...
description: 1907, In His Presence
author: Roy Wilhelm, Stanwood Cobb, Genevieve L. Coy 
title: In His Presence
notes: Kalimát Press, [kalimat.com](http://www.kalimat.com/) 
...


# In His Presence 
## Roy Wilhelm, Stanwood Cobb, Genevieve L. Coy 
### 1907  

------

## Notes:

```
Knock and It Shall Be Opened Unto You was originally
published as a booklet by the author in 1908. Memories
of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was published in the July-August 1962
issues of Bahá’í News, and as a separate booklet by
the author (n.d.) A Week in ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s Home was
first published in Star of the West, Vol.12, Nos. 10-13,
in 1921

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wilhelm, Roy

In his presence

Contents: Preface by Richard Hollinger — Knock
          and it shall be opened unto you by Roy Wilhelm — Memories of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá by Stanwood Cobb — A
          week in ‘Abdu’l-Bahá home by Genevieve L. Coy.

1. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. 1844-1921  2. Bahá’ís Biography.
    I. Cobb, Stanwood, b. 1881. II. Coy. Genevieve Lenore,
    b. 1889. III. Title. 

BP393. W55  1989    297’.93’092  [B] 89-11076
ISBN 0-933770-71-5 
```


##  Knock, and It Shall Be Opened Unto You 
### 1907 
##  by Roy Wilhelm 


> He that is Greatest Among You <br>
shall be Your Servant <br>
(Matt. 23:11)  {.noid}

IN THE PENAL FORTRESS of ‘Akká, {{p3}} in Palestine,on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean, the Tideless Sea, there is a prisoner and an exile. His name is ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, which means, the Servant of God. Behold, my servant, whom I uphold; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth; I have put my spirit upon him: he shall bring forth judgment to the Gentiles. He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street.[^1]  

[^7] Isaiah 42: 1-2 

It was in this Holy Land that Jesus of Nazareth traveled nineteen hundred years ago, preaching and teaching in the streets of the cities the simple Truth of God. It is true that only a few ignorant fishermen were able to comprehend His Message.   

That which most impresses the pilgrim to {{p4}} the Most Great Prison, at ‘Akká. is the spirit of sacrifice. Nowhere have I witnessed such love, such perfect harmony. The desire of those in that prison is to serve one another.   

In our western liberty it is difficult to realize the bitter antagonism and hatred which exists
in the East between the followers of the several great religious systems. For example, a
Jew and a Muḥammadan would refuse to sit at meat together; A Hindu to draw water from a
well of either. Yet in the house of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá we found Christians, Jews, Muḥammadans,
Zoroastrians;, Hindus, blending together as children of one God, living in perfect love and harmony.   

Each of these systems proclaims that it is striving to promote the Fatherhood of God
and the brotherhood of man. To accomplish this end, the Christians have sent out many
missionaries into the East, and from the systems of the East have come missionaries into
the West. Each has seen the realization of its dream only through the triumph of its own over
all the other systems, but during all the centuries none has succeeded in consuming another.
It is estimated that the three foremost in point {{p5}} of numbers stand about as follows [^7] : Buddhists, 550,000,000; Christians, 500,000,000; Muḥammadans,
350,000,000. Like the Christians, all the other have divided and subdivided into
many branches, some of them as antagonistic as the systems themselves.   

[^7] These populations reflect the situation c. 1908. At present, the numbers would be: Buddhists, 309,626,100; Christians: 1,644,396,500; Muslims: 860,388,300. (The World Almanac and Book of Facts 1989) –Ed. 

At the house of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, in ‘Akká. we met many of these peoples, but they had lost
all trace of the discord and hatred which has been inbred and cultivated for centuries, and
now they are as members of one Household. They sacrifice their lives for one another. To
what shall we attribute this miracle of unity?   

At Port Sa‘íd, Egypt, a resident Bahá’í came to the steamer with a boat to carry us ashore.
After the formalities of the Custom House, we were driven to our hotel, where we remained
two days awaiting the arrival of a Russian steamer for Haifa, Syria, the regular steamer
being obliged to omit its trip on account of a Sirocco (hot wind and sand storm) which {{p6}} came from the desert and visited Port Sa‘íd the
day after our arrival, virtually suspending traffic
on both land and water for about twelve
hours. The evening of the second day, four of
our American friends returning from ‘Akká
arrived in Port Sa‘íd, and we had a most interesting
meeting with the resident believers.
We had heard much of the love and kindness
shown by the Oriental brothers to the pilgrims
from the West — after our visit to Port Sa‘íd we
understood.   

The following evening, April 20th, we sailed on the Russian ship for Haifa. It was still quite
rough as a result of the Sirocco. The next morning at eight-thirty we reached Jaffa, the
port of Jerusalem, where the unloading of cargo caused a delay. At one o’clock, we left
for Haifa and the little vessel was pushed to its fullest capacity in the hope that it might make
port before sunset, which would enable the passengers to land. Fortunately, we arrived
just in time, and at six-thirty dropped anchor a mile from shore. Owing to the shallowness of
the water, passengers are landed in small boats, and this is easy only under the most
favorable weather conditions. Although the storm had subsided, there was till some sea {{p7}} running, which made the landing difficult, particularly as it was dark when we reached shore.
We were not delayed by the inspection of our baggage and so immediately took a carriage to
the Hotel Carmel, which we reached after ten minutes drive.

Our friend at Port Sa‘íd had given us letters to two merchants in Haifa, but the messenger we dispatched to them returned with the information that both had gone to ‘Akká. We had the address of another believer, whose son we knew in this country, and we then sent to him, but it was so late that he did not receive our message until the following morning. He came quite early to the hotel, and his warm welcome made us feel that close relationship into which this Revelation brings all people

In the afternoon, we went to his home and later visited the Tomb of the Báb,[^7] which is about a mile above Haifa on Mt. Carmel and which overlooks the city and the bay. The Tomb faces ‘Akká. which place one can plainly see on a clear day

[^7] Now known to Bahá’ís as the Shrine of the Báb — ED. 


I preceded the other a half hour in order to {{p8}} make some photographs before the sun was too low. Upon reaching the Tomb I found only one room open and within were several Persians sitting about a table. They did not understand English, but by tapping my camera and making
signs I made my wishes known and received permission to take some pictures.

I saw upon the finger of one of them, a venerable man with flowing white beard, a ring
such as is worn by many of the believers.[^7] As
he was close to me, I whispered in his ear in
Arabic the universal Bahá’í greeting;[^7] he immediately
cried it aloud, and as he grasped me
in his arms and kissed me on both cheeks, the
tears came into his eyes. Then they all crowded
round, pressing my hands, and I knew that I
was among friends. In the meeting of the West
with the East is fulfilled the prophecies of the
Books.

[^7] The symbol engraved on the Bahá’í ringstone is: –ED.

[^7]  Alláh–u–Abhá! (God is most glorious!) — ED. 

The following morning, our friend received
permission for us to proceed to ‘Akká, and we
engaged a high-bodied carriage for the drive of
ten miles, as two streams had to be forded. {{p10}}

The smooth hard sand at the edge of the Mediterranean
is the road, and as we drove along,
the waves would frequently wash up against
the horses’ feet. The little horses knew that the
sand was hardest at the water’s edge, and they
followed the waves as they washed up and
receded, traveling in scallops, as it were. It is a
low sandy coast, and the outline is broken only
by an occasional clump of date palms and tall
cactus plants. We passed here and there an
Arab on horseback, usually a long rifle pointing
above his shoulder; also a number of natives
with their flowing garments girded up
into their belts to give greater freedom and to
offer less resistance to the wind, which at
times blew with considerable force. Above the
water line the sand seemed to be constantly
shifting into irregular mounds, some of them as
much as fifteen or twenty feet in height

It was after two o’clock when we entered the
gate of the prison city, and we were rapidly
driven through narrow winding streets, the
driver cracking his long whip to warn people at
the turnings, and in about five minutes we
stopped at a house the entrance to which was
an arch having a heavy swinging door. The {{p11}} word Welcome greeted our ears, our baggage
was removed from the carriage, and we
were assisted to the ground and conducted
through the entrance so quickly that we did not
at once realize we had reached the Most Great
Prison, the end of our seven thousand miles’
journey. We passed through a courtyard and
up a long flight of stone steps into an upper
court from which we were ushered through a
dining room into a large square room facing the
Mediterranean and overlooking the three crumbling
walls that remain of the once strong fortification.
Here the welcome was repeated, and
we now realized that we were the guests of
‘Abdu’l-Bahá. The young man who had been
our escort, after inquiring if we were well and
if we had had a pleasant journey, informed us
that this would be our room and said he would
leave us that we might rest

In about an hour the young man returned with
the announcement: The Master is coming

As ‘Abdu’l-Bahá crossed the threshold He
uttered the words, Welcome! Welcome!. He
then led us to a divan which extended the full
length of the room, and bade us be seated beside
Him. Taqíng my mother’s hand in His {{p12}} own and putting His arm around me, He spoke
in Persian, addressing us through an interpreter,
repeating the greeting, Welcome!
Very Welcome! I have been waiting long for
your coming. It is with God’s help that you
have reached ‘Akká. Many leave their homes
to come to ‘Akká but do not arrive. This is a
good day; this is a good season of the year because
it is Spring. The Cause of God is like a
tree — its fruit is love. How are the believers?

We answered: They are well and are becoming
more united

He then said: This news is the cause of my
happiness, for the more they are united the
more they will receive God’s confirmation.
They must love one another. Each must devote
and sacrifice himself and what he has for the
other. I, myself, sacrifice my life for all. You
represent all the American believers. In you I
see all the American believers. Your faces are
shining. I have been waiting long for your coming.
Thank God that you came.

We replied: We do thank God and hope to
become worthy

And He answered: You will become more
worthy

We remained in ‘Akká six days, and each {{p14}} day other pilgrims came to our room. Some of
them related incidents of their personal experience
with Bahá’u’lláh, and concerning the
early days of the Revelation. One, a Persian,
told us he had been striving to come to ‘Akká
for twenty-two years, but had been deterred by
the threats of his brother to announce that he
was a Bahá’í.[^7] He said that his only thought
was for his wife and children, but that the
yearning to meet ‘Abdu’l-Bahá had finally become
so strong that he could no longer defer
making the pilgrimage. To our inquiry as to
what he thought might result upon his return,
he replied, That remains with God

[^7]  Four years ago;, one hundred and seventy Bahá’ís
were martyred in his city during a period of four days.
–R.W. This refers to the persecution of the Bahá’ís of Yazd
in 1903. — ED 

Our room fronted upon a little garden in
which was a fountain, and nearby a tent in
which ‘Abdu’l-Bahá receives many of those
who come to see Him. So intense are the
hatreds between the followers of the different
religious systems that it is unusual for a man to
be well spoken of outside his own system, but {{p16}} ‘Abdu’l-Bahá is regarded by all classes as a
man of such wisdom and justice that it is to
Him that they come for explanations of their
religious Books, for the adjustment of their
business quarrels, and even for the settlement
of family difficulties. The inquirer will be told
that ‘Abbaas Effendi (‘Abdu’l-Bahá) makes no
distinction; that He helps Jew, Muḥammadan,
and Christian alike.

Neither ‘Abdu’l-Bahá nor His Father, Bahá’u’lláh,
were ever taught the learning of men.
Yet scientific men from different parts of the
world go to question and inquire of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
about many and various matters. Learned
men, priests of the different systems, and even
those in authority go to consult with Him; all
regard Him as their friends and adviser.

Friday mornings at seven there is another
picture. Near the tent in the garden one may
see an assemblage of the abject poor — the
lame, the halt, and the blind — seldom less than
a hundred. As ‘Abdu’l-Bahá passes among
them He will be seen to give to each a small
coin, and to add a word of sympathy or cheer;
often an inquiry about those at home; frequently
he sends a share to an absent one. It is a sorry
procession as they file slowly away, but they all {{p17}} look forward to this weekly visit, and indeed it
is said that this is the chief means of sustenance
for some of them. Almost any morning,
early, He may be seen making the round of the
city, calling upon the feeble and the sick; many
dingy abodes are brightened by His presence.

In ‘Akká the little birds fly right into the
rooms. The door of the dining room was usually
open, and we frequently saw them eating
crumbs from the table. The evening meal is at
nine, after the custom of the Persians, and it is
then that ‘Abdu’l-Bahá talks and teaches. The
following is the substance of what He said to us
during one meal:

Since the beginning of the world up to the
present time, whenever a Manifestation or a
Holy One appeared, all stood against Him, disgracefully
treated Him, rejected and opposed
Him, persecuted His followers, plundered their
possessions, and at last sentenced Him to
death, saying ‘This man (the Manifestation) is
the cause of corrupting our laws and of destroying
our religion.

They called Jesus a liar. But, notwithstanding
all these afflictions which fell upon Him,
He won the victory and subdued all to His Command;
His spiritual authority prevailed in the {{p18}} world, and the deniers and those who contradicted
Him failed and were frustrated. Though
but few persons accepted and were converted
in the Day of each one of the Manifestations,
yet these few surpassed and overcame great
multitudes. During the time of Christ only a
few souls believed in Him, but they were so
powerful in spirit that none of the learned men
among the Israelites could resist and stand
against them, and afterward their light illumined
the world, their call was raised abroad,
their stars twinkled in heaven, their diadem became
resplendent, and they are shining with
great brilliancy.

When Christ passed away, He had eleven
disciples. The greatest among them was Peter,
and he denied Christ three times, but when
Bahá’u’lláh departed He had a hundred thousand
believers who were calling out ‘Ya
Bahá’u’l-Abhá while they were under swords
and daggers, and in these late years many men
and women in Yazd were killed by inches without
uttering a single cry or complaint, but
rather called out the Greatest Name. From
these incidents we may judge the future of this
Revelation. {{p19}}

During our last meal, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá broke a
quantity of bread into His bowl, then asking for
the plates of the pilgrims, He gave to each of
us a portion. When the meal was finished, He
said: I have given you to eat from My bowl — now distribute My Bread among the people.

When we left ‘Akká, we drove to the Tomb
of Bahá’u’lláh, about two miles beyond the
city. It is a small stone building of simplest construction,
in a little garden of flowers. The gardener
filled our arms with roses and carnations.
From here, we visited the beautiful garden of
Riḍván, where Bahá’u’lláh so often went,
sometimes remaining days at a time. As we
were leaving, Abu’l-Qazim, the gardener, followed
us across the little bridge and gave us
some beautiful flowers, after which he climbed
up on the wheel of the carriage and gave me a
parting embrace. The Riḍván is in reality an
island, and on both sides flow streams of clear water.

