Haggard Anthology Vol 16, page 90
Afterwards Mr. Curzon and his party set out to return to the convent where they were lodging, the soldiers of their escort making a way for them. When he reached the station traditionally occupied by the Virgin during the Crucifixion he saw a number of people lying on the floor of the church. At first he thought that they were resting, but at length coming to a great pile of them perceived that these were dead bodies. Now I must quote, since nothing can give a better idea of this fearful event than the words of the eye-witness who describes its details. Many of those whom he took to be peaceful sleepers were he found "quite black with suffocation, and farther on were others all bloody and covered with the brains and entrails of those who had been trodden to pieces by the crowd. At this time there was no crowd in this part of the church; but a little farther on, round the corner towards the great door, the people, who were quite panic-struck, continued to press forward, and every one was doing his utmost to escape. The guards, outside, frightened at the rush from within, thought that the Christians wished to attack them, and the confusion soon grew into a battle. The soldiers with their bayonets killed numbers of fainting wretches, and the walls were spattered with blood and brains of men who had been felled, like oxen, with the butt-ends of the soldiers' muskets. Every one struggled to defend himself or to get away, and in the mêlée all who fell were immediately trampled to death by the rest. So desperate and savage did the fight become that even the panic-struck and frightened pilgrims appear at last to have been more intent upon the destruction of each other than desirous to save themselves."
Mr. Curzon then tells of his own fight for life, and of his hideous struggle with one of the Pasha Ibrahim's colonels, whom in the end he overthrew. The officer died where he fell, but Mr. Curzon found his legs again, and succeeded in winning his way back to the sacristy of the Catholics, and thence to the room adjoining the church, which had been assigned to him by the monks. He says "the dead were lying in heaps, even upon the stone of unction; and I saw full 400 wretched people, dead and living, heaped promiscuously one upon another, in some places above five feet high."
The site of the church of the Holy Sepulchre has witnessed many tragedies during the last fifteen centuries, but few of them can have been more terrible than that of sixty-five years ago, which Mr. Curzon describes. Yet from Easter to Easter still "the miracle" goes on.
Here I must explain, for the benefit of those readers who may be unacquainted with the conditions which prevail at Jerusalem, that this church of the Sepulchre is the joint possession of various Christian sects, who have held their rites in it for many ages. In or about the year 1342 the traveller Bertrandon de la Brocquière, lord of Vieux-Château, writes: "In the church of the Holy Sepulchre reside also many other sorts of Christians, Jacobites, Armenians, Abyssinians, from the country of Prester-John, and Christians of the girdle."
To come to a later age, we have evidence on the point from the pen of the Rev. Henry Maundrell, who was elected chaplain of their Aleppo factory by the company of Levant merchants in 1695, and who died while still a young man at Aleppo in 1701. In the interval he visited Jerusalem and wrote an interesting and valuable account of what he saw. Speaking of the church of the Holy Sepulchre he says that "in these places almost every Christian nation anciently maintained a small society of monks, each society having its proper quarter assigned to it by appointment of the Turk, such as the Latins, Greeks, Syrians, Armenians, Abyssinians, Georgians, Nestorians, Coptites, Maronites, &c." In his age, however, most of these communities had been taxed out by the oppressions of the Turks, so that only the Latins, Greeks, Armenians and Coptites were left. As in our time, each of these fraternities had its own altars and sanctuaries, where they possessed the right of celebrating their services to the exclusion of all others. He continues:—
"But that which has always been the great prize contended for by the several sects is the command and appropriation of the Holy Sepulchre, a privilege contested with so much unchristian fury and animosity, especially between the Greeks and Latins, that, in disputing which party should go into it to celebrate their mass, they have sometimes proceeded to blows and wounds even at the very door of the sepulchre, mingling their own blood with the sacrifices, an evidence of which fury the father guardian showed us in a great scar upon his arm, which he told us was the mark of a wound given him by a sturdy Greek priest in one of these unholy wars. Who can expect ever to see these holy places rescued from the hands of infidels? Or, if they should be recovered, what deplorable contests might be expected to follow about them, seeing, even in their present state of captivity, they are made the occasion of such unchristian rage and animosity?"
