CHAPTER XI.

JERUSALEM.

We approach at length the centre of interest in Palestine--the Holy City. In this chapter are gathered up the results of fifteen visits to the capital, and of two winters, one passed in a country villa outside, and a second within the walls, in our “own hired house.” During this time I penetrated into almost every nook and corner of the city, and visited its underground passages, and its smallest churches and mosques.

From my room in the Mediterranean Hotel I looked out at dawn. The orange-coloured light behind the Mount of Olives showed a black outline of mosque and tree and hill, with steel-coloured mountains to the right, capped by long wreaths of leaden vapour. The town lay in darkness below, its roofs shining wet with the heavy dew. Dimly visible the great dome of the Chapel of the Rock shone with its new coat of lead, and the tall minaret on the north wall of the Haram, together with the dark cypresses, was just distinguishable. A vapour went up over the whole city, and gave it a weird and dream-like aspect.

Soon the town awoke, and the morning hubbub began. Long trains of camels came in, and the swarthy Bedawîn wrangled with the soldiers at the gate. The market-girls from Bethlehem appeared under David’s Tower, and, as the crowd thickened, black priests in saucepan-like hats jostled sickly Jews, with fur caps, long lovelocks, and dirty gabardines. The heavily-shod, unkempt Russian pilgrims mingled with sleek Rabbis, with Europeans, and German residents; Armenians with apple-cheeks and broad red sashes, and fierce Kurds with long moustachios and swords, were also numerous.

So motley a scene as that which is presented daily in David Street and in the market-place under David’s Tower, is perhaps to be found nowhere else. The chatter of the market-people, the shouting of the camel-drivers, the tinkling of bells, mingle with the long cry of the naked derwish, as he wanders, holding his tin pan for alms, and praising unceasingly “the Eternal God.” The scene is most remarkable in the morning, before the glare of the sun, beating down on the stone city, has driven its inhabitants into the shadow; for, later on, the white houses, white chalk hills, and dull grey domes, present a truly unattractive prospect; but about eight a.m. the market still lies in cool shadow, under the huge ochre-coloured tower, with a background of cypresses, and of white walls belonging to the Bible Warehouse. The foreground is composed of a tawny group of camels lying down, donkeys bringing in vegetables or carrying out rubbish, and women in blue and red dresses slashed with yellow, their dark faces and long eyes (tinged with blue) shrouded in white veils, which are fringed perhaps with black or red. Soldiers in black, and Softas in spotless robes, are haggling about their change, or praying in public undisturbed by the din. Horsemen ride by in red boots with red saddles, and spears fifteen feet long. The Greek Patriarch walks past on a visit, preceded by his macebearers and attended by his secretary. Up the narrow street comes the hearse of a famous Moslem, followed by a long procession of women, in white “izars,” which envelop the whole figure, swelling out like balloons, and leaving only the black mask of the face-veil visible; their voices are raised in the high-pitched tremulous ululation which is alike their cry for the dead and their note of joy for the living. Next, perhaps, follows a regiment of sturdy infantry marching back to the castle, with a colonel on a prancing grey--men who have shown their mettle since then, and fat, unwieldy officers, who have perhaps broken down under the strain of campaigning. Their bugles blow a monotonous tune, to which the drums keep time, and the men tread, not in step, but in good cadence to the music. If it be Easter, the native crowd is mingled with the hosts of Armenian and Russian pilgrims, the first ruddy and stalwart, their women handsome and black-eyed, the men fierce and dark; the Russians, yet stronger in build and more barbarian in air, distinguished from every other nationality by their unkempt beards, their long locks, their great fur caps, and boots. Not less distinct are the Spanish, Mughrabee, Russian, and German Jews, each marked by a peculiar and characteristic physiognomy.

Jerusalem is a city of contrasts, and differs widely from Damascus, not merely because it is a stone town in mountains, whilst the latter is a mud city in a plain, but because, while in Damascus Moslem religion and Oriental custom are unmixed with any foreign element, in Jerusalem every form of religion, every nationality of East and West, is represented at one time.

Jerusalem is quite a small town, the circumference of its walls being only two miles and three-quarters; yet within this space it contains a population of 20,000 souls. Ten sects or religions are established in it, and, if their various sub-divisions are counted, they amount to a total of twenty-four, more than half of which are Christian. Prophets and visionaries of no particular sect are also not wanting at any time in the Holy City.

Jerusalem is a very ugly city. It is badly built of mean stone houses perched on the slope of the watershed, and seems in constant danger of sliding into the Kedron Valley. Beautiful bits of architecture are to be admired in its interior--the Gothic façade of the Holy Sepulchre, the grand walls of the Temple, the glowing interior of the mosque; the view towards the east is also very fine, a long wall of far-off mountains, with a foreground of embattled parapets and slender minarets standing out against the distance. Yet, with all this, the city as a whole is not beautiful; its flat-roofed houses and dirty lanes are neither pleasing nor healthy, and the surrounding chalk hills are barren and shapeless. Shechem is a fine well-watered city. Damascus is bedded in gardens, and bristles with minarets, but there is nothing in the site or architecture of Jerusalem, as a whole, which can save it from the imputation of ugliness.

