The East

by William Young Martin

Instead of these, there was only the idea of desolation and defeat. “Is this the city that men call the perfection of beauty?”—a confused mass of shapeless, dirty, half ruinous houses, built without plan, and almost resembling the wreck of a conquered citadel. Yet every spot has a history: here the house of Pilate—there the Temple site—yonder the tomb of David; and deep in the chasms on the east and south the brook Kedron and Gethsemane, with the tombs of Absalom and those of the Prophets, the valleys of Jehoshaphat and Hinnom, of Gihon and the Field of Blood—all really one vast overcrowded graveyard.

Much vain effort has no doubt been made to re-gild the departed glory, but the illusion did not satisfy my mind, and I found it impossible to realize the enthusiastic feelings of sanctity generally attached to these or to the so-called “Holy Places.” I felt that many of them were obviously false, and almost all of them improbable; indeed, it is perhaps well that such is the case. Jerusalem the beautiful now sits in the dust, and how indeed should we expect it to be otherwise when we read its foretold fatal doom, or consider that even since the beginning of the Christian era the city has been destroyed four times after long sieges—that of Titus being a complete destruction? Josephus gives upwards of 450 acres as the area within the walls then—now it is only 213. The very streets we walked through are evidently formed of the rubbish of fallen houses, the original streets being probably in many cases ten to fifty feet beneath the present surface. For here it is emphatically true that “as the tree falls so it must lie,” and so of the fallen houses—nothing is removed, and the new one is erected literally upon the ruins of the old. And yet no question arises as to the identity of the chosen city. The mountains still stand round about Jerusalem, but her glory is gone, and there remains merely the skeleton of her former beauty and comeliness.

There are very few Jews in Palestine, but in Jerusalem, which contains only 20,000 inhabitants, about 5000 are Jews, the balance consisting one-half of Arabs and Turks; the other of Armenians, Greeks, and Roman Catholics—Latin Christians, as the latter are called; besides Maronites, Copts, Druses, and others of less importance. Each of these has a church of its own, and all vie with each other in rivalry for a precedence by no means Christian. The Jews are poor and uninfluential; they have seven small synagogues—very mean-looking buildings—once there were several hundreds. However, under some unseen influence the Jews are by immigration at present rapidly increasing. By far the largest and finest erection in the city is the Mosque of Omar, and second is the El Aska, both erected upon the Haram or Court of the ancient Temple, and partly upon the original walls. These are beautiful buildings, and are rendered more so by their site, than which a finer cannot be imagined. Worthy, indeed, I think it must have been even of that magnificent Temple which Solomon built upon it.

The Mosque of Omar is an octagonal building, about 180 feet in diameter. Its marginal roof, nearly flat, but having a drum and large dome over its centre, resting upon its inner row of marble columns. The walls are covered externally and internally with marble, and higher up with Persian tiles of porcelain, the blue and white giving a very fine effect. There is round the frieze (written in large characters of gold upon blue) texts from the Koran, and the small windows in the roof are of beautifully variegated coloured glass of peculiarly subdued tints, but without figures, which Mahomedans and Jews alike reject in their places of worship as savouring of idolatry—they shed a pleasant light very grateful to the eye when all outside is bathed in bright sunshine. The outer circle of inside columns are of marble or granite, somewhat mixed, I thought, in colour and design. This building is of doubtful age. Some suppose it may have been originally erected for a Christian church. It is evidently of Byzantine design, although its architecture is somewhat of mixed character, and by no means of solid workmanship. The linings of marble and porcelain tiles are a kind of mosaic ornamentation more rich and beautiful than substantial and enduring. Suspended from the dome by a long chain is a large crystal candelabrum over the centre of the rock, the gift of a former sultan, and there are, as usual, numerous silver lamps so suspended. There is an elegant marble pulpit, with columns and arches of Arabic design, and altogether the interior is richly but not showily ornamented. The marble mosaic floor is partly covered with straw matting. Near the prayer niche in the wall I noticed several very ancient-looking copies of the Koran, which Braham told us infidels were not welcome to handle. This building may be called beautiful, but I think the word “grand” is not applicable, and I doubt if it is so to any Byzantine or Moorish architecture. Compared even with the second temple or its successor, that of Herod, whose site it partially occupies, I presume it would appear flimsy. With the grandeur and material glory of that of Solomon, of course, it need not be named.