At unexpected places along the road we
were surprised to again see the good faces of
those we thought we had left behind, and once
more they bade us good-bye.

Three days later, we left Haifa by steamer {{p21}} for Jaffa, from where we traveled fifty-four
miles by narrow-gauge railroad up to Jerusalem.
During the two days there we visited
both Bethlehem and the Mount of Olives. We
then returned to Jaffa for steamer to Port Sa‘íd
and went at once to Cairo, where we remained
a week visiting the friends. We found here
also that love and kindness which everywhere
characterizes the Bahá’ís of the Orient. From
Cairo we went to Alexandria, where we took a
steamer for Naples.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá had told us that He would be
glad if we could arrange to visit the friends in
Paris and London on our way home. Therefore, after
traveling through Italy and Switzerland,
we went to Paris, where we remained a week
and attended several interesting meetings. We
also were in London a week, and there met our
American friends who were returning from India,
where for several months they had been
teaching in this Cause.

This is the account of our journey by land
and water to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, but the true Journey
and the real Meeting is of the spirit, for
only that cup which one carries there is filled.

The only claim of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá is the Station {{p22}} of Servitude. As to His personality, He
commands us to see the Light, not the Lamp

Blessed are those who know  <br>
Ro {.sig}

A recent letter from Ḥaydar-‘Alí, an old man
of seventy-four years, whom we met and who
was exiled and imprisoned for twelve years,
two of them in chains, for his belief in this
Revelation, has as its closing paragraph the
following:

> May God speed the day when the limitations
of personalities, prejudices of boundaries,
and distinctions of the East, West, North, and
South be entirely removed and all of us become
true Bahá’ís. {{p23}}

----



## Memories of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá 
### 1908: 1910: 1912: 1913 
## by Stanwood Cobb 

I FIRST MET ‘Abdu’l-Bahá vicariously, so to
speak, and it was this meeting that brought me
into the Bahá’í Faith in the summer of 1906. It
happened that being in the vicinity of Green
Acre [^7] that summer I made a pilgrimage there
to see what it was all about. My curiosity had
been aroused by weekly articles in the Boston
Transcript. At this time, I was studying for
the Unitarian ministry at the Harvard Divinity
School

[^7] The Green Acre conferences at Eliot, Maine, established
 by Sarah Farmer during 1894, in the aftermath of
 the Chicago World’s Parliament of Religions, were devoted
 to the tolerant study of comparative religions and
 progressive ideas. After 1900, when Miss Farmer became
 a believer, Bahá’í teachers were included among
 the speakers. –ED.


It was a warm Sunday afternoon in August.
The big tent on Green Acre’s lower level, {{p26}} where the lecture hall now is located, was filled
to capacity to hear some famous sculptor from
New York. I was not greatly interested in his
lecture. It was not for the sake of art that I had
come, but for the sake of religion.

At the end of the lecture I went up to speak
to Sarah Farmer — who had been presiding in
her own ineffable way, shedding a warm spiritual
glow upon the whole affair. As I had previously
met her in Cambridge at the home of
Mrs. Ole Bull, I ventured to recall myself to
her.

Miss Farmer took my hand in hers and cordially
held it while she looked into my eyes
and asked, Have you heard of the Persian
Revelation

No, I answered

Well, go to that lady in the white headdress
and ask her to tell you about it. I know by your
eyes that you are ready for it.

What had she seen in my eyes? I do not
know. But what she had read there proved true.
For within half an hour from that moment I became
a confirmed Bahá’í and have remained so
ever since

But it is of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá that I am writing,
and not of myself. How did it happen that {{p27}} ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, seven thousand miles away and
a prisoner in ‘Akká, could at such a distance
confirm me with such immediacy into the
Bahá’í Faith?

It happened in this way. The path had been
prepared, so to speak. For in reviewing books
for the Boston Transcript which dealt with the
prevailing and rapidly increasing flaws in our
present civilization, and the need of a better
world order, I had begun to debate deeply with
myself on this matter of such great universal
concern.

It is true, I thought, that a new and better
pattern of civilization needs to be devised. But
even if such a pattern — an ideal pattern — were
conceived, who could put it over? Could I, as a
clergyman, hope to convert all my congregation
to it? Much less could I hope to convert the
whole country. And no human being could by
any conceivable power of vision and of personality
bring all humanity into such a kingdom of
perfection.

I still vividly remember how I was taking a
long walk in the beautiful suburb of Chestnut
Hill, around the reservoir, when the solution of
this problem flashed into my mind. Someone
must appear with more than human authority, {{p28}} in order to win the allegiance of the whole
world to an ideal pattern for humanity.

This was my general frame of mind when
Mary Lucas, the woman in white — a singer
just back from visiting ‘Abdu’l-Bahá — took me
under an apple tree on the sloping lawn and
proceeded to unfold to me the Persian Revelation.
Her exposition was very simple. It consisted
of only these four words: Our Lord has
come!

The moment Mary Lucas uttered those
words I felt, This is it! How did it happen that I
felt that way? The woman in white had not
discoursed to me upon the spiritual character
and greatness of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, nor upon the
principles of the Bahá’í Faith. How great is the
power of speech, when one simple utterance
could sweep me — mind, heart, and soul — into
that Faith!

But it was more than these four words that
empowered Mary Lucas so to usher me into
the Cause. It was more than speech itself. It
was a unique spiritual vibration which Mary
Lucas had brought from ‘Akká that convinced
me. And it was the strange cosmic dynamism
with which her words were charged that moved
my soul. {{p29}}

If ‘Abdu’l-Bahá Himself had stood under
that apple tree and addressed me, I could not
have been more convinced. For what is distance
on the plane of spirit? Mary Lucas had
brought the spirit of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá with her. I
felt it, and I was convinced. Especially as my
own soul had already sought out and found the
answer to the world’s dire need: Someone must
appear with more than human authority.

So that was my first meeting with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá — strangely vicarious, perhaps predestined.
The second meeting — with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
in person while He was still a prisoner in ‘Akká — took place in the following way. In February
of 1908, I had the great privilege of visiting
Him in company with Lua Getsinger, famous in
the annals of Bahá’í history.

I accidentally (or was it by destiny?) ran into
Lua on the steps of Shepard Hotel in Cairo,
where I had gone for a few days of travel during
the midyear holidays of Robert College
(Constantinople), in which at that time I was
teacher of English and Latin. {{p30}}

What are you doing here? asked Lua in
great surprise

What are you doing here? I asked, in equal
surprise

It seems that Lua was on a pilgrimage to
‘Akká, and she urged me to leave off my
travels in Egypt and join her. I explained that I
had written ‘Abdu’l-Bahá for permission to
visit, but had been answered that at that time it
was not advisable. But I have standing permission to take anyone
with me, urged Lua. But I have arranged a trip up the Nile with
my friend

What is a trip up the Nile compared with
the privilege of visiting the Master

Lua’s logic was convincing and her ardor
compelling. Twenty-four hours later saw me
ensconced in a room adjoining ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s
in the historic prison of ‘Akká, in reality a
large compound enclosed within walls

My first meeting with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was bewildering.
We were ushered into a long study,
lighted by large French windows at the farther
end. I saw a large desk there, but no person sitting
at it. Only a radiance of light. As we approached {{p31}} the end of the room, a majestic figure
in Oriental garb became evident to me. It was
‘Abdu’l-Bahá

Lua Getsinger, with the devotion of a Mary
Magdalene, fell to her knees and fervently
kissed His robe. But what was I to do? I am not
one who can act insincerely. Should I merely
shake hands with Him? As I stood in hesitation
‘Abdu’l-Bahá, fully realizing my predicament,
saved me from it by taking me in His arms and
embracing me.

You are welcome! He said

Every evening at dinner ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, who
did not eat at that time, helped to serve us. He
went around from guest to guest, putting more
food upon the plates. This is the height of Oriental
hospitality, to serve an honoured guest
with one’s own hands.

When the meal was over, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
would give us a brief talk on spiritual themes. I
regret that I have not a memory sufficient to recall
all that He said. But I do recall two of these
message of spiritual wisdom

It is not enough to wish to do good. The
wish should be followed by action. What would
you think of a mother who said, ‘How I love {{p32}} you, my babe! — yet did not give it milk? or of
a penniless man, who said, ‘I am going to found
a great university!

On another occasion, He spoke of the need
for loving patience in the face of aggravating
behavior on the part of others. One might say,
‘Well, I will endure such-and-such a person so
long as he is endurable. But Bahá’ís must endure
people even when they are unendurable.

Three extraordinary qualities which characterized
all of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s utterances were to
be found in these two brief conversations: His
supreme logic; His delightful sense of humor;
and the inspiring buoyancy with which He
gave forth solemn pronouncements.

For instance, when He said, But Bahá’ís
must endure people even when they are are unendurable,
he did not look at us solemnly as if
appointing us to an arduous and difficult task.
Rather, He beamed upon us delightfully, as if
to suggest what a joy to us it would be to act in
this way!

I want to emphasize this important point–the
joyousness with which ‘Abdu’l-Bahá always
depicted the spiritual life as He enjoined
it upon us. And why not? Is man’s spiritual life {{p34}} not in reality more joyous than any other kind
of life that he can lead?

This philosophy of joy was the keynote of all
of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s teaching. Are you happy?
was His frequent greeting to His visitors Be
happy!

Those who were unhappy (and who of us are
not at times!) would weep at this. And ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
would smile as if to say, Yes, weep on.
Beyond the tears is sunshine

And sometimes He would wipe away with
His own hands the tears from their wet cheeks,
and they would leave His presence transfigured.

On the occasion of this visit I had been under
a severe strain at Robert College, due to disciplinary
troubles. That was one of the reasons
for my diversionary trip to Egypt. Also, I had
been slowly recovering in previous years from
a nervous depression due to over work at Dartmouth,
and also at the Harvard Divinity
School. At times I would feel so depressed that
I should have been glad to have found a hole in
the ground, crawled into it, and pulled the hole
in after me. I understood at such times the
Hindu craving for extinction. {{p35}}

‘Abdu’l-Bahá came into my room one morning
without His translator. He sat beside me
and took one of my hands in both of His and
held it for a minute or two. He had not at any
time inquired as to my health. He knew. From
that moment on I found myself permanently relieved
of these depressive moods. No matter
how hard the going, I have always since then
been glad to be alive.

At last, all too soon, the time came to go.
The three days assigned for our visit had come
to an end. I shall never forget how Lua Getsinger
sobbed as if her heart would break as
she slowly descended the long flight of steps,
looking back frequently at ‘Abdu’l-Bahá Who
stood benignly at the top.

Needless to say, the ensuing spring at
Robert College was one of the most glorious {{p36}} periods of my life. Never had the birds sung so
sweetly, the flowers and shrubs bloomed so exquisitely,
the golden sunshine seemed so intoxicating.
As for my disciplinary troubles at the
college, they vanished like mist which the sunshine
dispels. My pupils, some of whom had
been carrying knives and revolvers, loved me
again and more than ever. Such was the magic
power that I brought from ‘Akká.

Again it was my privilege to visit ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
in the summer of 1910, and this time at
His own invitation. I was given the privilege of
spending a week there, in the Persian guest
house on the slopes of Mt. Carmel. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
at this time was living in Haifa in the
home built for Him by Mrs. Jackson, having
been freed from His imprisonment by the
Young Turks in the summer of 1908. The oppressive
and cruel governor who had in vain
sought graft from Him and had threatened to
send Him to the malign dungeons of Tunis, had
himself met the fate he had designed for ‘Abdu’l-Bahá — the fate of death, and at the hands {{p37}} of the Young Turks. And ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was enjoying,
for the first time since His boyhood, the
luxury of freedom.

He seemed to me more noble in countenance,
more regal in bearing, more potent in
the power of His presence than ever before.
Every evening at sunset He met with the pilgrims,
assembled in a large room, and gave a
spiritual discourse.

One afternoon, I found the pilgrims waiting
outside at the gate for ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. He had
been making a call upon the Turkish consul
and was expected soon. After a few moments
we saw His carriage stop at the foot of the
short hill, where He got out in order to walk
the rest of the way for the sake of exercise. All
of the Persian pilgrims stood in their customary
reverential attitude, awaiting His approach
with bowed heads and arms crossed upon their
breasts. I alone, as an American, took the privilege
of watching Him as He approached, enjoying
the majesty of His movements and the
nobility of His whole appearance. But as He
neared me, I involuntarily also bowed my head.
Some power emanating from Him seemed to
obligate this attitude. So had Professor E.G.
Browne, the only Occidental ever to visit Bahá’u’lláh {{p38}} felt obligated to bow his head in the
presence of the Prophet. [^8]

[^8] Professor Browne was not the only Westerner ever
to visit Bahá’u’lláh, but he wrote the famous pen portrait
which includes the following description of his first meeting
with Him: No need to ask in whose presence I
stood, as I bowed myself before one who is the object of
a devotion and love which kings might envy and emperors
sigh for in vain! — ED.


This power emanating from ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
was not expressed for the purpose of producing
submission. It was a power which He never expressed
to non-Bahá’ís. Let us say, rather, that
it was a privilege He gave us, of seeing a little
behind the veil; of experiencing the direct effect
of that Cosmic Power which in this early
period of our development seems supernormal,
however normal it may become to us at some
distant future stage of our soul’s development.

No, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá never put forth any of His
spiritual power to dazzle, persuade, or overawe
sceptics or unbelievers. Of this fact I shall
later give a vivid instance

On the day I arrived at Haifa I was ill with a
dysentery which I had picked up in the course {{p39}} of my travels. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá sent His own physician
to me, and visited me Himself. He said,
I would that I could take your illness upon
myself. I have never forgotten this. I felt, I
knew, that in making this remark ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
was not speaking in mere terms of sympathy.
He meant just what He said.

Such is the great love of the Kingdom, of
which ‘Abdu’l-Bahá spoke so often and so
much. This is a love which is difficult, almost
impossible, for us to acquire — though we may
seek to approximate its perfection. It is more
than sympathy, more than empathy. It is sacrificial
love.

Looking back, it seems strange that ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
did not employ His healing power directly
upon me, as He had done on the occasion of my
previous visit. He left me to the care of His
physician and to the prescribed medications. It
took three days for me to get on my feet again.

Why did He not restore me directly to health
by means of spiritual healing? There is some deep
spiritual lesson here. It was not ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s
province to go about healing physical
diseases. It was His mission to expound the
Teachings and express the spiritual potency of {{p40}} the world’s Divine Physician. Physical events
and conditions are of less importance in our lives
than the development of our spiritual nature.

