CHAPTER XII

THE DAY OF VICTIMS: FROM SUNDOWN TO SUNSET. THE DAYS OF DRYING FLESH.

Long before the signal of Essraf was given, the canvas-city had been

in a state of confusion: so that by the time the sermon was over most

of the tents had been folded and stowed away. Thus everything was now

ready for the impetuous rush from Arafat.

The pilgrims’ jubilation was then at its height. The uproar was

deafening: drums were beaten, bugles called us to make haste, and

rocket after rocket exploded as it whirred through the air.... We

waited half an hour or so, exchanging kisses and congratulations, and

then a path was prepared for the cavalcades. The Egyptian Mahmil took

the right-hand side of the road and the Syrian the left: after them

charged the mounted pilgrims, followed by those on foot, all and each

showing the same reckless determination to press forward over every

obstacle, no matter how narrow the road might be.

This headlong stampede after the sermon on the Mount is historic. It

never grows stale with the years. The havoc it wrought in 1319 of the

Flight it would be quite impossible to exaggerate; for the confusion

which has become traditional was increased fivefold by the number

of pilgrims, a number that was vastly greater than any within the

recollection of the authorities. Women and men swooned in the crush

and were trampled to death--litters were overthrown and smashed in

pieces--camels were trodden under foot: but neither disaster nor death

could, in the slightest degree, glut the wild desire by which the crowd

was moved--the desire, namely, of being more completely possessed by

the feeling of a religion-wrought delirium. It was not a triumphant

procession of peaceful pilgrims, therefore, though that is undoubtedly

what it should be; it was a charge of religious madmen running _amok_.

How many were killed or maimed, I can hazard no guess; but of this I am

quite certain,--the casualties had not been so terrible on any previous

occasion within the memory of man.

Thus the dense mass moved on, and about the hour of midnight we reached

Muzdalifah. There we halted for the night, the pious passing the time

in praying and reading the Kurán. Very few pilgrims took the trouble

to pitch tents here, the vast majority of them sleeping on the ground.

Before lying down to rest, Seyyid ’Alí and I collected forty-nine

stones apiece for the Lapidation of the Devil in the valley of Mina.

Now, this ceremony takes place three times: first, between sunrise and

sunset on the 10th of the moon when every pilgrim must fling seven

stones at a buttress, situated at the Meccan entrance to the valley,

and called the Great Devil. These seven stones must be gathered at

Muzdalifah, and have to be washed seven times and each time in fresh

water. On the following day, the 11th, twenty-one stones must be

thrown: seven at the Great Devil as before, seven at the Wusta or

Central Point in the middle of the valley, and, last of all, seven

more at the Ula or First Place lying at that entrance to Mina which

faces Arafat. All these twenty-one stones may be gathered either in

the valley itself or at Muzdalifah on the return journey; but they,

too, must be washed seven times and each time in fresh water. The

same rules apply to the third Lapidation, which is held on the 12th of

Zú-’l-hijjáh: and the three ceremonies aforementioned are performed in

commemoration of the tradition that Abraham was tempted three times of

the Devil, at those very places in the valley, what time he was about

to sacrifice his son Ishmael. Now the first day, which is the 10th of

Zú-’l-hijjah, is called the Day of Victims, while the two following

days are called the Days of Drying Flesh in the Sun.

Awaking early, my party set out, at peep of day, to the sacred monument

hard by, where, amid scenes of indescribable solemnity, the Festival

Prayers were celebrated by the Kazi of Mecca, who also preached a short

sermon. Departing thence at sunrise, we arrived at Mina about nine

o’clock, one of our servants dying of cholera on the road. We buried

him where he fell, each one of us wondering if his own life would be

the next to come to an end. What would happen after the slaying of the

victims we dared not think. The prospect looked gloomy in the extreme.

Having eaten a good meal, we traversed the valley in the direction of

Mecca, in order to be rid, as soon as possible, of the tiresome duty of

stoning the Great Devil. When we reached the entrance to the valley,

it was to find our access to his Satanic Majesty blocked by a vast

concourse of excited pilgrims. The road, about thirteen yards wide,

was packed with horsemen, camel-riders, litters, pilgrims on foot, and

women in _kejavehs_, all struggling and fighting to get within stone’s

throw of the buttress which rests against a wall that is only a little

higher than itself which is--say, three yards high by two yards broad.

Of the Orthodox sects the Shafeis are the most privileged, for they are

allowed to stand at a distance of five cubits from the Devil, whereas

the Hanefis are supposed to make their attack the more formidable by

fighting at close quarters--within arm’s reach of the Arch Foe.

And all the while the great mountains frowned down upon us; very

awe-inspiring I found them: the seven stones I had brought along with

me fell at my feet only to be picked up by Seyyid ’Alí.

“Come, yá-Moulai,” said he: “the devil is not so big after all. See, I

will fling your stones as well as my own at little devils like myself.”

After this “ceremony” was over, we returned to our camp where a barber

was waiting “to bring me out of Ihrám.” When he had trimmed my hair,

shaving it round the nape of the neck, and had cut my nails, I made to

take off the pilgrim’s garb, saying--“In the name of God the Merciful

and Compassionate, I intend to doff my Ihrám of pilgrimage, according

to the usage of it by the Prophet, on whom be blessings and glory! O

Allah, reward me to the number of the hairs of my head with Light,

Purity, and Grace. In the name of God--God is great!” Upon this the

barber helped me to undress and (after I had had a bath) to put on my

gala attire which was Egyptian in make and in material.

[Illustration: DISEMBARKING AT JIDDAH.]

[Illustration: PILGRIMS AT JIDDAH.]

By this time the servants had purchased the victims, and they now came

to tell me that all preparations had been made for the sacrifice. I

deputed Seyyid ’Alí to slay my harmless sheep, from a sudden invasion

of squeamishness. And before the day was over the valley of Desire was

turned into a reeking slaughter-house, and, it may be added, into a

cemetery for the dead pilgrims. These also were victims--the victims

of the misdirected religious zeal which had prompted a slaughter that

served no other purpose than to spread the epidemic. The less said

of it here the better. I have no wish to make the reader sick. It

will be enough to add, to what has been said in a previous chapter,

that the camels were sacrificed by none but grandees, who dispatched

their victims with the words: “In the Name of God! God is great!” the

same words being used by the other pilgrims in sacrificing the sheep!

All beasts of prey are believed by the superstitious to keep away from

the valley during the Day of Sacrifice and the Days of Drying Flesh;

for, had not the victims been brought down from heaven by angels, and

driven by them under the guidance of Bedouin shepherds, to the place

of slaughter? But the truth is that the Takruri negroes were more

blood-thirsty than any of the carnivorous animals or birds of prey:

they laid in wait until the sheep were killed, feasting their eyes on

the creatures’ dying agonies, and then pounced on the carcases like

hungry vultures.

Now, a great many pilgrims, after casting off the Ihrám and putting

on their festival attire, went at once to Mecca, visited the Ka’bah,

repeating the ceremonies already described, and then returned to Mina

to slay their victims. One of our party who had taken this course fell

sick of the cholera on the road, and the news of his grave condition

reached us at mid-day. We therefore determined to take up our quarters

in Mecca, for our comrade’s sake, and to return to Mina, day by day,

in order to complete our stoning of the Devil. Sheykh Eissa, however,

remained behind to take charge of our camp; and when we got back again

next morning, it was to hear from him a flamboyant account of the

fireworks and jollifications of the Great Festival that we had missed.

We listened to his stories of the too-unfettered revelry by night with

heavy hearts, for our friend was dead. Outside, the whole valley stank

like a shambles, hundreds of pilgrims having succumbed overnight to the

cholera epidemic; and so, when we had stoned the Devil for the second

time, we bent our steps again to the Holy City, taking care to remember

our comrade in our prayers as we passed by the mosque of Khaif. There

we saw some poor pilgrims drying the flesh of a dead sheep--a revolting

spectacle. Next day, the 12th of Zú-’l-hijjah, we cast the remaining

twenty-one stones at the three buttresses in the Valley of Desire, and

were ready on the 13th to join the little pilgrimage to Al-Omreh--a

mosque near the pillars of Alemeyn--having to that end performed

ablutions with the water of Zem-Zem, and put on the ihrám once more,

and made our declaration of intention opposite the Black Stone. It

took us about three hours to reach the sacred spot where we said a

two-prostration prayer after having subjected our heads and hands and

feet to a second ablution. Then we rode back to Mecca and again went

through all those ceremonies within the Harem and between Mount Safá

and Mount Marveh which have been described in the earlier pages of this

narrative. This brought the little pilgrimage of Omreh to an end, and

the ihrám was finally removed. Thenceforward the streets of Mecca were

crowded with pilgrims dressed in every costume of the East.

I remained a week in the Holy City after the Day of Victims--indeed,

no pilgrim could bring himself to leave the Kiblah of the Faith before

the 18th of Zú-’l-hijjah--and whiled away the time by frequent visits

to the Harem and the bazaars. By these means I added considerably to my

knowledge of the pilgrims and their ways. The result of my observations

will be found overleaf.

On the 18th I attached myself to a strong caravan bound for Jiddah, and

there I said good-bye to Seyyid ’Alí. The reader will meet him again,

however, in the brief pages of Part III.