Standing here on the site of Solomon’s Temple, how crowded is the mind with sacred associations! For it is probable that either on this spot or on Mount Sion adjoining was Salem the Peaceful, the seat of Melchisedek’s priesthood. And there seems no reason to doubt that this is the summit of that same Mount Moriah where God provided Abraham and Isaac with a lamb for a burnt-offering—typical of that Lamb “prepared from the foundation of the world,” and to be offered up near the same spot nearly nineteen centuries afterwards.

The building next in importance is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, a large, circular, domed building, erected upon what is supposed with far less certainty to be Mount Calvary. The present is quite a modern erection, as are also many of its contents, and of very poor architectural merit, but the original erection was very old, probably of the third century. It has been destroyed again and again by violence and fire. Within its walls are the sites of the “Holy Cross,” a small hole or socket cut into the rock, with those of the two thieves. Also the Tomb of Christ, enclosed in the Rotunda, a small unseemly tabernacle under the dome. This is the great object of veneration, where yearly is performed at Easter that holy-fire miracle so long scandalous to Christendom, and near it is a pillar marking the centre of the world! Indeed, the objects of interest are so very numerous that, excepting perhaps to a devotee, they become very confusing. The whole place is overlaid with artificial trappings and ornaments, and monster-size wax candles, silver lamps, jewels, polished marbles, and woodwork, wholly incongruous with the ideas of a cross or a sepulchre. All is under lock and key, and a Turkish soldier opens and shuts the gate at his good pleasure, in a way very tantalizing and insulting to all the sects. This is only tolerated because of their mutual jealousy—frequently breaking out in quarrels and fights—in all which this Moslem must be the arbiter. His manner of showing his authority scarcely conceals his contempt for Christianity, and with such examples of it as are practised before him—such masquerades, and fights, and holy fires, and other incredible wonders and superstition—need we be surprised?

The Tomb of David is situate on Mount Sion, enclosed in a large plain stone building, which is in possession of the Government, and is guarded with much care. It is regarded with great veneration by all parties, and especially so by the Mahomedans. No admission can be in ordinary circumstances obtained into its interior, but it is said there are inside upon its floor two very curiously constructed and ornamented tombs.

There is a small English Church on Mount Sion, which we attended on Sunday, and enjoyed an excellent sermon from Bishop Gobat. Here, as elsewhere in the East, Sabbath is scarcely different from other days. The Mahomedans observe Friday, the Jews Saturday, and the Christians the first day of the week; but all of these days seem only partially observed at the best.

Outside the walls, of course, and on the south of the city, is the small cluster of “Houses of the Lepers.” There seems always some inhabiting them. No one appears to visit them except at some distance. The sight is in no sense a pleasant one.

It is calculated that there are about 10,000 pilgrims visiting Jerusalem per annum; of these, of course, our party was reckoned, but the real pilgrims, I think, are the Jews, who come from all parts of the world. They are chiefly elderly people, of both sexes, venerable-looking, and evidently very much in earnest. Weekly, on Fridays, a number of them may always be seen at the “Wailing Place,” which is situated in a quiet alley, bounded on the one side by a portion of the walls of the ancient Temple Court—a few courses of the large stones of which are generally admitted to be of the original building. Here they stand with their faces to the wall in the attitude of prayer, apparently unconscious of the presence of straggling on-lookers like ourselves. A few of those we saw were evidently educated Jews, furnished with manuscript copies of the Law and the Prophets. They read earnestly, in a low tone of voice, each for himself, alternately kissing the stones, smiting their breast, and weeping. Some of them were seated on the ground, a few feet distant, apparently exhausted by fatigue. It was impossible to laugh in such a presence, and indeed even the Arabs seemed in pity to pay them an outward respect.