Читать книгу Bleeding Armenia - M. Smbat Gabrielean - Страница 12

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As at one time Athens “was the Eye of Greece and Mother of the Arts” so both to pious Jew and humble Christian, Jerusalem has ever been the “City of God,” the “Joy of the Whole Earth.” To the fervid hearts of the early Christians a pilgrimage to that Holy City to see the sacred sights and commune with God amid scenes hallowed by the former presence of a Christ, was regarded as a mark of special faith and a source of peculiar blessing. After the Emperor Constantine removed his capital from Rome to Constantinople and embraced the Christian religion, Jerusalem was raised from its ruins, the way to the sacred places was made more easy and safe, and the spirit of pilgrimage greatly revived and stimulated. The magnificent church of The Holy Sepulchre—decorated with pillars and adorned and paved with precious stones—was raised above the obscure tomb, while churches, chapels and monuments filled the city and marked the places made sacred by the life and the death of the Saviour of the world.

Pilgrims flocked in crowds into Judea from almost every country in Europe and Asia, and when they gathered in immense throngs about these holy places, lifting their voices in prayers and hymns in many languages, the sound was like the Babel of former Pentecosts. Each returning pilgrim told his story of strange sights and of the refreshment and inspiration received from his visit.

The Sultan Abdul Hamid in the Park of Yildiz Palace.

He had confirmed his faith by bathing in the Jordan, tested his faith by exposure and perils, warmed his emotions by prayer on Calvary and raised his soul in songs of praise in the Church of the Resurrection.

But in 610 AD, the armies of Persia overran the provinces of the Byzantine Empire, invading Syria, Palestine and Egypt, capturing Jerusalem and bearing away many Christian captives.

Ten years of fiercest conflict followed and finally Heraclius, Emperor of Constantinople, recaptured the city. In the imposing ceremonies and festivities which followed, the Emperor walked barefoot in the streets, bearing on his shoulders to the summit of Calvary, the wood of the true cross, which to their weird and superstitious imaginations had been miraculously recovered. Jerusalem rescued, became more than ever an object of reverence. Blood had been shed for the church, only Christians should thenceforth be its custodians. Their joy was brief.

Already the Saracenic warriors under able leaders had overrun Persia and Syria, and in 637 Omar, their Caliph, after a four months’ siege, received the keys and homage of a city, which, though the home of many Christians, was very sacred also in the eyes of the Mohammedans, as a “House of God,” a city of saints and miracles, since Mohammed himself had visited it as a prophet and had thence set out for heaven in his nocturnal voyage. During the lifetime of Omar, the Christians escaped serious persecution, but violence and fanaticism increased at a fearful rate under his successors—except for the period (768–814 AD) during which reigned Haroun al Raschid, the greatest of all the Saracen Caliphs.

In 1076—fateful day—Jerusalem was captured by the Seljukian Turks who had come down from the inner provinces of Asia in resistless numbers—embraced Islamism, and under the banners of the Caliph of Bagdad, had conquered Syria and Palestine. Their entry into Jerusalem was signalized by a terrible massacre of all opponents. The fanatical fury of these barbarians was untempered by any spirit of toleration that had sometimes marked Saracenic civilization—and soon their wild hordes waved their banners of blood and fire before the very gates of Constantinople. The Emperor Alexius purchased peace by ceding Asia Minor to the victorious Solyman, who at once established his power at Nice and began building a fleet for the capture of the Byzantine capital.

All Europe was roused and smitten with alarm. The hour had come for the Greek and the Latin churches to unite all their power for the defence of their common faith and preserve their empires from being devastated by the barbarian Turks.

Pope Gregory began to exhort the sovereigns of Europe to arm against the infidel: when suddenly from an anchorite’s cell appeared a monk who fired with enthusiasm the heart of all Europe and blew into fiercest blaze all the fanatical elements of a religious war. It was reserved for a poor pilgrim who had found refuge in a cloister from the ridicule and follies of a wicked world to become the instrument of converting the zeal of pilgrimage into the fury of an armed crusade. This man was Peter the Hermit.

In his cell, amid silence, fasting and prayer he grew to believe himself the agent of heaven for the accomplishment of some great purpose, and he left his retreat to go on a pilgrimage. What he witnessed and suffered on the way and at Jerusalem gave to his zeal fresh determination and to his devotion the fervor of righteous indignation. His spirit was fired by the insults to Christians, his piety shocked by the profanations of the Holy Sepulchre by the barbarians and infidels. To his fevered imagination as to that of Joan of Arc there was a vision and a voice. While prostrate before the Holy Sepulchre the voice of Christ was heard, saying: “Peter, arise, hasten to proclaim the tribulation of my people; it is time my servants should receive help, and that the holy places should be delivered.” He hastened to Italy and threw himself at the feet of the Pope, Urban II.