PART III

PART III

MECCAN SCENES AND SKETCHES

CHAPTER I

THE MECCAN BAZAARS

The European, who prides himself on his practicality, is inclined to

look down on the merchant’s calling, though it is surely one of the

most practical of all. The Oriental, on the other hand, who is supposed

to be the most romantic of mortals, generally holds it in high esteem.

Therefore the Oriental, if he is less practical in that he is slow

to adopt the time-saving methods of his Western brother, is far more

logical in paying every respect to a calling which is one of the chief

factors in the welfare of nations. Moreover, the Oriental’s attitude

towards travelling proves him to be far more practical than he is

generally believed to be. As a general rule he takes to roving, either

to lay up for himself treasures in heaven by visiting holy places, or

to better his condition in life by trading in foreign parts. If he is a

pilgrim he combines the spiritual and the worldly aims above-mentioned,

strong in the Prophet’s assurance that it shall be no crime in him

if he seek an increase from his Lord during his pilgrimage. The

consequence is that Mecca is turned every year into a bustling fair,

an exchange and mart where Eastern commodities of every description

can be purchased in cash or in kind. This being understood, I will ask

the reader to accompany my guide and myself on our shopping tour of

the Meccan bazaars, for I must not forget, as a true pilgrim, to buy a

soughát or present for each of the friends I left behind me.

“Yá-Moulai,” said my guide, “let me advise you to grease your tongue

with honey before we go, that the shopkeepers may respond to the

compliments you must pay them by lowering their prices. I notice that

you have a smile on your lips. Yá-Allah! do you wish to return with

an empty purse? Press your lips together, affect a poverty-stricken

demeanour, otherwise you will be fleeced not only by the traders, but

also by every beggar in Mecca, more particularly by those who lie in

wait for the generous-hearted round about the Harem. On entering each

shop you must cough as hard as you can, though you tear your chest in

pieces: then the shopkeeper will be compassionate in the matter of

charges. Another counsel I would offer you is this. Let us suppose you

want to buy a knife. The first thing you must do is to ask the cutler

for a sword, then for a dagger, then for a pair of scissors, and,

after refusing all of these things with a sneer, you must command him

to show you a knife in a voice toned to insinuate that the purchasing

of that article is an act of generosity on your part, a magnanimous

recompense to him for his trouble. For our merchants, though they are

often crafty and betray a suspicious conscience, are, if you treat them

as they expect to be treated, of a childlike simplicity. So cast off

your sandals that you may acquire the reputation of a saint and thus

be treated fairly in the bazaars. Believe me, Yá-Moulai, if you follow

these instructions, you will drive a better bargain with the Meccan

than you would by trusting to the honesty of a Firangi trader who is

civilisation-proof against these simple wiles.” And so chattering he

led me through the crowded streets, and would have asked for alms, that

I might pass as a beggar, had I not forbidden him sternly to practise

in my service a piece of deceit as unworthy of himself as it would be

humiliating to me; whereon he glanced at me furtively muttering in his

beard: “He is as proud as a Shahzadeh.”

The city of Mecca is divided into two parts. Of these the upper

quarters are called Malá, as opposed to the lower ones, which are known

by the name of Misfál. The shops are very similar to those at Jiddah;

but in the street that bears the name of Mussah, which is the broadest

and most picturesque thoroughfare, they occupy, I may say, the ground

floor of the houses on both sides, presenting to the passers-by such a

wealth of Oriental goods as I for one had not seen before. The familiar

word “bazaar” is Persian, its Arabic equivalent being Súgh, and a

whole quarter is sometimes called after its neighbouring market, as is

the case, for instance, with the quarter called Súghé-Seghir. To the

North of Mussah-street is situated the Soueygha Bazaar, where goods

(especially the belongings of dead pilgrims) are sold by auction twice

a day, in the morning and in the evening, and there also slaves are

exhibited and knocked down to the highest bidder. The Syrian Bazaar,

or Sughé-Shamí, is to be found to the east of this slave market;

the armourers display their weapons in the Súghé-Geshatshi near the

Platform of Purity, whence the Sughé-Lail, or Night bazaar, is within

easy reach; while further to the east, below the skirts of Mount Abú

Ghobais, in a market named Moamil, pottery of any description can

be bought by the pilgrims as receptacles for the curative water of

Zem-Zem. In a square to the east of this bazaar camels and sheep are

sold, and fruit stalls are kept by Bedouins: and from thence one passes

to the blacksmiths’ shops or Sughé-Haddadin.

The pilgrim who would purchase shoes or sandals must seek the upper

quarters of the town, and there, in the north of Malá, he will find

what he wants in abundance, as well as many provision stores which

serve to replenish the supplies of the yearly caravans; for most of

these dealers have agencies at Jiddah, Bombay, and Cairo. In the same

quarter, still to the north, is the meat market, most of the butchers

being Bedouin Arabs who keep special flocks of sheep and camels

for slaughter and for sale. From this bazaar the way lies through

some extremely narrow and dirty lanes to the Zokáké-Seni or Chinese

Market, where gold and silver vessels and jewellery are sold by a few

Muhammadans of the Celestial Empire. Thence to the north-east are

situated the dyers’ shops, which go by the name of Sughé-Sabbaghin.

The manufacture of indigo dye, which is much used in Arabia, is very

interesting. First the small leaves are dried in the sun, then they

are powdered and put into earthenware jars filled with water, where

they remain overnight. Next morning the leaves are stirred thoroughly

until a dark blue froth is produced in the water, after which they are

left to settle. When the indigo is taken from the bottom it is spread

on cloths to drain, and is then mixed with dates and saltpetre. The

method of calendering the garments dyed with indigo consists in beating

them on stones with wooden hammers, which is generally done to the

accompaniment of a song.

“Bismi’lláhi’r-Rahmáni’r-Rahim!” With those words on our lips we

entered the bazaar to the north of the Harem. What first struck my

attention was a man sitting on a rug with a small wooden frame in front

of him, a round blue tile by his side, a reed pen in his right hand,

and a few sheets of paper in his left. He was an Arab scribe, and

around him were gathered a crowd of illiterate pilgrims, all waiting

for him to write their letters. The first to go forward was an Afghan

pilgrim. He had muscular limbs and a fierce, scowling face. Said he:

“Write me a letter to my brother: he is ill and lives at Sakhir.” The

scribe, who was sitting on his hips, cocked up his right leg ever so

slightly so as to form a sort of table, and asked the Afghan what he

was to say. “By God!” exclaimed the native of Sakhir, “I expect you

to provide something more than the paper and the penmanship. You must

supply the words as well. What! you know not what to write? Have I not

said that my brother is sick and like to die? Tell him that I will

bring him a bottle of Zem-Zem water--that will cure him, if it please

Allah--and a winding-sheet that has been dipped therein, which will

be useful if he die--God forbid!” Here my guide stepped to the front,

saying, “From the Percussion of the Grave and from the Interrogation

of the Grave may God the Merciful and Clement deliver him!” A bright

smile flashed over the Afghan’s face. “May your kindness increase!”

said he. Meanwhile, the scribe dipped his pen in the silk threads on

the blue tile which served the purpose of an inkstand. These threads

were soaked in soot and water, and it took about three dips to write a

single word. Every now and then he would raise the paper to the left

side of his face and look at it slantingly out of the corner of his

eye. If a word did not please him he would rub it out by moistening

his forefinger and dabbing it half-a-dozen times on the word, for the

ink left no permanent trace on the paper but came off in layers when

rubbed with the wet finger. The lines of the letter were wide apart,

and an ample margin was left on both sides. When the bottom of the page

was reached the scribe filled the margins lengthwise, and then fell

to writing between the lines. I could not help thinking that the sick

Sakhiri would find it easier to answer the interrogations of Nakír and

Munkar, those dread Inquisitors of the Grave, than to read the letter

from Mecca, which struck me as being almost as difficult to decipher as

a Chinese poem. When the last word was written the Afghan took out his

purse, to the strings of which was tied a round seal of brass whereon

his name was engraved. Having unfastened the seal he handed it to the

scribe. It amused me to see that the purse was withheld by the canny

Afghan, who obviously had no intention of losing over the transaction

more than he had bargained for.

All Orientals, particularly the Persians, lay great store by their

seals. Those of the lower classes are generally round and made of

brass, and are either fastened to their purse strings or left dangling

by their waistbands. The mullás have a preference for square seals

of cornelian set in base silver, as approved by the Prophet; while

the high officials “gratify the pride of irresponsibility,” or the

instincts of taste in the matter, some choosing gold seals ornamented

with diamonds, and others turquoise seals decorated with pearls or

with rubies. Sometimes a line of poetry is engraved on the seal as

well as the owner’s name. I knew a pious Shi’ah whose seal bore this

inscription: “The slave of the King of the country, Imám ’Alí,” only

the last word, of course, being his own name. Later, on our journey

through the bazaars, we chanced to see a Persian hakkák, or seal-maker,

at work. The cornelian he was carving was fixed in tar on the small

board in front of him. The deft way in which he wielded his small

hammer was the result of a steady hand and an unerring eye, gifts

for which the Persians are justly famous. The motto was intended

to commemorate his pilgrimage to the Mother of Cities, and ran as

follows: “Sadik, the least of Hájís and the slave of God, in the city

of God!”