In regard to health in general, I will quote
here a statement which ‘Abdu’l-Bahá had made
to me on my previous visit: that health is the
expression of equilibrium; that the body is composed
of certain elements, and that when these
elements are in the right proportion, health
results; and that if there is any lack or preponderance
in these elements, sickness results.

Thus, fifty years ago, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá gave in a
simple statement to me all the truths which the
new science of biochemistry is now discovering.
But there is still another cause of illness,
‘Abdu’l-Bahá went on to say. Illness may be
caused by nervous factors. Anything that
shocks us or affects our nerves may also affect
our health.

All that has been written up to this point is a
sort of introduction to the recording of my
memories of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá on the occasion of
His visit to this country in 1912. The purpose {{p41}} of this introduction is to show what sort of a
personage it was that on April 11, 1912, landed
at the port of New York for an extended visit
and lecture tour in this country.

Here was an Oriental in Oriental garb, a man
who had been prisoner most of His life, a character
whose life was for the most part lived on
a spiritual plane so lofty as to be almost beyond
our comprehension. How did this Servant of
God meet, fit into, and adjust to the objective,
dynamic, and materialistic life of America?

‘Abdu’l-Bahá. upon landing in New York and
being surrounded by alert and inquisitive reporters,
was perfectly at home. And why not?
Is there any limit to the power of spirit? Was
not ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s universal spirit as capable
of dealing with the fast-vibrating technological
Occident as it had been in dealing with the
mystic and more spiritual Orient? We shall see,
as this narrative continues, how He was all
things to all men; protean in His universality;
thoroughly at home in every environment.

This majestic figure — in tarboosh, turban,
and flowing robes — drew the newspaper men
into His aura and immediately won their favor

What do you think of America? He was
asked. {{p42}}

I like it. Americans are optimistic. If you
ask them how they are they say ‘All right!’ If
you ask them how things are going, they say,
‘All right!’ This cheerful attitude is good.

And so ‘Abdu’l-Bahá won reporters’ hearts
and continued to do so throughout His stay
in America. He never seemed to them, or was
described by them, as a strange or exotic personality.
He always received favorable and constructive
notices from the press.

For eight months, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá traveled over
the United States from coast to coast, giving
addresses in churches, universities, and lecture
halls. Several of these addresses I was
privileged to attend. As I look back on these
occasions, I recall more vividly His platform
presence than the contents of His addresses,
which of course have all been published. [^9]

[^9] See The Promulgation of Universal Peace (Chicago:
Bahá’í Publishing Committee, 1922-25), Second Edition
(Wilmette, Ill.: Bahá’í Publishing Trust, 1982).–ED.


‘Abdu’l-Bahá did not, as a lecturer, stand
still. His movements were very dynamic. He
paced back and forth on the platform as He
gave forth His spiritual utterances. I felt that
the general atmosphere and the effect of His {{p44}} words were enhanced rather than diminished
by the presence of a translator. For the techniques
of translation gave ‘Abdu’l-Bahá a certain
spiritual dignity, such as could not have
been attained by a straight address in the language
of His hearers.

The situation was as follows: ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
would make a statement of a length within the
power of the translator to render; then He
would stand and smile as the translation was
given, or He would nod His head to affirm important
points. In other words, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
did not stand passive during the period of translation.
He constantly illumined this translation
with the dynamic power of His own spiritual
personality.

And when He spoke, the Persian words — so
beautiful and strong — boomed forth almost as
musically as in operatic recitatives. While He
spoke He was in constant and majestic motion.
To hear Him was an experience unequaled in
any other kind of platform delivery. It was a
work of art, as well as a spiritual service. First
would come this spiritual flow of thought musically
expressed in a foreign tongue. Then, as
the translator set forth its meaning to us, we {{p45}} had the added pleasure of watching ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s
response to the art of the translator. It
was, all in all, a highly colorful and dramatic
procedure.

The substance of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s talks, here
and in London and Paris, have been published
and are available for study.[^10] One can perceive in
all of these addresses and discussions a peculiar
adaptation to the Occidental mentality
and way of thinking. They are, to sum it up in
one word, supremely logical

[^10] See “Paris Talks (London: Bahá’í Publishing Trust,
1912[1969] and “‘Abdu’l-Bahá in London” (London,
Bahá’í Publishing Trust, 1912[1987]) — ED.


It was the Greeks who taught the world how
to think in logical terms, and they thereby laid
the foundation for all Western thought and science.
From the Greeks we have learned how to
begin at A in order to get to Z — or as in
Greek, from Alpha to Omega.

The Orientals do not think in just this way.
Their mentality has never submitted to the
Greek discipline. Their minds are more mystical,
more immediate in perception. They do not
have to begin at A in order to comprehend {{p46}} the station of Z. Through spiritual sensitivity,
through rapid intuitional processes, they
can often gain an immediate awareness or comprehension
of the ultimate — of the Omega
itself.

All Oriental seers and prophets speak oracularly.
One sentence, one paragraph will contain
a wealth which a lifetime of thought cannot exhaust.
Christ spoke this way. Bahá’u’lláh spoke
this way.

But ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, for the sake of the Western
world, adopted the Greek mode of presentation,
carefully elaborating His theses and
developing them from known to admissible
premises. In no place is ‘Abdu’l-Bahá ever obscure
or recondite. If He wishes to present a
great spiritual truth, He takes it up at an initial
point where its truth will be acknowledged
by all, and then develops it into a larger presenstation
such as can expand our very minds and
souls.

And so, whatever else ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was and
in the future will be realized to be, it is recognizable
even today that He was God’s special
gift to the Occident. He translated the oracular
teachings of Bahá’u’lláh into a language and
form easily comprehensible to the West. So {{p48}} that no one, having available these lucid pronouncements
of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, can say that the
Bahá’í Faith is hard to understand. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
has set forth its Teachings with all the lucidity
of daylight and the warmth of sunlight.

Regarding the countless personal interviews
which the Master gave to Bahá’ís and nonBahá’ís
alike, volumes could be written. I will
tell here only of the interviews which I personally
was privileged to have.

When ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was in Boston, I seized
this opportunity to take my father in to see
Him, from our home in the suburb of Newton.
Father at that time was a venerable Boston
artist seventy-five years of age — an earnestly
religious man, devout, spiritual, and prayerful.
He was sympathetic to my adherence to
the Bahá’í Cause, but he had said, Son, I am
too old to change. While I was in Constantinople,
Father had at my request attended some
of the Bahá’í meetings in Boston; and now he
was glad to have this opportunity to visit with
‘Abdu’l-Bahá.

But what was my consternation to perceive
that Father was taking the conversation into
his own hands! It was an occurrence which I
never shall forget. Father for some half-hour {{p49}} proceeded to lay down the law to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá,
or let us say, to enlighten Him on spiritual
themes. Or to be more exact, let us say
that Father took this opportunity to express to
the loving, listening ear of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá the
spiritual philosophy which had guided him in
life.

I sat there quite shocked. But I didn’t need
to be. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá plainly was not shocked at
this reversal of the customary role — He now to
be the listener and His visitor the discourser.
He sat there smiling, saying little, enveloping
us with His love. And at the end, Father came
away feeling that he had had a wonderful interview.
What a lesson in humility this was, that
‘Abdu’l-Bahá thus exemplified! There are so
many times when we can help others best just
by being good listeners.

The last interview I had in this country with
‘Abdu’l-Bahá was in Washington. Strange, that
I do not recall what He said. My heart was too
full to take any notes! I only can recall how
He embraced me at the end, kissed me, and
said three times: Be on fire with the love of the
Kingdom!

What is this love of the Kingdom? That is
what humanity must henceforward spend a {{p51}} few thousand years to discover and apply to
life. Did ‘Abdu’l-Bahá mean the love for the
Kingdom or the kind of love that prevails in the
Higher Kingdom? Or did He mean both these
loves?

Here in these nine words ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
summed up the gist of all His teaching; which
was that love, applied by means of the Holy
Spirit, is the one thing that will solve all problems
of man, both as an individual and as a collective
society.

The most important interview I had with
‘Abdu’l-Bahá was in Paris in the spring of
1913. I was one of the staff of Porter Sargent’s
Travel School for Boys. On my first visit He inquired
about the school and asked me what I
taught. I told Him that I taught English, Latin,
algebra and geometry. He gazed intently at
me with His luminous eyes and said, Do you
teach the spiritual things?

This question embarrassed me. I did not
know how to explain to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá that the {{p53}} necessity of preparing the boys for college entrance
exams dominated the nature of the curriculum.
So I simply answered: No, there is
not time for that.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá made no comment on this answer.
But He did not need to. Out of my own
mouth I had condemned myself and modern
education. No time for spiritual things! That, of
course, is just what is wrong with our modern
materialistic civilization.w It has no time to
give for spiritual things.

But ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s question and His silent
response indicated that from His viewpoint
spiritual things should come first. And why
not? The material world, as the expression of
man’s spirit, is subordinate to the spiritual
world. Therefore, education should begin with
that which is primary and causal; and not with
that which, as the creation of man, is secondary
to his creative spirit and to the Creative
Spirit of the cosmos.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá kindly invited me to bring
Porter Sargent and the pupils to see Him. Mr.
Sargent gladly accepted the invitation, and
four of the boys did. The others had excuses,
like those people in the Bible who were invited
to the wedding feast but did not go. One boy {{p54}} had to buy a pair of shoes, another had planned
to take afternoon tea at a restaurant where a
gypsy orchestra furnished music, et cetera.
How many of life’s important opportunities
thus pass us by, through our own unperceptiveness
or neglect!

I was deeply interested and concerned to see
what impression ‘Abdu’l-Bahá would make on
the owner of the school. Porter Sargent, ten
years my senior, was a confirmed and positive
atheist. He had been a biologist, and was suffering
from that spiritual myopia which so
often afflicts this type of scientist. But he was
an idealist, a humanitarian, a man of great vision
for humanity, and somewhat of a genius.

In one intimate discussion with me on the
nature of existence, during a long hike we
took together on the sunny island of Capri, he
had outlined to me his concept of life and the
universe.

What to you think of it? he asked me,
with some eagerness. Perhaps this was the
first occasion on which he had so fully expounded
his philosophy of life

It is splendid! I said. But it only
covers half of existence

What is the other half? {{p56}}

Spirit

But this other half did not exist for Porter
Sargent. Idealist that he was, creative-minded,
somewhat of a poet — I felt sad that not one ray
of spirit could penetrate the pride of his intellect.

So when this golden opportunity came of an
interview with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, I had great
hopes. Now, in this intimate meeting with the
Master, I thought, Sargent will be forced to
realize the existence of spirit. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s
spiritual potency will at last penetrate his shell
of skepticism.

And so, when we came out from the hotel after
a half-hour conference with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá,
I eagerly asked, Well, what do you think of
Him

I have never forgotten my shattering disappointment
at the answer. He’s a dear, kind,
tired old man.

I was chagrined. But this experience taught
me two spiritual lessons. The first was that
skepticism must solve its own problems, in its
own way. The second truth, even more important,
was that Spirit never forces itself upon
the individual. It must be invited.

Theologians have frequently made the observation
that God could easily force us to reverence {{p57}} and stand in awe of Him, if He wished.
But He does not wish to win man’s reverence
and awe and love by any forceful way. The initiative
must come from man himself.

And so, in the case of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, I noticed
upon many occasions that He never expressed
spiritual power for the purpose of dazzling people,
or of winning them to a spiritual allegiance
for which they were not inwardly prepared. The
greater the receptivity of the individual,
the greater was the revelation of spiritual potency
which ‘Abdu’l-Bahá displayed.

Thus Juliet Thompson, who painted ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s
portrait, has testified to the glorious
revelations of Himself which her Subject at
times made to her. In similar vein have testified
the Kinneys, with whom ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
spent several weeks. And May Maxwell once
told me that she had received, upon one sacred
occasion in the presence of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, such
a revelation of Him that she would never attempt
to describe it.

But materially-minded people, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
met upon their own plane, as He did Porter
Sargent. And as I also saw Him do in Washington
with the Turkish ambassador, on the occasion
of Mrs. Parson’s reception. This being a {{p58}} social affair, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá did not play the part
of the Master, but the part of a guest amenable
to the situation. And anyone who had looked
into the large reception room, as I did, and had
seen ‘Abdu’l-Bahá sitting in a corner and exchanging
funny stories with the ambassador,
would have seen in ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s facial expressions
no trace of spiritual power. For He
was not here primarily for spiritual purposes,
but to play a social part.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá was indeed all things to all
men. He was protean. If some were prepared
only to see Him as the Old Man of the Sea,
such He was to them. But if they were prepared
to see Him as more than this, the degree
of their receptivity was proportionately blessed.

In all my interviews with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá I had
an extraordinary feeling of receiving truth
from a higher plane than that of the mere intellect.
Man’s intellect is an organ of discrimination,
an instrument for analysis and attack. As
we listen to other people more learned than
ourselves, we are pleased to get information, {{p59}} but we consciously reserve the right of judgment.
Some of the things said to us we accept
immediately; some with reservations; and some
we inwardly oppose. No matter how wise or
how learned the teacher, we reserve the right
of our own judgment.

But with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá it was different. I accepted
always His statements with humility
and with total conviction; not because of any
assumption of authority, but because I always
felt in the depths of my soul that what He said
was truth. It always rang true,so to speak. Let
us say, as it was said of another great leader of
men, that He spoke with authority.

In the course of His lectures here and abroad
‘Abdu’l-Bahá discoursed on many subjects.
Where did He get His wide knowledge of
things and of affairs? He had had but one year
of schooling at the age of seven. He had been a
prisoner all His life. He had few books, no
scholarly library, no encyclopedias.

Yet at Schenectady, as ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was being
shown around the General Electric Works
by Steinmetz, this wizard of electricity was
observed to be eagerly absorbing ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s
elucidation of electricity. The Rev.
Moore, Unitarian clergyman who was present {{p60}} at the time, testified to me: Steinmetz’s jaw
seemed to drop open as he drank in ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s
talk.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá, do You know everything?
Saffa Kinney is said to have asked

No, I do not know everything. But when I
need to know something, it is pictured before
Me.

And so, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, on the occasion of His
tour of the General Electric Works, knew more
about electricity than did Steinmetz.

Shoghi Effendi has said that intuition is a
power of the soul. It was this power that was
always available to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, and available
in its totality. He has spoken many times of
this immediate knowledge — this knowledge
attained without the means of books or other
humans, this strange intuitive power which to
some degree is available to us all.

And often, in closing an interview after answering
some abstruse question, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
would say: Time does not permit of further
answer. But meditate on this, and truth will
come to you.