Going down David Street and through the fruit bazaar, with its background of arches, wooden balconies, marble portals brown with age, and fragments of Crusading architecture, you come at length through a bye-lane to the Jews’ wailing-place--a narrow street with the high Temple rampart rising on the east. All along the narrow court the Jews are crowded on Friday. The scene is striking from the great size and strength of the mighty stones, which rise without door or window up to the domes and cypresses above, suggesting how utterly the original worshippers are cast out, by men of alien race and faith, as they here congregate to bewail “our people that are wanderers, our priests that are defiled, our Temple that is cast down.”

Nearest to us stood the Pharisees from Germany, the Ashkenazi Jews, dressed in their best; the old men with grey locks and thin grey beards, on their heads the high black velvet cap edged with fur, their lovelocks curling on either side of their lank faces, their robes long gabardines of many colours; the younger men had blue-black hair, and pale strongly-marked features; here and there one saw a richly-dressed boy, a few little red-haired children, and occasionally an old woman, their faces all stamped with that subtle likeness which betrays the Jews in any country, and in any dress.

There were bits of colour in these groups which would have delighted Rembrandt. An aged white-haired man, in a mulberry gabardine and black velvet cap, contrasted with the black satin and fur of his next neighbour, and in front of both was a third in a green dress. All these dark rich costumes were set in a warm background of tawny colour made by the great wall towering above.

Beyond the Ashkenazi were the Spanish and Mughrabee Jews, in quieter colours with black turbans, brown-eyed and more dignified in bearing. Presently came in a hulking fellow in citron-coloured coat and blue trousers, with a tall black pointed lambs-wool cap--a Russian Jew. The little Pharisees seemed to dwindle beside this giant, and his handsome, fresh-coloured face, blue eyes, and russet beard, seemed hardly to allow of his being one of the same nation; but it is the greatest peculiarity of the Jews that while never intermarrying, they yet approach in appearance most nearly the natives of the country in which they live, without entirely losing national traits of a distinctive character--a striking proof of the influence of climate and surroundings on race.

The emotion of a few of the worshippers was affecting. Here an aged woman in a white veil stood mute, her eyes fixed on the great stones of the Eternal House; there an elder leant his tearful face against the wall, his lips moving, his prayer-book unheeded. But as a rule the crowd maintained the tranquillity of an English congregation, and their dress and appearance was rather ludicrous than otherwise. The Rabbi read verse by verse the touching lamentation service, leaning his book on the wall, and lighted by two or three ordinary candle-lanterns placed before him. The assembly gave the responses in the peculiar manner of the Jews, which reminds one of the buzzing of a swarm of flies when disturbed, and they swayed their bodies all the time with the extraordinary bobbing motion which always accompanies their prayers.

Strange and indeed unique is the spectacle, and it reminds one forcibly of the unchanged character of the Jews. After nineteen centuries of wandering and exile, they are still the same as ever, still bound by the iron chain of Talmudic law, a people whose slavery to custom outruns even that of the Chinese to etiquette, and whose veneration for the past appears to bar the way of progress or improvement in the present.

Entering by the gate of the Cotton Bazaar, we stand at length within the Temple courts. Before us are the steps which lead up to the platform where shoes must be removed; for while the outer court, like the old Court of the Gentiles, is a promenade, the paved platform is a sacred enclosure, not to be trodden except barefoot.

From the bright sunlight we pass suddenly into the deep gloom of the interior, lit with the “dim religious light” of the glorious purple windows. The gorgeous colouring, the painted wood-work, the fine marble, the costly mosaics, the great dome flourished all over with arabesques and inscriptions, and gilded to the very top, all this splendour gleams out here and there from the darkness.

And in honour of what is this beautiful chapel built? A low canopy of rich silk covers the dusty limestone ledge round which the “Dome of the Rock” has risen. The Rock of Paradise is the scene of Mohammed’s ascension, the source of the rivers of Paradise, the Place of Prayer of all the Prophets, the Foundation-stone of the World.

Such was the holy spot enshrined by the Dome. The sacred rock, recovered and purified by Omar, was soon after enclosed by the Khalif Abd el Melek, and the inscriptions on the walls give the history of this building with most remarkable detail.

The Arab historians relate that the Dome of the Chain was the model for the Dome of the Rock. Now this is possible, if we except the outer wall of the latter. Take that wall away, and you have a building consisting of two concentric polygons, with pillars bound together by a wooden beam, and supporting arcades. The Dome of the Rock is just three times the size of the Dome of the Chain, and the various measures of plan and height are proportional. The smaller building may therefore have been originally the model of the larger.

Over the outer arcade of the Dome of the Rock runs the great Cufic inscription, giving the date of the erection of the building in 688 A.D. The name of Abd el Melek, the fourth of the Ommiyah Khalifs, has been taken out at a later period, and that of Mamûn, one of the Abbasîyeh Khalifs, substituted; but the clumsy forger has forgotten the date, and has used a lighter blue in the grounding, thus the antiquity of the text is the more confirmed by the alteration.

