Commencement of our visits. Hospital of the knights of St. John. Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Reputed tomb of the Saviour. Marble sarcophagus. Effect of this visit on us. Question whether this is the real tomb, or only a representation of it. Removal of the floor two centuries since. Greek chapel “the centre of the world.” Origin of the various incredible traditions. Charity to be exercised. Cave where the cross is said to have been discovered. Fissure in the rock. Tradition about the head of Adam. Calvary. Holes for the crosses. Another fissure in the rock. The humiliation in the tomb, and resurrection.

We were glad, on arriving at Mr. Nicholayson’s, to find the ladies of the Commodore’s family quite recovered from the effects of the preceding day’s severe fatigue. Mrs. Nicholayson herself was in a feeble state of health, occasioned by her watchings over Mrs. Thompson’s couch, and exposures during the earthquake, and the subsequent fighting in the city; their house, as has already been observed, having been used as an advanced point of attack on the citadel. The presence of ladies speaking her own language had immediately an astonishing effect on her spirits, and she became rapidly convalescent.

Impatient, and with feelings almost in a nervous state, we soon found ourselves out, and winding along the narrow lane that leads from Mr. Nicholayson’s to the slope by which we descend from Mount Zion to the lower city. Standing on the edge of this, we looked down on the ruins of a great edifice erected for the knights of St. John at the time of the Crusades. It is a very large building, I should think near six hundred feet in length by two hundred in width; but the lower story or basement is all that now remains. This forms a suite of vaults, which are now occupied as stores for grain and merchandize; a street of shops forming a kind of bazaar passes along the western side of it, and on the south is the principal bazaar of the city, the exterior range of vaults answering very well for stores. The place where we were then standing was about the spot where I suppose the gate Gennath to have been.

Descending from this eminence, we entered a street which passes along the northern side of this ruin, and is lined with fruit shops and houses, sometimes one, sometimes two stories in height, of stone, the windows small and the exterior very plain. This street is about one thousand feet in length. At its further extremity on our right was an edifice distinguished by its size and massiveness, but presenting on the exterior only a bare wall pierced with a few narrow windows. This was “The Church of the Holy Sepulchre.” It forms altogether a block of masonry about one hundred and sixty feet by one hundred in width, in which are included the chapel of the Crucifixion, the church of the Sepulchre, some small chapels, and a monastery, the cloisters of the monks occupying the portions of the building next the street. Just before coming to this building, we entered a low door in a stone wall, and then, having descended along a narrow alley, we turned presently to the left, and had before us the court and grand entrance to the church. On our left was the church tower, but without bells, as, with the single exception of Mount Lebanon, bells are not allowed to Christian churches in Turkey. The height of this tower has also been reduced, from a similar feeling of jealousy on the part of their Turkish masters. Three sides of the court were formed by a mass of buildings of irregular shape, while the fourth, or that looking towards the west, was open; in the central part was an arched portal ornamented with columns of verd-antique, and sculptures of the Norman style of architecture; it was open at the time of our visit, and I believe is so daily for an hour or two in the morning. After this it is closed, the key is returned to the Turkish governor; and admittance during the rest of the day, if desired, must be purchased from him. The monks, therefore, are prisoners in their monastery, except during this short interval, and intercourse with them must be held through a square hole in this door, where also provisions and other necessaries are taken in. We visited the place once in the afternoon, and were allowed to enter after waiting nearly an hour, and at the cost of a dollar or two.

Passing through this door, the visiter finds himself in a hall or vestibule, about forty feet long by twenty in width; and in front of him, on the floor, a slab of reddish marble, with huge candlesticks and candles at either end; they call it the stone of unction, and say that on it our Saviour’s body was anointed previous to interment. And here commences a series of legends and fictions, dealt out unsparingly to the visitor, which often produce disgust, and always jar on the feelings of the pilgrim whose mind is not steeped in the grossest credulity. I could fill a book with them, but have no relish for such a task; and during this visit gave but little attention to them, as I wished to keep my feelings free from the effect of such puerilities; and I shall at present trouble the reader with them only so far as to give him an idea of this blot on Christianity at Jerusalem. By doing more, we should only stir up emotions that cannot harmonize with the place, and which will prevent us from feeling the influence of that which is real and true.