And so — although ‘Abdu’l-Bahá is no longer {{p61}} with us to answer our questions — the power of
the Holy Spirit so strong in Him is still available
to us to guide, to fortify, to heal

I have tried to describe ‘Abdu’l-Bahá as I saw
and knew Him. But how can anyone give an
adequate description of this personality that,
like St. Paul, was all things to all men?

The Persian doctor who attended Him from
1914 till His death, when recently asked at a
meeting in Milwaukee to describe ‘Abdu’l-Bahá,
replied that this was very difficult to do;
because ‘Abdu’l-Bahá expressed Himself differently
at different times, meeting every occasion
as the occasion demanded.

If one were asked to describe ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
in a single word, that word would be: protean.
This unusual adjective is derived from
the name of a minor deity in Greek mythology
who had the magic power to assume any form
he wished. And so ‘Abdu’l-Bahá could be on
one occasion all love; on another occasion supreme
wisdom; and on other rare occasions,
expressing a power that seemed cosmic. {{p62}}

And since love, wisdom, and power are the
three principles upon which the Cosmos is run;
and since ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was designated as our
exemplar, it follows that these qualities should
be developed in us all, as we grow spiritually
toward the attainment of our full stature as
citizens of that Kingdom of God destined to be
the consummation of our planetary existence.

What was the secret of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s power?
He suggests the answer in His own words

The human body is in need of material
force, but the spirit has need of the Holy Spirit.
If it is aided by the bounty of the Holy Spirit it
will attain great power; it will discover realities;
it will be informed of the mysteries. The
power of the Holy Spirit is here for all. The
captive of the Holy Spirit is exempt from every
captivity

The teachings of His Holiness Bahá’u’lláh
are the breaths of the Holy Spirit which create
man anew.

Whatever was and still is the reality of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
it is evident from the events of His
life that He was endowed with a cosmic power
for the fulfillment of His mission. Every unexpected
circumstance, every event in the midst
of the Occidental civilization so foreign to His {{p63}} own background, He met not only successfully
but also with a power that won all hearts.

His directives to Bahá’ís always focused on
the need of divine aid — the aid of Spirit — in
order to exemplify and propagate the Bahá’í
Faith and lay the foundations for that New
World Order laid down by Bahá’u’lláh for the
establishment of a spiritually motivated world
civilization.

To those who would like to pursue further the
marvelous details of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s life we recommend
Portals to Freedom by Howard Ives,[^11] a
Unitarian clergyman prior to his conversion to
Bahá’í. We had the pleasure of meeting Ives in
New York in 1910, when he was at the beginning
of his search for spiritual reality.

[^11]  (London: George Ronald, 1937 [1962]) –ED


Cobb, I’d like you to meet a young clergyman
who is becoming interested in Bahá’í,
said my friend Montfort Mills to me one day.
Can you have lunch with us tomorrow

I was glad to accept this invitation and to {{p64}} meet an earnest seeker. I do not recall our conversation
at the lunch table. But it was evident
that Ives was seriously searching.

This meeting with Ives resulted on my part
in a memorable friendship with a man who was
destined ultimately to celebrate the personality
and teachings of one who in 1912, became his
Teacher and Master.

In his vivid narrative Howard Ives reports
many loving meetings and interviews with ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
The impression of this spiritual
leader which remained a constant in Ives’ recollections
is expressed by him in the following
words: What ‘Abdu’l-Bahá said impressed me
with the force of the impact of Divine Truth.
There was not a question in my mind of the authority
with which He spoke. {{p65}}

----

## A Week In ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s Home 
### 1920 
## by Genevieve L. Coy 

> We have beheld the King in His Beauty; we {{p67}} have seen the land that is very far off. [^12] {.noid}

[^12] Cf. Isaiah 33:17 — ED.


SEPTEMBER 1, 1920. Our party of four American
pilgrims [^13] had left Cairo on the evening of
August 31st. Three of the Egyptian Bahá’ís
had come to the train to bid us farewell, and to
give us messages to take to Haifa. One of the
group was an Armenian, who brought a basket
of fruit for the Master. Another was Mírzá
Tawfiq, a young man of twenty-one or — two
years of age, who is a student in the college in
Beirut. He interpreted for us often during our
five days in Cairo, and also served as a most
pleasant and helpful guide in some of our trips
about the city. The third person to bid us Godspeed
was Muḥammad-Taqí Iṣfaháni, in whose {{p67}} home we had spent some of our happiest hours
in Cairo. He speaks no English, but he gave us
many sweet thoughts, through Mírzá Tawfiq’s
interpretations, and his smile was a benediction.

[^13] The four pilgrims who made this glorious
journey together were Mable Paine, Sylvia Paine,
Cora Grey, and Genevieve Coy. — G.L.C.


We loved him so much that we could not
have borne parting from him had it not been
that the goal of our journey was Haifa and the
Master! His parting gift to us was a tray of delicious
pastry and a lovely bouquet of roses.
Through all the next day’s ride the flowers
kept fresh, and on the day after that there were
two or three buds that were fresh enough to be
given to the Master, when Mírzá Muḥammad Taqí’s
message of love was told him. The
Master wore them in his girdle all the rest of
that day, and said that he always was happy
when he thought of the loving heart of the Bahá’í
who had given us the flowers.

When we woke on the morning of September
1st, the train was running through the
desert country of southern Palestine. For mile
after mile the rolling sand dunes stretched into
the distance. Long lines of camels were passed;
and occasionally acres of date palms, loaded
with green dates, showed where a little moisture
was held in the sand below the dry surface.
For hours we looked out of the window, {{p69}} watching, with an intense fascination, those
long miles of desert. Someone in our party said
that she could quite understand why the children
of Israel murmured in the wilderness, if
that was the kind of country that they had to
travel through! We wondered whether Joseph
and Mary, and the infant Jesus, had traveled so
hard a road when they went down into Egypt.
But later, in Haifa, we were told that the tradition
of the country says that they went to the
port at the foot of Mt. Carmel, and from there
continued their journey to Egypt by boat.

During the middle of the day, the train passed
from the desert into the pasture land. That is
as different from our green American
meadows as one can imagine. The pastures are
brown and dry, and we wondered how the
many herds of goat and sheep that we saw
could find enough food to keep them alive. We
saw almost no cows, and in Haifa we found
that it is very difficult to obtain milk; we did
not see any butter while we were in Palestine.
Instead of butter, a white, salty cheese made
from goat’s milk is served.

In the afternoon we rode through the beautiful
valley near Jaffa, with its thousands and
thousands of fruit trees. The fields have to be {{p70}} irrigated, but when that is done they blossom
abundantly, and the trees are loaded with
oranges and lemons, which were green at that
season of the year. A little farther north is the
valley of Sharon, and we tried to remember
some of the beautiful words of the Old Testament
with regard to that valley. The wilderness
and the solitary place shall be glad for
them; and the desert shall rejoice and blossom
as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly even
with joy and singing; the glory of Lebanon
shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel
and Sharon, they shall see the glory of the Lord
and the excellency of our God. [^14]

[^14] Isaiah 35:1-2 — ED.


The last part of the journey was very beautiful.
The train ran close to the edge of the seashore,
and we saw the sun drop down through
fleecy clouds and sink in the blue waters of the
Mediterranean. On the right, a low range of
hills rose — rocky, and sparsely covered with
vegetation. Beyond them appeared line after
line of hills, until, far in the distance, high blue
mountains towered into the sky. We thought
that they must be the Lebanons, and we wondered
whether we should soon see the valley of {{p71}} ‘Akká. After a time, the lowest range of hills
rose so close that all the others were blotted
out. Cora suggested that perhaps the termination
of this range was Mt. Carmel, and so it
proved to be, for suddenly we rounded a point
of land, and Haifa appeared to the east, with
Mt. Carmel above.

Haifa lies on a narrow plain at the foot of the
mountain, but there are buildings scattered
part way up the slope. A long white road
traverses the length of the hill, and reaches the
top near its western extremity. I looked for the
Tomb of the Báb, but I am not sure whether I
saw it then. The train runs through a considerable
part of the town, before reaching the station,
and our eyes were very eager in their
search for the various places of which we had
heard so much. Suddenly, I remembered that
we should now be able to see ‘Akká across the
bay, and hurrying to the other side of the car, I
looked out — and across the water I glimpsed
the city of the Lord, the door of hope. We
were so happy to be so near our journey’s end — we were so full of expectation, that it seemed
as if the train would never reach the station.
But at last we did pull up in front of it!

Cora went out to look for a porter, and I was {{p73}} ready to pass baggage out of the window to
her. But almost immediately a hand was
reached in to shake mine, and we were welcomed
by a young man, whom we later learned
was Rúḥí Effendi, one of the Master’s grandsons.
Soon a familiar figure appeared in the
car, Fujita, whom we had last seen in New
York. He helped pass out bundles, and soon we
were all on the platform with our numerous
parcels and bags beside us. We shook hands
with several young men, Bahá’ís from the
Master’s household, and then we four American
pilgrims were in the auto, with the driver,
Rúḥí Effendi, and some of our baggage. Sa’íd
Effendi, who had just arrived from Alexandria,
Fujita and the other friends waited for the car
to return for them.

The car ran through several streets, going
steadily upwards — and I was too happy and too
far from ordinary speech to be able to say a
word. Suddenly we turned a corner, and after
going less than a hundred yards the car stopped.
I recognized the Pilgrim House, from the picture
of it in The Light of the World.[^15] On the {{p75}} other side of the road was the wall of the
Master’s garden, and rising above it, the little
room, like a watchtower, in which the Master
often stays.

[^15] A Bahá’í pilgrim’s account by George O.
Latimer (Boston: by the author, 1920) — ED.


During our ride from the station, Rúḥí Effendi
told us that the Master was staying on
the mountain for a few days, to rest from the
many demands made on his time when he is in
his house in the town. We would not see him
until the next day. Perhaps we were disappointed
for a moment, but here one knows that
all the Master does is wisely done. And next
morning, we were sure that it was well that we
should have time to rest, and drink in the exquisite
peace of the place, before meeting Him.

At the door of the Pilgrim House, we were
met by two Americans, Mrs. Hoagg and Malcolm
McGillavrey. Malcolm had been in Haifa
a week, but Mrs. Hoagg had been there since
early in the summer. She acted as hostess for
the Pilgrim House; she showed us to our rooms — one for Cora and me, another for Mabel and
Sylvia. Simple, clean, and filled with a faint
fragrance as of incense, is our place of rest, the
place the Master has provided for those who
come from the West. Every hour I wonder
more at the love and kindness which has so
provided for our comfort! Whenever we sit {{p76}} down to a meal, I think, This is the meal the
Master has given us! The material food has
come now, but the spiritual food had reached
us in America!

Fujita cares for the house; he gets the breakfast;
he serves the lunch, the food for which is
brought over from the Master’s house; he
washes the dishes, he cleans the lamps, he is
always busy in serving us. In the evening, he
helps wait on table at dinner in the Master’s
house. The other boy who serves at dinner is
<u>Kh</u>usraw, who came from Burma when he was
very young, to serve the Master.

After our arrival at the Pilgrim House, we
sat on the porch for a while. The night was
beautiful — a full moon, and yet the stars were
very bright. At about half past seven, Mrs.
Hoagg took us over to the Master’s house to meet
the ladies of the household. We entered
a gate that is covered with a luxuriant growth
of vines, and walked under an arbor to the entrance
of the house. It was hard to believe that
we were really there! We had seen pictures
of the house often, and it was so very like the
pictures! (That is true of everything here. The
pictures we have seen have been very good, I
think, for one rcognizes places and people
immediately.) {{p77}}

We went up a rather long, broad flight of
steps, turned to the left, and were in a high-ceilinged
room of moderate size. There were
many chairs and divans against the wall, and at
the end of the room was a big wicker chair
which one knew at once was the Master’s. Immediately,
the ladies came in. They greeted us
with the Greatest Name, they inquired about
our health, our journey, about the believers in
America. Rúḥí Effendi translated for those
who did not speak English. There were present
the Holy Mother,[^16] the Greatest Holy Leaf,[^17] two of the daughters,[^18] Tuba <u>Kh</u>ánum, and
Ruhha <u>Kh</u>ánum; two or three young girls, granddaughters
of the Master — and Fu’ad, the adorable
four-year-old grandson, whose picture I
had seen in Mr. Latimer’s notebook.

[^16] Munírih <u>Kh</u>ánum, the wife of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá

[^17] Bahíyyih <u>Kh</u>ánum, the sister of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá

[^18] That is, of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá


The Holy Mother spoke about Bahá’u’lláh’s
commands about education. The two daughters
talked with us about the friends in America.
Little Fu’ad ran in and out on a very sturdy
pair of legs. I cannot remember much of what
was said. We knew that we were very welcome.
We knew that we were at home as never {{p78}} before! I could not but try to realize that these
were the women who had been for years
prisoners in ‘Akká, who had undergone unspeakable
hardships — these women with smiling
faces who welcomed us so cordially.

After a time, how long I cannot tell, someone
came and announced dinner. The ladies said
good-night, for they do not come to the table
where the men pilgrims are.[^19] We were taken
out into a big, big room which had a long table
down the center. Many men came filing in
and seated themselves. There were probably
twenty or thirty at the table. Later, we learned
that five religions and six or seven nationalities
were represented. Christians, Muḥammadans,
Buddhists, Zoroastrians, Jews — were
met in love and unity at the table of our Master.
Egyptian, Persian, Arab, Burmese, Japanese,
American, Parsee, Turk — and perhaps other
nationalities were infinitely happy because
they had found the joy that passeth understanding — because they were the guests of {{p79}} ‘Abdu’l-Bahá! One does not remember words
here, but the atmosphere of joy and peace is
unforgettable

[^19] Of necessity, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s family observed
the Muslim customs of veiling and social separation
of the sexes during this time. Western women were
not bound by these customs, of course. — ED.


As we were leaving the house, Rúḥí Effendi,
who had just come down from the mountain,
brought word that the Master would either
come down, or send for us the next day

At the Pilgrim House, we sat out on the
porch in the moonlight and talked until almost
ten o’clock — and then went to our rooms to
pass our first night in the Holy Land! I slept
peacefully, and the night was all the more beautiful
because I woke several times for a few
minutes of happy realization that we were at
last in Haifa, in the land of heart’s desire!

----

SEPTEMBER 2, 1920. To waken in the Pilgrim
House in Haifa is a very, very happy experience!
From our west windows we could catch a
glimpse of the Tomb of the Báb, and how eagerly
we looked up at it, knowing that there
the Master was dwelling; there was the memorial
to the wonderful young herald of our Faith,
the Supreme Báb. {{p80}}

Breakfast in the Pilgrim House comes at
seven o’clock. It is a simple, friendly meal. The
food consisted of tea, toast, poached eggs,
honey, and cheese. And the lovely companionship
of the friends! There were the seven of us
who slept in the House, and Sa‘íd Effendi and
Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh always came in and had breakfast
with us. Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh came down from
the mountain each morning, bringing handfuls
of jasmine blossoms from the garden of the
Tomb, and these he strewed on the table. They
were a lovely reminder of the spiritual fragrance
of that spot!