This inscription dates the arcade, and thus apparently the inner circle, but not necessarily the outer wall, which may be later. The doors in this outer wall bear Cufic inscriptions dating 831 A.D., at which time Mamûn restored the building; the beams in the roof resting on the wall bear the date 913 A.D. In the ninth century the pointed arch began to be used by the Arabs, and the outer wall cannot be dated later than this; but if it be, as may naturally be supposed, of the same date with its doors, it is part of the work of El Mamûn, and this agrees with the idea that ’Abd el Melek’s Dome of the Rock consisted of two concentric arcades only, proportional to those of the Dome of the Chain. The symmetry of the present proportions is destroyed by the great breadth of the larger building in comparison with its height, which is due simply to the addition of the outer wall. Once remove the outer wall, and the pleasing proportions of the Dome of the Chain are reproduced to three times their scale.

The Dome of the Rock belongs to that obscure period of Saracenic art when the Arabs had not as yet created an architectural style of their own, and when they were in the habit of employing Byzantine architects to build their mosques. Among the rare specimens of their work at this time, is the Mosque of ’Amrû, at Cairo, commenced in 642 A.D., and apparently almost rebuilt by that very ’Abd el Melek whose work in Jerusalem we are now considering.

Of the Egyptian building Mr. Fergusson writes: “It probably now remains in all essential parts as left by these two Caliphs” (’Abd el Melek and his successor, Walid). It is therefore very interesting to compare the Jerusalem Haram with the Cairo mosque, and the resemblance is striking.

In both there is a large rectangular area surrounded by colonnades; the pillars in the Cairo mosque are torn from older buildings, and support round arches, and a wooden beam runs above the capitals,--details also observable in the Dome of the Rock.

In both cases there is a mosque on the south wall of the enclosure, that at Jerusalem being, however, a Christian church adapted to Moslem worship, as is the great mosque at Damascus, also partly rebuilt by Walid.

In both the enclosures there is also the same feature of an octagonal building in the centre of the area, with an inner arcade supporting the dome; and this kind of structure is found in many other mosques at Damascus and in Cairo, being essentially an Arab building, suited either to give shade to a fountain useful for ablutions before prayer, or for the protection of some spot sacred, as the Mukam or “standing-place” of a saint or prophet. Such is the Dome of the Rock, not a mosque, as it is sometimes wrongly called, but a “station” in the outer court of the Aksa mosque.

In 831 A.D. the Khalif El Mamûn restored the Dome of the Rock, and if I am correct, enclosed it with an outer wall and gave it its present appearance. The beams in the roof of the arcade bear, as above stated, the date 913 A.D.: a well-carved wooden cornice, hidden by the present ceiling, must then have been visible beneath them.

In 1016 A.D. the building was partly destroyed by earthquake. To this date belong restorations of the original mosaics in the dome, as evidenced by inscriptions. The present wood-work of the cupola was erected by Husein, son of the Sultan Hakem, as shown by an inscription dated 1022 A.D.

The place next fell into the hands of the Crusaders, who christened it Templum Domini, and established in 1112 A.D. a chapter of Canons. The Holy Rock was then cut into its present shape and covered with marble slabs, an altar being erected on it. The works were carried on from 1115 A.D. to 1136 A.D. The beautiful iron grille between the pillars of the drum, and various fragments of carved work are of this date, including small altars with sculptured capitals, having heads upon them--abominations to the Moslem, yet still preserved within the precincts. The interior of the outer wall was decorated in the twelfth century with frescoes, traces of which still remain. The exterior of the same wall is surmounted by a parapet, with dwarf pillars and arches, which is first mentioned by John of Wurtzburg, but must be as old as the round arches of the windows below. The Crusaders would seem to have filled up the parapet arches, and to have ornamented the whole with glass mosaic, as at Bethlehem.

In 1187 A.D. Saladin won the city, tore up the altar, and once more exposed the bare rock, covered up the frescoes with marble slabs, and restored and regilded the dome, as evidenced by an inscription in it dating 1189 A.D.

In 1318 A.D. the lead outside and the gilding within were restored by Nakr ed Dîn, as evinced by an inscription.

In 1520 A.D. the Sultan Soliman cased the bases and upper blocks of the columns with marble. The wooden cornice, attached to the beam between the pillars, seems to be of this period, and the slightly pointed marble casing of the arches under the dome is probably of the same date. The windows bear inscriptions of 1528 A.D. The whole exterior was at this time covered with Kishâni tiles, attached by copper hooks, as evidenced by inscriptions dated 1561 A.D. The doors were restored in 1564 A.D., as also shown by inscriptions.

The date of the beautiful wooden ceiling of the cloisters is not known, but it partly covers the Cufic inscription, and this dates 72 A.H. (688 A.D.), and it hides the wooden cornice, dating probably 913 A.D. The ceiling is therefore probably of the time of Soliman.

In 1830 A.D. the Sultan Mahmûd, and in 1873-5 A.D. the late ’Abd el ’Azîz, repaired the Dome, and the latter period was one specially valuable for those who wished to study the history of the place.

Such is a plain statement of the gradual growth of the building. The dates of the various inscriptions on the walls fully agree with the circumstantial accounts of the Arab writers who describe the Dome of the Rock.