Turning now to the left we came, at the distance of about twenty feet, to a large door-way which admitted us into a circular church, quite lofty, and about fifty feet in diameter.[51]

The lower part of this is lined with a range of pilasters, between which are arched openings into a dozen chapels, some used by the Copts, Greeks, and Armenians, and some occupied by altars connected with the legends which have just been noticed. Above these runs a corridor, and the whole is surmounted by the large dome which had drawn my attention when on the top of our monastery. In the centre of the area of this church is a structure of masonry, about eight feet wide, eight or nine in height, and about twelve in length; at one end is a marble platform, raised about twelve inches from the floor, with steps quite around, and bordered part of the length with a low marble wall or parapet on either side; the other end of this structure, instead of being square, has three faces, in which are very small chapels for the Copts, Abyssinians, &c. The structure itself is faced with the richest marbles, in compartments, and enriched with mouldings, and has on the summit a little tower like a lantern, used, I believe, as a vent for the smoke from some lamps within the tomb. Yes, this, they tell us, is the tomb of our Saviour, hewn originally in the solid rock; but that the exterior rock has been cut down so as to form a kind of shell, in the shape of a chapel, with its exterior surface enriched in this manner with marble. If this be so, they have sadly disguised the place, for, being lined with marble also in the interior, it has now not the least resemblance to what the Scripture account of it would lead us to expect. The entrance is at the end towards the east. We ascended the marble platform, and entering by a low door found ourselves in a chamber about six feet wide and five in depth, in the centre of which is an upright column irregularly shaped, about two feet in height. They say it is the stone on which the angel sat when he announced the resurrection to Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome. At the further end of this room, at the corner on the left, is a low door; and there, stooping down, we entered another chamber about six feet square. One half of this latter apartment was occupied by a marble sarcophagus; and in this, they say, was deposited the body of our crucified Saviour.

For a while we were unwilling, and I believe should have been unable, to enter into the inquiry whether this was really so;—so strong an emotion was created by the annunciation that we were in our Lord’s sepulchre, and that before us was the coffin where his body had lain, and from which he rose triumphant, leading captivity captive. We stood for a long time silent, gazing on the marble; and I believe it would have taken little to have caused us to shed tears. The place was lighted only by lamps suspended from the ceiling over the coffin; no sounds were heard, except occasionally of our deep breathing, as our emotions became almost too strong to be restrained. And our feelings, I believe, were of a salutary nature.

There was then in our company, one of whom I am allowed here to speak, but whom the shrinking modesty which she always evinced while living, and which should still be regarded, will allow me barely to notice. She was dear to us all; and although, with such solemn scenes as these around us, it becomes me to speak with humility of worldly accomplishments, I may say she possessed them in an unusual degree, and that she was admired and beloved at home and abroad by every one that knew her. She is now no longer in this world. In the grave, earthly accomplishments, and even earthly love, avail us nothing; but religion does avail; and the religion of the cross of Christ, so full of hope and glory, she was led to adopt by this visit to Calvary and to the sepulchre of Christ. She had been educated by pious friends, and had respected and esteemed the ordinances of the gospel; but this visit, and the scenes here brought before her mind, made her realize as she had not done before, how great was the price paid for her salvation, and how strong are our obligations to give ourselves unhesitatingly to Him who hesitated not to give himself for us. Selecting a proper time, when the act would be free from ostentation, she took out her Bible, which she had brought to the city, and placing it on the coffin, wrote, as was long after discovered, her name and the date of our visit, with the quotation, “Let every thing that hath breath praise the Lord.” Not long after her return to the ship she made a meek yet decided avowal of this Saviour as her only hope and trust; and all who knew her witnessed a corresponding exhibition of Christian character. For the change which brought the humble and gentle virtues into striking relief, while hope rose higher and became full of immortality, she always referred to this visit as the immediate cause. She was, at that time, apparently in excellent health; but youth and health are no guarantee for us in this our earthly home. When our ship, eighteen months afterwards, approached our own shore, it bore her a feeble and exhausted invalid; and when land at length rose to our sight, we scarcely heeded it; for she, our companion so long, and so beloved by us, was now a corpse. She had expired suddenly only the evening previous. By her mourning parents in that hour of anguish, I heard this visit spoken of, and they found in its consequences a source of consolation, such as the whole earth could not have afforded them; to her, had she possessed worlds, what would they have been in comparison with her religion?

