_The Angel’s Message_
BETWEEN the Egyptian and the Arabian deserts, formed by two gulfs of the
Erythraean Sea, is a peninsula of granite mountains. It seems as if an
ocean of lava, when its waves were literally running mountains high, had
been suddenly commanded to stand still. These successive summits, with
their peaks and pinnacles, enclose a series of valleys, in general stern
and savage, yet some of which are not devoid of pastoral beauty. There
may be found brooks of silver brightness, and occasionally groves of
palms and gardens of dates, while the neighbouring heights command
sublime landscapes, the opposing mountains of Asia and Afric, and the
blue bosom of two seas. On one of these elevations, more than five
thousand feet above the ocean, is a convent; again, nearly three
thousand feet above this convent, is a towering peak, and this is Mount
Sinai.
On the top of Mount Sinai are two ruins, a Christian church and a
Mahometan mosque. In this, the sublimest scene of Arabian glory, Israel
and Ishmael alike raised their altars to the great God of Abraham.
Why are they in ruins? Is it that human structures are not to be endured
amid the awful temples of nature and revelation; and that the column and
the cupola crumble into nothingness in sight of the hallowed Horeb and
on the soil of the eternal Sinai?
Ascending the mountain, about half way between the convent and the
utmost height of the towering peak, is a small plain surrounded by
rocks. In its centre are a cypress tree and a fountain. This is the
traditional scene of the greatest event of time.
Tis night; a solitary pilgrim, long kneeling on the sacred soil, slowly
raises his agitated glance to the starry vault of Araby, and, clasping
his hands in the anguish of devotion, thus prays:--
‘O Lord God of Israel, Creator of the Universe, ineffable Jehovah! a
child of Christendom, I come to thine ancient Arabian altars to pour
forth the heart of tortured Europe. Why art thou silent? Why no longer
do the messages of thy renovating will descend on earth? Faith fades and
duty dies. A profound melancholy has fallen on the spirit of man. The
priest doubts, the monarch cannot rule, the multitude moans and toils,
and calls in its frenzy upon unknown gods. If this transfigured mount
may not again behold Thee; if not again, upon thy sacred Syrian plains,
Divinity may teach and solace men; if prophets may not rise again to
herald hope; at least, of all the starry messengers that guard thy
throne, let one appear, to save thy creatures from a terrible despair!’
[Illustration: page2-157]
A dimness suffused the stars of Arabia; the surrounding heights, that
had risen sharp and black in the clear purple air, blended in shadowy
and fleeting masses, the huge branches of the cypress tree seemed to
stir, and the kneeling pilgrim sank upon the earth senseless and in a
trance.
And there appeared to him a form; a shape that should be human, but vast
as the surrounding hills. Yet such was the symmetry of the vision that
the visionary felt his littleness rather than the colossal proportions
of the apparition. It was the semblance of one who, though not young,
was still untouched by time; a countenance like an oriental night, dark
yet lustrous, mystical yet clear. Thought, rather than melancholy,
spoke from the pensive passion of his eyes, while on his lofty forehead
glittered a star that threw a solemn radiance on the repose of his
majestic features.
‘Child of Christendom,’ said the mighty form, as he seemed slowly to
wave a sceptre fashioned like a palm tree, ‘I am the angel of Arabia,
the guardian spirit of that land which governs the world; for power is
neither the sword nor the shield, for these pass away, but ideas, which
are divine. The thoughts of all lands come from a higher source than
man, but the intellect of Arabia comes from the Most High. Therefore
it is that from this spot issue the principles which regulate the human
destiny.
‘That Christendom which thou hast quitted, and over whose expiring
attributes thou art a mourner, was a savage forest while the cedars of
Lebanon, for countless ages, had built the palaces of mighty kings.
Yet in that forest brooded infinite races that were to spread over the
globe, and give a new impulse to its ancient life. It was decreed that,
when they burst from their wild woods, the Arabian principles should
meet them on the threshold of the old world to guide and to civilise
them. All had been prepared. The Cæsars had conquered the world to place
the Laws of Sinai on the throne of the Capitol, and a Galilean Arab
advanced and traced on the front of the rude conquerors of the Caesars
the subduing symbol of the last development of Arabian principles.
‘Yet again, and Europe is in the throes of a great birth. The multitudes
again are brooding; but they are not now in the forest; they are in the
cities and in the fertile plains. Since the first sun of this century
rose, the intellectual colony of Arabia, once called Christendom,
has been in a state of partial and blind revolt. Discontented, they
attributed their suffering to the principles to which they owed
all their happiness, and in receding from which they had become
proportionately miserable. They have hankered after other gods than the
God of Sinai and of Calvary, and they have achieved only desolation.
Now they despair. But the eternal principles that controlled barbarian
vigour can alone cope with morbid civilisation. The equality of man
can only be accomplished by the sovereignty of God. The longing for
fraternity can never be satisfied but under the sway of a common father.
The relations between Jehovah and his creatures can be neither too
numerous nor too near. In the increased distance between God and man
have grown up all those developments that have made life mournful.
Cease, then, to seek in a vain philosophy the solution of the social
problem that perplexes you. Announce the sublime and solacing doctrine
of theocratic equality. Fear not, faint not, falter not. Obey the
impulse of thine own spirit, and find a ready instrument in every human
being.’
A sound, as of thunder, roused Tancred from his trance. He looked around
and above. There rose the mountains sharp and black in the clear purple
air; there shone, with undimmed lustre, the Arabian stars; but the voice
of the angel still lingered in his ear. He descended the mountain: at
its base, near the convent, were his slumbering guards, some steeds, and
crouching camels.