The materials employed were all apparently designed for their present uses and positions, with exception of the columns supporting the dome and the outer arcade. These have a Byzantine character, and they appear to have been torn from some other building or buildings, probably from Christian churches, just as in the case of the Mosque of ’Amrû at Cairo, or like the pillars which Jezzar Pacha at Acre collected for his mosque. Of every capital in the place I made a careful sketch; of those under the dome, as shown in the illustration, only three are alike. The cross is said to occur on one boss, as at Bethlehem. I have searched for this in vain, though I have a sketch of every boss, but there would be no impossibility in its presence if the pillar came from a church. The bases differ as much as the capitals, as we saw when the marble slabs were removed in 1875. The shafts are also of various heights and diameters, and one at least is upside down, with the capital of another pillar placed on its base end.

Leaving this beautiful and interesting building we crossed the platform southward, having on our right the old sun-dial, which the Crusaders held to mark the site of the Temple altar; and passing the beautiful summer pulpit we descended to the southern court. The most picturesque view is from this point. The Dome of the Rock is seen behind the venerable cypresses of the lower court--a great cupola on which sit innumerable doves, while, beneath it, the walls are resplendent with the harmonious colouring of the tiles--white, blue, green, black, and yellow, in elegant tracery which cannot now be imitated. In front are the flat steps leading up to the pillars and arches called “balances” by the Moslems, and below them are the little chambers of the Sheikhs who live in the enclosure.

The black fanatics who guard the holy place lounged among the trees, and a funeral procession was slowly marching, with subdued murmurs, round the Chapel of the Rock, while, by a curious coincidence, a gorgeous wedding-party in bright-coloured silks, was also approaching the same place.

The great enclosure outside the platform is not paved; it is covered with grass and planted with olives and cypresses. Only the platform is fairly level, and its flagging in parts is covered with Crusading masons’-marks. There is, as above noticed, only one mosque in the enclosure--the great building on the south wall. The whole area is called Haram esh Sherîf, “High Sanctuary,” and Masjid el Haram, “Praying-place of Sanctuary;” also sometimes Masjid el Aksa, “the far-off praying-place,” in allusion to its distance from Mecca and to the Prophet’s long night journey. The mosque itself is called Jami’a el Aksa, or the “far-off meeting-house.” To it we next repaired.

The history of the mosque differs from that of the Dome of the Rock. Justinian, in the sixth century, erected a basilica in honour of the Virgin, partly supported by vaults beneath. The remains of such a basilica are distinguishable in the Aksa, and the vault beneath the mosque has the peculiarity of Byzantine vaulting--the narrow keystone, which is not found in the round arches of the Kubbet es Sakhrah, or Dome of the Rock.

In 637 A.D. the Church of St Mary was visited by Omar, and the “station” where he prayed is still shown in the Aksa. In 688 A.D. Abd el Melek covered the doors with gold and silver plates. Additions were made in the eighth century, and the width of the building was increased. The cupola bears the date 728 A.D. The Crusaders called the place Solomon’s Palace, Solomon’s Porch, or Solomon’s Temple. The Templars remodelled it, adding an apse on the east and a long hall on the west. Again it fell into Moslem hands, and further alterations were made; thus at the present day it presents a confusion of style and plan requiring the eye of a practised architect to distinguish the various additions.

The general effect is poor, for the interior is whitewashed and coarsely painted; only at the south end do any remains of the old glass mosaics still exist, and here are found close together the beautiful pulpit of parquetted wood-work from Damascus, and the new glass chandelier from Constantinople, the twisted columns of the Templars’ dining-hall, and the heavy basket-work capitals of the Byzantine basilica, while, in the vault beneath, is the huge monolith, which three men can scarcely girth, supporting the porch of the Temple-gate--a mixture of styles which cannot perhaps be found in any other building in the world.

Many chapters might be written on the High Sanctuary and its buildings, but space is wanting to describe the gates, the underground passages, the chambers and cisterns, which I again and again explored, and which had, already, been minutely examined and described by Major Wilson and Captain Warren. We must hasten therefore to another building, surpassing in interest even the Temple enclosure itself, namely, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

It is a grim and wicked old building that we now approach. Perhaps no other edifice has been directly the cause of more human misery, or defiled with more blood. There are those who would willingly look upon it as the real place of the Saviour’s Tomb, but I confess that, for myself, having twice witnessed the annual orgy which disgraces its walls, the annual imposture which is countenanced by its priests, and the fierce emotions of sectarian hate and blind fanaticism which are called forth by the supposed miracle, and remembering the tale of blood connected with the history of the Church, I should be loth to think that the Sacred Tomb had been a witness for so many years of so much human ignorance, folly, and crime.

The place is nevertheless venerable from its many memories, for whether or no it encloses the Sepulchre of Christ, it may at least claim to be the site which Christians, from the fourth century downwards, have venerated as such. Of this we cannot well have any doubt when we review the descriptions of the place which have been written in consecutive centuries, including several recently published.

Jerome places Golgotha north of Sion, and the early Christians included under the title Sion only the Upper City of Josephus. Eucherius, Bishop of Lyons, writing in 440 A.D., repeats this description of its position, and speaks of Siloam as below the city wall, and beneath the precipitous _eastern_ rock of Sion--a description of relative position which can only apply to the hill now known as Mount Sion. Jerome himself speaks of Sion as the citadel of the town, which is still true of the modern site.