When we spoke, at length, as we stood by the coffin in this sepulchre, it was involuntarily in low tones, and in brief sentences; and it was a relief to get out where the feelings were less oppressive. I speak of the sensations of others as well as of my own; for I have since frequently heard them speak of this visit and of its effects on their feelings.

Our feelings however, in this case, led captive by the scene around us, by the silent chamber lighted by a few lamps, the marble coffin, and the tradition that this was our Lord’s sepulchre, acted without the concurrence of our judgment; or rather, they suspended for a while the power of judging or the disposition to inquire. Yet, although for reasons already given, I have little doubt that this was the spot of our Saviour’s interment, the assertion that this is the sepulchre itself, wants confirmation; and the marble coffin or sarcophagus, I cannot regard as any thing more than a mere representation of the grave, or the place where the body was deposited; and for this it is by no means happily chosen. This may be the sepulchre, cut on the outside into the form of a little chapel; but as nothing but marble is seen both within and on the outside, the native rock, if it exists, being no where allowed to appear, we have no means of satisfying ourselves that it is so; and the circumstances are altogether suspicious, particularly when taken in connexion with the many other assertions with regard to sacred places in Jerusalem which are manifestly beyond belief. The coffin is of white marble, slightly marked by a few veins of a light blue color; it is rectangular, six feet long within, about three feet broad, and two feet two inches in depth; being in all respects exactly like the ancient sarcophagi found all over Greece and in Asia; the cover remains, and the whole exterior has a slight degree of roughness, as if it might once have been exposed to the weather. This is entirely at variance with the ancient tombs still to be seen in great numbers about Jerusalem, and particularly in the district lying north from the present city. They are composed sometimes of a single chamber, sometimes of a succession of chambers, cut in the solid rock, with a rectangular cavity large enough for a body, in the floor, at the side of the chamber; in the larger chambers, there are more than one cavity, and in a few cases, instead of being cut in the floor, they form a box against the side, but cut also out of the solid rock. In no case that I have heard of, has a marble sarcophagus been found within them, none would be needed; and even in the tombs of the kings of some magnificence, northward from the city, the native rock has been exclusively employed. The evidence is altogether against this marble sarcophagus, and I cannot yield it my belief.

But still, whether it was that I had some lingering doubts on the subject, or whether it was the name it bore, and the silent and lamp-lit chamber in which it is presented, I cannot say: but though I visited this chamber repeatedly, it was always with a feeling of awe mingled with a degree of reverence.

There was in the city, at the time of our visit, an English gentleman, who had become a Roman Catholic, and was now a priest, but was a man of enlightened and liberal views; he had been residing some time at Lisbon, and had now been sent to Jerusalem with the contribution of the Portuguese churches for this year. He visited us frequently at Mr. Nicholayson’s; and we were all struck both with his intelligence and very gentlemanly manners. He informed me that a short time previous to this, when occupied one day in examining the library of the principal Latin convent, he lighted on an old musty book, written in Latin by the father guardian of Jerusalem about three centuries since. The author said, that during his residence here it was found necessary to take up the pavement of this church in order to make some repairs; that he watched the process with deep attention, and that his satisfaction can scarcely be imagined, when, on coming to the native rock, he found, immediately under this spot, a chamber cut in the rock, and corresponding exactly to the tombs we find about the city. That on further research among the old records of the convent, he (the father guardian) found it stated, that in ancient times the sepulchre had stood open and exposed; and was beginning to be greatly mutilated by pilgrims, each one being desirous of carrying away some portion of the sacred rock. In order to preserve it, a strong railing was built around; but that now, the visitors being debarred from touching the sepulchre, votive offerings, rags,[52] &c. were thrown in by them in such quantities that the place soon become offensive; and that finally, to prevent this new evil, the tomb was filled up, and a small chapel was erected over it, with a sarcophagus, as a representative of the real sepulchre beneath.

The account of the father guardian has the appearance of probability, but the reader is left to take it for what he may consider it worth. I tried to get sight of the book; but as the convent was in quarantine on account of the plague, could not succeed; and I regret to say that I have forgotten its title.

The light which we can gain from the Scriptures on this subject, joined with the uniform tradition, lead me to suppose that this is the spot; whatever may be the fact with regard to the sepulchre itself, whether it be now beneath the structure going by its name, or whether it has been cut away to make room for a heathen temple erected by Hadrian, or for the present church.

