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"The earth is but one country, and mankind its citizens."
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"The earth is but one country, and mankind its citizens."
By Lady Blomfield · 1940 · Bahá'í Publishing Trust
Formative Age (1921–1957) · public domain
First-person accounts of the Holy Family from a close Western disciple.
About Lady Blomfield
Sara Louisa, Lady Blomfield. English social reformer and one of the first European Bahá'ís. Hosted 'Abdu'l-Bahá at her London residence during His Western tours and recorded much of His teaching there.
1859–1939
Stories by era covered
Featured figures
“So beautiful was she that she was called the Daughter of the”
“Of all the wives of all the men of His station, she was the”
“She was small, her white veil falling almost to the ground,”
From Her Eyes Charged with Memories: A Portrait of the Greatest Holy Leaf
“her eyes charged with memories. She did not speak until she”
From Her Eyes Charged with Memories: A Portrait of the Greatest Holy Leaf
“had thought a long time, and then she spoke quietly.”
From Her Eyes Charged with Memories: A Portrait of the Greatest Holy Leaf
The Dawn-Breakers: Nabíl's Narrative of the Early Days of the Bahá'í Revelation
Cited in Authoritative HistoryNabíl-i-A'ẓam · 1932
God Passes By
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Portals to Freedom
Secondary RetellingHoward Colby Ives · 1937
The Diary of Juliet Thompson
Secondary RetellingJuliet Thompson · 1947
World Order
Secondary RetellingWorld Order Editors · 1935
The Promised Day Is Come
Cited in Authoritative HistoryShoghi Effendi · 1941
In His final week, 'Abdu'l-Bahá went on doing exactly what He had always done — praying, giving to the poor, comforting His family — until He fell asleep, quietly, in the early hours of the morning.
In *The Chosen Highway* Lady Blomfield records the recollection of how, in the late 1830s, the young Ásíyih Khánum — daughter of a Persian noble and rare beauty of her age — was married to the young Mírzá Ḥusayn-ʿAlí, and how the household of Núr received its new bride with quiet ceremony.
In *The Chosen Highway* Lady Blomfield gives a quiet description, written from her 1922 pilgrimage to Haifa, of the Greatest Holy Leaf in old age — a small bent figure in white, whose eyes, Lady Blomfield writes, were *charged with memories* of a Cause she had carried since the age of six.
In *The Chosen Highway* the Greatest Holy Leaf recounts the bitter winter journey, in early 1853, by which the family was exiled from Tihrán to Baghdád — three months on horseback through deep snow, the children weeping with cold, and the small graves of those who did not survive the road.
In *The Chosen Highway* Lady Blomfield records the days in September 1911 when 'Abdu'l-Bahá lodged in her own house at 97 Cadogan Gardens — and one September evening when the Master, hearing the bells of Westminster across the city, stepped out onto the balcony to listen.
In *The Chosen Highway* Lady Blomfield records an afternoon in September 1911 when 'Abdu'l-Bahá visited a poor district of east London — a settlement house among the dock-workers' families — and spoke to a hall of children who had never before heard a man speak as one of them.
In *The Chosen Highway* Lady Blomfield records the Sunday evening, 17 September 1911, when 'Abdu'l-Bahá ascended for the first time the pulpit of an English church — St. John's Westminster, at the invitation of the Reverend Archdeacon Wilberforce — and addressed the great congregation that had filled the building to hear Him.
In *The Chosen Highway* Bahíyyih Khánum recounts the night in August 1852 when soldiers of the Sháh seized her father in the village of Lavásán and carried Him to the Síyáh-Chál — and the long vigil her mother kept in their plundered house with the children clinging to her skirts.
In *The Chosen Highway* Lady Blomfield describes a pilgrim's stay in the small house in 'Akká where Bahá'u'lláh and His family had lived for twelve years — thirteen people sometimes sleeping in a single room — and a Western visitor's testimony that the chamber once occupied by Ásíyih Khánum was filled, even decades later, with a benign atmosphere that could be felt at night.
On November 28, 1921, 'Abdu'l-Bahá ascended at His home in Haifa. The next day, before a procession of ten thousand mourners — Muslims, Christians, Jews, Druze — He was carried up the slopes of Mount Carmel to the Shrine of the Báb, where nine speakers from three faiths delivered His funeral orations.
A young noblewoman of Tihrán, so lovely she was called the Daughter of the Beautiful, was married long ago — and the gift she gave that mattered most was not her jewels, but her own faithful heart.
A visitor came to a quiet house in Haifa and met a small, gentle woman in a white veil whose eyes seemed to hold a whole lifetime of memories.