I entered into conversation with this man Sadik, and was lucky to find

in him a very lantern of traditions. The works of Baidáwí, of Abú

Sa’íd al-Khadrí, of al-Farrá of Bagh, of Nu’man Ibu Bashír, of Abú

Hurairah, of ’Abd Allah Ibu Mas’ud, to say nothing of the Persian and

Arabian poets, he seemed to know by heart. When I complimented him on

his learning, he replied, saying: “If I am blessed by God with a good

memory, it is because I have never eaten a quince, or a sour apple,

or fresh coriander, or garlic, or the remainder of a mouse’s meal;

nor have I, to the best of my belief, ever read a book written by the

blind, nor drawn blood from the nape of my neck. For these things

weaken the memory and produce folly. From the unseemly demeanour of

your guide”--the rascal had been more exasperating than usual--“I would

hazard the conjecture that he has tasted of many a mouse’s meal.”

The guide grew exceeding wrath, and would have struck the speaker had I

not prevented him; then he cried, “You lie! the humiliation you would

thrust on me, see, I cast it back in your face!” The seal-maker smiled

good-humouredly. “Friend,” said he, “the humiliation was mine, and not

yours, for have I not spoken to a careless listener? Know, however,

for your future guidance, that a man, if he meet with humiliation,

has sometimes nobody but himself to blame. This will certainly be

his sorry case if he sit down uninvited to another’s table, or if

he respect not his host, or if he hope for kindness from a foe or

for learning from the low-born; so much the more will he suffer the

inevitable consequence if he honour not his Prophet, his country, and

his King. And”--here he turned to the crowd--“to listen inquisitively

to another’s conversation has the same effect as addressing an

inattentive audience. I would not have ye be guilty of the former,

which is the extreme of discourtesy, any more than I would have the

latter, which is the acme of humiliation, thrust on me a second time by

the friend to whom I spoke.”

I watched the guide, who could not contain his spleen. “Thou

sententious ass!” he shrieked, making as if to take off his sandal

wherewith to belabour the seal-maker. Once more he was met by a meek

and smiling countenance. “Verily,” quoth Sadik, “if one show leniency

to the mean, the low, or the servant, one must expect to be imposed

on. I do but light a lamp in broad daylight, or sow seed in the desert

sand, which is as wasteful as eating when one’s stomach is laden, or as

showing consideration to one who is not deserving of it. Three things

tend towards madness: the first is to walk with the blind, the second

is to talk to the deaf, and the third is to sleep alone.”

By this time the sun had risen high in the heavens, and the mat awnings

suspended on poles were already drawn down in order to keep out the

fierce rays of sunlight, so on we went till we came to the tin-makers’

bazaar. There we heard a cry of “Yá Allah! yá Allah!” and, on looking

round, beheld a funeral procession. The corpses, four victims of the

epidemic, were being borne from the Harem to the graveyard on rough

serirs, or wooden biers peculiar to Mecca. When the procession had

passed by, I entered one of the shops and bought a couple of tin

bottles, each of which would hold about two pints of Zem-Zem water. It

is not customary to bargain over the purchasing of these articles since

they are meant to contain the water of the sacred spring.

Across the way, in a shop full of musty manuscripts of questionable

antiquity, I chanced on a veritable treasure. This was an exquisite

copy of the Kurán in the old Kufi writing. It was plain that the

bookseller had no conception of its value, for when I asked him the

price of it he said, “Give whatever you like, and I will be content to

part with it. We must not attempt to make a profit out of the Word of

God, though it were well that we should seek to profit by its lessons.”

The Muhammadans are not supposed “to sell” the Kurán like any other

book: a “hedieh,” or “present” goes to defray the cost of production. I

offered a “hedieh” of a Turkish pound, not so much as dreaming that the

bid would be accepted; but to my intense delight the shopkeeper, having

raised the Book to his lips, and from the lips to his eyes, and from

the eyes to his forehead, handed it to me, saying, “This is the Word of

Allah; I give it to you, earnestly begging you to pray for me when you

read it!”

I certainly prayed for him five times that day out of a grateful heart,

and I made a point of doing so until, just before I embarked on my

homeward voyage, I looked for the precious Book only to find it gone,

along with several other valuable purchases.

Soon after leaving the bookseller’s, being in need of rest and

refreshment, we entered a coffee-house which was literally filled with

a crowd of pilgrims of every nationality in the East. Conspicuous

in flowing abás with white and yellow stripes were two Sheykhs, who

were sitting on stools at a low table, and with them I entered into

conversation, offering them a cup of coffee each. The elder, a man

of about forty-five, belonged to the tribe of Beni Súbh, while his

companion, who was many years younger, owed allegiance to the tribe of

Owf; consequently, both of them were members of the fighting clan of

Harb Bedouins, who either live in tents about two stages from Mecca,

on the road to Medina, or reside, if they are settled Arabs, in the

towns of Rabegh, Safrá, and Fará. Of all the tribes of Harb none is

more dreaded by the pilgrims than that of Owf, more particularly are

they feared by the caravans that travel between the two holy cities.

Their power and bravery are undeniable, as was clearly proved during

the Wahhábí invasion of Hejaz. Closely allied to them are the tribes of

Beni Amere and Zobeid.

The young Sheykh, with whom I now struck up an acquaintance, declared

that the Owf, with all their shortcomings, could teach moral lessons to

the rest of the clan, and he attributed their predatory habits to the

“overboiling spirit that was in them.” He contradicted the report that

his tribe had robbed forty Persian pilgrims of their belongings between

Heddah and Mecca, and had murdered three Syrians between Medina and

the Prophet’s birthplace. He professed strong attachment to the person

of the Sheríf, and expressed the hope that we would live to see the

union of every tribe of Arabia under his sway; in fact, he was a true

patriot, frank of speech, of engaging manners, and showing no signs of

lawless violence.

Not less courteous was his companion. On hearing that he was a Sheykh

of Beni Sobh I asked him if he would tell me something about the famous

balsam of Mecca, for I had read that the amyris-tree, which exudes this

fragrant juice, grows on the mountain of Jébélé-Sobh, between the towns

of Rabegh and Bedre. He was good enough to comply with my request,

being a connoisseur on the subject. The trees, Bishon, as he called

them, have a straight stem, and grow to the height of about twelve

feet. In the middle of summer incisions are made by the women in the

soft bark with a special kind of knife, whereon a white juice oozes

out, and this the women collect with the thumb-nails of their right

hands, and put into a sheepskin or into a vessel of burnished copper.

The balsam, if the incisions are made later in the season, takes on a

yellowish colour, and loses a good deal of its virtue as a tonic.

The Persian pilgrims, I was told, are unwearied in their efforts to

obtain the honey-like balm in its unadulterated form, but they rarely

succeed unless they go to the headquarters of Beni Sobh, for the stuff

sold as balsam in the Meccan bazaars is hardly ever pure. The Arabs

themselves can detect by the smell whether it is adulterated or not.

Fortunately for the pilgrims there are certain other tests which are

said to be infallible. The best balsam sinks in water, has a bright

blue flame when alight, and, if you put a drop on your finger and set

fire to it, it will burn without injuring the skin. The Persian traders

mix turpentine with it, probably because the yellow balsam, even when

it has not been “doctored,” smells of that resinous substance, but the

Arabs adulterate the white balsam with inoffensive oils of several

kinds. Every morning the pilgrims who could afford to buy the precious

tonic would take a drop in their tea or their coffee, and I know from

experience that it has the most invigorating effect on the nervous

system.

The senna of Mecca, which is exported to Persia, to Central Asia, and

to Syria, is also a product of the country of the tribesmen of Beni

Sobh, who may be regarded as the richest and most peaceful of the

tribes of Harb, reaping as they do the produce of their rich valleys

without molesting the caravans in the hope of spoil. The date-tree is

cultivated by them, my friend the Sheykh being the fortunate possessor

of over a thousand trees. It surprised me to hear that these palms are

sold not by the grove but by the tree, and, as it sometimes happens,

the dates of a single tree may belong to two or more owners. When a

tree has to be fructified, the gardener, having laid bare the female

spathe and shaken over it the male pollen, sings in a low voice,

saying: “Please God, you will thrive and be fruitful.”

CHAPTER II

THE TALISMAN-MONGER

On leaving the coffee-house (Kahvé-Kháné) we heard the voice of a

muezzin calling to prayers. It was noon. “Listen,” said Seyyid ’Alí,

“I know the Mullá well; he has the soul of a saint and the voice of an

angel.” Emotional, the tears ran down ’Alí’s cheeks in streams; then,

drying his eyes, his whole face shone as from some sudden light within

him. The scoffer was mute--silenced by the majestic melody of that

far-flung summons; but it must not be supposed that any translation

in English could reflect the dignity of the original Arabic, the most

devotional tongue ever spoken by the lips of man:

Mighty is the Lord! Mighty is the Lord!

Mighty is the Lord! Mighty is the Lord!

I bear witness, there is no god but God!

I bear witness, there is no god but God!

I bear witness, Muhammad is the messenger of God!

I bear witness, Muhammad is the messenger of God!

Come hither to prayers! Come hither to prayers!

Come hither to salvation! Come hither to salvation!

God is Great! There is no other god than God!

[Illustration: AN EGYPTIAN GROCER.]

