“I have nothing to give you, poor thing,” said the pilgrim, and wiped the dog’s eyes with the flaps of its ears, for it looked as though it had wept. But when the dog heard what the pilgrim said, it understood, for animals understood all languages merely by the tone. It then began to rummage in the rubbish heap. And behold! there lay, between two cabbage leaves, a pomegranate and a piece of white bread. The pilgrim, who was accustomed to all kinds of miracles, praised God, and ate. And when he had eaten, he thanked God the Merciful. The dog stood by the whole time, and watched him. “Ungrateful wretch that I am to have forgotten thee!” said the pilgrim; “now I will try my fortune!” He began to dig with his staff, and see! there lay a fresh bone, which he gave to the dog, his benefactor. They became friends, and kept together. They now went round the southern end of the city, and turned northward towards the Kedron. They followed the brook, having the city wall on their left and the Mount of Olives on their right. From the bottom of the valley he saw the place where the Temple had been, but no Temple was there now—only the dome of the Muhammedan mosque. Of the Holy Sepulchre there was nothing visible, for it lay within the City and was inconspicuous. He came to Gethsemane, where Christ had suffered, and he climbed the Mount of Olives, from whence he could look over Jerusalem. He did so, and wept. After he had paid his devotions in the ruins of the Church of the Resurrection, he went on northwards round the city, and came again to the Jaffa Gate, where he sat down, firmly resolved to wait till some Christian pilgrims came, for they came hither from all countries of the world. He wanted to beg from them till he had collected the thirty zecchines. So he sat through the first night without anybody coming. Towards morning the door was opened for the peasants who brought in provisions, and the bold idea occurred to him of trying to get in with them, but he was immediately detected and thrashed again. This, however, did not frighten him; he repeated the attempt every morning, though unsuccessfully. He slept on the ground, and ate from the rubbish heaps; he was jeered at by the children, beaten by the adults, and took everything quietly, convinced that some day his dream would be fulfilled. For thirty days he sat at the gate and received no money, but on the thirty-first he got up in order to take some exercise. He wandered down into the Valley of Hinnom, and his dog “Trusty” ran in front of him.

After he had walked for a while he noticed that his companion had vanished. When he called him, the dog answered by barking. The pilgrim followed the sound, and presently he saw the dog standing by a hole in the wall. There was an entrance, and, following his guide, he came without hindrance right into the town. The first thing he did was to visit the Holy Sepulchre, but it was closed. Then he remembered that there was a Patriarch of Jerusalem, who in some degree acted as a protector of the Christians. But where did he live? “Perhaps you know,” he said to the dog.

The dog understood, pricked up his ears, and ran through a labyrinth of crooked streets till he stood at a little door, with a bell-cord hanging by it. The pilgrim pulled it, the door opened, and an old white-bearded man came out, reached the new-comer his hand, led him like a friend into the house, and bade him sit down. “I have waited long for you, Peter,” he said. “Yes, I recognise you, for I have seen you for a year in my dreams, but I know not who you are, and whence you come. Tell me your history.”

“My history! I am from Amiens in France. I am now called Peter; was formerly a soldier, followed William the Conqueror to Hastings, and took part in the invasion of England. I returned to my own country, and became a school teacher. I could, however, obtain no peace in my soul, but entered a convent. In the solitude of my cell, I reflected on what I heard from my brother monks in the chapter. It was the time when Henry IV began the conflict with Gregory VII. The Pope was right, for Europe ought to be governed from Rome, and Gregory, who wished to set up Christ’s Kingdom in spirit and in truth, had united all Christian States together; he imposed tribute from Scandinavia to the Pillars of Hercules. The Emperor was a schismatic, and worked only in the interests of Germany. The matter ended at Canossa, as you know, when the Emperor had to kiss the Pope’s foot. And that was right at that time, for the spiritual head is higher than the worldly one. But Canossa was not the end. Gregory, the mighty champion of the Lord, fell into the same sin as David. In the first place, he summoned the Norman Guiscard from Sicily to his aid. Guiscard came with a horde of Turks and heathen, pillaged Rome, and set it on fire. That was shameful of the Pope, who now fled with Guiscard to Salerno—which was his Canossa. But he was also still cruel enough to stir up Henry’s sons against their father. Then the great Gregory died in banishment, and Rome was extinct. Rome is no more, but Jerusalem shall be. The chief city of Christendom shall be born again, and rise from its ruins.”

The Patriarch had listened, and, though he smiled at first, he was finally serious. “Your faith is great, my son,” he said. “But who will take the lead? Who will collect the people?”

“I,” answered the Hermit—“I will open the Holy Sepulchre; I will drive out the heathen, and I will have the first Christian King of Jerusalem crowned!”

“With two empty hands?”

“With my rock-like faith.”

There was silence.

“Say something, Patriarch!” resumed Peter. “Try to damp my courage if you can; confront me with objections, and rob me of confidence. You cannot! There, I will go now to Rome and speak with Urban II. But give me a letter to confirm my statements when I describe the behaviour of the heathen in the city of Christ. I ask nothing else of you; the rest I will do myself.”