Of the exact circumstances attending that epoch-making
Declaration we, alas, are but scantily informed. The words Bahá’u’lláh actually
uttered on that occasion, the manner of His Declaration, the reaction it produced,
its impact on Mírzá Yahyá, the identity of those who were privileged to hear
Him, are shrouded in an obscurity which future historians will find it
difficult to penetrate. The fragmentary description left to posterity by His
chronicler Nabíl is one of the very few authentic records we possess of the
memorable days He spent in that garden. “Every day,” Nabíl has related, “ere
the hour of dawn, the gardeners would pick the roses which lined the four
avenues of the garden, and would pile them in the center of the floor of His
blessed tent. So great would be the heap that when His companions gathered to
drink their morning tea in His presence, they would be unable to see each other
across it. All these roses Bahá’u’lláh would, with His own hands, entrust to
those whom He dismissed from His presence every morning to be delivered, on His
behalf, to His Arab and Persian friends in the city.”
(Shoghi Effendi, ‘God
Passes By’)