The words swept over the city like a storm cloud, fraught with

darkness, thunder, and lightning--symbols these of the mysteries,

the threats, and the promises of the Faith. The mere sound of the

full-throated syllables, even to one who had no Arabic, would, however

obscure it might be, suggest something alike threatening and revealing.

It was as though some moonless desert had found a tongue to proclaim

to-morrow’s sunrise.

“By my life!” cried Seyyid ’Alí, “why, this human voice, acknowledging

the might of the most Mighty, finds its way to the core of being. I

do repent in that I did make mock of the engraver of seals. He was a

righteous man, and of excellent courtesy and address. I have committed

a fault. I have eaten dirt. I am the humblest of his servants. Come,

yá-Moulai, let us hasten to say the Fátihah within the holy precincts

of the Harem.” This prayer runs:

“Praise be to God, the Lord of the Worlds, the Compassionate, the

Merciful, the King of the Day of Judgment. Thee do we worship, and of

Thee do we seek help. Lead us in the right way, the way of those to

whom Thou hast been gracious, not of those with whom thou art angry,

nor of those who go astray.”

This, the opening chapter of the Kurán, is held in special veneration

by the Muhammadans, by whom it is sometimes called the chapter of

prayer, of thanksgiving, of treasure, and is repeated by them as often

as the Christians repeat the Lord’s Prayer. Not less precious is the

sublime passage in the second Súra, descriptive of the Divine Majesty,

and entitled Ayatu’l-Kúrsí--that is, being translated, the Verse of the

Throne. It runs something like this:

“God, save whom there is no God, is the living, the self-subsisting

one. Slumber overpowereth Him not, nor sleep. Unto Him belongeth

whatsoever is in the heavens, and whatsoever is in the earth. Who is

he that shall intercede with Him, save through His good pleasure? He

knoweth that which is past, and that which is to come unto them; and

they understand not a single iota of His knowledge, except so far as

He hath willed. His firmament spans the heavens and the earth, the

preservation whereof doth not distress Him. And He is the most High,

the most Supreme.”

Having said our prayers, my guide and I, we left the Harem and returned

to the bazaars. The smell of burning aloe-wood drew our eyes to a shop

where combs seemed to be the only purchasable articles. These combs,

made of ebony, were of two kinds. The first, used by the men, are

called male combs. They are provided with a single row of teeth. The

others, known as female combs, have teeth on both sides. We passed on.

A man bearing a sheepskin was hawking honey, like the water of the eye

for purity. It is brought down to the Meccan markets by the Arabs of

the clan of Beni Salem, another branch of the tribe of Harb, who also

dwell not far from Rabegh, and are more numerous than the two tribes

aforementioned, whose Sheykhs we had the pleasure of meeting in the

coffee-house. Among the countless hawkers thronging the thoroughfares

not a single Arab milkman did we see. We met only one milkman, and he

was an Indian. For milk-selling is not a popular pursuit in Arabia.

Indeed, it carries with it the stigma of an ineffaceable disgrace,

the term “milk-seller” having come to bear the meaning of “bastard.”

In like manner the Persians make use of the expression “mást-kash,”

sour milk carrier, on the rare occasions when they are driven to

reprove a mean flatterer. The first shop we entered was that of a

draper who drove a remunerative trade in winding-sheets. There we

noticed the poorer side of the East. Crowds of beggars--not necessarily

poverty-stricken--were practising their lucrative business. Some were

weeping, many were malingering, and one was really dead. There was no

bargaining over the prices of the grave-clothes. Every purchaser chose

the one he could afford to buy. While I was selecting mine Seyyid ’Alí

intervened, saying, in an undertone:

“Yá-Moulai, allow me to persuade you to buy the oldest you can find,

to the end that Nakír and Munkar, when you come to die (God forbid),

may pass you by as having already answered their cross-examination

as to your spiritual preparedness. For my own part, being in sound

health--praise be to God on high!--I have no faith whatever in the

existence of those Inquisitors. I am of the opinion of the Persian

grandee who, having stuffed the mouth of his dead groom with grain,

and having opened the grave in due course, found the grain still in

the groom’s mouth, and cried: ‘This is proof positive that he never

answered Munkar and Nakír, and strong presumptive evidence that no such

Inquisitors exist!’ Nay, grow not impatient with me. Am I not the least

of thy slaves?”

The sceptical rogue chuckled, emitting a sound like that of a camel

drinking water. The winding-sheet I bought cost about fifteen

shillings. Later on I had it washed in the water of Zem-Zem. It

measures about 8ft. by 4ft. In the middle the figure of a cypress

tree is inscribed with the Verse of the Throne as a protection to the

wearer from the Percussion of the grave; and other verses from the same

chapter of Al-Beghar surround the hem thereof. For the life of me I

could not help being sorry that I should not see myself in it as others

would see me--a reflection which nearly stifled my guide with laughter.

“Since you are still a good enough Muslim to be superstitious,” said

he, “I would suggest that we should next visit a talisman-monger’s, for

there you would find charms to protect you against the Evil Eye and the

contagion of every disease.” Thither, therefore, we bent our steps.

The talisman-monger, as I discerned from his features, stern and

passive, and from the determination of mind underlying them, was

half-Turk, half-Syrian. The Syrians are of a resolute character, and

seldom take a step that does not bring them nearer to the end they

keep ever in view. In this regard they are the antithesis of the

Egyptians, who seem utterly aimless if left to their own devices. In

their attitude towards work the Syrians are more persevering than the

Persians, and less conceited in character. They are at their best

as men of action. As men of thought they are inferior both to the

Persians, who are the Hamlets of the East, and to the Bedouins, whose

wild, imaginative spirits equip them for pillage and for poetry alike.

They are extremely fond of music, these cheery sons of a flowery soil,

though here, again, they must yield the palm to the fiery clansmen of

the Arabian deserts. The charm-seller, a characteristic specimen of

his race, an excellent business man, was taken completely by surprise

when I asked him to give a name to a certain cornelian set in silver

gilt and inscribed with a Kurán text. “May God protect me from Satan,”

he muttered in pious horror. “Here is a Muhammadan who knows not a

Bábághúli!” Then, recovering slowly from his astonishment, he went

on to explain that it is worn by a Muslim child in commemoration of

the Aghigheh sacrifice, and I may repeat here that it forms the chief

feature of the cover design to this volume.

After much bargaining I bought a Bábághúli for a couple of Turkish

pounds, and found in it, beyond its usual interest, a magnificent

example of Perso-Syrian work. The cornelian, which is circular in shape

and slightly raised in the middle, is of a rosy shade, and measures

about an inch in circumference. On it is engraved, in the finest Naskh

writing, a short chapter of the Kurán, which must have cost the artist

half-a-year’s labour. The stone is set in silver of a floral design,

with two loops or links, through which are threaded strings of gold

ending with tassels and a running noose for fastening round the arm.

Round the centre stone are inlaid twenty-two rubies and emeralds, in

alternate order, eleven of each. These stones alone, though they are

not cut properly, are worth three times as much as I gave for the

whole thing. I made haste to tie the Bábághúli round my biceps, more

from fear of theft than any superstitious motive, and promised not to

part with it in any circumstances; whereat my guide, sneering, said,

“May the devil give you a wide berth, yá-Moulai!” the talisman-monger

endorsing the wish by adding, “May it be auspicious.”

The wearing of a túgh, or silver chain, to which is attached a silver

bowl called kashkúl, is confined to the Shiahs. It is worn round the

neck by many Persian boys, and is changed every year until the boy is

nine years old. By the end of that time he has nine chains laid by.

These are sent, as propitiatory offerings, to the shrine of some saint,

that of Abbas in Kerbela being the most sacred. Thus it comes about

that a boy, so long as he wears the túgh, is called “the dog of Abbas,”

and is said to be under the special protection of that saintly man. I

turned to my guide. “How is it,” said I, “that he is called Abbas’s

dog, and not ‘Allah’s dog,’ or, more becomingly still, ‘Allah’s child’?”

“I will answer you in a parable,” replied Seyyid ’Alí. “There was

once a certain man who owned a flock of sheep. Every morning, when he

drove his flock out of the fold to the pasture-land, he would say, ‘O

Abbas, keep watch over my sheep, which I leave in your protection;’

and then he would go about his work until it was time to drive the

sheep home again. One day he was too busy to act as shepherd, and so

he sent his son in his stead. The boy, having brought the sheep to the

grazing ground, said within himself: ‘I wonder why my father leaves

the sheep in the care of Abbas. Did not Allah create them as well as

him? Assuredly my father has committed a fault.’ And, so thinking, he

left the sheep in charge of their Creator. Now it happened that, Abbas

having resigned his office, a pack of wolves passed by, and, being

famished, spared not even a lamb: so that when the father went in

search of the sheep, he could not find a single one. Having questioned

his son, he learned the truth. ‘Silly boy,’ said he, ‘knowest thou not

that Allah takes care of all his creatures, of the wolves as well as of

the sheep, whereas Abbas, listening to our entreaties, would keep the

beasts of prey from attacking our flocks and herds? Be wiser to-morrow

than you were this morning.’ So you see, yá-Moulai, that there is no

use in trying to be anything to Allah beyond what one really is.”

