Accompanied by my Spanish guide, I ascended to the Roman Catholics’ choir, where prayers were said aloud from midnight until one o’clock.  At four o’clock in the morning I heard several masses, and received the Eucharist.  At eight o’clock the Turks opened the door at my request, and I went home.

The few Roman Catholic priests who live in the church of the Holy Sepulchre stay there for three months at a time, to perform the services.  During this time they are not allowed to quit the church or the convent for a single instant.  After the three months have elapsed, they are relieved by other priests.

On the 10th of June I was present at the ceremony of admission into the Order of the Holy Sepulchre.  Counts Zichy, Wratislaw, and Salm Reifferscheit were, at their own request, installed as knights of the Sepulchre.  The inauguration took place in the chapel.

The chief priest having taken his seat on a chair of state, the candidate for knighthood knelt before him, and took the customary oaths to defend the holy church, to protect widows and orphans, etc.  During this time the priests who stood round said prayers.  Now one of the spurs of Godfrey de Bouillon was fastened on the heel of the knight; the sword of this hero was put into his hands, the sheath fastened to his side, and a cross with a heavy gold chain, that had also belonged to Godfrey de Bouillon, was put round his neck.  Then the kneeling man received the stroke of knighthood on his head and shoulders, the priests embraced the newly-elected knight, and the ceremony was over.

A plentiful feast, given by the new-chosen knights, concluded the solemnity.

Distant somewhat less than a mile from Jerusalem is the Mount of Olives.  Emerging from St. Stephen’s Gate, we pass the Turkish burial-ground, and reach the spot where St. Stephen was stoned.  Not far off we see the bed of the brook Cedron, which is at this season of the year completely dried up.  A stone bridge leads across the brook; adjoining it is a stone slab where they shew traces of the footsteps of the Saviour, as He was brought across this bridge from Gethsemane, and stumbled and fell.  Crossing this bridge, we arrive at the grotto where Jesus sweat blood.  This grotto still retains its original form.  A plain wooden altar has been erected there, a few years since, by a Bavarian prince, and the entrance is closed by an iron gate.  Not far off is Gethsemane.  Eight olive-trees are here to be seen that have attained a great age; nowhere else had I seen these trees with such massive trunks, though I had frequently passed through whole plantations of olives.  Those who are learned in natural history assert that the olive-tree cannot live to so great an age as to render it possible that these venerable trunks existed at the time when Jesus passed his last night at Gethsemane in prayer and supplication.  As this tree, however, propagates itself, these trees may be sprouts from the ancient stems.  The space around the roots has been strengthened with masonry, to afford a support to these patriarchal trunks, and the eight trees are surrounded by a wall three or four feet in height.  No layman may enter this spot unaccompanied by a priest, on pain of excommunication; it is also forbidden to pluck a single leaf.  The Turks also hold these trees in reverence, and would not injure one of them.