In the old and time-honored mosque, El Aksa, in Jerusalem, there is a
long, winding path leading from the main entrance up to a very deep and
wide window-niche. In this niche a very old and much worn rug is spread;
and upon this rug, day in and day out, sits old Mesullam, who is a
fortune-teller and dream-interpreter, and who for a paltry penny serves
the visitors to the mosque by prying into their future destinies.
It happened one afternoon, several years ago, that Mesullam, who sat as
usual in his window, was so ill-natured that he wouldn't even return the
greetings of the passers-by. No one thought, however, of feeling
offended at his rudeness, because every one knew that he was grieving
over a humiliation which had been put upon him that day.
At that time a mighty monarch from the Occident was visiting Jerusalem,
and in the forenoon the distinguished stranger with his retinue had
wandered through El Aksa. Before his arrival the superintendent of the
mosque had commanded the servants to scour and dust all the nooks and
corners of the old building, at the same time giving orders that
Mesullam should move out of his accustomed place. He had found that it
would be simply impossible to let him remain there during the visit of
the distinguished guest. It was not only that his rug was very ragged,
or that he had piled up around him a lot of dirty sacks in which he kept
his belongings, but Mesullam himself was anything but an ornament to the
mosque! He was, in reality, an inconceivably ugly old negro. His lips
were enormous, his chin protruded aggressively, his brow was exceedingly
low, and his nose was almost like a snout; and in addition to these,
Mesullam had a coarse and wrinkled skin and a clumsy, thick-set body,
which was carelessly draped in a dirty white shawl. So one can't wonder
that he was forbidden to show himself in the mosque while the honored
guest was there!
Poor Mesullam, who knew well enough that, despite his ugliness, he was a
very wise man, experienced a bitter disappointment in that _he_ was not
to see the royal traveller. He had hoped that he might give him some
proofs of the great accomplishments which he possessed in occult things
and in this way add to his own glory and renown. Since this hope had
miscarried, he sat hour after hour in a queer position, and mourned,
with his long arms stretched upward and his head thrown far back, as
though he were calling upon heaven for justice.
When it drew on toward evening, Mesullam was wakened from his state of
all-absorbing grief by a cheery voice calling him. It was a Syrian who,
accompanied by another traveller, had come up to the soothsayer. He told
him that the stranger whom he was conducting wished for a proof of
Oriental wisdom, and that he had spoken to him of Mesullam's ability to
interpret dreams.
Mesullam answered not a word to this, but maintained his former attitude
rigidly. When the guide asked him again if he would not listen to the
dreams the stranger wished to relate to him and interpret them, his arms
dropped and he crossed them on his breast. Assuming the attitude of a
wronged man, he answered that this evening his soul was so filled with
his own troubles that he couldn't judge anything clearly which concerned
another.
But the stranger, who had a buoyant and commanding personality, didn't
seem to mind his objections. As there was no chair handy, he kicked
aside the rug and seated himself in the window-niche. Then he began, in
a clear and vibrant voice, to narrate a few dreams, which later were
translated for the soothsayer by the guide.
"Tell him," said the traveller, "that a few years ago I was at Cairo, in
Egypt. Since he is a learned man, naturally he knows there is a mosque
there, called El Azhar, which is the most celebrated institution of
learning in the Orient. I went there one day to visit it, and found that
the whole colossal structure--all its rooms and arcades, all its
entrances and halls were filled with students. There were old men who
had devoted their entire lives to the quest for knowledge, and children
who were just learning to form their letters. There were giantesque
negroes from the heart of Africa; lithe, handsome youths from India and
Arabia; far-travelled strangers from Barbary, from Georgia, from every
land where the natives embrace the doctrines of the Koran. Close to the
pillars--I was told that in El Azhar there were as many teachers as
there were pillars--the instructors were squatted on their rugs, while
their students, who were arranged in a circle around them, eagerly
followed their lectures, which were accompanied by swaying movements of
their bodies. And tell him that, although El Azhar is in no way
comparable to the great Occidental seats of learning, I was nevertheless
astonished at what I saw there. I remarked to myself: 'Ah, this is
Islam's great stronghold and defence! From here Mohammed's young
champions go out. Here, at El Azhar, the potions of wisdom that keep the
Koran's doctrines healthy and vigorous are blended.'"