One winter long ago, a family had to leave their home and travel for three months through deep snow — and a little girl never forgot how brave they all had to be.
One quiet evening in London, 'Abdu'l-Bahá stepped out onto a balcony to listen to the church bells ringing across the city.
'Abdu'l-Bahá crossed the whole city of London to visit poor children no one important ever bothered with — and one little girl gave Him a gift she had held in her hand all afternoon.
One Sunday evening in London, a great church filled to its doors, and the people waited to hear 'Abdu'l-Bahá speak from a pulpit where only English clergy had ever stood before.
On a frightening night, soldiers came and took away the children's father — and their brave mother gathered them close and would not let them be afraid.
A visitor slept one night in a tiny old room in 'Akká, and woke up sure that the love of the family who once lived there was still in the air.
When 'Abdu'l-Bahá passed away in Haifa, ten thousand people of every kind walked together up Mount Carmel to say goodbye to the friend they all loved.
Bahíyyih Khánum, the Greatest Holy Leaf, was a small child when soldiers seized her Father and stripped her home. From that day she shared every exile and every imprisonment of the Holy Family, set aside the ordinary hopes of a woman of her time, and gave her whole long life to service. Lady Blomfield's *The Chosen Highway* preserves the memory of that quiet, unbroken renunciation.
When the Great War ended, the partial freedom of His last years brought 'Abdu'l-Bahá not rest but an even heavier round of labour — pilgrims streaming back to His door, Tablets flowing out to the believers of every land, the poor of Haifa still waiting each morning. He poured out the last of His strength in the work of the Cause until, worn and longing for home, He laid the burden down.
On the Friday before His passing in 1921, 'Abdu'l-Bahá rose, attended the noonday congregational prayer, and then — as He had done for as long as anyone could remember — distributed alms to the poor of Haifa with His own hand. It was His last public act of the service that had filled His whole life.
On Friday the 25th of November 1921, 'Abdu'l-Bahá attended the noon prayer, gave alms to the poor, and that afternoon received the notables of Haifa. Two nights later, surrounded by His family, He spoke His last quiet words and passed peacefully in the small hours of the 28th of November.
In The Chosen Highway, the women of the Holy Family remember the days that followed Bahá'u'lláh's ascension in 1892. Their grief was beyond words — yet through it all moved one steady figure. 'Abdu'l-Bahá, the Most Great Branch, took upon Himself the care of the family, the friends, and the Cause, chanting the funeral prayer, feeding hundreds for nine days, and giving to the poor.
When 'Abdu'l-Bahá passed in Haifa in 1921, some ten thousand people — Muslim, Christian, Jewish, and Druze; the High Commissioner and the poor of the lanes alike — climbed the slopes of Mount Carmel behind His coffin, and nine speakers of three faiths rose in turn to mourn Him. The majesty of that day was not borrowed from any office He held, for He held none; it was the grandeur a life of pure love had quietly built.
In the late 1830s, the young Bahá'u'lláh married Ásíyih Khánum, a noblewoman of rare beauty and gentleness whom He would name Navváb. The Chosen Highway preserves her daughter's loving portrait of her, and the story of how the open-handed generosity of the young couple was already known to the poor of Tihrán long before the days of exile.
Among the recollections Lady Blomfield gathered for *The Chosen Highway* is the testimony of the Báb's own family — that the relatives who lived closest to Him, His uncles and aunts, were conscious of His exalted nature and revered Him long before He made any claim. His greatness was felt in His own home before it was ever proclaimed to the world.
When Bahá'u'lláh ascended, His Covenant was at once attacked from within. His younger son, Mírzá Muḥammad-'Alí, refused 'Abdu'l-Bahá's appointed authority and set himself against the Centre of the Covenant — even carrying false accusations to the Ottoman court that nearly cost the Master His life. In The Chosen Highway, the women of the household remember how, through years of danger, they stood utterly firm at His side.
In the winter of 1898, a small band of American believers crossed the ocean to the prison-city of 'Akká — the first Bahá'ís of the West ever to reach the Centre of the Covenant. They came with little but their longing, and they returned having found in 'Abdu'l-Bahá the living heart toward which Bahá'u'lláh had bidden every soul to turn.
When Bahá'u'lláh crossed the Tigris into the Garden of Riḍván on that April afternoon in 1863, His eldest Son crossed with Him — 'Abdu'l-Bahá, then a young Man of eighteen, who had already given the whole devotion of His life to His Father, and who in the Garden stood at the threshold of the Cause He would one day be appointed to lead.
