. No sane engineer would have
constructed a wall so as to expose to the use of an attacking enemy the
large fountain of Hezekiah; and, if the second wall did not run north
and south, it is impossible to understand Josephus, who informs us that,
in his assault upon this part of the city, Titus stationed troops in
towers along the southern part, and dispatched others to throw down the
northern portion.
The remains at the Damascus Gate of an ancient gateway with towers,
the masonry of which is of equal antiquity with that in the northeast
corner of the Temple area, are no doubt the ruins of the northern gate
of the second wall; and the traces of an ancient wall between the old
gateway and the Latin convent clearly indicate that the second wall
inclosed Mount Akra on the west, and therefore included the Calvary
and Holy Sepulchre of the monks.
Though the legendary claims of this renowned church are rejected,
and its pretended rights to the affections of mankind denied, yet the
antiquity of its origin and the romance of its history can not fail
to awaken a momentary veneration in the most indifferent spectator.
Dedicated to Jesus in the year 335 A.D., it remained standing in all
its primal grandeur for two hundred and seventy-nine years, when, in
614 A.D., it was ruthlessly destroyed by the Persian, Chosroes II.,
who, after the capture of the city, massacred thousands of the citizens,
including many monks and nuns, and, as the crowning act of his
vengeance, carried the Patriarch of Jerusalem, together with the “true
cross,” into captivity. Sixteen years later the church was rebuilt,
under the superintendence of Modestus, superior of the convent of
Theodosius, and the exiled patriarch returned, entering the city
in triumph with the “cross” on his shoulder. Destined to the most
remarkable vicissitudes, it was again destroyed in 969 A.D. by the
Fatimites, who, in the madness of their retaliation, committed the aged
patriarch to the flames of the burning building. Remaining a heap of
ruins for more than forty years, the revengeful Khalif el-Hâkim, the
spiritual and fanatical Prince of the Druses, caused it to be entirely
demolished, plowing up its very foundations, and attempting the utter
destruction of the tomb itself. With an energy as untiring as their
gifts were munificent, the Christians rebuilt their favorite sanctuary
within thirty-eight years after their cruel persecution by El-Hâkim,
and it remained standing till 1099 A.D., when the Crusaders captured
Jerusalem; the church was enlarged and beautified by them; and during
the lapse of more than seven centuries it continued unimpaired till
the year 1808 A.D., when, on the night of the 12th of October, a fire,
originating in the Armenian chapel, consumed the noble pile. So intense
was the heat that the massive walls suffered immensely; the cupola
was rent in two; the roof of the nave and of the triforium gallery,
together with all the altars, images, and pictures, were consumed; the
marble piers in the rotunda were calcined, and the lofty dome above
fell in with a tremendous crash upon the Holy Sepulchre. Inheriting
the zeal and benevolence of an earlier age, the Christians of our
own century determined to reconstruct their holiest of shrines,
and selecting Commones, a Greek of the island of Mitylene, for the
architect, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was rebuilt in the year
1810 A.D., and remains standing to this day, the pride of the East and
the most imposing of Christian monuments.[240]