Towards evening the rain ceased, but the wind continued to blow, and the darkness came. The weary and hungry traveller prepared himself a bed with a heap of flowers which he kept in its place with some stones. After he had hollowed out the heap till it looked like an eagle’s nest, he spread another pile of flowers over himself, and went to sleep, pleasantly narcotised by all the sweet scents. For several years he had tasted no wine and never been intoxicated, but this was a good substitute for it. He did not know whether he was asleep or awake; sometimes he felt as though he were rolling away like a wave; sometimes he lay still and listened to a scratching going on in his nest; there was a blowing and a roaring, a murmur in his ears and flashing before his eyes. Finally all was still; he believed he had gone to sleep, for he dreamt. In his dream he was walking on the Mediterranean Sea; that he found quite natural, but there followed him knights on horseback, troops of armed men, whole races of people. They reached the land, they marched towards the East, and finally saw Jerusalem crowning the heights. Walls, battlements, and towers were crowded with heathen warriors, and the Christian knights halted in order to take counsel. But he, the poor pilgrim, spoke to them, and they listened to him. “Why do you fear?” he said, “why do you fear these heathen and their walls? Look at me! I take my staff, ascend Mount Zion, strike the gate of David with my staff, and the city opens all her gates!” He did so--in his dream, and Jerusalem was taken. It was a very simple matter; the knights and the armies honoured him, and he became governor of Jerusalem. When he awoke on the morrow, he got out of his nest, and when he looked round, he found himself before the Jaffa Gate of Jerusalem. He asked himself whether the wind had blown him all that long way, or whether he had traversed it in sleep. But his dream had been so vivid, that he found everything natural and simple. He knocked with his staff at the door. And behold! it really opened, but only by the space of a hand-breadth, and a soldier asked what he wanted. He wished, he said, to visit the Holy Sepulchre. He could do so, was the answer, if he paid thirty silver zecchines. As he had not so much, the gate was again closed. The pilgrim, however, not to be frightened, struck again with his staff, certain that he would get in. Get in he did, quickly enough, and, after he had been well thrashed, was thrown out again and fell on a rubbish-heap on which dogs hunted for bones. This reception was not encouraging, but for the pilgrim it was exactly what he had expected and wished. He had been beaten in the same city where his Master Christ had been beaten and tortured. What an honour! What undeserved grace!