Theodorus, in 530 A.D., is quite as explicit with regard to the position of the church. “In the middle of the city,” he says, “is a basilica; from the west side you may enter to the Holy Resurrection, where is the Sepulchre of our Lord Jesus Christ, and there is the Mount of Calvary, to which Mount the way is by steps, and it is under one roof.”

We know by contemporary evidence (the Pascal Chronicle) that this Basilica of Constantine was destroyed, in 614 A.D., by Chosroes the Persian. Several small chapels were soon after erected instead, by the monk Modestus, and they are described in 630 A.D. In 700 A.D. Arculphus gives a detailed account of these new buildings, including the round Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the square Church of the Virgin, the Chapel of Golgotha, and, on the east, the Basilica of Constantine separated by an open space from the round church and from Golgotha. The relative positions of Calvary and of the Sepulchre in this account, are the same described by the previous writers, and by Eusebius in his history of the building of the original Basilica in 333 A.D. Arculphus’ description of the Sepulchre as a place “large enough to allow nine men to pray standing,” might have been written of the Holy Tomb in the present church. In 722 A.D. it is again described, and the door of the tomb is then said to be, as it still is, on the east.

We are thus able to identify the site chosen by Constantine in the fourth century, with that recognised in the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth centuries. The chapels of Modestus were destroyed, according to contemporary writers, in 1009 A.D. by the mad Khalif Hakem, but were restored in 1048. From the year 1033 down to 1099 A.D. innumerable pilgrimages took place, but accounts of the buildings are not known. The Crusaders, however, replaced the third system of churches by a magnificent cathedral, and united once more the Sepulchre and Calvary under one roof. Their erection dated from 1103 A.D., and remained intact till 1808, when it was partly destroyed by fire; the southern façade is however still attributable to the twelfth century. Of the position of the Crusading site there is also no doubt, and it is shown on charts of the fourteenth century. Sæwulf, in 1102 A.D., places the site of Calvary “on the _declivity_ of Mount Sion,” thus agreeing with Eucherius, who had described it in the fifth century as “placed outside Mount Sion, where a knoll of scanty size exists to the north.” Both these expressions fit well, as the plan will show, with the actual site of the present building.

We approach the church from the south, where is an open court in which, according to the legend, the Wandering Jew stays for a moment once in every century to beg admission, and hears a voice which bids him resume his endless journey. In front of us rise the beautiful Gothic doorways, the pillars scrawled over with the names of pilgrims, and with dates from the fourteenth century downwards; beneath our feet lies old Philip D’Aubigny, close by the threshold, and over his head each year thousands of pilgrims press through the narrow portal.

Passing through the doorway we enter the vestibule, in which is the Stone of Unction, a slab of marble with lanterns of ground-glass hung above it. On the left is the diwân of the Turkish custodians, to the right the stairs of the Chapel of Calvary, beneath which is the place where the “rent in the rock” is shown, and where were once the tombs of Godfrey and Baldwin. Immense wax candles, reaching half-way to the lofty roof, flank the Stone of Unction, which is devoutly kissed by the pilgrims. Passing round it to the left, the rotunda of the church is reached; to the right a narrow passage, with small chapels, runs behind the apses of the Greek Church, and here a flight of steps leads down to the subterranean Chapel of Helena, with its picturesque lighting and heavy eighth-century basket-work capitals; beneath this again is the dark cave so suggestively named “Chapel of the Invention of the Cross.”

The rotunda is well lighted, with a dome, light blue in colour and covered with golden lilies in memory of its repair by the French; the drum is of good white stone. In the centre rises the old Chapel of the Sepulchre, dark and gloomy, of marble discoloured by age, surmounted by a queer cupola, of Italian taste, and ornamented all along the top with gilt nosegays and modern framed pictures. Its entrance is flanked by very handsome marble candlesticks, and in front of the vestibule are hung beautiful gold and silver lamps, suspended by chains, and glowing with a subdued light through glass cups, red, yellow, and green; they number forty-three in all, thirteen for Franciscans, Greeks, and Armenians respectively, and four for the poor Copts.

Stooping to enter, we pass into the vestibule or Chapel of the Angel, walled with marble slabs, and thence into the inner Chapel of the Sepulchre itself, where the darkness is only relieved by the glowing lamps over the altar on the Tomb.

The most impressive portion of the church is, however, the nave east of the rotunda belonging to the Greeks, with its great screen in front of the three eastern apses. The floor is unoccupied, save by the short column marking the “centre of the world.” The dome above is poor, rudely whitewashed, and painted in fresco, with the long strings of globular lamps usually seen in Greek churches; but the glory of the place consists in the lofty screen and the panelling of the side walls. Into the panelling dark pictures are framed, and gilded thrones for the bishop and patriarch stand, one each side, beyond the dark wooden choir-stalls. The screen towers up to the roof, and presents figures, in rows one above another, standing in canopied recesses, but all in low relief: in the screen are the gates of the apses, and over each gale is a little purple glass lamp, the colour of which, in the gloom and beside the tarnished gilding, is truly magnificent. Four candlesticks of grey marble beautifully carved, the central pair eight feet high, stand before the steps to the screen; they are presents from the Czar, and have the Russian eagle on them.