If the actual conflicts described by Maundrell have ceased, the spirit of them remains, and well may we echo the questions which conclude his remarks. The quarrels of the Christian sects are the object of the continual wonderment and mockery of the Moslem masters of the holy places, whose business it is to criticise and control them.
I imagine that few visitors who care to take the trouble to think, even if they have never questioned the authenticity of the site, can return faith-whole from an inspection of the Holy Sepulchre. The monks of various persuasions and different periods have made the mistake of leaving nothing to the imagination. Thus, in addition to about a dozen chapels dedicated to sundry saints and supposed to be connected with them in this way and in that, and to the great Greek cathedral, the Catholicon—in itself a fine building, but to my taste much marred by its profuse and tawdry ornamentation—there are many other sacred spots, each of them fixed to a hair's breadth.
Thus we have the Centre of the World accurately, if unscientifically, determined, and the place of the burial of the skull of Adam, who was constructed of clay taken from this locality. Then we see the Mount of Calvary—the reader will remember, by the way, as I have pointed out, that nowhere in the Bible is it said that Calvary was on a mount—beneath which Adam was interred, until the Blood, flowing from the Cross, brought him to life again. Melchisedec, too, was buried here, and the socket made for the Cross in the rock has been carefully preserved, and is now lined with silver. Also the pilgrim is shown—and, if he is a Russian, kisses the place—where stood the crosses of the two thieves. Next there is an underground chapel called that of St. Helena, where the Cross was found. Near the altar, too, is a seat in which the Empress Helena sat while the Cross was unearthed. Unfortunately for the genuineness of this relic, as the cold-blooded Baedeker points out, an Armenian patriarch of the seventeenth century, complained in his day that he had frequently been obliged to renew this seat because the piety of pilgrims led them to bear it away piecemeal. He adds, does the sceptic Baedeker, "Some explorers regard this chapel as part of the ancient city moat."
To this day pilgrims play the same pranks as poor Father Barnabé told me of on Mount Tabor almost with tears; indeed, if left alone, they would carry off the whole place. In this chapel of St. Helena, and on the staircase leading to it, I saw names scribbled upon the walls. Greatly did such conduct scandalise Brother Fabri, a hater of self-advertisement, and, above all things, a gentleman. He tells how vanity led some noblemen to inscribe their names, with the tokens of their birth and rank, on the walls of the church, and even to paint their coats of arms and cut their initials with mallets and chisels on the pillars and marbles, thereby vexing and scandalising all men. He adds:—
"I have seen some vainglorious nobles, whose pride had brought them to such a pitch of folly, that when they went up into the Chapel of Mount Calvary and bowed themselves down upon the holy rock, wherein is the secret-hole of the Cross, they would pretend to be praying, and within the circle of their arms would secretly scratch with exceeding sharp tools their shields, with the marks—I cannot say of their noble birth, but rather of their silliness, for a perpetual memorial of their folly. But this they were forced to do secretly, for had the guardian of the holy rock, whose name is George, seen them doing so, he would have dragged them away by the hair of their head. The same madness moved some to inscribe their names, shields, and armorial bearings with sharp irons on the slab which covers the tomb on the most holy sepulchre of the Lord."
Felix goes on to describe in delightful language the feelings of the "devout and simple-minded pilgrim" like himself, when he came across the traces of all this industry. Apparently it induced him to curse and to swear, and to express angry hopes that the engraver would come to total grief, or, at least, lose his hand, and to petition the Almighty that He would be pleased to see to the matter. One is glad to learn, though elsewhere I have read otherwise, that German nobles alone followed this evil fashion, which often caused poor Fabri, their fellow-countryman, to blush for them, "both among Christians and Pagans," for as the proverb which he cites says neatly enough, "the hands of fools befoul the sides of the house." One "fool" in particular almost drove him mad, for he was as fond of writing his name as that monarch of whom it is told that, armed with a piece of chalk, he might be met rushing breathless from room to room of his palace, while after him struggled attendants whose business it was, for a sufficient reason, diligently to apply the sponge and blot out the royal compositions. One is glad to learn that he, the pilgrim, not the king, came to a bad end, so that his kinsmen and friends "would have given much gold could they have wiped out his name from the earth which he had been at such pains to paint up everywhere."