With the blessing of the Pope he went forth, the preacher of an armed crusade. In imitation of Christ, when he entered Jerusalem in that last week of his life, he traveled on a mule. With crucifix in hand, feet bare, his head uncovered, his body covered with a long frock and girded with a thick cord, his appearance was an awesome spectacle. He went from city to city, from province to province, working on the piety, the superstitions and the courage of his hearers; now in churches, then in village marts and again on the public highways. He was animated and eloquent, his speech filled with vehement apostrophes and appalling descriptions. His exhortations threw the people into sobs and groans, fury and frenzy. Sympathy with the afflicted Christians took the form of furious fervor, natural bravery went out in oaths to redeem or die; religious emotions ran wild in excesses and swung like a pendulum from the lowest follies of superstition to the fiercest outbursts of fanaticism.

It was during this excitement that the Emperor Alexius sent a message to Pope Urban II., appealing for aid. A council was called at Clermont in France where Peter’s preaching had caused the greatest awakening. The Pope attended in person, about him gathered an immense throng of clergy, princes and laity, from France, Italy and Germany. At the tenth session of this council the Pope ascended a pulpit in the open air and preached the sacred duty of redeeming the Sepulchre of Christ from the infidels, proclaiming the certain propitiation for sin by devotion to this meritorious service.

This historic council was most ingeniously called and managed. The Germanic peoples were new and eager converts to Christianity. They were fierce and warlike in disposition. Feudalism still was in its fullest power. The hundreds of castles which add such picturesqueness to the valley of the Rhine were then the centers of feudal pride, and every petty Prince made war as he was able against his neighbor, or joined with others in wars of larger proportions. There was no national spirit as yet. These feuds which had been handed down for generations, had greatly impoverished and destroyed the people. The Church had sought to alleviate the distress and check these petty wars, by issuing decrees prohibiting private wars for four days in each week. This council renewed “The Truce of God,” and threatened all who would not comply, with its Anathemas. It placed all widows, orphans, merchants, artisans and non-combatants generally under the panoply of the Church—made all sanctuaries so many cities of refuge, and declared that even the crosses by the roadside should be reverenced as guardians from violence. These and other salutary decrees struck into the midst of an assembly filled with enthusiasm and energy, and prepared the way for them to unite in any cause that would add to the strength and glory of Christendom. On this day of the tenth session the great square was filled with an immense crowd. The Pope ascended the throne followed by his Cardinals. By his side was Peter the Hermit, who was to speak first, clad in his pilgrim garb. He gave an impassioned and masterly sketch of what he had witnessed in Palestine and Jerusalem—the outrages against the religion of Christ, and the profanation of the most holy places, the persecutions of pilgrim visitors whom he had seen loaded with chains, dragged into slavery; harnessed to the yoke like cattle. And as he spoke he also acted, until the people shuddered in consternation and horror, vented their hate in vehement cries or wept in dismay—no heart remaining unmoved by the very agony of his appeal.

Then Urban rose and so enlarged upon the theme as to arouse and inflame their passions to the highest pitch; then addressing particularly the French he said: “Nation beloved by God, it is in your courage that the Christian Church has placed her hope. It is because I am well acquainted with your piety and your bravery that I have crossed the Alps, and have come to preach the word of God in these countries. You have not forgotten that the land you inhabit has been invaded by the Saracen, and that but for the exploits of Charles Martel and Charlemagne, France would have received the laws of Mohammed. Recall, without ceasing, to your minds the danger and the glory of your fathers, led by heroes whose names shall never die. They delivered your country. They saved the West from shameful slavery. More noble triumphs await you under the guidance of the God of Armies. You will deliver Europe and Asia. You will save the city of Jesus Christ, that Jerusalem which was chosen by the Lord, and from whence the Gospel has come down to us.”

Urban swayed his audience as a wind does the leaves of the forest. It wept as he pictured the misfortunes and sorrows of Jerusalem. Warriors clutched their swords and swore vengeance against the Infidel when he described the tyranny and perfidy of the Mussulman conquerors. The enthusiasm of his auditors rose to the highest pitch, when he declared that God had chosen them to extirpate the Mohammedan. He appealed also to their cupidity by the promise of worldly gain, by possession of the riches of Asia and the lands which according to Scripture flowed with milk and honey. He played on every passion and emotion—ambition, patriotism, love of glory and wealth, piety, power and religion:—until at the close of his grandest outbursts the audience rose as one man and broke into the unanimous cry—a cry that became the war cry of the crusader—“It is the will of God! It is the will of God!”