The little chapel of the Sepulchre stands in the centre of the great church, facing the east. Directly in front of it is a large opening into a church owned by the Greeks, and no wise remarkable, except for a ball suspended from the ceiling, and a plate beneath it, on which is an inscription, telling that this is the centre of the world.

The authority for this is in Ps. lxxiv. 12. “For God is my King of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth;” and here I must warn the reader that his feelings will sometimes be shocked in the course of these visits, and I must be allowed to warn him also against allowing his disgust to operate so as to make him reject the truth with the error. This is not consistent with the principles of sound judgment, but the contrary. Where truth is, error will generally come; and error, as I have already remarked, is to a certain degree a proof that there is truth somewhere; for man could not hang up such a mass of fictions if there was not something real to hang it upon; and generally, the more important the truth, the more earnest is error to draw advantage therefrom.

I cannot, however, join in the frequent outcry of imposition, craft and falsehood against the sects who hold these places, and recite these traditions to the visitor. That such things as these are to be found in high and sacred seats, is doubtless true, and that they are sometimes practised here is also very probable; but I can find, for a great many of these traditions, an origin of a more charitable nature, and I believe one more consonant with the real state of the case. We live now in an age of light and knowledge, and find it hard even to imagine the darkness that once covered Europe and all these lands. We can form only some idea of it from the books of the middle ages—books full of fable and false philosophy on every subject. These fables on medicine, on alchemy, on astrology, and on a multitude of other topics, grew up, we are willing to believe, from men’s ignorance; in some cases there may have been deliberate deception; but in most, their origin was in the gross ignorance of the times; they show the strivings of minds shorn of their strength by diseases hereditary and for ages universal; men saw but dimly, and wandered into the ways of error when really and honestly in search of truth. And if we are willing to extend this charity to the other sciences, why not also to that of religion, where men’s feelings are apt to be more warmly affected, and even in a good cause, to warp the judgment, particularly if it be weak, than in any other? In this very city, the Mahomedans have a great variety of traditions with respect to the mosque of Omar, and some other of their sacred places about Jerusalem, quite as wild as any thing among the Christian sects; yet when we listen to them, we do not at once cry out “craft and roguery,” and believe the narrator to be wilfully imposing on us. We are willing to suppose him honest. We look at him; his face is grave; he has the appearance of sincerity; and we attribute the error to the deep and dark ignorance in which these people are known to live. Now I wish to claim for the Christian traditions just what we are willing to give to those of the Mahomedans. The principle of charity may, it is true, be carried too far, but I wish to see it carried further than it is. Let us go among these sacred places cautious, as cautious as you choose; but not sneering, or cultivating bitter feelings towards one another; let us pity the ignorance of our brother and commiserate him, but not load him with harsh epithets. Uncharitable insinuations are certainly very much out of place in this region, which should excite only humble and tender feelings; where, amid tauntings and contumely showered upon him, the Saviour prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

After leaving the Greek chapel, we crossed to the western side of this circular church; and here entering a narrow winding passage, came presently to a floor of naked rock with two graves cut in it, called the Sepulchres of Joseph of Arimathea and of Nicodemus. They are just deep enough to contain a body; that of Nicodemus is only about four and a half feet in length.

From this place we were taken to a chapel on the northern side of the church, where, they say, our Saviour appeared to the Virgin after his resurrection; and next, by a winding passage, to a place in the rear of the Greek church, where are altars marking, it is said, the spots where they cast lots for his garments; where he was confined till they had prepared the cross; where occurred the conversion of Longinus, the officer who pierced his side with a spear, &c. Here also we were conducted, by a descent of forty steps, into a large cave, the place where Helena discovered the cross. They tell us that the Jews, in order to stop the adoration of the cross by the early Christians, cast it here into a hole called the “Valley of Corpses,” where it remained three hundred years; that Helena, on digging for it, discovered three crosses, and, unable to distinguish which was the one she was searching for, had them carried to the place where is now the chapel of the Virgin, and where was then a woman at the point of death; and that the sick person being made to touch them, two produced no effect, but the third or true cross restored her immediately to health.