After breakfast on that morning I was sitting
in our room praying. Cora was writing at the
table, the door into the living room was open
and the various sounds of the household drifted
in to us. I was having a very happy time reading
some of the prayers in the little prayerbook,
and also in praying for the friends who
were not there with us. I found myself bathed
in a wonderful atmosphere of love and peace. It
was like nothing I had ever experienced! It was
not supernatural in the sense of seeming queer
or strange. It was simply an all-pervading peace
and calm that seemed to fill my whole heart
and spirit. I seemed to be at one with all the {{p81}} beauty and joy and light in the universe. Thus,
I think, some ray of love from the Master’s
thought prepared me for meeting him that day.

At lunch, Rúḥí Effendi brought word that
we were to go up to the Tomb at about four in
the afternoon, to see the Master! After lunch
we all went and rested for an hour and a half.
That is part of the day’s program always. At
three o’clock came tea, another invariable occurrence.

As the hour drew near when we were to go
up the Mountain of the Lord, to meet ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
I remembered one evening we had
spent with Juliet Thompson not long before we
had left New York. She had said with deep earnestness,
When you are in the Master’s presence,
do not be self-conscious if you can help it.
Do not be afraid. There is nothing to fear. He is
all love and kindness. Pray, pray, all the way
on your journey, that your hearts may be freed
from all self-consciousness. Go to him, freely,
gladly!

I had tried to remember that, I had prayed
for purity of heart that I might learn the lessons
the Master will teach those who are ready
to learn. And yet as we rode up the steep road
toward the Tomb, there was a strange mixture {{p82}} of love and dread and longing in my heart. The
way seemed very long! And yet it was very
beautiful. We saw the valley of ‘Akká, with the
river Kishon winding through it down to the
sea. Across the bay, ‘Akká shone brightly in
the afternoon sunlight — that White Spot
which so many, many pilgrims have sought
because the Glory of God had lived there.

Finally, we turned off from the main road,
and the carriage drove down a steep incline toward
the musafir-khanik — the Persian Hospice
for men. There we alighted and Mrs.
Hoagg led us along a wide path, which is bordered
with cypress trees on one side and with
fig trees on the other. We passed the house of
the caretaker, with the little room on top where
the Master sometimes sleeps when He is on
the mountain, and walked around to the front
of the Tomb.

In front of the Tomb of the Báb, we found
perhaps thirty of the men pilgrims sitting. One
of the most majestic was a tall man, dressed in
a long black robe — one of the Bahá’í teachers
from ‘I<u>sh</u>qabád. And with all his dignity, he had
the most beautiful laughter-wrinkles around
his eyes! One soon realized the cause of the latter,
for he smiled almost all the time! {{p83}}

We were shown to seats in front of the
Tomb, on the edge of the beautiful garden of
the terrace. We were told that the Master
would come soon. During the last few days, I
had prayed so much for the ability to learn to
to serve the many children of the Father. I had
found myself trying to imagine what the Master’s
presence would be like — and then had
tried “not to do that for fear I would be hindering
my realization of his actual presence! And
so I had tried to go to him with only the thought
of the love of God in my heart.

Suddenly, all of the believers rose and faced
the East. Then, from around the corner of the
Tomb came the Master with two of the young
men walking a little behind him. He came
slowly toward us, and said, Welcome, welcome!
in English; and then, Sit down, sit
down! Sylvia sat next him; then Mabel Paine,
myself, Cora, and Mrs. Hoagg. The other
friends were beyond her, in two rows.

When the Master had walked toward us, it
seemed to me that I had seen him come just
that way at some previous time. He seemed to
be so beautifully familiar to me! I suppose it
must have seemed so because of the pictures I
have seen of him, and the stories I have heard {{p84}} other pilgrims tell. It was a moment that one
would prolong if one could, that one would
never forget!

The Master began to speak in Persian, and
Rúḥí Effendi translated into English. He asked
several questions; he talked of principles of living.
Sometimes he would be silent for several
minutes, with his eyes looking far, far away. It
is very difficult to remember much of what he
said. Indeed, it was almost difficult to listen!

I wished only to look and look at the beauty
of his face! For that was what impressed me
first — the exquisite beauty of the Master. It
was like the most beautiful pictures we have of
him, with life and color added. His is a face of
living silver — the wonderful silver of hair and
beard, and the blue of his eyes. The side face is
majestic and sweet and loving. It was that
which we saw most of the time. The full face is
more dignified; to me it seemed more awe-inspiring.
And yet, when he smiled, it was most
exquisitely friendly, and human!

But he looked very, very tired. And one of
the secretaries had said in the morning that he
looked more rested than when he had gone up
to the Tomb a few days before. It hurt poignantly
that any face of such beauty should be {{p86}} so weary. We had brought letters from friends
in America to give to him, but when we saw
the weariness of his face, we could not bear to
add at all to the burdens he has to carry.

And yet the weariness was not, I think, a
weariness of spirit. I cannot tell why I felt
that way — partly because he can reach, as no
one else can, the infinite sources of spiritual
strength.

I had no desire to speak to the Master; there
was nothing that I could say. I do not know
what happened in my mind and heart. There
was no shock, no surprise, no sadness, no
thought of my own faulty past. But I came to
understand that for one who has been long in
his presence, there can be no desire except to
serve him; that one’s life would be happy only
as one pleased him; that one would be sad only
as one grieved him. I felt then that I had begun
to learn — that the will to serve was becoming
greater, as I had prayed that it might. Having
seen the Master but once, I could make no
promise to myself that that longing would
carry me through and beyond all my selfish
habits of the past. But I knew that to be in his
presence would mean that I must love him,
that I must do his will. {{p87}}

After a time, perhaps half an hour, some English
visitors came; the Master begged to be
excused; we rose and watched him until he disappeared
from sight. Afterward we walked
about the garden at the front of the Tomb. We
saw the big reservoir for rain water, built into
the terrace, which supplies water for the
garden and for many of the people of the neighborhood.
Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh brought us figs from
one of the trees in the garden. We looked
across the beautiful blue waters of the bay, to
‘Akká, shining in the distance. We caught a
suggestion of luxuriant growth of trees, and
were told that it marked the Tomb of Bahá’u’lláh.
The sun sank behind the mountain, and
finally Mrs. Hoagg said it was time for us to be
going down, but that first we might see the interior
of the Tomb.

The caretaker opened a door at the southwest
corner of the Tomb, and spread a piece of
matting in front of it. Mrs. Hoagg went with us
to show us the custom used in entering the
Tomb. We removed our shoes, and then the
caretaker poured rosewater on our hands, from
a little glass cruet. We followed Mrs. Hoagg
into the first room. It was perhaps fifteen feet
square, and the floor was covered with a beautiful {{p88}} dark Persian carpet. There was no furniture
of any kind. Directly in line with the outer
door was a second door that led into an inner
room. That was also covered with beautiful
rugs. Standing on the floor were exquisite
glass vases with candles burning in them. They
were in groups, perhaps of three, and they
gave the impression of flowers of living flame.
I think there must have been other objects, a
few, in the room. But the whole impression
was one of exquisite beauty, simplicity, and
peace. The inner room was raised several
inches above the outer, and the raised threshold
was covered with an embroidered cloth.

Mrs. Hoagg walked slowly up to the threshold,
knelt there a moment in prayer, and then
came back to a corner of the room. Cora followed
her, and then came my turn. I had heard
of the custom of prostrating oneself at the
threshold of the Tomb, and I had wondered
whether it would not seem stilted and formal.
But it did not in the least! Perhaps it was the
dignity and majesty of the Tomb, perhaps it
was because we had been with the Master so
recently. I was filled with a feeling of humility,
with a longing to be evanescent at His threshold, {{p89}} and the kneeling in prayer seemed the
most natural thing in the world! After that moment
at the threshold, I walked to the back of
the room while Sylvia and Mabel in turn went
forward. We knelt in prayer a long time. I cannot
guess what was in the hearts of the others,
but my own was filled with a great longing to
lose my old selfish self, and to acquire the unselfishness
of service. It was a wonderful time.
I thought of that radiant youth called the
Báb, who had given everything, friends, family,
life itself, to prepare the way of the Lord. I
thought of the Master and the years of imprisonment
and hardship that he had spent in the
service of the Blessed Beauty. For the first
time since coming to Haifa, I was almost ready
to weep — not from sorrow, but from the sense
of the greatness of the power of God.

No thought of death entered my mind while I
was there. It was not a place of mourning!
When I thought of the Báb, it was to be happy
that one so pure of heart had lived and served.
The only grief was for my own faults and failures;
and the future, with the hope of service,
was much more vivid that the past!

Finally Mrs. Hoagg, Cora, and I had left the {{p90}} Tomb. Mabel and Sylvia had not yet come out.
We were about to put on our shoes, when suddenly
the Master came around the corner! He
smiled at us, and took up the cruet of rosewater.
He held it out toward us, and I realized
in a few moments that he wished to pour some
on our hands. But I did not dream of going into
the Tomb again, and so I did not realize what
he meant! So he poured some on his own
hands, put some on his face, and again held out
the rosewater, giving us a glorious smile as he
did so. That time we understood that he was
waiting to anoint our hands, and we gladly held
them out for the fragrant drops. Mrs. Hoagg
whispered, We will go in again — and just
then the men believers came in a long line from
the front of the Tomb. The Master anointed
the hands of each, and they passed into the
Tomb. Each knelt at the inner threshold a moment,
until all had risen, and stood in a circle
about the room. Then the Master spoke to
Rúḥí Effendi, who began to chant a long
prayer, one of the Prayers of Visitation.[^20] His
chanting was the sweetest, the most melodious {{p91}} of any I have ever heard. After the prayer the
believers knelt at the threshold, and then
passed quietly out. We four Americans were
the last to leave, and as soon as we had left the
Tomb, Mrs. Hoagg came to say that the
Master was waiting to say good-bye to us. He
stood at the northeast corner of the Tomb, and
as we passed he shook hands with each of us,
adding a caress for Sylvia. We turned and
watched him as he walked back to the Tomb,
waiting for the last glimpse! Then we walked
down the mountain in the gathering dusk, and
we were very happy. On the way down, Mírzá
Luṭfu’lláh told us interesting stories of the
spread of the Cause in Persia, of the self-sacrifice
and patience of the believers in trying to
bring others to see the Light of this day.

[^20] See Tablets of Visitation in Bahá’í
Prayers (Wilmette, Ill.: Bahá’í Publishing Trust,
1982) pp. 230-35 — Ed.


Of the Master’s talk on that first afternoon, I
can remember the following. He said that we
were very welcome, and inquired whether we
were well. Then almost immediately he asked about
Mr. Vail. Mrs. Paine said, He sends his
love and longing. He wishes to do the Master’s
will.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá: Mr. Vail is a good man, a
sincere man. He is very illumined. {{p92}}

CORA GRAY: It is through his teaching that
we are here

‘Abdu’l-Bahá: You must be very grateful
to him. He has been the cause of your life. He
has educated you. He has no aim save to serve
the Kingdom.

Some people are ready for education. They
are like the fertile ground. Some have not capacity,
they are like the barren or salty ground.
His Holiness Christ has told a story of the seed
that fell on stony ground and so it could not
grow. Other seeds fell in the shallow earth, and
they soon withered away. But some fell on the
good fertile earth, and grew and produced
fruit.[^21] So it is with my words. Some fall on
hearts that have no capacity; they do not take
effect at all. Those people do not understand.
Others hear and seem to understand, but they
forget my words and do not live in accordance
with them. But others have great capacity;
they hear my words; they understand; they live
accordingly.

[^21] Cf. Matt. 13:18-23  and Mk. 4.11-20. — ED


Have you seen Jinab-i Faḍl [^22] in America? {{p93}}

[^22] Mírzá Asadu’lláh Mazandarani, known as Jinab-i
Faḍl, or as Faḍl-i Mazandarani. –ED


CORA GRAY: Yes, twice, just before we left
New York

‘Abdu’l-Bahá: He is a very pure-hearted
man. He is a real Bahá’í. He is confirmed in
service. He who is confirmed is confirmed in
all things. Of the Persians who have gone to
America only two have been fully confirmed
Bahá’ís — his honor, Abu’l-Faḍl, and his honor,
Faḍl. They are both very good.

Then the Master told the story of Mírzá
Abu’l-Faḍl and the English ladies who insisted
on seeing him! Finally, when they had knocked
very persistently and continuously, Mírzá
Abu’l-Faḍl became tired of hearing it, so he
went to the door, and said, Abu’l-Faḍl is not
here. Up to this point in the story, the Master
had been speaking in Persian or Arabic, and
Rúḥí Effendi had been interpreting, but when
the Master came to this part, he spoke in English,
very distinctly, and then repeated it,
Abu’l-Faḍl is not here! and then he smiled
the most adorable smile!

When we first saw the Master, he asked
whether we had had any troubles or difficulties
on the way. Cora replied that if we had had
any, we had now forgotten all of them.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá: There is a Persian poet {{p94}} who says that when one has attained to the
goal of one’s journey, the end of one’s search,
he forgets all that has happened on the way

Cora said that the friends in Alexandria and
Cairo had been so kind to us, and had helped us
so much

‘Abdu’l-Bahá: That is the duty of any Bahá’í.
He is greater who serves most. That is the
way to progress. Some flowers have color and
no fragrance. Some have both fragrance and
color, some have neither. So it is with the
hearts of men.