I fear, however, that he has left many descendants, and it has been my lot to study their signs-manual and works of religion, prose, poetry, and humour, not only at home, but in every distant land, and in every famous or sacred place which I have visited throughout the world. With Felix, I pray that writer's cramp of the most virulent nature may paralyse their scribbling fingers.
Besides those which I have enumerated, here are many other places to be seen; for instance, the Chapel of the Forty Martyrs, the Chapel of St. James, the Chapel of St. Thekla, the Chapel of the Archangel Michael, the Chapel of St. Mary of Egypt, and the Chapel of Mary Magdalene. In the church itself, too, are more sites, such as the spot where the Lord appeared to Mary Magdalene, the Column of Scourging, the Footprints of Christ, the Prison of Christ, the Chapel of the Crowning with Thorns, the Chapel of the Raising of the Cross, the Column of Derision, and the Chapel of St. Longinus.
Longinus by the way is fabled, by the monks of the sixth century and their successors, to be that Roman who pierced the side of the Saviour with his spear, and was recovered from the blindness of one eye by the blood which fell upon it. Afterwards he became a Christian and a saint. Near to this chapel is another of the Parting of the Raiment, and so forth.
I do not dwell in detail upon these various spots and their traditions because, to be plain, I have no faith in them. Even if it be admitted that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre does cover the place of the Crucifixion and its attendant events, which I believe to be most improbable, it is beyond credence that all these localities should be known with such exactitude. Moreover, many of them have been changed during the passage of the centuries. Their details, architectural and other, can be studied in any book of reference. As for the general effect produced upon a visitor by so much ornamentation, so many candles, and such a diversity of occurrences, miraculous and spiritual, said to be concentrated beneath these roofs, it is, I confess, bewildering. Days must be spent there before all the component parts become clear to the mind in their proper sequence, and those days many would prefer to devote to other objects, to them of greater interest.
What I was very glad to see, however, were the sword, spurs, and the cross worn by Godfrey de Bouillon, which are shown in the Latin Sacristy, especially the sword, a plain weapon of the ordinary Crusader form, wherewith he is said to have halved a giant Saracen as easily as a juggler severs a silk handkerchief. Godfrey, it will be remembered, was the hero of the first crusade, and after the capture of the city, was elected King of Jerusalem! This title he declined, saying that where the Saviour wore a crown of thorns he would have none of gold, and in place of it took that of Baron of the Holy Sepulchre. He died, or was poisoned, in the year 1100, aged only thirty-eight, and in this church his grave is shown. It is something of a shock to read in Baedeker, hard to be convinced, that these relics, which look old and authentic enough, are "antiquities of doubtful genuineness." But what is there in this church that is not doubtful?
Not one of the least interesting sights of this ancient place, hallowed by so much suffering, so many traditions faithfully believed in for fifteen centuries, and the prayers of tens of thousands of good and earnest Christians, is, from some retired nook beneath the rotunda, to watch the behaviour of the various visitors. There is the superior person who knows all about it, and says so in a loud voice, waving his guide-books at sundry architectural details which he explains for the benefit of the unlearned, sometimes by a trifling confusion tacking the wrong description on to the object under view. Yonder stands the glib dragoman, rattling off his tale with the unconvincing facility of a parrot. Next come Russian pilgrims, pious happy folk who know no doubt, whose faith is built upon a rock. If you were to suggest to these that this was not the real spot of the Crucifixion and the rising of the Saviour, probably they would look upon you as an emissary of the antichrist, or at the least, an infidel. With sighs and tears and beating of the breast such as those of the publican in the parable, they go by, genuflecting, kissing, prostrating themselves, while the learned person of whom they take no notice, points them out and discourses upon them as though they were wild animals.