At the end of nine years these chains are valued, and the price of

them is distributed among the poor, after which they are sent to

the shrine of Abbas. To the chain a pair of hands made of silver is

sometimes hung, in memory of Abbas, whose hands were cut off on the

plain of Kerbela. The talisman-monger had hundreds of these chains and

bowls and hands in his shop, and also, among other things, heaps of

mázús, or oak-apples. These oak-apples are used as charms by nearly

all Muhammadans. Those in the shop were of two kinds. Some were nearly

black and perfectly circular; others were of a light brown colour and

spheroid in shape. Among those of a spheroidal shape was a mázú of

exceptional beauty, evidently intended for a woman. The two ends of the

hollow spheroid were set in silver with numerous figures exquisitely

chased, one group of which was that of a female slave handing over the

heart of her young mistress to the expectant lover. This particular

kind of mázú, I was told, is suspended on a chain and worn on their

breasts by the women. Other oak-apples are seen hanging from the tip of

children’s caps on a silk band, along with prayer-bags made of green

velvet and containing texts from the Holy Scriptures.

Meanwhile my guide, having struck up acquaintance with a countryman

of his from Hamadan, was engaged in conversation with him. This new

friend, Murshid Khan by name, was a tall swarthy fellow. He had come to

buy a chip of the sacred tree talh’, an acacia which has small round

golden blossoms, whereof he related the following legend:

“Many centuries ago a certain peasant went to cut wood in a forest

near the city of Hamadan. This he had been wont to do every winter in

order to eke out his livelihood, during the cold weather, as is still

the custom among the peasantry in our parts. Now, it chanced that his

axe struck against a branch of a talh’ which, as it happened, was in

the way of the tree he was felling. To his consternation a stream of

blood oozed out, followed by cries the most pitiable he had ever heard.

They seemed, in their distressful anguish, to come from the heart of

a mother that had lost her child. The axe fell from the peasant’s

hand, and he himself sank to the ground in a faint. When he recovered

consciousness it was to look for the talh’ ... only to find it gone! He

returned to the city as fast as his legs would carry him and there he

told his story, which was spread abroad among the people. And from that

day to this the wood of the talh’ has been regarded as sacred. Children

use it in the place of mázús, and barren women, if they hang a chip of

it above their beds for the space of forty consecutive Fridays, will

bear children in due course. This is so.”

Here the guide, Seyyid ’Alí, interrupted the speaker, saying: “Light

of my heart, thou speakest the truth. In my country, in the town of

Behbehan, near Shíráz, we have a famous way of protecting our women

folk against the attacks of Aal--that cursed ogress who comes to cut

out the liver of every mother after the birth of her child. First we

draw four lines round the walls of the house; then at each of the four

corners we plant a branch of the talh’ tree; and a dagger, with an

onion atop, is stuck in the ground facing the door. This is the only

possible way of keeping Aal out--may she be accursed!”

“Sarkár,” said Murshid Khan, turning to me, “I have, with these two

eyes of mine, seen things beyond belief, though I believe in them

myself, and many a true believer shares the belief with me.” Here he

turned his face in the direction of the Harem, raised his eyes, and

cried: “By the owner of this Harem, the truth of my story is this: I

had a sister, by name Javáher, who became Jinni, Jinnstruck, when she

was ten years old. She had been of an equal mind until one day she went

into a field in Hamadan, where a servant was milking the goats. It

appears that she spilt the milk by accidentally kicking over the bowl

containing it, and thenceforward her mind was troubled: she was Jinni.

Now we people of Hamadan accounted ourselves lucky in that there lived

among us a pious Mullá ’Alí, whose extraordinary capabilities were a

matter of wonder and adoration. As a Jinn-gir, or Jinn-trapper, he was

unrivalled. Him, therefore, we called in that he might cast out the

Jinn that had disturbed the peace of my sister’s mind. When he came

he brought with him his famous tás--a bowl used for ablutions--and a

long white sheet. Having filled the tás, he ordered my sister to sit

down beside it and to gaze into the water. Then he threw the sheet

over the child and the bowl, and made certain passes with a wand he

held in his right hand. Whereupon, as we noticed to our terror, there

arose a mighty stir beneath the sheet, as though a host were fighting

there. On a signal from Mullá ’Alí the tumult ceased and all was in

a hush. Suddenly, the good priest, calling my sister by her name,

said: ‘What do you see there?’ And my sister replied, in a dreamy,

awestruck whisper: ‘O, Mullá ’Alí, I see him seated gloriously on a

throne studded with precious gems, and hundreds of attendants, both

men and women, are kneeling before him. It is the King of the Jinns.’

‘And what do you hear? be attentive!’ said the priest. ‘One little

Jinn,’ replied my sister, in a terror-stricken voice, ‘is prostrating

herself before his Majesty, and this is what she says: “Javáher--may

she be punished--spilled a bowl of milk a month ago, and hurt my toes,

and I have been lame ever since. Though my friends have cast a spell

over her, I must request your Majesty to increase her punishment, that

she may learn to fear the displeasure of our King.” Oh, oh, oh! How

she cries and weeps before the throne of his Majesty; I am fainting.’

‘Beg her humbly to forgive you, and promise to be more careful in the

future, and all will be well,’ cried Mullá ’Alí. It was impossible to

doubt the sincerity of my sister’s repentance, and when the priest

removed the sheet, which he did so soon as my sister had made her

appeal before the throne, behold my sister was in her right mind

once more. I forgot to say that before the removal of the covering

a neighbour came in, saying that he had lost a gold diamond ring,

probably by theft. So the priest commanded my sister to ask the Jinn

she had injured to tell her where the ring was. The Jinn in question

was good enough to mention the thief by name, much to the delight of

our neighbour, who subsequently recovered his property. I can assure

you, Sarkár, that this last proof of the Mullá’s power made Hamadan

the safest city in Persia. Theft was unknown there. May Mullá ’Alí have

a long life!”

The talisman-monger was the next to speak. He said: “You must know that

I am not always in Mecca. I come here for the three journeying months,

then I return to Smyrna, where I have two shops of this nature in the

bazaars. Next to one of my shops there is a small coffee-house, whither

I go for refreshment in my leisure hours. About three years ago there

came to Smyrna a man named Dervish Ibrahim, from Turkistan. Everybody

except myself believed in the supernatural power of this dervish, who

wore a white beard on a shining face. One evening, when I had closed my

shop and was proceeding home, I found the dervish seated on the front

bench of the coffee-house, surrounded by his followers. He called me by

my name--Abdullah-ben-Jafar--though it had never been mentioned before

him, and when I went to him he said: ‘I can see from your face that you

scoff at the power of talismans, though you sell them to those who are

wiser than yourself, and therein show yourself possessed of some share

of wisdom. It is my humour to-night to reveal to you a single drop

of the ocean of omnipotence. Come, take this scrap of paper, whereon

I have written a few words to the dead, carry it to the neighbouring

cemetery, bury it in the sand near the entrance, and bring back to me

a handful of the sand. Be careful, on returning, not to look behind

you, for, if you do so, you will be torn in a million pieces that will

be distributed among those that lie there. Look ahead, and your life

will be safe.’ Well, curiosity possessed me, and off I went. When I

had buried the scrap of paper, and taken up a handful of sand, I heard

thunder and the voices of the dead crying, ‘Oh, Abdullah-ben-Jafar,

take not the sand away, else you will be cut in bits. Stop! Stop!

Stop!’ I shuddered all over my body, and lost consciousness suddenly.

When I awoke it was to see the sun rising. I hurried to the dervish,

and kissed his feet, and implored him to forgive me for having doubted

his power to work miracles.”

This story-telling had attracted a number of pilgrims, who, to the

exaltation of the talisman-monger, fell to examining his curiosities

with a view to business. After every purchase, Abdullah-ben-Jafar

raised his hands to heaven, and cried: “Praise be to God on high! May

His kindness be increased!”

CHAPTER III

SEYYID ’ALÍ’S STORY OF HIS REDEMPTION

On leaving the talisman-monger’s we went about our shopping in the

Meccan bazaars, my guide pointing out to me the places of interest on

the way. He grew excited when we passed a certain coffee-house, from

within whose doors, as he assured me, he had escaped from himself

into the bosom of the Beloved more times than he could count. “There

are better ways of ascending into heaven, yá-Moulai,” he exclaimed,

ecstatically, “than by being buried underground!” He paused as if to

give me the opportunity of begging him to explain the connection; but

all I said in reply was that a Tower of Silence would scarcely suit one

whose tongue was for ever on the wag.

“’Tis true,” he affirmed, in no way disconcerted, “the birds of prey

are not to my liking. I would discourse of the parrot of mysteries,

that hath opened to me the gates of Paradise more than once. If your

Excellency would acquaint himself with----” I interrupted him, saying:

“Are you speaking of hashísh, my friend? If you are, let me tell you

that I have no wish to renew my experience of the drug.” And when I

hurried on, he drew a deep breath, but whether of disappointment or of

relief I couldn’t make out. “In that coffee-house, yá-Moulai,” he said

at last, “you might have tasted of every narcotic of the drowsy East:

of hashísh, the master Seyyid, or the Parrot of Mysteries, an acquired

taste; of bang, a most potent liberator of thought; and, lastly, of

opium, which is, as we Persians have it, the Antidote, the healer of

every ill except the one it engenders. I was once a well-seasoned

vafurí (opium-smoker), and could discourse of mysteries more eloquently

than any dervish. My nose would grow wet every time I smoked a pipe

of hashísh and my imagination bear me on its wings to the seventh

heaven, or plunge me into the lowest hell. Those were days of spiritual

intoxication--yá-Allah. What cured me of drug-bibbing was the dread of

remaining in the abode of the damned.”