All of this the traveller said almost in one breath. Now he made a
pause, so that the guide would have an opportunity to interpret for the
soothsayer. Then he continued:
"Now tell him that El Azhar made such a powerful impression upon me that
on the following night I saw it again in a dream. I saw the white marble
structure and the many students dressed in white mantles and white
turbans--as is the custom at El Azhar. I wandered through halls and
courts and was again astonished at what a splendid fortress and wall of
protection this was for Mohammedanism. Finally--in the dream--I came to
the minaret upon which the prayer-crier stands to inform the faithful
that the hour of prayer has struck. And I saw the stairway which winds
up to the minaret, and I saw a prayer-crier walking up the steps. He
wore a black mantle and a white turban, like the others, and as he went
up the stairs I could not at first see his face, but when he had made a
few turns on the spiral stairway, he happened to turn his face toward
me, and then I saw that it was _Christ_."
The speaker made a short pause, and his chest was expanded for a deep
inhalation. "I shall never forget, although it was only a dream," he
exclaimed, "what an impression it made upon me to see Christ walking up
the steps to the minaret in El Azhar! To me it seemed so glorious and
significant that he had come to this stronghold of Islam to call out the
hours of prayer that I leaped up in the dream and awaked."
Here the traveller made another pause to let the guide interpret for the
soothsayer. But this appeared to be well-nigh useless labor. Mesullam
sat all the while, with his hands on his sides, rocking back and forth,
and with his eyes half closed. He seemed to want to say: "Inasmuch as I
cannot escape these importunate people, at least I will let them see
that I don't care to listen to what they have to say. I'll try and rock
myself to sleep. It will be the best way to show them how little I care
about them."
The guide intimated to the traveller that all their trouble would be in
vain and they wouldn't hear a sensible word from Mesullam while he was
in this mood. But the European stranger seemed to be entranced by
Mesullam's indescribable ugliness and extraordinary behavior. He looked
at him with the pleasure of a child when it is watching a wild animal in
a menagerie, and he desired to continue the interview.
"Tell him that I wouldn't have troubled him to interpret this dream," he
said, "had it not, in a certain sense, come to me again. Let him know
that two weeks ago I visited the Sophia Mosque at Constantinople, and
that I, after wandering through this magnificent building, stepped up on
a minaret in order to get a better view of the auditorium. Tell him,
also, that they allowed me to come into the mosque during a service,
when it was filled with people. Upon each of the innumerable prayer rugs
which covered the whole floor of the main hall, a man was standing and
saying his prayers. All who took part in the service simultaneously made
the same movements. All fell upon their knees and threw themselves on
their faces and raised themselves, at the same time whispering their
prayers very low; but from the almost imperceptible movements of so many
lips came a mysterious murmur, which rose toward the high arches and
died away, time and again. Then there came melodious responses from
remote passages and galleries. It was so strange altogether that one
wondered if it was not the Spirit of God that poured into the old
sanctuary."
The traveller made another pause. He observed Mesullam carefully, while
the guide interpreted his speech. It actually appeared as if he had
tried to win the negro's approbation with his eloquence. And it seemed,
too, as though he would succeed, for Mesullam's half-closed eyes flashed
once, like a coal that is beginning to take fire. But the soothsayer,
stubborn as a child that will not let itself be amused, dropped his head
on his breast and began an even more impatient rocking of his body.
"Tell him," resumed the stranger, "tell him that I have never seen
people pray with such fervor! To me it seemed as if it was the sublime
beauty of this marvellous structure which created this atmosphere of
ecstasy. Verily this is still an Islam bulwark! This is the home of
devoutness! From this great mosque emanate the faith and enthusiasm
which make Islam a mighty power."
Here he paused again, noting carefully Mesullam's play of features
during its interpretation. Not a trace of interest was discernible in
them. But the stranger was evidently a man who liked to hear himself
talk. His own words intoxicated him; he would have become ill-natured
had he not been allowed to proceed.
"Well," said he, when it was his turn again to speak, "I cannot rightly
explain what happened to me. Possibly the faint odor from the hundreds
of oil lamps, together with the low murmurings of the devotees, lulled
me into a kind of stupefaction. I could not help but close my eyes as I
stood leaning against a pillar. Soon sleep, or rather insensibility,
overcame me. Probably it did not last more than a minute, but during
this interval I was entirely removed from reality. While in this trance
I could see the whole Sophia Mosque before me, with all the praying
people; but now I saw what I had not hitherto observed. Up in the dome
were scaffoldings, and on these stood a number of workmen with paint
pots and brushes.