----

SEPTEMBER 3, 1920. On September 3rd, we
did not see the Master at all, for he was still up
on Mt. Carmel. I was very, very happy, with a
calm peace. During the morning I wrote in my
diary. In the afternoon, we had tea with the ladies
at the Master’s house. Someone told Mrs.
Paine to sit in the big wicker chair at the end of
the room, and she was happy to sit in the Master’s
chair. I talked to Tuba <u>Kh</u>ánum for a time,
mostly about education. Her daughter, Suraya, {{p95}} is to go to Cairo, to the Protestant School for
Girls this year, and Tuba <u>Kh</u>ánum was saying
how much they disliked to have to send their
children away from home. But the schools in
Haifa are not advanced enough for study beyond
the age of fourteen or fifteen. She said,
We like to have our children at home in the
evening in order that we may give them some
spiritual teaching ourselves. I could faintly
imagine the loss to those children from separation
from the lovely daughters of the Master!
Tuba <u>Kh</u>ánum said that the previous year Suraya
had been in a girl’s school in Beirut. She
had been eager to go, for evidently life is a very
restricted affair for a girl in Haifa! But this fall
Suraya was not quite so eager to go to Cairo.
Perhaps she had begun to realize how different
her home in the Master’s household is from the
ordinary places of living

We told the ladies that we hoped some of
their children would come to America to study.
But of course they think that a very long way
from home to send them. Shoghi Effendi is
now in England, just ready to enter Oxford,
and Rúḥángíz, his sister, is to enter some college
for girls there. {{p96}}

Tuba <u>Kh</u>ánum, and, on another day, Rúḥá
<u>Kh</u>ánum, spoke of their hope of the founding of
a Bahá’í School on Mt. Carmel. They are so
sweetly appreciative and kind; they act as
though the person to whom they are talking
had all beautiful characteristics — and one longs
to arise to meet that faith with deeds! Tuba
<u>Kh</u>ánum made me feel that way, when in speaking
of a future Bahá’í school on Mt. Carmel,
she said, When such a school is founded I
hope you may come and teach in it. What
could be more wonderful! But one would have
to live the life perfectly in order to be worthy
to teach in such a school.

After a time Mrs. Paine told me to come
over to sit in the wicker chair. That brought me
near dear Rúḥá <u>Kh</u>ánum and the Holy Mother.
They talked to me about education. The Holy
Mother said that when I was teaching my
classes I could show forth Bahá’í love and kindness,
even though I could not directly give the
Bahá’í teachings. Besides, she said, there were
many of the Bahá’í teachings that I could mention
in class, even though I did not label them
Bahá’í.

The Holy Mother is very, very sweet. She is
quiet, calm, giving one the impression that no {{p97}} disturbance ever ruffles the evenness of her
life. Her voice is low, and yet assured. There is
a sweet reasonableness in it that seems to
say, Why be impatient? All will be well in
God’s good time! She makes me think of the
verse in the Hidden Words, Be contented with
what we have ordained for they sake. This is for
thy good if thou are content with it.[^23] The
Holy Mother is content with His will. She was
not in the group of prisoners who were exiled
to ‘Akká in 1868, but came from Persia with her
brother. The journey was very hard. Much
of the time she had to sleep at night in the
same room with several men, and therefore she
had to wear a veil at night, as well as in the
daytime.[^24] Imagine the faith and courage of a
young woman, who would come all that journey
of months, through wild countries, in order
that she might enter the Prison City, and marry — a Prisoner! When she reached ‘Akká, the Bahá’ís
had been removed from the barracks, and {{p98}} were living in a small house, one we saw when
we visited ‘Akká. One can only faintly imagine
the warmth of the greeting she must have received
when she came to be the wife of the beloved
Greatest Branch! At that time the Master
must have been twenty-seven or twenty-eight
years old. We know that even then he was the
comfort and joy of the whole Bahá’í colony!

[^23] The Hidden Words, Arabic, No. 18. Shoghi
Effendi’s translation reads: ...be content with
what We have ordained for they sake, for this is
that which profiteth thee, if therewith thou dost
content thyself. — ED

[^24] Cf. Munírih <u>Kh</u>ánum: Memoirs and Letters
(Los Angeles, Kalimát Press, 1986) pp. 26-44.–ED.


One of the ladies apologized because they
had not been over to the Pilgrim House to call
on us, for they had been unusually busy. There
is much to be done in that big household, and in
addition, two or three of the children had been
quite ill. I think it was Rúḥá <u>Kh</u>ánum who was
saying that they wanted to see more of us, and
she continued, One should go and call on
one’s guests — and yet we do not! Then she
smiled and said, But you are not our guests!
You are members of our family! What sweeter
hospitality could one desire!

I have mentioned the big wicker chair at the
end of the room. However, I never saw the
Master sit in it! Whenever we saw him in that
room, he sat in a corner on one of the divans — always in the same place

I think it was this same afternoon that the ladies
took us out and showed us the garden. {{p99}} The whole plot of ground upon which the
house stands is from one-third to one-half an
acre in size, and all of it is a beautifully cared
for garden, except for the parts where buildings
actually stand. (There is nothing comparable
in it to our American lawns of grass!)

The garden has all been made since 1911 or
1912, by one faithful Bahá’í who loves to serve
the Master in that way. I think many of the
seeds, cuttings, etc., have been sent by Bahá’ís
from various parts of the world. The result of
the gardener’s work is a lovely place. Flowers,
fruits, and vegetables of many varieties grow
there. We saw peaches, lemons, and pomegranates
hanging on the trees. The pomegranates
were just ripening and one of the ladies picked
some for us to taste. There were two varieties,
a sweet kind, that everyone likes, and a rather
sour kind which reminded us of our red currants.
Cora and I liked its sharp tartness, but
most of the others did not care for it. The pomegranates
are a beautiful fruit, with their dozens
and dozens of bright red drops, crowded together
within the reddish-yellow rind.

The Greatest Holy Leaf walked about several
of the garden paths, looking at all the plants
and trees. Some one told us that that was the {{p101}} first time in months that she had been in the
garden! Apparently the ladies seldom go into
the garden, because there are always men
about who do not belong to the immediate family!
And the Master says it is still not the time
for the Bahá’í women in Haifa to go contrary to
the custom of the country with regard to veiling
when strange men are about. The ladies
are longing for the time to come when they can
lay aside the warm black veil!

To return to the garden: Several of the paths
have trellises over them, with vines which make
them very lovely. Above the main gateway
there is a big bougainvillea plant which was
covered with many blossoms when we were
there. Beneath one of the arbors, against the
house, and just below the Master’s window,
was a garden bench, where the friends often
sat and talked. Cora and I went over there and
sat for an hour two or three times, drinking in
the beauty and peace. I had heard much of the
Master’s garden, and I was so happy to see it
with my own eyes!

At dinner that Friday evening, the friends
were very merry. There was a constant chatter,
laughter, and teasing! Mírzá Badí’ (who is
interpreter for the English governor) sat next {{p102}} to Mrs. Hoagg, and they carried on a gay conversation.
He has the nicest face, and his eyes
twinkle with fun all the time!

We had watermelon for dessert. When the
Master is not there to give the signal for leaving
the table, it is the custom for all to watch
until every one has finished eating; then all rise
at once. But that evening, Malcolm and Mírzá
Luṭfu’lláh lingered over their watermelon longer
than the others! — I think Mrs. Hoagg and
Mírzá Badí’ were responsible for flashing a signal
down the table that we should rise and
leave them there! So some twenty-three people
rose and looked on while Malcolm and Mírzá
Luṭfu’lláh finished their watermelon, while
everyone laughed at them! We were all like the
simplest children who had played a prank on
two playmates!

All day Friday we had been wondering when
the Master would come down from the mountain.
We were eager for him to come because
we knew that we should see more of him then.
And yet, remembering how tired he had looked,
I could not help but wish he might stay longer
in the quiet peace near the Tomb, in the hope
that he might become more rested. {{p103}}

All that day I had been very happy and content
not to see him, but as the evening came on
I began to long to see his beautiful face again!
And so I could not help but be happy when we
heard that he was coming down the next morning — that Isfandiyar was to go up for him sometime
between six and seven! And so I went to
sleep in our quiet room in the Pilgrim House,
rejoicing that on the morrow we should see him
again.

----

SEPTEMBER 4, 1920. On Saturday morning,
Cora and I rose in the darkness of 4:30 A.M.,
dressed, and by 5:15 we were on our way up
the mountain toward the Tomb of the Báb.
That early hour was a bit too late, for even
then we found the climb warm, and the sun
rose before we had reached the Tomb. We
stopped to watch its glorious arising from behind
the Lebanon hills. There were enough
clouds to make a really beautiful sunrise. The
valley of ‘Akká was radiant, and the river winding
through it gleamed silver! It looked, in its {{p104}} outward physical seeming, a door of hope!
We continued up the hillside to the Tomb. As
we passed the caretaker’s house, he saw us,
and by a gesture, asked whether we wished to
enter his house. Perhaps he thought we had
come up to see the Master, whom we knew
was either in the house or at the Tomb. But we
motioned toward the Tomb. He smiled, and
preceding us, opened the west door into the
room where we had been on Thursday. Then
he quietly departed.

The candles were not lighted and the central
room was not quite so beautiful on that account.
But a soft light filtered in through the
doors — and the exquisite peace filled our
hearts. We stayed for perhaps an hour, in meditation
and prayer.

It must have been after seven when we went
out into the garden. We walked about a bit,
and then Rúḥí Effendi and Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh
came out to wish us good-morning. On the previous
evening we had told Rúḥí Effendi that we
were going up to the Tomb early in the morning.
But when he saw us there, he said, You
really came! I didn’t think you would! Americans
never get up early! At which we laughed
much! Rúḥí Effendi’s English is very good, but {{p105}} sometimes a phrase or some slang expression
is used which he does not understand. He looks
courteously questioning, half surprised, and
waits for some one to explain!

The two young men talked to us for a few
minutes, and then asked whether we would
like to see the circle of cypress trees where Bahá’u’lláh
used to sit. Of course we wanted to
see them, and so Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh went with
us, while Rúḥí Effendi went to the caretaker’s
house. I wondered whether the Master had already
gone down the mountain, and decided
that he probably had, because it was after
seven.

Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh led us up a path, onto a terrace
back of the Tomb, and there we saw the
circle of cypress trees. There are ten of them,
planted quite close together so that their boughs
interlace, forming an almost solid wall. They
are on a bit of ground which is raised about
three feet from the surrounding field, and is
held up by a stone wall. We went up into the
circle of ground between the trees. Above our
heads was a small circle of blue sky. The
ground was brown with needles from the trees.
I thought of the Blessed Beauty, and was glad
that at one time in His storm-tossed life He had {{p107}} been able to withdraw to that quiet green spot.
But we had been there only a few minutes,
when Rúḥí Effendi came toward us, calling that
the Master wished to see us! And we went on
eager feet, following Rúḥí Effendi to ‘Abbás Qulí’s
house. [^25]

[^25] ‘Abbás-Qulí is the caretaker of the Tomb of
the Báb. — G.L.C.


Cora was ahead of me, and she told me afterward
that when she entered the room where
the Master was sitting on a divan, she was not
sure what to do! He bade her welcome, but still
she stood in the doorway! Then he rose, held
out his hands, and motioned her to a chair. She
went and sat down. Just then I came in, and
the Master motioned me to a chair beside Cora.
I cannot remember whether he shook hands
with us or not. (Usually he shook hands with us
when we left him, but not when we came into
his presence.) Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh and Rúḥí Effendi
sat by the door, and a tall Persian or Turkish
man sat near us.

The room we were in had a north window,
which looked out over the Bay of ‘Akká. Like
all the windows in the eastern houses, it had several
iron bars across it to keep out intruders.
The house is high on the hillside, and there was {{p108}} a wonderful view across the bay. The Master
sat on a divan in front of the window, and
occasionally arranged some letters and other
small objects, which he finally put into a small
handbag. As he did this, he talked to us. He
said, This location here by the Tomb is very
beautiful.

We said, Yes, we enjoy it greatly

Then he talked to us a little about the Báb

He said, After the Báb was martyred, his
body was kept in Persia for several years. It
was never kept in the same place for more than
a few years. Not many of the friends, even,
knew where it was at any one time. After a
long time it was brought here to Haifa, and
placed in the Tomb on Mt. Carmel.

Cora asked how long ago it was brought here.
I think the Master’s reply was, about twenty-four
or twenty-five years ago

Cora asked Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh to say that we
hoped that the Master was feeling more rested

He replied, no, he was not rested, but that
did not matter. And his expression implied
that physical weariness was a matter of small
concern.

‘Abbás-Qulí brought to the Master a little
tray with a teapot full of what looked like tea.
The Master poured out some and drank it, explaining {{p109}} that it was a kind of herb drink. Then
‘Abbás-Qulí brought us tea in the lovely little
Persian glasses. Afterward, he came in with a
tray full of things to eat and placed it on a chair
in front of us. The Master told us to eat. He
says you must eat your breakfast here, Mírzá
Luṭfu’lláh interpreted. We did not really want
to eat — when we could be looking at the Master — but at his command we ate a little. The tray
had on it ripe figs, ripe olives, honey, and slices
of white bread — and the latter were the only
slices of white bread we saw on our whole journey!
I ate one or two figs, and a few olives.
After a time the tray was passed to the tall Oriental
next to us. Thus we had breakfast with
the Master at the Tomb of the Báb! As we ate
he was silent, looking out of the window upon
the sea of ‘Akká. His beautiful profile was outlined
against the window; his gaze seemed to
dwell on distant ‘Akká — and I could not but
think of those long years of imprisonment that
he had spent in barred ‘Akká. Some slight vision
of all he had suffered swept over me. I
knew then, beyond all question, that I had
found him as the Master. My spirit knelt in humility
at his feet.

After a while, he gave the bag he had been
arranging to Rúḥí Effendi, and said that he was {{p110}} ready to go down the mountain. We followed
him from the house to where Isfandiyar was
waiting with the carriage. We had expected to
walk down the mountain, but after the Master
had ascended to the middle seat, he motioned
to us to get in the back seat. And so Cora and I
rode down Mt. Carmel with the Lord of our
hearts. No word was said, but we were very
happy. At the gate of his house he alighted,
and, saluting us with uplifted hand, he left us
and entered his home!

At the Pilgrim House we found Ru’hi Effendi
and Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh, who had walked down
and were there before us. Then we ate the
breakfast that Fujita had prepared!

----

SEPTEMBER 5, 1920. This morning, all of us
had finished breakfast at about 7:45 and were
sitting at the table talking. No, Mírzá Muḥammad-Sa’íd
had not finished; he had just come
in and was waiting for Fujita to bring him
some tea. Suddenly, Mrs. Hoagg said, The
Master is coming! She had seen him pass the
window! We all rose, just as he entered the
door. He came in like a ray of light and life. He {{p112}} sat down at the end of the table, bade us be
seated; told Fujita to give Sa‘íd Effendi his
breakfast. But Sa‘íd Effendi did not eat! He
drank the tea Fujita brought, because, as he
said later — that was not so hard to do, but he
could not eat toast and eggs while the Master
was speaking! We quite understood his feeling,
as we remembered our experience at the Tomb
yesterday morning!

The Master said that he hoped we were well
and very happy. Then he asked again if we
were well

Mrs. Paine said, We are all very well except
Sylvia, who was a little ill in the night, but
that is not serious

‘Abdu’l-Bahá replied: I hope she will soon
be well.