He sauntered on, telling over the beads of his rosary. “Never,” he

cried suddenly, “shall I forget the last pipe of hashísh I smoked.” I

followed him up on the scent of a story. “Come,” said I, “tell me your

tale, and have done with it.”

“Well, it was at Shíráz; I was in the society of some twenty matured

dervishes, and the year was at the spring and the sun was set. I never

hear a nightingale, nor smell a rose, but I can taste that kalyan

of hashísh and tobacco. Not that I was conscious at the time of any

stomachic qualm. Not more than half-a-dozen whiffs were enough to speed

me on my way into a world in which this mortal flesh lay shuddering

at the terrible aspect of things--terrible beyond the imagination of

the unenlightened to conceive. Supper was brought in. Among the dishes

laid before me was a plate of piláw, dome-shaped, having on top a

multitude of round pieces of meat, and these, to my exceeding terror,

came tumbling down the pyramid of white rice, owing to the carelessness

of the servant in handling the dish. But what did I, in my excited

fancy, behold, yá-Moulai? I thought I was at the foot of a snow-clad

mountain, whose crest dwarfed that of Demavend, and from the summit

thereof there came hurtling down on me huge boulders of massy rock. I

cried aloud in terror, and tried to hide myself in the corner of the

room. My friends, the dervishes, laid hold of me, and carried me into

the compound, and flung me into the tank, and in so doing they cheated

me to believe that a host of angels had rescued me from the avalanche,

and, bearing me into Paradise, had cast me into the living waters of

Salsabíl. For, on opening my eyes, I saw a heavenly houri, whose face

shone as the face of the sun. Her feet were on the earth, but her head

reached as high as the fourth heaven. How could I--a man of ordinary

stature--make love to a houri whose height, even among the ladies of

Paradise, must have been a swallow’s flight above the average? True,

I might sit in adoration at her feet, but that a taller man than I

would have the pleasure of kissing her lips seemed only too likely.

This thought was blasphemy in itself; and no sooner did it creep into

this unregenerate mind of mine than two angels caught me by the hands

and threw me into the burning furnace of hell. And this sudden change

in my fortunes corresponded with the actions of my friends in taking

me out of the tank and putting me to bed, and applying a hot remedy to

what they believed to be a cold disease. Yá-Allah, how I burned, but

without consuming, in that fire of the unredeemed. I cried for help,

but Allah--may I be His sacrifice--cast me still deeper into the hell

of His displeasure, saying, ‘He who would worship me must worship me

in soberness and sincerity! Eschew all narcotics, O Seyyid ’Alí, lest

I leave thee here to perish in the flames.’ Then repentance wrung my

heart so that the tears started to my eyes and overflowed. And when

that happened a wind from heaven blew, and I caught sight of a cloud

of sun-lit hair--the hair of the divine houri who had previously

overawed me--and these radiant tresses were wafted by the wind within

arms’ reach of my despair. I clutched them in these two hands. The

exhilaration of a swift ascent filled my soul with thanksgiving, and a

shriek--like a throb of pain--darted through me from without, striking

on the drum of consciousness within me. In other words, I awoke to

find myself lying at home, with a handful of my wife’s hair pressed

to my lips in rapture. How I came to be there I never discovered, but

the mother of my children explained to me with many words that the too

forcible removal of the hair I held in my fingers had left a bald patch

on the crown of her head. And this, yá-Moulai, is the true story of my

redemption.”

Meanwhile, we had reached the northern extremity of Mussah-street,

where in a shop I noticed a number of small bags of yellow leather

containing, as Seyyid ’Alí informed me, the celebrated henna of Wady

Fatima. This valley, called after the Prophet’s daughter, the wife

of ’Alí, his cousin, is situated about eight hours’ journey to the

north-west of Mecca, on the road to Medina. The whole neighbourhood

abounds in the shrub from whose pounded leaves the henna paste is

produced. The act of dyeing the hair with henna is known by the name

of khezab, and is so popular among the Muhammadans of both sexes that

it has come to be almost a religious rite. Many a devout dyes his

hands and feet and hair once a week, the paste giving to the skin an

orange-reddish colour, and deepening the original shade of dark hair to

a ruddy black. On the hammám day the henna is taken to the bath; the

attendant forms it into a paste in small dishes used for the purpose

and called jamé-henna; the decoction should be allowed to stand for

half an hour before it is applied to the skin and the hair. There

are special women artists who draw, on the soles of the feet and the

palms of the hands, all manner of pictures with this dye. Not less

than eight hours are devoted to the practice, the victims--women,

of course--lying with outstretched limbs, for the henna “to take its

colour.”

If one neglects to make use of the dye one runs the risk of bringing

misfortune and leprosy on one’s whole family. The henna of Wady Fatima,

which has a perfume peculiar to itself, is considered particularly

blessed. I was told by the shopkeeper--a prejudiced person, no

doubt--that the Devil himself could be rendered harmless to the Muslim

who should dye his hands once a week and employ an apt quotation from

the Kurán, always provided he were not clad in ihrám. The assurance

that he had sold one hundred thousand bags of the precious dye to the

pilgrims within the month gave me a lively notion of the credulity of

his customers.

Next day I had an opportunity of witnessing the funeral of one of

the chief priests of Mecca, who had died of cholera. The procession,

despite the panic created by the epidemic, was of considerable length.

Half a dozen mullás, intoning passages of the perspicuous Book, led

the way. These were followed by twelve unkempt dervishes in quaint

uniforms, reciting in unison the praises of the dead priest. Then came

the rough bier peculiar to Mecca on the shoulders of ten pilgrims of

as many nationalities. The son, supported by two stalwart priests, and

the chief mourners came next, and after them the women, about twenty

in number, and a crowd of beggars, who had heard that the flesh of

two camels was to be distributed among them. Every now and then, as

we noticed on watching the procession pass by, the bearers would be

relieved of their burden by the most eager among the bystanders, for

it is a tradition that seventy thousand angels will praise the man who

lends a helping hand in carrying the dead to the cemetery. A frequent

cry went up of “O Lord, may his sins be forgiven him. Praise be with

Muhammad and with his people.”

“Yá-Moulai,” said Seyyid ’Alí, “you saw how the people lent their

assistance in order to win the approval of the angels? Well, I will

tell you of a clever trick performed in Mecca last year by four Sunnis

who had murdered a Shiah in a lodging-house. One of the assassins was

chosen by the arbitrament of the _estakhhareh_ to buy the bier and

to bring it to the house where the body lay. That being done, the

mutilated corpse was laid inside by the four men, who, so to speak,

bore the burden of their misdeed into the street. The passers-by,

seeing a funeral, hastened to offer their help in carrying the

corpse to its resting-place. No sooner was each one of the assassins

relieved than he made good his escape, so that by the time the

washing-house was reached the culprits had all disappeared. The crime

was detected when the body was taken out to be washed. Suspicion fell

on the bearers--half a dozen strange pilgrims who had lent a willing

shoulder--and they were brought before the Kazi on the charge of

murder. They only escaped death by paying a heavy sum in blood money.”

We pursued our course eastward to the temporary Syrian bazaar called

Sughé-Shami. Goods from all parts of Syria--from the town of Smyrna to

the remotest fastness of Lebanon--were to be found there. The Syrians

drove a lively trade in silk stuffs from Damascus and Aleppo, as well

as in European cotton prints and in steel ware. The steel ware was

sold as “Inglisi,” though it was generally of German manufacture,

imported into Asia Minor either direct from the Fatherland or from

Constantinople. I saw “Inglisi” silk umbrellas, with what appeared to

be silver handles, priced at half a mejidi, or about two shillings.

German watches, guaranteed to be “Inglisi,” could be bought at a cost

varying from four to ten shillings. On the other hand, Persian carpets

were far more expensive there than they are in London, and so also

were Turkish ones. Silk headgear called _chepi_ and silk kerchiefs

called _kefi_ were in great request among the Bedouins, who purchased,

besides, the dried fruits of Syria. There were many coffee-houses _à

la turque_, where story-tellers recited in flowery language, either

Arabic or Turkish, the tales of the Arabian Nights. Some pilgrims might

sit listening from sunrise to sunset, but my guide and I, having drunk

a cup of coffee, proceeded on our way, past the Prophet’s birthplace,

to the Moamil or pottery bazaar. There, as I watched the potters at

work, I couldn’t help quoting the immortal lines of Omar Khayyám, as

translated by Fitzgerald:

“For I remember stopping by the way

To watch a potter thumping his wet clay;

And with its all-obliterated Tongue

It murmur’d--‘Gently, Brother, gently, pray.’”

Thence, in the Sughé-Lail, the carpenters have their niches. My guide

told me a story of a Meccan carpenter who went once to measure a

doorway of one of the houses in the neighbourhood. Having forgotten

his yard measure he calculated the width by opening his arms. Then,

still keeping his arms in the same position, he hastened back to his

shop. On the way he fell down a well; the people gathered round; and

one among them threw him a rope, but the carpenter refused to catch

hold of it, lest he might change the measurement of the doorway. “Ah,

my friend,” said I, “there I waited for you. That story is taken from

‘Mullá Nasiru’-Din,’ a book satirising the mock piety and the folly of

the priests. You must be more careful in choosing the tales you would

foist on my credulity.” And so wrangling we reach the cattle market.