Passing over without description the many minor chapels, which are dingy and uninteresting, there remains only the Chapel of Calvary to notice. It is as dark as the greater part of the rest of the church, yet on arriving at the top of the steep stairs, the general effect is a blaze of gold. Nearly the whole of the east end is occupied by the Greek altar. The pictures above it have been covered with gold plates, leaving only the faces visible. The lamps are gold, the sacred vessels are gold. The roof is very low, and painted in well executed and ancient fresco on a blue ground. A faint smell of rosewater pervades the chapel, mingled with an odour of stale incense.

Sunday after Sunday we revisited the venerable church, and followed the brown Franciscans in their march round the sacred stations, listening to the deep sonorous tones of their chant. On one occasion this was suddenly drowned by the high nasal scream of the Armenians, and we found the celebrant of the latter rite in the Calvary Chapel,--a priest with a long beard and peaked Armenian hood. The responses were made by black-robed acolytes in fezzes, and a second minister, in gaudy robes, with a gilt-paper crown much too large for him, swung a censer. The Latin ritual seemed simple and dignified, its music melodious, and its ministers reverential, when contrasted with the unearthly screeching and childish mummeries of the Oriental sect.

The plaintive chant of the Franciscans attracted us to the spot where the officiating priest stood, at the door of the Chapel of the Angel. The monks knelt in a double row, and the scene was impressive; the background was formed by the great screen; in front was the dark chapel--a church within a church. Not less affecting was the aspect of the congregation, many with sad pale faces telling of no common histories. One man especially used to draw my attention; light haired, pale, gaunt, and shabby, kneeling with his little taper in one hand, the other held out in an attitude of entreaty; his wild eyes were fixed on the marble Tomb, as though he could hardly believe that, after many miles of journey, he at last really beheld the Holy Sepulchre. In him one might fancy a penitent of the old Crusading times, sent on pilgrimage to expiate some great crime; and the memories of seven centuries rose up--of the king who refused to be crowned where his Master had suffered; of the strong men in mail who had knelt in tears on these stones, and clanked their iron heels about the church; of the time when the proudest chivalry of Europe had devoted their lives to redeem the few feet of rock, where they believed the Holy Saviour to have hung on the cross.

But the time to see the church is the season of Easter. In 1873 and 1875 I was present at the so-called Holy Fire. On the first occasion alone, on the second with Lieut. Kitchener, with whom I rode sixty miles in one day from Gaza to see the spectacle.

On the evening before the day of the Fire, the whole huge building was full of pilgrims, and the long winding passages and galleries were blocked with human beings, fast asleep, crouched against the walls or extended on mattresses. In the passage from the door to the rotunda, Armenian women were propped in long rows against the walls, on a kind of bench. Most of the pilgrims were asleep, but some still showed by frequent crossings, prostrations, and sighs, that the keenness of their ecstasy was unabated.

In 1875 the pilgrimage to Neby Mûsa was going on at the same time, and parties of wild fanatical Moslems paraded the streets of Jerusalem, bearing green banners surmounted with the crescent and inscribed with Arabic texts. A bodyguard armed with battle-axes, spears, and long brass-bound guns accompanied each flag, and a couple of big drums with cymbals followed. It speaks well for the Turks, that with all the elements of a bloody riot thus ready to hand, with crowds of fanatics, Christian and Moslem, in direct contact, still no disturbances occurred.

By 11.30 a.m. on the 19th of April, 1873, and by the same time on the 22nd of April, 1875, we had been marshalled to a place in the Latin gallery, west of the Sepulchre, and looking down on the rotunda. Between the Chapel of the Sepulchre and the rotunda wall is a space some fifteen paces wide; a double line of Turkish soldiers kept open a narrow lane, in the middle of this space, round the tomb--a lane sufficiently wide for three men to walk abreast. On either side the crowd was packed against the rotunda wall, and against that of the Sepulchre chapel, and packed so thickly, that it seemed impossible for one single body more to be squeezed in. To say that you could walk on the heads of the crowd conveys but a poor idea of its compactness; the whole mass seemed welded into one body, and any movement of a single individual swayed the entire crowd, which seemed to tremble like a huge jelly.

But who can describe this wonderful scene? The sunlight came down from above on the north side where the Greeks were gathered, while on the south all was in shadow. The mellow grey of the marble was lit up, and a white centre of light was formed by the caps, shirts, and veils of the native Christians.

A narrow cross-lane was made at the fire-hole on the north side, and here first two, and in 1875 six herculean guardians, in jerseys and with handkerchiefs bound to their heads, kept watch--the only figures plainly distinguishable among the masses.

The effect of colour was remarkable; it seemed to run in patches, as all of one nationality were near one another. In the sunlight, brown faces and arms, salmon colour, pink, light blue, and cinnamon in the clothing, were blended with the white; but, in the shadow, the dark blue uniforms, the black dresses of nuns, and the brown frieze and red sashes of the Armenians, were streaked across by the long line of the soldiers’ red fezzes.

