Jerusalem, the City of Herod and Saladin

by Walter Besant; Edward Henry Palmer

The roads were crowded with these miserable wretches, limping along to their shrines. Only the more distinguished, either in rank or enormity of offence, were ordered to go to Palestine. The custom was carried on to comparatively late times, and it was not till the fourteenth century that a law was passed restraining the practice—“better is it that these criminals should remain all together in one place, and there work out the sentence imposed upon them by the Church,”—so long was it before justice was taken out of the hands of the Church.

It could not have added greatly to the delights of travelling in these days occasionally to meet bands of these wretches, toiling painfully along, half naked, and dragging the weight of their chains, while they implored the prayers and alms of the passers-by.

But the triumph of the pilgrim (not the criminal) was in coming home again. Bearing a palm branch in his hands, as a sign that he had seen the sacred places, he narrated his adventures, and gathered—those at least that were poor—alms in plenty. Arrived at his native village, the palm branch was solemnly offered at the altar, and the pilgrim returned to his home to spend the rest of his life in telling of the miracles he had seen wrought.

Not all, however, came home. So long as the pilgrim passed the rough lands where his passport was recognised, all was easy enough. He got food to eat, and a bed to sleep in. But he sometimes came to places, if he went by way of Constantinople, where there were no monasteries, and where his passport proved useless. The ferocious Bulgarians, or the treacherous Croats, in theory friendly, and by profession Christian, sometimes proved cut-throats and robbers. The Mohammedans, though they acknowledged the harmlessness of the crowds that flocked about the gates, could not avoid showing the contempt they naturally felt for those who refused to think as they thought themselves; when the pilgrims arrived at the city, they could not enter without payment, and often they had no money to pay. And if they were able to pay for admission, they were not exempt from the insults of the Saracens, who sometimes pleased themselves with interrupting the sacred office, trampling on the vessels of the Eucharist, and even scourging the priests.

But these persecutions belong to a somewhat later time than we have yet arrived at.

About the same time as the pilgrimage of Arnulf took place that of Willibald. Willibald, afterwards Bishop of Eichstädt, was an Englishman by birth. He was dedicated at an early age by his father to the monastic life, and received a pious and careful education. Arrived at the period of manhood, he persuaded his father, his sister Walpurga, and his brother Wunebald, accompanied by a large party of servants and followers, to undertake a pilgrimage to Palestine. In Italy his father died, and his brother and sister left him and returned to England. Willibald, with a few companions, went on eastward. At Emessa they were detained, but not harmed, by the Emir, but, released through the intercession of a Spanish merchant, they proceeded to Jerusalem. Willibald visited the city no less than four times. He was once, we are told, miraculously cured of blindness by praying at the church where the Cross had been found. Probably he had contracted an ophthalmia, of which he recovered in Jerusalem.

About the year 800, Charlemagne conceived the idea of sending a special embassy to the Caliph Harûn er Raschíd. He sent three ambassadors, two of whom died on the way. The third, Isaac the Jew, returned after five years’ absence, bearing the presents of the great Caliph, and accompanied by his envoys. The presents consisted of an elephant, which caused huge surprise to the people, carved ivory, incense, a clock, and the keys of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Charlemagne sent, in return, white and green robes, and a pack of his best hounds. He also astonished the caliph’s envoys by the magnificence of his church ceremonials. Charlemagne established a hostel at Jerusalem for the use of pilgrims, and continued to cultivate friendly relations with Haroun. The latter, for his part, inculcated a toleration far enough indeed from the spirit of his creed, and ordered that the Christians should not be molested in the exercise of their worship.