Ascending from the cave and following another dark passage, we came presently into a chapel about fifteen feet square, one side of which is formed by a bare precipitous rock. This is a portion of the rocky knoll of Golgotha or Calvary; and here they showed us a rent or fissure about sixteen inches in width, telling us that it was formed at the time of the crucifixion, when the veil of the temple was rent in twain, and with the quaking of the earth the rocks were rent. They tell also a story, which I feel loth to repeat, that here, at the time just spoken of, the head of Adam was discovered; and that when the Saviour’s side was pierced, the blood and water flowed down upon it; that, as Adam had been the first to sin, he might be the first to experience the benefit of the redemption.

After giving an impatient glance at these various spots, we passed on; and soon after, emerging once more into daylight, found ourselves in the vestibule, and at the foot of the staircase leading to the summit of Calvary.

I have mentioned, that on entering the vestibule from the outer court, we had before us the stone of unction, and on the left the entrance to the circular Church of the Sepulchre. On the right, at the distance of about thirty-five feet, is a narrow stairway of eighteen steps, cut in the solid rock, and leading to a platform elevated about sixteen feet above the lower church, and nearly square, having about forty feet on each side. This is Mount Calvary. The surface is now level, and paved with red marbles; and, by a kind of partition formed of two arches with square columns between, is divided into two chambers, one being nearly square and the other oblong. They are surmounted by a dome, more peaked than that over the church of the Holy Sepulchre. When we reached the top of the stairway, we found ourselves in the first of these chambers, or the square one; but were first taken across it into the other, where a large star, formed of marble mosaic work in the pavement, was pointed out as indicating the spot where the Saviour was nailed to the cross. That designated as the place where the crosses stood during the crucifixion is in the first chamber, at its northern side.

Returning to this place, we found there a platform against the wall, running the whole way across the church, and sixteen inches in height by about three feet in width. It was also covered with marbles, and half way across had a large embossed silver plate with a hole in the centre; and this is said to be over the very spot where stood our Saviour’s cross. On each side are similar plates, said to be over the holes for the other two crosses; but the holes are so near together, that the arms of the three crosses could not have been in a line, unless, as might have been the case, that of the Saviour was higher or lower than the others. I put my hand several times through the hole in the central silver plate, and found beneath it a hollow of rough sides, rather large, and about a foot or fifteen inches in depth. Half way between it and the hole on our right, as we stood facing them, is another plate of silver about thirty inches in length, and with a narrow slit in it, corresponding, they informed us, to a fissure in the rock, the commencement of the crevice which we had seen below. There is something very much like a crack, about two inches wide, the opposite parts of which appear to correspond; but a close examination is prevented by the silver plate above; its direction is across the natural stratification of the rock. The object of these silver plates is probably to guard these places from violence, as pilgrims or other visitors are much given to chipping off fragments from such spots[53] for friends at home. Whether these are really the holes where the crosses stood, and whether this is a real fracture or “rent” in the rock, it is impossible to say; there can be no doubt, however, that this is really a mass of native rock; and its elevation is just such as would be desired for the infliction of death by crucifixion. It is now so built around, and so, covered with marbles, that it is not easy to form an exact judgment of its original altitude or extent; but if I may venture a rough estimate of the former, I should say it was about twenty or twenty-five feet. It appears to be nearly precipitous at the northern end.

Our feelings while standing on Mount Calvary were of that high-wrought but solemn kind that we had experienced while at the Sepulchre, but not perhaps so strong in degree; for although this was a place of agony and shame, and yet of the highest moral grandeur, there was connected with the other a depth of humiliation, a completeness of abandonment, that was extremely affecting. The grave had received the body of the sufferer, cold and stiffened in death; the winding sheet was around those mangled limbs, and over the temples where the blood stood on many a wound. Nature that day had sympathized and shuddered,—but this now had passed; the taunters, after praying that his blood might be on them and on their children, had gone their way; the disciples were appalled and had fled; the tomb was sealed up, and the moon threw its mild rays on a scene forsaken apparently of God and of man, except the silent sentry pacing to and fro. The humiliation was now complete; the price of our ransom was paid to the utmost, and then glory from heaven poured down upon the spot. The God-Redeemer rose, and death, who, though conqueror, had set trembling to see the Creator of all things prostrate and beneath his sway, was now himself led captive, and made a ministering servant to bring the redeemed to eternal glory.