On the west a striking contrast was observable; here stood and sat the Abyssinians and Copts, silent and dusky, with many women among them, some with small babies in their arms, whose cries of half-suffocation were plainly heard above the din of many voices and many languages. The Coptic men were in loose dark robes, with white, twisted turbans, the women were closely veiled, in flowing indigo-coloured garments. The Abyssinians, swathed in voluminous white drapery, sat gloomily silent against the wall. On the east a few Arabs were gathered, also in dark robes, and behind them was seen the rich colouring of the Greek chancel, dark and dusky in the dim light.

The pilgrims had been standing in their places for at least ten hours, yet they showed no signs of weariness. Every face was turned to the fire-hole, and but one interest seemed to absorb them, save when the great pewter cans of water, supplied by the charity of the priests, were brought round.

The variety of national character was also remarkable. Patient and stolid the Russians and Armenians stood in their places, and a little forest of candles rose from amongst them, ready to receive the fire, each pilgrim having a bunch of perhaps a dozen in his hand. Silent and motionless sat the Egyptians, awaiting the event with all the apathy and dignified indifference of Orientals. On the north, however, an entirely different scene was enacted. Here stood the Greek Christians, mostly Syrians by birth, who were worked up into a state of hysterical frenzy which would not allow them to be quiet for a moment, and which seemed ever on the increase. Every now and then a man would struggle on to the shoulders of his neighbours; in one case six arms, extended full length, supported him, three to each foot, whilst his baggy trousers were grasped to keep him steady; another man was pushed and rolled along, over the people’s heads, as if he was swimming. These individuals became fugle-men, and led the numerous well-known chants, of which I collected the following:

“Hádha Kúb-er Sáid-ná.”

This is the most common chant, meaning “This is the Tomb of our Lord,” and repeated by hundreds of voices in perfect time with the accentuation as given above. Another chant was to the same cadence:

“A’llah únser és Sul--tán.”

“God help the Sultan.” The next was rarely heard:

“Yá Ye-húd, Yá Ye-húd, ’Aíde-kúm, ’Aid el ku-rúd.”

“O Jews, O Jews! your feast is a feast of apes.”

Two longer chants were also used pretty frequently.

“El Messíh ’Atá-na Bi dumhu, Ishterá-na Ahna el yóm fe-rána Wa el Ye-húd hizá-na.”

“The Christ is given us, with His blood He bought us. We celebrate the day, and the Jews bewail.”

“Sebt en Nár wa ’Aíd-na Wa hádha kub-er Sa-ídna.”

“The seventh is the fire and our feast, and this is the Tomb of our Lord.”

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Nothing was more remarkable than the patience of the soldiery who had to keep order. The Greeks gave most trouble, and in 1873 the feeling evinced by them was very bitter, because their favourite Patriarch had just been deposed. A very fat old colonel walked up and down, armed with a murderous _kurbaj_, or whip of hippopotamus hide; he would sit on the floor and look at the crowd, sometimes putting an additional big soldier at a weak point in the line. The men were armed with the Snider, and were very stalwart and tall. Sometimes the crowd became dangerous, and hissed. As fast as his legs could carry him, the Colonel rushed to the spot, and down came the whip; then where a moment before were angry faces and arms stretched out with clenched fists, there was suddenly nothing but a flat surface of backs, or a few arms raised to protect the heads. Yet on the whole it was a good-natured crowd, and the soldiers were wonderfully patient. Little incidents of a comic nature occurred, and an Arab chief, who tried to swagger down the lane, found his head-shawl off and far away in a moment, tossed from hand to hand amid shouts of laughter.

Two wooden galleries were erected, under the arches to the west, each three storeys high; and here sat native women of the better class, in their best silks, yellow and red stuffs, cachemire shawls, white muslin and blue cloth, with flashing eyes and painted faces. They lay scattered over the bright carpets, presenting an effect of colour more brilliant than that of the broad masses of sombre tints below.

About one o’clock in the afternoon, the natives of Jerusalem arrived--a long wave of human beings bursting suddenly in from the south, and surging along the narrow lane. Many were stripped to their vests and drawers--in regular fighting costume. They rushed at the fire-hole, and the first comers thrust their arms into it to keep their places. The effect of this crowd within a crowd--a moving wave, ploughing through the two packed masses--was very curious. No sooner was it pushed and swept into place and the lane cleared, than it burst into one long loud shout of repetition--

“Hádha kúb-er Sáid--ná! Hádha kúb-er Sáid--ná!”

which was repeated twenty or thirty times at a breath; and a big man was hoisted up, and fairly pounded the walls of the Sepulchre with his fist, shrieking the same refrain and pointing at the chapel with his fingers, while the crowd joined in the last syllable--a tremendous shout of “Na!”

And now the rotunda contained some 2000 persons, and the church probably 10,000 in all, when, at 2.15 p.m., the procession was formed, and the nasal chant of the priests was heard in the Greek church.