Now, kindness to animals is specially recommended by Muhammad, but

his followers have still much to learn in practice. The sheep and

cattle are driven to the market in the early morning, before sunrise,

and, unless they are sold, must remain all day long without anything

to eat or to drink. The condition of some of the sheep was pitiful.

The camels, that are not accustomed to be for ever nibbling like the

sheep, appeared to suffer less from the deprivation of food. In that

quarter of the town nearly all the tradesmen, whether cattle-sellers,

butchers, fruiterers, or grocers, were Bedouins, dwelling in their

encampments inside the town, and holding themselves aloof from the

Arab townsmen and the foreigners. In manners, customs, and morality

they have suffered but little change from the time of the Prophet,

for, unlike the Meccans themselves, they have borrowed none of the

characteristics of their co-religionists from alien countries. They

forbid their women to be on intimate terms with the townswomen; and

when you meet them buying and selling in the market place they are

always extremely reserved, and sometimes not less haughty in their

demeanour towards you. For the frankness which is their most pleasing

quality in their canvas cities is held in restraint so soon as they

take up their quarters in Mecca during the pilgrimage. The women, both

rich and poor, work hard, in most cases even harder than the men, and

that is why they wear, in contrast to the townswomen, who are corpulent

and comely, an appearance of being as muscular as they are lean and

sun-baked. Near the cattle market we saw some low shops and warehouses

in which corn and provisions were being sold by Indians and Egyptians

to some Bedouins who had entered the town in order to replenish their

supplies, and there, too, the out-going caravans are wont to take

in their eatables for the homeward journey. Rice and wheat are the

commodities which are most needed by the Bedouins of Hejaz, and in

these the southern Indians carry on a brisk trade with the interior of

that barren province.

CHAPTER IV

HEALING BY FAITH

Two things play an important part in the family life of Persia. The

first of these, the yearly almanac or _taghvím_ is studied with a

pathetic trust by all. In a day that has been marked unlucky they see

the frustration of their hopes and prayers, however perseveringly

they may strive, by earnest effort, to elude the working of the

fateful stars and to bring about the consummation of their wishes.

“The most blessed hour for prayer,” I was told by one of them, “is

when the planet Jupiter is in conjunction with the culminating point

of the firmament.” And when I began to argue with him, he said in

astonishment: “Have you no faith in _estakhhareh_ either?” I replied:

“If you can prove to me by any passage in the Kurán that God will lend

his advice to the Muslim who shall consult Him through the beads of

a rosary, I will believe in the _taghvím_, the _estakhhareh_, or any

_fáll_ or omen you care to mention. But, first, let me be sure that

I understand the method of making an _estakhhareh_. Having read a

verse of the Holy Scriptures, you place the finger on a bead, then,

counting the beads from that point to the nearer end of the thread,

you believe that God will grant you your heart’s desire provided the

number be odd, but that He will refuse your request if it be even. Am I

right?” “Certainly,” he replied; “for if my prayer be reasonable and

I deserving in the sight of God, He will assuredly guide my hand.” “It

is obvious,” I retorted, “that God can and does guide His slaves; but

I deny that He shares your belief in the luck of odd numbers. Let the

Prophet be my intercessor. This is what he says:

“‘Do ye acquire knowledge, for he who acquireth knowledge in God’s

service performeth an act of piety; he who giveth utterance to it

praiseth the Lord; he who is diligent in search of it worshipeth God;

and he who imparteth it offereth sacrifice to Him.’ Now, your faith

is rooted not in knowledge, but in superstition. Look around you, and

you will see the wonders of God in the working of laws immutably just,

eternally the same. I tell you that action and reaction are equal

and opposite, that the ordered weal and woe are the results of our

own actions good and evil, and I advise you to put on the armour of

knowledge in the desert less you fall a victim to the superstitious of

whom you now are one. ‘The ink of the scholar,’ the Prophet tells us,

‘is more holy than the blood of the martyr.’”

My opponent, however, remained unconvinced. He assured me that his

spiritual director would not dream of wearing a new ’abá without first

consulting the _taghvím_, nor would he take it on himself to administer

a dose of medicine to a sick child without asking God, through the

beads of his rosary or the pages of the Kurán, whether the remedy would

be efficacious or not. Of the progress of medical science the Shi’ah

pilgrims knew nothing.

[Illustration: A PERSIAN PROFESSOR OF THEOLOGY.]

Galen and Avicenna are still regarded as the leading masters of the

profession, and their treatises are the only ones that are studied.

Diseases are divided into hot and cold. A cold remedy is applied to a

hot disease, and a hot remedy to a cold one. The doctors bleed patients

suffering from malarial fever. They keep small-pox endemic by their

curious remedies. Silver armlets containing texts out of the Kurán

are worn as preservatives of health. The saints and _estakhharehs_ are

sometimes the only doctors. “The One who sends fever takes it away

... Khodá rahím ast (God is merciful).... If He wants me to remain

here He will cure me.... He is the best doctor.” Offerings in money

or in sweet-meats are given to the poor for the patient’s recovery.

The money is placed under the pillow every night, and is distributed

every morning among the needy. The patient, despite the stifling

atmosphere, is persuaded to believe in a speedy recovery, everybody

telling him that he will soon be quite _kushdell_ or cheerful. But when

the end draws near a priest is summoned in haste, and the dying man,

if he has no just cause of complaint against a child or against his

wife, says not a word as to the distribution of his property, having

full confidence that the divine law will be religiously followed. He

instructs the priest as to the rites to be observed at his funeral and

the offerings to be paid for the peace of his soul. He may command his

sons to obey their mother and to respect their sisters. If he has no

issue he may settle his property on a school, a mosque, a saint, or a

water cistern.

The corpse must not remain more than twenty-four hours in the house.

The hammámí, or bath-keeper, now enters the house in the capacity of

an undertaker. He places the body on a _korsi_, that is, on a raised

wooden platform in the middle of the room; a copy of the Kurán and

a decanter of rose-water are set down near the head; and a cashmere

shawl is laid over the remains. For a month or forty days after burial

a _ghari_ or hired priest keeps watch over the grave, praying for the

soul’s peace of the newly-departed, and reading the Kurán aloud. On the

night of the interment the percussion of the grave, the fesharé-ghabre,

is supposed to take place. The priest must keep on reciting a certain

passage of the Kurán, called Ayatu’l-Kúrsí or the Verse of the Throne,

in order to extend the space and prevent the pressure. Then come Monker

and Nakír--those livid-faced angels of death--and question the deceased

concerning his faith. If his answers be satisfactory, ’Alí will cause

him to be refreshed by the air of Paradise; if not, he will be beaten

on the temples with iron maces.

The evening before I left Mecca for Jiddah I was suffering from a

racking headache, and my friends advised me to consult a certain Arab

physician. The curiosity to have an interview with this leech overcame

my scepticism concerning his health-giving touch, so off I went to the

east of the town where he dwelt, taking my guide with me; and there,

in a winding lane some three feet wide, we found his house. My guide

summoned the servant by banging at the outer door with his club. In

about ten minutes what we judged to be a small urchin appeared behind

the door and asked us in a piping treble what we wanted. Having assured

himself that we were not Bedouin Arabs bent on pillaging the sacred

house, he drew back the bars, bidding us enter in the name of God the

Merciful and Clement.

The courtyard through which we passed was unpaved and not more than

five yards square. The apartments--six fetid cells--ranged round

three sides of it. The hakím’s room faced the door. We walked in with

the greeting “Salám ’aleykum! Peace be unto you!” The faith-healer

was seated cross-legged on a mat in a corner of the cell. He rose

to receive us, saying “Bismillah! in the name of God!” the Eastern

equivalent of “Please come in.” He was of middle height, lean, of a

pleasing countenance; his eyes were deep-set, brilliant, smiling; his

beard measured the span of a man’s hand; and his teeth flashed between

lips framed for laughter. He wore a white handkerchief round his head,

and a long blue gown reached to his ankles. Nothing could exceed the

courtesy of our host. As a mark of respect, he insisted on my taking

his place; my guide, heaving a “Yá-Allah!” and a sigh of relief, sank

to my side on the left; while the sunny-faced saint, squatting at

my right hand, turned a beaming eye on his trusty henchboy, who was

standing in the doorway, waiting for the orders of his lord and master.

In the East they never break the ice of silence with a remark on the

weather. The customary opening is to inquire if you are in health. I

told the doctor, in answer to his question, that I had a bad headache,

and had come to him to be cured. When he had raised his hands and

cried out “Yá-Muhammad!” thereby invoking the Prophet to lend him

the assistance he required, it was to ask me on which side the head

ached. I touched the spot, whereon he fell to rubbing it vigorously

with the palm of his right hand, calling out the while to the urchin

to fetch the necessary apparatus for the forthcoming operation. The

boy disappeared. In a few minutes he came back, bearing in both his

hands a round hollow plate of clay in which were a few lumps of burning

charcoal.

