From Pole to Pole | Page 9

CHURCH OF THE DIVINE WISDOM
Let us now go down to the great mosque on the point. On the top of the
principal dome we see a huge gilded crescent. This has glittered up
there for 450 years, but previously the cupola was adorned by the
Christian Cross. How came the change about?
Let us imagine that we are standing outside the church and let the year
be 548 A.D. One of the finest temples of Christendom has just been
completed by the first architect of his time from Asia Minor. The work

has occupied sixteen years, and ten thousand workmen have been
constantly engaged at it. But now it is finished at last, and the Church
of the Divine Wisdom, Hagia Sophia, is to be consecrated to-day.
The great Emperor of the Byzantine realm, Justinian, drives up in a
chariot drawn by four horses. He enters the temple attended by the
Patriarch of Constantinople. The building is as large as a market-place,
and the beautiful dome, round as the vault of heaven, is 180 feet above
the floor. Justinian looks around and is pleased with his work. The
great men of the church and empire, clad in costly robes, salute him. He
examines the variegated marble which covers the walls, he admires the
artistically arranged mosaic on the gold groundwork of the dome, he is
amazed at the hundred columns which support the cupolas and galleries,
some of dark-green marble, others of dark-red porphyry. The Emperor's
wealth is inexhaustible. Has he not presented to the church seven
crosses of gold, each weighing a hundred pounds? Does not the Church
of the Divine Wisdom possess forty thousand chalice veils all
embroidered with pearls and precious stones? Are there not in the
sacristy twenty-four Bibles, which in their gold-studded cases weigh
two hundred pounds each? Are not pictures of the Redeemer, of the
Mother of God, of angels, prophets and evangelists suspended between
the twelve columns of solid silver which are the Holy of Holies in the
temple? Are not the faithful moved to tears at the sight of the crucifix
and at the remembrance that the gilded cross of silver is an exact copy
of that which, more than five hundred years ago, was set up by Roman
barbarians at Jerusalem?
Justinian turns round and examines the panels of the three doors which
are said to have been made of wood from Noah's ark. The doors of the
main entrance are of solid silver, the others are beautifully inlaid with
cedar-wood, ivory, and amber. Above his head silver chandeliers swing
in chains; some of them form together a cross, and are a symbol of the
light of heaven hovering over the darkness of earthly life. The vault is
flooded with light; and in the mosaic he sees the meek saints kneeling
before God in silent supplication. Below the vault he sees the four
cherubims with two pairs of wings. He thinks of the first chapter of
Ezekiel: "And the likeness of the firmament upon the heads of the

living creature was as the colour of the terrible crystal ... and I heard the
noise of their wings, like the noise of great waters." He also calls to
mind the book of Exodus, ch. xxxvii.: "Even to the mercy-seatward
were the faces of the cherubims." It was the same here in his own
church.
Inspired by humility before God and pride before his fellowmen, the
Emperor Justinian moves to his prie-dieu. He falls on his knees and
exclaims: "God be praised who has thought me worthy to bring such a
work to completion! I have surpassed thee, O Solomon."
Then the pipes and drums strike up, and the glad songs of the people
echo among the houses, which are decorated by webs of costly brocade
hanging from the windows. The festival is prolonged for fourteen days;
casksful of silver coins are distributed among the multitude, and the
Emperor feasts the whole city.
Then follow new centuries and new generations in the footsteps of the
old. The bones of Christians moulder under the grave mounds, but still
the temple remains as before. There priests and patriarchs and fathers
of the Church assemble to Church Councils, and the great festivals of
the year are celebrated under its vault. Nearly a thousand years of the
stream of time have passed away, and we come to May 29, 1453.
May is a fine month in Constantinople. The summer is in all its glory,
the gardens are gorgeous in their fresh verdure, the clear waters of the
Bosporus glitter like brightly polished metal. But what a day of
humiliation and terror was this day of May, 1453! In the early morning
tidings of misfortune were disseminated among the citizens. The
Turkish Sultan had stormed in through the walls