Taking up this wild refrain Pope Urban repeated dramatically: “Yes, without doubt it is the will of God” * * * It is He who has dictated to you the words that I have heard. Let them be your war cry and let them announce everywhere the presence of the “Armies of God.” He then held up to the gaze of the assemblage the sign of their redemption, saying: “It is Christ himself who issues from the tomb and presents to you his cross; it will be the sign raised among the nations which is to gather together again the dispersed of Israel. Wear it on your shoulders and on your breasts; let it shine on your arms and on your standards; it will be the surety of victory or the palm of martyrdom; it will unceasingly remind you that Christ died for you, and that it is your duty to die for Him.” Again the multitude rose to weep and cheer and vow vengeance against the Mussulman.

I have dwelt thus on the Council of Clermont, and quoted from the speech of Pope Urban, that the reader might see clearly the mixed motives that stirred the heart of Europe for nearly two centuries, and nerved her warriors to the most noble, heroic and almost superhuman deeds of valor and endurance that have ever been emblazoned among the memorials of the mightiest heroes of this mortal race.

This was the declaration of war against the Mohammedan. The breaking up of the Council was the scattering of the firebrands of fanaticism. Pope Urban traversed several provinces of France that seemed to rise en masse to his appeals. France seemed to have no country but the Holy Land. Ease, property and life were cast into the sacrificial cause. All Christian nations seemed to forget their internal strifes, and to plunge headlong into the excitement of the hour. Western Europe resounded with the Papal Watchword: “He who will not take up his cross and come after me, is not worthy of me.”

It must not be forgotten, however, that the political and physical condition of Europe contributed vastly to the warlike conflagration. The people groaned under feudal servitude and violence. Famine more or less severe, for years had contributed to robbery and brigandage. Commerce was almost destroyed, agriculture was neglected. Towns and cities were in ruins; lands everywhere were abandoned. The Church made her appeals popular. The Crusader was freed from all imposts and from pursuit by debts. The Cross suspended all laws and all menaces. Tyranny could not seek a wearer of the emblem nor could justice find the guilty. What wonder that an entire population rushed to a cause that absolved them from a grinding past and pictured so glowing a future! What wonder that the inexpiable wickedness of tyrannical baron and brutal knight sought expiation or at least relief by a desperate plunge into foreign martial excesses! What wonder if freebooters and robbers should join the ranks in hope of sharing the plunder of the conquered East! Yet we must not lose sight of the fact that over and above all love of glory, all true patriotism or base cupidity, towered the sublime passion, the pervading emotion of the hour. Religion smelted every other sentiment into harmonious union with her fervid zeal and her intense zealotry. Monks deserted their cloisters, anchorites their cells or forest retreats to mingle with and encourage the crusading throngs. Thieves and robbers came out of their hiding places to confess their sins and expiate offences by assuming the sacred badge.

All Europe seemed to be on the move eastward. Barons were willing to desert their castles and Lords their manors. The artisan deserted his shop, merchants their stores, the laborer the field. Cities were depopulated, lands were mortgaged, castles sold. Values were nothing. Accumulations of centuries went for a song. Even miracles entered into the furore. To their overheated imaginations stars fell; blood was seen in the clouds. Armed warriors were seen rushing to battle in the skies. Saints issued from the tomb, and the shade of Charlemagne arose to lead these phantom hosts to the rescue of the Holy City. While everywhere the women and children and the helpless of every estate espoused the cause of Heaven crying aloud, “It is the will of God,” and imprinting crosses on their limbs.

The early spring of 1096 saw the gathering of the impatient throngs. They came from every quarter, from the Rhine to the Pyrenees, and from Tiber to the Ocean. Troops of men, armed with every conceivable weapon or without arms of any kind, swarmed towards their respective rendezvous chanting and shouting their war cry until every hill reëchoed “It is the will of God.” Without preparation or forethought or commissary they gathered, blindly trusting that He who fed the sparrows would not suffer them to hunger. There was no voice of reason in all this surging multitude. It was a spectacle without a parallel in history. There is no way of computing the vast aggregate, but the French historian, Carnot, estimates that five billion enthusiasts were on the move in the spring of 1096. This certainly is most extravagant hyperbole, but all Western Europe was fiercely agitated and vast multitudes were on the march.