"Tell him, if he does not already know it," continued the narrator,
"that Sophia Mosque was once a Christian church, and that its arches and
dome are covered with sacred Christian mosaics, although the Turks have
painted out all these pictures with plain yellow paint. And it appeared
to me as if the yellow paint in the dome had peeled off in a couple of
places and that the painters had clambered up on the scaffolding to
touch up the picture. But, look! when one of them raised his brush to
fill in the color, another large piece scaled off, and suddenly one saw
from behind it a beautiful painting of the _Christ_ emerge. Again the
painter raised his arm to paint out the picture, but the arm, which
appeared to be numb and powerless, dropped down before this beautiful
face; at the same time the paint dropped from the entire dome and arch,
and Christ was visible there in all his glory, among angels and heavenly
hosts. Then the painter cried out, and all the worshippers down on the
floor of the mosque raised their heads. And when they saw the heavenly
hosts surrounding the Saviour, they sent up a cry of joy, and when I
witnessed this joy, I was seized with such strong emotion that I waked
instantly. Then everything was like itself. The mosaics were hidden
under the yellow paint and the devotees continued all the while to
invoke Allah."
When the interpreter had translated this, Mesullam opened one eye and
regarded the stranger. He saw a man who he thought resembled all other
Occidentals that wandered through the mosque. "I don't believe the
pale-faced stranger has seen any visions," thought he. "He has not the
dark eyes that can see what is behind the veil of mystery. I think,
rather, that he came here to make sport of me. I must beware lest on
this accursed day I be overtaken by another humiliation."
The stranger spoke anon: "You know, O Dream Interpreter!" turning now
direct to Mesullam, as if he thought that he could understand him,
despite his foreign tongue--"you know that a distinguished foreigner is
visiting Jerusalem at present, and on his account they have talked of
opening the walled-up gate in Jerusalem's ring-wall--the one they call
'the Golden' and which is believed to be the gate through which Jesus
rode into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. They have actually been thinking of
doing the distinguished traveller the honor of letting him ride into the
city through a gate which has been walled up for centuries; but they
were held back by an old prophecy which foretells that when this gate is
opened the Occidentals will march in through it to take possession of
Jerusalem.
"And now you shall hear what happened to me last night. The weather was
superb; it was glorious moonlight, and I had gone out alone to take a
quiet promenade around the Holy City. I walked outside the ring-wall on
the narrow path that extends all round the wall, and my thoughts were
borne so far back into distant ages that I scarcely remembered where I
was. All of a sudden I began to feel tired. I wondered if I should not
soon come to a gate in the wall, through which I might get into the city
and thus return to my quarters by a shorter road. Well, just as I was
thinking of this, I saw a man open a large gate in the wall directly in
front of me. He opened it wide and beckoned to me that I might pass in
through it. I was absorbed in my dreams and hardly knew how far I had
been walking. I was somewhat surprised that there was a gate here, but I
thought no more about the matter and walked through it. As soon as I had
passed through the deep archway, the gate closed with a sharp clang.
When I turned round, there was no opening visible, only a walled-up
gate--the one called the Golden. Before me lay the temple place, the
broad Haram plateau, in the centre of which Omar's Mosque is enthroned.
And you know that no gate in the ring-wall leads thither but the Golden,
which is not only closed but walled up.
"You can understand that I thought I'd gone mad; that I dreamed I had
tried in vain to find some explanation of this. I looked around for the
man who had let me in. He had vanished and I could not find him. But, on
the other hand, I saw him all the plainer in memory--the tall and
slightly bent figure, the beautiful locks, the mild visage, the parted
beard. It was _Christ_, soothsayer, _Christ_ once again.
"Tell me now, you who can look into the hidden, what mean my dreams?
What, more than all, can be the meaning of my having really and truly
passed through the Golden Gate? Even at this moment I do not know how it
happened, but I have done so. Tell me, now, what these three things can
mean!"
The interpreter translated this for Mesullam, but the soothsayer was all
the while in the same suspicious and crabbed mood. "I am certain that
this stranger wants to poke fun at me," he thought. "Perchance he would
provoke me to anger with all this talk about Christ?"
He would have concluded not to answer at all; but when the interpreter
insisted, he muttered a few words.
"What does he say?" asked the traveller eagerly.
"He says he has nothing to say to you but that dreams are dreams."
"Then tell him from me," retorted the stranger, somewhat exasperated,
"that this is not always true. It depends entirely upon who dreams
them."
Before these words had been interpreted to Mesullam, the European had
arisen and with quick and elastic step had walked toward the long
passage-way.
But Mesullam sat still and mused over his answer for five minutes. Then
he fell upon his face, utterly undone. "Allah, Allah! Twice on the same
day Fortune has passed by me without my having captured her. What hath
thy servant done to displease thee?"