One of the most singular histories of the time is that, already alluded to, of the pilgrimage of Frotmond. At the death of their father, Frotmond and his brothers proceeded to divide the property which he left behind. A great-uncle, an ecclesiastic, in some way interfered with the partition of the estates, and roused them to so great a fury that they killed him. But immediately afterwards, struck with horror at the crime they had committed, they betook themselves to the court of King Lothaire, and professed their penitence and resolution to perform any penance. In the midst of an assembly of prelates the guilty brothers were bound with chains, clothed with hair shirts, and with their bodies and hair covered with ashes, were enjoined thus to visit the sacred places. They went first to Rome, where Benedict III. received them and gave them letters of recommendation. Thence they went by sea to Palestine, and spent four years in Jerusalem, practising every kind of austerity and mortification. Thence, because their penance was not hard enough, they went to the Thebaïd in Egypt, where they remained two years more among hermits the most rigid, and self-tormentors the most cruel. They then wandered along the shores of the Mediterranean to Carthage, where was the tomb of Saint Cyprian. After seven years of suffering they returned to Rome, and begged for the pardon of the Church. It was in vain. They had murdered a churchman; they were of noble birth; and the example must be striking. And once more they set off for a renewal of their weary travels in lands already familiar to them. This time, after revisiting Jerusalem, they went north to Galilee, and thence south to Sinai, where they remained for three years. Again they returned to Rome, and again implored the pardon of the Pope, again to be refused. And then, tired, we may suppose, of sufferings which seemed useless, and fatigues without an object, they bent their steps homewards. At Rennes the eldest brother died, unforgiven. Frotmond turned his steps once more towards Rome. But on the way he was met by an aged man. “Return,” said he, “to the sanctuary which thou hast quitted. I order thee, in the name of the Lord! It is there that absolution waits thee by the mercy of God.”

He turned back: the weight of his chains had bent him double, he could not stand upright, the sores which the iron had caused were putrefying, and the time of his deliverance from the earth seemed to draw nigh. In the night the same old man appeared again, accompanied by two fair youths. “Master,” said one, “it is time to restore health to this pilgrim.” “Not yet,” replied the old man, “but when the monks shall rise to chant the vigils.” At the hour of vigils Frotmond crawled with the rest into the church. There he fell asleep, and while he slept, the old man appeared again and tore off the chains, which fell to the ground, and by the noise of their falling awakened Frotmond. They placed him in a bed, and in three days he was well and sound again, miraculously cured of his festering sores; but he was not yet satisfied, and was preparing for a third pilgrimage when he fell ill and died. The old man and the dream, were they his disguise for a resolution to endure no more the tyranny of the Church? or were they the invention of a later time, and of some bolder spirit than the rest, who would not allow that to Rome alone belonged the power of binding and of loosing?

With the passion for pilgrimages grew up the desire to find and to possess relics. These, towards the end of the tenth century, when a general feeling that the end of the world was approaching caused the building of new churches everywhere and the reconstruction of old ones, were found in great abundance. “Thanks to certain revelations and some signs,” says Raoul the Bald, “we succeeded in finding holy relics, long hidden from human eyes. The saints themselves, by word of God, appeared to the faithful and reclaimed an earthly resurrection.” The revelations began at Sens-sur-Yonne, in Burgundy, where they still show a goodly collection of holy bones, including the finger with which Luke wrote his Gospel, and the chair in which he sat while he was writing it. Archbishop Leuteric was so fortunate as to find a piece of Moses’ rod; with this many miracles were wrought. Almost every returning pilgrim had something which he had either picked up, or bought, or been instructed in a vision of the night to bring home with him. This treasure he deposited in the parish church: pious people set it with pearls and precious stones, or enclosed it in a golden casket: stories grew up about it, sick people resorted to the place to be cured, and one more legend was added to the innumerable fables of relics. It is useful to remember, as regards the pilgrimages, the finding of relics, and the strange heresies of the time, that it was a period of great religious excitement, as well as of profound ignorance: nothing was too wonderful to be believed; no one so wise as not to be credulous. No one had actually seen a miracle with his own eyes, but everybody knew of countless miracles seen by his neighbour’s eyes. Meantime, the toleration granted to the Christians through the wisdom of Harûn er Rashíd continued pretty well undisturbed for many years, and life at least was tolerably safe, though insult might be probable and even certain.