Sylvia smiled and nodded and the Master
said, That will soon pass away and you will be
well again. Then he continued, Your food
and rooms are very simple here, but your purpose
in coming here makes them seem good to
you. When a man is good, all things about him
are good. When a man is bad, all things about
him are bad. It is necessary that man be very
good.

After a pause the Master said, You have {{p113}} come here, and every day you try to improve.
You try to improve more each day. You must
become pure in heart. Then when you return to
America, you must carry spirituality and inspiration
with you. You must be like Jacob, who
inhaled the fragrance of the garment of Joseph
from a distance. But more than that, you must
be one who carries the garment, who spreads
the fragrances of the Spirit.

Turning to Mrs. Hoagg, the Master told her
to take us to church this morning. Then he continued
by saying, The purpose of going to the
church should be to worship. Turn your hearts
to God and worship Him. One can worship God
anywhere, in a church, in a mosque, in all
places. But here I hope that you will go to the
church.

Then he rose, smiled on us, said Goodbye,
and walked from the room, and down the
steps. We went to the door, and watched him
till he disappeared behind the wall.

I think that neither Cora nor myself had said
a word all the time he was with us. I do not
know how she felt, but for me, there simply
was nothing that I could say. To be in his presence,
to look on the beauty of his face, to listen
to his voice, was all I wished to do. I do not {{p114}} know how or why, but in his presence, all life is
lifted higher; it acquires freshness and beauty

Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh translated the Master’s
words in this talk.

Following the Master’s request we attended
the little Episcopal chapel which is near the Pilgrim
House. After our return from there, we
called on Ru’ha <u>Kh</u>ánum for almost an hour,
and such a happy time as we had! Her house is
just next the Master’s, so that she can easily
help entertain the Master’s guests, and yet
look after her own household. She and her two
sisters talked with us often, giving us wonderful
stories about the Cause and instructing us
in many ways. That day she told us about the
Master’s life, during the Great War;[^26] how he
gave food, money and encouragement to all
those who sought his help, no matter what
their race or religion. The people of the household
lived on the simplest food in order that
they might have food to share with the hundreds
who came begging for bread. She told
us, too, how few letters and papers came from
the friends all over the world, and how they {{p115}} longed for news of the welfare of the Bahá’ís in
the different countries.

[^26] World War I. — ED.


That afternoon after tea, we went over to
the Master’s house and talked with the ladies
for a short time. Then word came that the carriage
was ready to take us up the mountain, for
the regular Sunday afternoon meeting. Tuba
<u>Kh</u>ánum, and one of her sons, Suhayl, went
with us. In front of the Tomb many of the
friends were gathered; more than forty, I
think. For a time we talked with the people
near us. Then Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh brought out the
large guest book, and asked us to write in it our
names, addresses, the date of our arrival in
Haifa, and some word of greeting. Cora wrote,
The valley of Achor shall be unto them for a
door of hope. Mrs. Paine wrote, Beautiful
beyond compare is Mount Carmel, the joy of
the whole earth. And I added the sentence
from the Hidden Words which I love so much,
<i>Lift up they heart with delight.</i> [^27] On that {{p116}} mountain one learns so much about why one
should lift up one’s heart with delight.

[^27] Probably, “The Hidden Words, Arabic, No. 62
Shoghi Effendi’s translation reads: Lift up thy
head from slumber, for the Sun hath risen to the
zenith, haply it may shine upon thee with the light
of beauty. — ED.


In a short time the Master came from around
the eastern corner of the Tomb, followed by little
Fu’ad. The Master was radiantly beautiful.
He wore a dove-colored overcoat or wrap, for
the wind was cool on the mountainside. Fu’ad
was dressed in a stiffly starched white dress,
and made a staunch little bodyguard for the
Master. (Someone told us that one night Fu’ad
went up to the Master after supper and said,
You go to bed now and rest. I will take my
gun and lie across the threshold. If any thieves
come, I will scare them away!)

The Master gave us the talk about Elijah,
which Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh took down in Persian,
and later translated into English, so that we
might have a copy of it. At the Tomb that day
Mírzá ‘Azíz’u’lláh interpreted for us.

As always the beauty of the Master’s face,
its power and majesty, held my attention so
that it was difficult to listen to what he said.
After the talk, the door at the west end of the
Tomb was opened, and we all filed past the
Master, who anointed our hands with rosewater.
Never again will we be able to inhale
that special rose fragrance, without the memory {{p117}} of that western entrance and the Master at the
door, coming to our minds!

The candles were burning in the glass vases;
there was utter stillness except when the Tablet
was being chanted; and, as on the previous
afternoon, my heart was won by the peace and
glory of the place. While the tall, black-robed
Bahá’í from ‘I<u>sh</u>qabád chanted the prayer of
Visitation in Persian, the Master stood in the
doorway, and the room was filled with a divine
radiance of Love. At the threshold of that
Tomb one may lay all burdens down. Life becomes
simple and straight because one feels
surrounded with Divine Love.

After the meeting in the Tomb the carriage
took us back down to the Pilgrim House, and
then returned to bring the Master. Cora and I
watched for his return for a long time, while
the quick twilight faded into darkness. Soon
above us, on the mountain, there shone out the
light in front of the Tomb, which is lighted every
night unless there is very brilliant moonlight.
At last, the carriage drew up before the
door of the Master’s house, and we caught a
glimpse of white as he swept down from the
high seat, and we heard the murmur of his
greeting to the men who were sitting in front of {{p118}} the gate, waiting for the call to go into dinner.
So do all the pilgrims linger near his house,
hoping that they may but glimpse his face as he
passes by them.

That night at dinner, the Master said, I
hope the health of the friends is good. Today
you went to visit the shrine (the Tomb of the
Báb). Are you happy? His smile, his care for
our happiness and comfort, would have made
anyone happy, and our smiles of reply must
have been bright enough to show him a little of
how happy we were!

For dessert that night we had grapes, although
on every other night we had had watermelon.
While we were eating the grapes, he
said, His Holiness Christ once was eating
grapes. He said, ‘ I will not eat of the fruit of
the vine again until I eat it with you in the Kingdom,[^28] But the grape of the Kingdom is other
than these grapes. In the Kingdom there is no
bread like this. Now also, I say to you all, we
will eat together of the divine bounties, God
willing, in the Kingdom — that is, divine food,
heavenly food. Its taste is everlasting, Its sustenance
is everlasting. God willing, there we all
together will eat of that heavenly food. {{p119}}

[^28] Cf. Matt. 26:29, Mk. 14:25; and Lk. 22:18. –ED.

----

SEPTEMBER 6, 1920. On Sunday afternoon
the Master said to us, Tomorrow, I am sending
you to ‘Akká! and his smile was light itself.

We left the Pilgrim House at about 8:00 A.M.
Diya’iyyih <u>Kh</u>ánum, Mihrangiz, Riyaz, of the
Master’s household, and Isfandiyar, called for
us. Mrs. Hoagg and we four people added five
more to the group. With joy in our hearts we
began the two hours’ drive to ‘Akká. Down
through the narrow streets we rode, and then
eastward past the railway station. We passed
through a grove of tall palm trees, and down to
the shore. At last! that beautiful way of the
sea, toward the Holy City. ‘Akká! How often
we had read of the journey along the white
sand, where the horses’ hoofs play in and out of
the water, as they follow the hard-packed sand
at the sea’s very edge. We watched the waves
rush up and then back, sweeping with them
tiny sea animals. We passed trains of camels
and donkeys, all on the universal highway
not made with hands.

We thought of all the happy, longing pilgrims
who have gone to ‘Akká that same {{p120}} way. Doubly happy were we that our Master
was living safely in his own house in Haifa, and
not as a prisoner in ‘Akká!

Always ahead of us was a glimpse of ‘Akká,
which shone more clearly as our three horses
trotted along the shore. To the East, the hills of
Lebanon were purple in the distance.

As we neared ‘Akká, Mrs. Hoagg pointed
out the walls, the gate, the cemetery where
some of the Bahá’ís of that group of exiles are
buried. Finally Diya’iyyih <u>Kh</u>ánum pointed out
the tower of the barracks.

Outside the gate we halted, for one of our
horses had lost a shoe. The blacksmith was sitting
under a tree, with his tools about him. But
at Isfandiyar’s request he came and put on the
needed shoe. While we waited, we looked at the
high wall of the city, which showed how much
a prison city it had been. The walls were high
and thick; the gate was small, and beyond the
outer wall was a second inner wall. A long train
of camels passed us, going into the city, and
one tiny donkey, heavily loaded, came out! People
in oriental garb drifted by us, and glanced
at us curiously, but not in unfriendly fashion. I
remembered the showers of stones from small
boys with which the Bahá’í pilgrims to ‘Akká {{p121}} used to be greeted, and I meditated on the
changes that time brings!

We entered the gate, passed between the
two walls for a distance, and on into the town.
Isfandiyar stopped the horses at the foot of a
long flight of steps. It was the way to the barracks.
At the head of the stairway a soldier met
us, and conducted us about, for the barracks
are now occupied by a few soldiers. This man
looked like an Arab, but he was under British
orders, I think. He led us through many winding
passages, showing us several places in
which we had no special interest. But finally he
led the way to the tower on the west side of the
court, the tower where Bahá’u’lláh was imprisoned
for two long years. Diya’iyyih <u>Kh</u>ánum
told us of the various places associated with
Bahá’í history. She showed us the room where
Bahá’u’lláh had lived, the window from which
He had looked out upon the plain of ‘Akká. She
showed us the rooms where the immediate
family had lived, and the roof from which the
Purest Branch [^29] fell. The rooms were small, {{p123}} rude; a sad exchange for the royal palaces of
Persia, as far as physical comfort was concerned.
Yet joy was there, because they might
suffer hardship in the service of God. To have
been there in the days of Bahá’u’lláh — for that
privilege one might have been able to bear
much!

[^29] ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s younger brother, Mírzá Mihdí, who
fell to his death through a skylight in 1870, while
imprisoned in ‘Akká with his family. — ED.


Afterwards we crossed the large court, and
saw the pool, or reservoir, in the center, from
which the exiles obtained the slimy water
which was their only drink during the first
twenty-four hours of their imprisonment! On
the south side of the court we saw the room
where most of the exiles were imprisoned.
They are like rather wide and long corridors.
At present they are quite well lighted, but Mrs.
Hoagg said that the British have changed them
a great deal, and have let in much more light.
When she first saw them, they were very dark
and gloomy. And in the days of the Turkish
rule, they must have been very dirty, unwholesome
and dark. Here amid all manner of privations
and sufferings, the band of exiles praised
God for having led them to believe in His greatest
and newest Manifestation. As we walked
about the barracks, Diya’iyyih <u>Kh</u>ánum told us
stories of those early days, making them live
again, for our instruction. {{p124}}

After we left the barracks, a few moments’
drive brought us to another house [^30] where the
Bahá’ís had been imprisoned. Bahá’í families
live in it now, and they welcomed us with
sweet kindness. We saw the little room where
Bahá’u’lláh lived for seven years. In an adjoining
house, which now seems to be a part of the
first house, the holy family lived for many
years more. There Bahá’u’lláh’s room has been
left as it was when He used it. The windows
overlook the sea; to the south there is a view of
distant Haifa; to the north, the plain of ‘Akká. I
think Bahá’u’lláh practically never left the
house while they lived there. We hear of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s
caring for the physical needs of the
friends, as well as it could be done under the
very difficult conditions; engaging in trade that
he might have money with which to equip a
bath; in all ways constantly serving his father!

[^30] The House of ‘Abbúd. –ED.


It was to the smaller of these two houses
that the wife of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá came from Persia.
I am not sure, but I think that some of the
daughters were born there

In the family of Bahá’ís who care for these
two houses, we met a woman, Sakinih Sulṭán, {{p125}} whose husband, at the age of twenty, was a
martyr in Persia! When we were there she was
probably over fifty years of age. A few years
ago, her daughter died leaving a baby boy,
Labib, for whom she is now caring.

Whenever one is with these Bahá’ís who
have been intimately associated with Bahá’u’lláh
or ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, one marvels at the
spirit of service and self-sacrifice they show.
We longed to acquire in its fullness that attitude
of evanescent service

It was after eleven when we left the city of
‘Akká behind us, and drive toward the Riḍván.
We went north of the city wall, toward the
east. By strange track-like roads we drove,
past gardens walled with cactus plants. It was
perhaps a mile and a half or two miles before
we came to the Garden — the Riḍván. Just before
we reached it we turned to the south, and
the road followed a little stream. We passed a
water wheel, turned by a small donkey, and
later we saw the water he had pumped, as it
fell from a fountain in the garden.

At the gate we left the carriage, and Isfandiyar
unharnessed the horses that they might
have a well-earned rest

How I had longed to see the Riḍván at {{p127}} ‘Akká! That spot between the two rivers,
that garden on an island! It is a place of beauty
and peace. Tall palm trees, pomegranate trees
loaded with ripe fruit, beautiful vines bearing
many-colored blossoms — all add to the beauty
of the Riḍván. From the fountain, streams of
water run to the north, south, east, and west,
watering the plants.

But the place of most wonderful associations
is the spot on the side of the stream, where the
two great mulberry trees form the tent not
made with hands, over land and water.
there in the later days, the Blessed Beauty
used to sit beneath the trees. It is a place of
rest and peace. The troublous word seems
very far away. Love and peace are in the wind,
in the soft rustling of leaves, and the murmur
of the water.

Our lunch was spread on a rug beneath one
of the mulberry trees. We ate of the persian
foods from the Master’s household, of the
fruits from the Riḍván. We were utterly content
to sit in that heavenly place and watch
Riyaz, and another small boy who had come
with us from ‘Akká, sail boats down the tiny
stream from the fountain. <span 129="" data-pg="6">

After lunch, we all rested for an hour or
more, after which we had tea. It was too sweet
a place to leave, but the hours were passing,
and the supreme goal of our day was still ahead
of us — the visit to the Tomb of Bahá’u’lláh.
And so we left the Riḍván, with the prayer in
our hearts that we might come again to that
lovely garden of our Lord.

We drove to the north, across the rolling
‘Akká plain, till the Bahjí appeared before us.
Here Bahá’u’lláh lived after He left ‘Akká. still
technically a prisoner, but permitted to live
among trees and flowers, instead of being shut
in by the dark prison walls. At the Bahjí we
turned westward, and soon rounded the corner
of a long, low building, where the caretaker of
the Tomb lives, Siyyid Abu’l-Qazim. There we
alighted, and Diya’iyyih <u>Kh</u>ánum indicated a
small gate into the garden. Slowly, with wonder
in our hearts, we followed the path through the
garden to the door of the Tomb. In the little
outer room we removed our shoes. A short
flight of steps brought us into the large room of
the Tomb.