Then appear another party—three ladies, two gentlemen, and a youth of about twelve, transatlantic in origin and beautifully dressed, all of them. Their hands in their pockets, they stroll down the church of the Crusaders chattering loudly—but every one chatters here, it is the pleasing habit of the place. What does surprise and make the observer in his corner wonder if he sees aright is the fact that the two gentlemen of the party wear their hats, the head of the youth being adorned with a brilliant fez. The middle-aged inhabitant of these islands who, do what he will, cannot altogether keep himself up to date, rubs his eyes, remembering that ever so many years ago he was taught to take off his hat, even in a tramp's lodging-house, if Mr. and Mrs. Tramp were at home, and that the same rule might à fortiori be supposed to hold in what is, after all, the oldest, and, by many, the most venerated fane dedicated to the Almighty in all Christendom. Even if these visitors to that place had no belief or reverence for its Master, it might still be supposed to hold.
Ultimately this particular party, still covered, advanced to the door of the Chapel of the Angels and the Holy Sepulchre. David, our dragoman, a man of mild and inoffensive manners, sprang from his seat, muttering something. It appears that as a native Christian of Jerusalem he has certain rights in the Holy Sepulchre.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Knock their hats off," he answered; and, pushing through the little crowd of Russians, David placed himself at the low door of the Chapel of the Angels, quite prepared for action.
Whether it was that the gentlemen saw something threatening in his eye, or, as was also suggested, that the entrance being so low it proved more convenient to pass it uncovered, I know not. At least, they removed their hats, so David was not obliged to resort to a violence which I am sure is foreign to his nature. Anyhow, his determination to use it if necessary, sent him up, under all the circumstances, at least fifty per cent. in my estimation.
The Holy Sepulchre, apparently, did not interest them much, and the pilgrims emerged almost as quickly as they went in, replacing their headgear as they came. Then a really good idea struck them. The ladies, one gentleman, and the hopeful in the fez, arranged themselves in an artistic group over against the sacred building, with the wall of the dome for a background; while the other gentleman, with much preparation, unslung his kodak, focussed and photographed them. Oh! that Felix Fabri had been there to see, and could have bequeathed us his impressions of that inimitable scene. As for myself, feeling my temper getting the better of me, and not wishing to be involved in an unseemly dispute, I left the church.
XXIII. THE MOUNT OF OLIVES AND THE WAILING OF THE JEWS
We visited many other places in Jerusalem, but few of these impressed themselves much upon me, principally because I could not bring myself to believe that there was even a probability that they had to do with the events which are reported to have happened in them. Thus, there is a fine Armenian church, which as a church is worth looking at, where St. James is said to have been beheaded. He may have been, but I can discover no sufficient evidence of the fact. All that the Bible, a much-neglected book of reference, says about it is that when Herod the king stretched forth his hand to vex certain of the Church "he killed James the brother of John with the sword." Well, it may have happened here. In this church there are old porcelain picture-tiles, which are really very curious.
Then there is the house of Caiaphas, now an Armenian monastery, where we saw an altar, said to be made of the stone which closed the entrance to the sepulchre of Christ. This same stone is also to be seen in the Chapel of the Angels in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, a difficulty which Fabri gets over by stating that the faithful cut it into two. By the way, in his time, pilgrims stole fragments of that stone almost more greedily than anything else. A companion of Fabri's bribed one of the Armenian guardians with two ducats to break a piece from it, which the pair of them did by stealth in the darkness. This knight died at sea—surely the Armenian guardian should also have died, but perhaps he did—and Felix, evidently much to his delight, inherited the fragment, which he took home with him to Ulm. In this monastery also we were shown a little cell where the Saviour is said to have been imprisoned before his trial, also the place where Peter denied his Master, and the tombs of many Armenian patriarchs. The last are undoubtedly genuine; for the other sites there seems to be no real authority, although, much as they are to-day, they were all of them shown to pilgrims in the time of Fabri. In a few brief lines Baedeker disposes of their claims.