First came the banners, looking very shabby, the crosses above them bent on one side in bygone fights. The procession was a short and hurried one; the old Patriarch (just elected in 1872) had a frightened air, and shuffled along, flanked by the Archimandrite and by another dignitary, each carrying a great silver globe, with holes in it, mounted on a silver handle, and intended to hold the fire. The tuneless singing was interrupted by the chorus of the crowd and the shrill cries of the women. For a moment, in 1873, there seemed danger of a riot. A man raised his arm and shouted something at the Patriarch in a loud voice. Instantly an officer was on the spot; the man, who had hidden, was dragged out, held by the legs, and beaten over head and face, then thrust back into the crowd, and an extra guard placed over him.

And now a moment of breathless silence followed. Many faces were raised to the roof, perhaps expecting the fire to drop through the quiet shaft of light above, or the dove, which used to be let loose, to appear. Two priests stood bareheaded by the fire-hole, guarded by the giants on either side.

Suddenly a lighted torch was in their hands passed from within, where was the Patriarch. The two priests turned and fled, and the giants closed in round them, trampling like furies through the crowd. In a moment the thin line of soldiers was gone, and two huge hustling masses surged up like waves round the great torch, which, now high, now low, was tossed on the seething flood, scattering sparks right and left, but gradually drifting towards the exterior of the church, where the horseman sat, ready to take the fire to Bethlehem. A great forest of arms was stretched out towards the torch, and they seemed to writhe like serpents after it; but not a single taper was lighted. Soon, however, other torches were passed out of the fire-hole, and the fire spread over the church, as the roar grew louder and louder. A flame next broke out behind the grating of the Coptic chapel, and a yet more wonderful scene here presented itself. The dark mass of blue and black was streaked with livid flesh-colour, as bare arms stretched towards the light with their bundles of tapers. Woe to the owner of the taper first lit; it was snatched from him, and extinguished by a dozen others thrust into it. Delicate women and old men fought like furies; long black turbans flew off and uncoiled like snakes on the ground, and what became of the babies I do not know.

The change from the stagnation of the motionless crowd to the wild storm now raging was as marvellous as it was sudden. The flame spread, seeming to roll over the whole crowd, till the church was a sea of fire, which extended over the roof of the chapel, and ran up the galleries and along the choir. Meantime a dreadful bell was clanging away, and the grey-bearded Patriarch was borne out aloft into the chancel, on the shoulders of a body-guard of priests. A dense blue fog, made by the smoke, and a smell of burning wax rose up, and above all the quiet gleam of light shone down from the roof.

The fury of the crowd seemed to increase. A stalwart negro, struggling and charging like a mad bull, ran round the church, followed by the writhing arms; then, as all got their candles lighted, men might be seen bathing in the flame, and singeing their clothes in it, or dropping wax over themselves as a memorial, or even eating it. The dancing is not allowed now; but here and there knots were formed, of men who jumped and hopped, rolling along the centre and out of the church. The whip came down on crowd and soldiers alike, until the lane had been re-formed; and at last the excitement abated, as the gorgeous second procession came forth in an endless string.

This procession is the grandest to be seen in Jerusalem, but only a few of the Greeks assist at it.

First came a priest in yellow, with a crown and great jewelled cross, flanked by others in pink satin, with censers; four banners followed, and six priests in embroidered cloth of gold; next came twenty Armenians in cloth of silver; next, two censer-bearers with red-and-gold crowns, and four priests in cloth of gold, with candles; then came the Armenian bishop, in a large cope lined with rose satin, with a white beard and a gigantic mitre of gold, having a central medallion of enamel; on each side of him was a priest in a black cap, holding his robe. Next came the Copts, with six banners, a cross, and two books in silver covers; the priests in cloth of gold, with crowns of red-velvet and gold; then six monks in the same, with white hoods; two censer-bearers with yellow tippets, and crowns; followed by the Coptic bishop, in cloth of silver lined with crimson, and with a great silver crown; two acolytes and a banner-bearer in silver and white went before him. A cross, four banners, and two censers were borne next; then came four priests in silver embroidered with blue, bearing books in rich silver covers; then the Syrian bishop, in plain cloth-of-gold, with a hood of the same; and behind him a banner, borne by a priest in pink and silver robes embroidered with flowers.

Again in the evening we went to the church, and found our way into the gallery, where we remained till one in the morning. The crowd was almost as thick, but the majority were Russian women; and the old cry, “Hadha kuber Saidna,” still rang at intervals. A new procession of eighty priests and seven crowned bishops in silver robes was formed, these being of the Greek rite. The glare of countless candles lit up the scene; and after the procession had gone thrice round the Tomb, the bells began clanging, the crowd roared, and all the banners and crosses were spun round and round with a rapid whirl, till the flashing, the noise, and this extraordinary spinning of the flags made one giddy.

Such is a plain account of this wonderful feast, from notes made on the spot. The Latins have long discountenanced the imposture, though it was once recognised by them, and dates back to the miraculous lighting of lamps in the time of the Christian kings of Jerusalem, and is even mentioned by the monk Bernard the Wise in 867 A.D. Every educated Greek knows it to be a shameful imposition; but the ignorant Syrians and the fanatical Russian peasants still believe the fire to descend from heaven. The clergy dare not enlighten them, and that crafty diplomacy which encourages pilgrimages to Jerusalem by government aid, fosters the superstition which is the main inducement for the Russian pilgrims to visit the Holy City.