The recollections of the Holy Family, preserved in The Chosen Highway, tell of Mírzá Mihdí — the gentle younger brother of 'Abdu'l-Bahá, known as the Purest Branch — who fell through a skylight while pacing the prison roof of 'Akká wrapped in prayer. Mortally hurt and offered by his Father whatever he might wish, he asked not to be healed but that his death be accepted as a ransom, so that the pilgrims barred from Bahá'u'lláh's presence might one day attain it.
Ṭáhirih — poet, scholar, and the only woman among the Báb's first eighteen disciples — spent her final hours in serene readiness, adorned as for a wedding rather than an execution. Led into a garden outside Ṭihrán in 1852 to be put to death, she met her end with a calm that astonished her captors, and left behind a prophecy about the freedom of women that history has been fulfilling ever since.
Through the long years in 'Akká, 'Abdu'l-Bahá was surrounded not only by friends but by enemies — men who slandered Him, plotted against Him, and even schemed for His death. The recollections preserved in The Chosen Highway show how He answered them: with unfailing courtesy, with help sent quietly to their households, and with kindness returned for every injury — the perfection of a character that would not let another's evil change its own goodness.
Ásíyih Khánum — the lady Bahá'u'lláh named Navváb — was born to wealth and rank, a Persian noblewoman of such beauty she was called the Daughter of the Beautiful. When the storms of persecution stripped her household of everything, she let it all go without complaint and embraced a lifetime of poverty, exile, and loss at her Husband's side, accepting each stage of the descent as the will of God.
Through the long years of His confinement in the prison-city of 'Akká, 'Abdu'l-Bahá made the care of the poor and the sick His own daily work — a Friday almsgiving at the gate, a warm garment each winter for every one of the city's poor, and morning rounds to the bedsides of the feeble, the forgotten, and the dying.
In the prison-city of 'Akká and later in Haifa, 'Abdu'l-Bahá kept the festivals of the Bahá'í year — and Naw-Rúz above all — in a way that turned joy outward: toward the hungry, the sick, the widow and the stranger. The Greatest Holy Leaf and the ladies of the household, whose memories Lady Blomfield gathered, remembered a home where the new year was a season of open doors and open hands.
Among the household of Bahá'u'lláh in the Riḍván days of 1863 was His younger son Mírzá Mihdí, the Purest Branch, then a gentle boy. The recollections preserved in The Chosen Highway let us picture him among the family on the near bank of the Tigris, waiting through the flood, and crossing on the ninth day to be gathered with his Father in the Garden of Paradise.
Ásíyih Khánum — the noble lady Bahá'u'lláh named Navváb — had shared with Him the loss of their home, the winter exile from Persia, and ten years in Baghdád. When He entered the Garden of Riḍván in 1863 the flooded Tigris kept her on the far bank; on the Ninth Day she crossed at last to join Him. The Ninth Day of Riḍván honours that reunion of the wife and mother of the Holy Family with the One whose every exile she had shared.
Through the years of the Great War, with a naval blockade strangling the coast and famine stalking the Holy Land, 'Abdu'l-Bahá — Himself again a prisoner — fed the hungry of every religion in 'Akká and Haifa. The grain He had quietly stored against the crisis kept a whole region alive; for it, a victorious empire offered Him a knighthood, which He accepted and quietly laid aside.
An official set over the prisoners of 'Akká repaid 'Abdu'l-Bahá's every kindness with slander, fresh restrictions, and harassment. Yet when the man demanded the Master's coat, 'Abdu'l-Bahá gave him the only one He owned — and promised to buy him a better — forgiving all the wrong done to Himself even as it was being done.
When 'Abdu'l-Bahá came to Paris in 1911 He was honoured by the great and the cultivated of the city. But the people who drew His tenderness most surely were the poor, the friendless, and the troubled who found their way to His door — to whom He gave money, comfort, and an unhurried love, as though each were the only person in the world.
The recollections gathered in The Chosen Highway preserve a way of living that astonished every visitor to 'Abdu'l-Bahá's household: He treated servants as honoured family, received the poorest as cherished guests, and accepted no deference for Himself. To the people the world overlooked, He gave the one thing they were never given — dignity. It is a portrait of honour not claimed but bestowed.
When the convoy left Baghdád on the twelfth day of Riḍván, 'Abdu'l-Bahá was a young Man of eighteen, already beloved by the people of the city and wholly devoted to His Father. In the spoken chronicle gathered in The Chosen Highway, the years of exile are remembered through the family who lived them — and the eldest Son stands out as the one who carried the burdens, comforted the household, and gave Himself entirely to Bahá'u'lláh.
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