We found ourselves in a large room with a
garden in the center. At the west end were several
windows, and floods of light poured down {{p131}} upon us from the glass windows in the roof. In
the northwest corner of the room, a curtained
door led into the Tomb itself.

Diya’iyyih <u>Kh</u>ánum drew aside the curtain,
but the door was closed. We knelt in the space
before the door, and Diya’iyyih <u>Kh</u>ánum
chanted the Prayer of Visitation. I tried to remember
the words of the Tablet of Bahá’u’lláh,
Cause me to drink of the cup of
evanescence, clothe me in its mantle and immerse
me in its sea,[^31] but my mind seemed
almost a blank. I remembered the promise that
the prayer one prays in all sincerity at the
Tomb of Bahá’u’lláh shall be answered. With
my whole heart I prayed for evanescence at
His Threshold, and for the power to serve His
Cause. Then I prayed for various people I
knew, who were in need of a vision of the
greatness of God’s love. And then for the Bahá’í
friends in America....

[^31] Shoghi Effendi’s translation reads: <i>Give
me to drink from the chalice of selflessness,; with
its robe clothe me, and in its ocean immerse me.</i>
Bahá’í Prayers (1982), p. 235. — ED.


And how I longed to enter that closed door,
into the Tomb itself! I remembered that ... {{p132}} and... had been inside and that they had been
somewhat surprised at being led in, for they
knew that people were not always permitted to
enter there. I realized how very far short I fell
of the purity of heart of that party of pilgrims.
I knew that the Master gives to each one what
he most needs. And so it was as though the
Master said to me, You have not yet learned
enough to appreciate the atmosphere of that
inner room. Live the life; serve the Cause;
achieve purity of heart. Then perhaps if you
return here, the rewards of the pure in heart
will be yours! And with my whole mind and
spirit I pledged myself to the accomplishment
of that task.

We were in prayer at the threshold of the
Holy Tomb of Bahá’u’lláh for a long time. Finally,
Diya’iyyih <u>Kh</u>ánum went out toward the
outer door. We followed her, ready to leave
that place of light. But she returned, went to
the front of the room, and opened the curtained
door. I do not know why she did it; perhaps
Mrs. Hoagg reminded her that it was our visit
to the Tomb. But I am sure that in some way,
the Master’s will entered into it. When I fully
accepted his will for me as my guide, acquiesced,
then my desire was granted. {{p134}}

The heavy curtains at some of the windows
were pulled back, and the setting sun poured a
radiant glory of light into the room. His resting-place
shall be glorious — with torrents of
physical light, as well as with spiritual glory. I
do not know how long we knelt there. Time’s
passing ceased for us. My very breathing was a
dedication of myself to our glorious leader,
Bahá’u’lláh.

Our drive home was a silent one. I think we
were all rather weary, physically, from our
long day. But the spiritual significance of all
we had seen filled us with so much to think
about, that we had no desire for speech.

The sun set in the blue waters of the Mediterranean,
in a majesty of color. Darkness came
down and shut us in on that crescent sea shore.
The horses sped along through the darkness,
toward the distant lights of Haifa. We were
eager to be again in the Master’s presence.

We reached Haifa a short time before the
dinner hour, weary, but happy. At dinner that
evening the Master said, Did you have a
happy day in ‘Akká? And we replied, Oh,
yes, it is a day we shall always remember

He replied, You must always remember it!
It must be like images cut in tablets of stone

That evening, as he bade us good-night, after {{p136}} dinner, he said in his dear, measured English,

> Go — and rest! Go — and Rest!

By the Master’s love for us, we know something
of the love of Bahá’u’lláh. And from the
love of Bahá’u’lláh we know of the Love of
the Infinite Father, whose voice comes to us
through the Supreme Pen: <q class="baha"> <i>I knew My Love in
thee, therefore I created thee; upon thee I laid
My Image, and to thee revealed My Beauty.
I loved thy creation, therefore I created thee.
Wherefore love Me that I may acknowledge
thee and in the Spirit of Life confirm thee.</i></q>[^32]

[^32] The Hidden Words, Arabic, Nos. 3 and 4. Shoghi
Effendi’s translations read:...I knew My love for
thee; therefore I created thee, have engraved on
thee Mine image and revealed to thee My beauty and
I loved thy creation, hence I created thee.
Wherefore, do thou love ;Me, that I may name they
name and fill thy soul with the spirit of life. — ED.

---

SEPTEMBER 8, 1920. On the morning of September
8th, I went alone to the Tomb of the
Báb at sunrise. Cora had not been sleeping
well, and so she did not feel like rising at 4:30 {{p137}} that day. But I woke, dressed and was almost
to the Tomb before the sun rose. When his full
splendor began to loom above the horizon, I sat
down on a stone in the field below the musafir khanih
(Pilgrim’s House), and watch the lord
of day cast his first light across the valley of
‘Akká.

After a time I went on up to the Tomb, passing
along the path with its beautiful cypress
trees. At the Tomb I entered the room on the
east side and stayed there in prayer and meditation
for almost an hour. The tall Bahá’í from
‘I<u>sh</u>qabád came in and knelt in prayer for some
time, and then chanted. After he had gone, a
younger man whom I did not know came in and
chanted very softly and sweetly. He went out
and I was alone for some time. The folds of the
long veil I wore fell about my face and shoulders,
and seemed to shut me in with God. His
radiant Presence was very near.

I tried to fill my heart with the exquisite
beauty and peace of that heavenly place, for I
knew that was my last morning on the mountain.
I knew that many and many would be the
times that I would long to be kneeling at that
Threshold.

Finally, I knew that it was time to be going {{p138}} down the mountain. Just as I was leaving the
Tomb, Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh came in. I went out
into the garden, and walked about a bit, drinking
the beauty of flowers, hills, water, and
sky. Soon Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh came out and bade
me good-morning. Then he suggested that we
gather jasmine blossoms to take down to the
Pilgrim House. So we pulled off dozens of the
fragrant flowers, and filled our pockets and
handkerchiefs with them. Later we strewed
them on the breakfast table. Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh said
that he used to fill a basket full of blossoms,
stripping the bushes each morning. He
took the basket to the Master, who scattered
them everywhere he went.

About 7:00 A.M., we started down the mountain.
Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh had a stone bruise on his
heel, and was wearing a loose slipper and carrying
a cane; but never once did I hear him
complain about it. Instead, he talked of how
the Master works with no thought of physical
fatigue. He works all day long, interviewing
callers, etc. He goes to bed possibly by 9:00 or
9:30. but often he is up again at midnight, chanting
and praying. Then he may correct Tablets
for a while, and then sleep two or three hours
more. And at perhaps 6:00 A.M. he rises for the {{p139}} day’s work! Apparently, he averages not more
than four to six hours of sleep a night! So his
whole life is given to the service of mankind.

Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh said, The real Bahá’í activity
is not to stay here in the light of the Master’s
love. It is to go out into the world and
spread his message of service. Be happy that
you are going out to work for him.

But at another time he said, Pray for us who
live here in the Master’s household. We have
many temptations to guard against. We must
never become impatient or give way to any depression.
Not long ago when the Master was
speaking to us, he said, ‘You must be an example
to all who come here. In you they must see what
a real Bahá’í should be. So we need your
prayers that we may live up to that work.

We had thought of the great joy of being a
member of the Master’s family, but then we
began to realize that only those of great unselfishness
may be his helpers there in Haifa.

On that beautiful morning, we entered the
Pilgrim House before breakfast was quite
ready, and strewed the jasmine blossoms over
the table

The Master came in after breakfast, and
stayed only a few minutes. He smiled at us all, {{p140}} and we were very happy to be near him. He
asked especially about Mrs. George’s health.
He said a few words to her, smiled at all of
us, and then rose and left us. We all went to
the door and watched him as he disappeared
through our gate.

After breakfast, we went over into the Master’s
garden, and waited for an opportunity to
talk with him for a few moments. After a while
Rúḥá <u>Kh</u>ánum called Mabel and Sylvia in to
see him. While they were gone we stood talking
with Mrs. Hoagg and some of the young
men. I shall not forget the look on Mrs. Hoagg’s
face when she spoke of the Master’s longing
for unity among the friends. His only happiness
is to know of the increase of unity among the
believers, and of their spreading the Cause. His
face always becomes sad if he hears of any contention
or lack of harmony. If people in
America could see the Master, could realize
how he works, they would never do anything to
sadden him, she said. When one is in the Master’s
presence it seems utterly impossible that
one should every do anything that would sadden,
or make any heavier the load of work he
carries! In the light of his holy presence, all
desire dies save the desire to be like him. {{p142}}

Later in the morning, Cora and I were called
in to see the Master. Rúḥá <u>Kh</u>ánum translated
for us. We gave the Master the letters we had
brought from American friends. We asked him
to bless the ringstones and rosaries we had
bought at Mírzá ‘Ináyatu’lláh’s shop. He took
them in his hands, said a few words that must
have been a prayer, kissed them, and handed
them back to us. And so we brought back to
America Bahá’í ringstones made doubly precious
by his touch of love.

The Master said that he was sorry not to
have seen us more, but that he had been very
busy while we were there. But, he continued,
it is not the length of time that one
spends here that is important. Some people
stay a short time, and then go and do great service.
Other people are here a long time, and
they learn nothing. There is some wood that is
very dry; it catches fire quickly and burns well.
There is other wood that is so wet that it will
not burn even though you should try for a
whole day. There is no result but smoke. It will
not blaze, it will not keep any one warm; it will
not even cook anything! As he said the latter
he smiled. But when Rúḥá <u>Kh</u>ánum translated
it, Cora laughed out loud. That seemed to de {{p143}} light the Master, for he laughed very heartily
with the most unaffected enjoyment.

Cora asked how one should teach the Bahá’í
Movement to our United States southerners,
among whom race prejudice is so strong. He
said, Go slowly at first. Be kind and courageous
and patient. Live the Bahá’í life among
these people. Do not mind if they oppose you.
Their prejudice is so strong. It is like a religion.
But when they become Bahá’ís they will be
very good and sincere ones. But at first teach
the principles and be kind to them. The rest
will follow in time.

After this, we went and talked with some of
the ladies of the household. Soon the Master
called for Mabel and Sylvia, and gave Sylvia a
Bahá’í name, Badiyyih, which means something
new and wonderful. We were not present
when he gave her the name, but Mabel said
that he walked up and down the room, radiating
power and love.

When Sylvia came back with her new name,
the Holy Mother brought out a box of candy, in
honor of Sylvia’s nameday. The candy was
white with a little chocolate center. Bringing it
out in Sylvia’s honor was one of the sweetest,
kindest acts of simple thoughtfulness that we {{p144}} saw in Haifa. Needless to say, Sylvia Badí’iyyih
Paine was a very happy girl that day.

It was on that morning that the Greatest
Holy Leaf showed us the pictures of Bahá’u’lláh
and the Báb. We had already seen pictures of
the Báb, and so I think most of our attention
was centered on the photograph of Bahá’u’lláh.
The pictured face was of dignity, power and
majesty. But the feeling of the power, the
glory, the supreme Reality of Bahá’u’lláh which
came to me in Haifa, did not come from seeing
His photograph. That Reality is living and
vibrant in the unselfish lives of the friends; it
makes radiant the atmosphere of the Tomb on
Mt. Carmel and the Tomb at Bahjí; it shines
from the Master’s eyes.

Later in the morning, Cora and I were sitting
on a bench in the garden, just below the window
of the Master’s writing room. Occasionally
his voice floated down to us, as he dictated
or talked with a caller. Once he came out of the
house, and walked to the corner of the garden,
where some masonry was being done. Soon he
returned, and his voice was again heard from
his room. Such brief glimpses made us very
happy, for he radiates such life that one is {{p145}} lifted toward supreme joy just to know he is
near. In his Essence he is so detached from
earthly things, he is so different from all human
beings one has ever seen, he is Love incarnate.

Mírzá ‘Azíz’u’lláh came and talked with us for
a while, and told us stories about the European
Bahá’ís whom he had visited not long ago.
Other friends passed and stopped for a word. It
was a perfect morning and we were sorry when
the lunch hour called us back to the Pilgrim
House.

After dinner that evening, Rúḥá <u>Kh</u>ánum
took us to receive the Master’s farewell. I can
remember very little of what he said. He told
us that his love and thoughts and prayers
would go with us. He sent his love and greetings
to all the Bahá’ís in America.

I knew that I should not see him again, but I
felt no sadness or grief. His love was too great:
it poured in a radiant flood about me, and held
me suspended in a priceless moment, when
time stood still, and I lived in eternity. His eyes
were glorious stars of light and love. No words
can express their beauty.

He shook hands with us in parting. When he
said good-bye to Sylvia, he smiled down at her {{p146}} and said, Sylvia! — Badíyyih <u>Kh</u>ánum! — Miss
Badíyyih! — and his voice was filled with the
most affectionate and sweet laughter!

Thus we left the Master’s house, that wonderful
home, of which he has said, My home is
the home of peace. My home is the home of joy
and delight. My home is the home of laughter
and exultation. Whoever enters through the
portals of this home must go out with gladsome
heart.

Next morning, before daybreak, we ate our
last meal in the Pilgrim House and said farewell
to our happy housemates there. Sa’íd Effendi,
Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh, Rúḥí Effendi, and faithful
Isfandiyar and his horses, took us to the
train which left at 6:00 A.M. We had a half-hour’s
talk with the young men before the train
pulled out — but of that time I remember clearly
one thing. Mírzá Luṭfu’lláh turned to us as he
said good-bye, and added, Be good! Be good!
The he smiled and said, You know what I
mean! And no one who had seen the members
of the Master’s household for a week could fail
to know that to be good is love and service
and the spreading of the ideals that the Master
teaches. {{p148}}

In the Hidden Words Bahá’u’lláh has said,
If thou run with all immensity and speed
through the space of heaven, thou shalt find no
rest save in obedience to Our Command and in
devotion before Our Face [^33] In Haifa one
learns, as never before, the meaning of that
sentence. The will to obey, a longing for devotion,
are born in one’s heart and spirit.

[^33] The Hidden Words, Arabic, No. 40. Shoghi
Effendi’s translation reads: Wert thou to speed
through the immensity of space and traverse the
expanse of heaven, yet thou wouldst find no rest
save in submission to Our command and humbleness
before Our Face. — ED.


Since we left the Master’s home, the days
and weeks and months fly past, and are filled
with many duties; many calls to help in the
work of the world. But the beauty of the Master’s
face is with us. In the light of His Holy
Presence all desires die save the desire to be
like Him

Alláh-u Abhá {.sig}

[END