The next things he brought in were a couple of round iron rods about

twice the length of an ordinary pencil, together with a cup filled with

a black fluid used as ink and composed, if I mistake not, of a mixture

of starch and the soot of an oil lamp. The doctor thrust the rods in

the glowing charcoal. The fear of being branded bathed my brow in

sweat. The doctor, assuring me that I had no cause to be afraid, cried

out: “If we lose heart at the sight of these little rods, how much the

more shall we suffer when we feel the weight of the maces of the angels

of punishment. May God protect you from the fire of hell!”

The tips of the rods by this time were red-hot. Having dipped them

in the cup of ink, he closed his eyes, and then raised his voice in

an incantation that lasted several minutes. Not a single word could I

understand. When it was over he opened his eyes, and, saying the word

“Bismillah,” proceeded to draw with one of the rods on my right temple

five perpendicular lines crossed by five horizontal ones, thus forming

sixteen tiny squares. The same pattern was traced on the left temple

with the second rod. Several magic hieroglyphics besides were inscribed

in the same manner behind my ears and on the nape of my neck.

After every operation the good doctor would pause to ask me: “Is the

pain gone now?” Four times did I tell him the truth; then, fearing that

he would begin to tattoo my body, I assured the persevering little

man that I never felt better in my life. His joy knew no bounds.

Raising his hands to heaven, he cried, “Praise be to God Almighty, who

hath sent to this poor family a power so miraculous. The secret was

bequeathed to my father by the Lord God, and when my father died he

left it to me as an inheritance. On no account must you wash off the

signs until to-morrow morning; for if you do the pain will return to

punish you. The blight of the Evil Eye was the cause of your headache.

Go in peace. You are welcome.”

The following day I set out on my homeward journey, taking Seyyid ’Alí

with me as far as Jiddah; and when I said good-bye to him I felt that

I was losing an entertaining companion. That the reader may experience

the same feeling of loss in parting from me is my dearest hope on

bidding him farewell.

[Illustration: AN ARAB SHEYKH OF THE TOWN.]

APPENDIX

By WILFRID SPARROY

SOME REFLECTIONS ON THE EXISTENCE OF A SLAVE MARKET IN MECCA

I brought the notes of “Hájí Ráz” to a conclusion in the last chapter;

and he himself has bidden the reader farewell. It now remains for me

to say a few words on what I conceive to be the greatest weakness in

the Mussulman faith as interpreted by the Mullahs; and in so doing I

wish it to be understood, particularly by my Eastern readers, that

I am solely responsible for the opinions I am about to express on

the subject of the Mussulman’s attitude to slavery, the existence of

which, in the fourteenth century of the Hegira, must be a source of

some misgiving on the part of those who sympathise with so much in the

Muslim creed. And I appeal throughout to the enlightened laymen of our

Indian Empire, on whose interpretations of the Prophet’s message the

welfare of Islám will, in the future, depend in an ever-increasing

degree.

Now, the British are the champions of freedom: under their flag every

man is born free. Nothing is more hateful, to their way of thinking,

than that one human being should be the slave of another. In their

opinion the quality of slavery is to brutalise both the slave and

his master--the slave by depriving him of the self-respect which is

the heritage of every man who is free to choose his own career and

to rule, within the limits of humanity, his own destiny; and the

master, by making him the owner of a human soul--a responsibility so

awful that it is far more likely to lower him to the level of a beast

than it is to raise him to the height of a god. If this, in brief, be

a fair statement of the British attitude towards slavery, it will be

interesting and, in a measure, enlightening to the reader to follow, by

way of contrast, the argument supported by the ordinary Mussulman.

To be frank, the present-day followers of the Prophet--those who have

not been brought under the influence of European civilisation--have far

less sympathy with the opinions expressed in the opening paragraph,

than had Muhammad himself. Humanly speaking, the British crusade

against slavery is not only beyond their comprehension--it is also

above it. Their outlook on life, with its rights, its limitations, and

its responsibilities, differs fundamentally from that of the followers

of the Founder of Christianity. The Christian, who speaks of himself as

“a child of God and an inheritor of the Kingdom of Heaven,” believes,

if we misinterpret him not, that the first step is with him, and the

road with God. In other words, he holds the inspiriting belief, which

is, indeed, the source of all his worldly progress and his prosperity,

that God has given him the right to act of his own initiative, but

not the power--or only a circumscribed power--to foresee whither his

actions will lead him. Therefore, in calling himself “a child of God,”

he has chosen the title that would best express his independence and

his limitations. The Muhammadan, on the other hand, cannot admit

that he has the power to move of his own free will, much less the

right to do so. He holds that every true Muslim is, and must be, “the

slave of God,” the theory of free-will being to the Muslim trend

of thought so antagonistic that it has come to bear much the same

meaning as lawlessness. Hence his aversion from Europe and all its

ways. “How,” he asks, “can morality and law flourish in a continent,

in which thought is free, in which women are free, in which God’s

will is superseded by the will of man? Freedom? I say we are all the

slaves of God, even when we are the slaves of other men. There is not

one creature who is free to act. Only the Creator is free. It is our

predestined lot to be submissive to His will.”

I hope the reader is following the thread of my argument. It is the

feeling of the East which I would attempt to lay bare. The existence

of slavery in these days is the natural outcome of that feeling. Many

a child is kept illiterate for no other reason than because its father

is illiterate. If the father is a pea-parcher or a bean-roaster, the

son must be a pea-parcher or a bean-roaster; for a son is nothing more

than a child of its father. This thraldom, to a lad of originality

and spirit, is unbearable, but he must either endure it, or else

run the risk of being an outcast. Thus the son is the slave of his

father. In his turn the father is under the bondage of his spiritual

director, who too often serves no other God than Mammon. The tendency

of the Muslim, however, is to accept the guidance of his “master” with

unquestioning humility. All might go well with him if his “master”--we

mean his priest--were always a man to be trusted, and the right man

to lead. Unfortunately the Muslim priest more often than not is more

unenlightened, more selfish, more avaricious, more unscrupulous than

most of his flock, and thus there is a danger of his enslaving the

whole fold. Poor sheep, they, believing him to be the shepherd of

God, are accustomed to follow him whithersoever he may ensnare them.

They are doomed to perish together on the rock of Predestination,

unless these “masters” can be brought to revise the interpretation

they have put on their Prophet’s teaching. Muhammad, as a matter of

fact, was careful not to draw a too narrow line between the scope and

the limitations of the human will. There is nothing in his message

which need deter a progressive Muslim from accepting the belief that

the first step is with him always, and there is no doubt that the

acceptance of such a belief by the whole Muslim world would go far

to breathe new life into the body politic. For it would give to the

imagination an ever-widening vision of human responsibility, of human

knowledge, and of human destiny. It would emancipate every race that is

proud to pay allegiance to the Prophet, and would make slavery, in its

widest as well as in its literal sense, a curse of the unredeemed past.

“We know,” says Mr. J. H. Shorthouse, speaking in the words of an

oracular voice, addressing the King of Diamonds in a pack of cards,

“that we possess a power by which the fall of the cards is systematised

and controlled. To a higher intelligence than ours, doubtless,

combinations which seem to us inscrutable are as easily analysed

and controlled. In proportion as intellect advances we know this to

be the case, and these two would seem to run side by side into the

infinite--law, and intellect, which perceives law, until we arrive

at the insoluble problem whether law is the result of intellect or

intellect of law.”

Now, the Mussulman, in trying to solve this problem, seems to me to

have chosen the solution which is more likely than not to paralyse

the intellect and clog the wheels of progress. For if he is oppressed

or poor or ignorant or unhappy, he may say it is God’s will that he

should be so; and thus he may remain stationary, making no effort to

keep abreast with the march of civilisation. In other words, he may

come to be a slave to his god. And so, to make an end of this preamble,

it is not surprising that in countries where most men are to some

extent slaves, socially and politically speaking, there should be men

and women who belong, as purchasable and saleable chattels, to such

families as can afford to buy them. But--and this is an all-important

point--the Prophet wrought his manly utmost to mitigate the ill-effects

of slavery: it flourished exceedingly, as every schoolboy knows, long

before his time, and in other countries besides his own; but, thanks

to Muhammad’s laws, the lot of the slaves of Islám was, and is still,

immensely happier than was ever that of the slaves of pagan Rome or

of Christian North America. It is related that Abdullah Ansari went

one day to visit the Prophet, and received from him the following

instructions; “On this the last Friday of Ramazán, you must devote

yourself ‘to taking leave’ of the month, and to redeeming as many

slaves as you can: and these things you must do in order that God

may be gracious unto you.” The “leave-taking,” be it known to the

reader, is practised every year, but the old custom of setting one’s

slaves free on the last day of the congregation of the Muslim Lent has

completely died out. However, though it was not possible for Muhammad

to abolish slavery in a lifetime, the system being far too deeply

rooted in the customs of the country, he fully realised the oppression

to which the slaves had been subjected, and left nothing undone which

would ameliorate their fate.

Thus, in Súra xxiv. of the Kurán, entitled “Light,” it is written:

“And unto such of your slaves as desire a written instrument allowing

them to redeem themselves on the payment of a certain sum, write one,

if ye know good in them: that is, if ye have found them faithful, and

have reason to believe they will fulfil their engagement; and give

them likewise of the riches of God which He hath given you, either by

bestowing on them of your own substance or by abating them a part of

their ransom.” Some commentators believe the last admonition to be

addressed not only to the masters but to Muslims in general, making

it an obligation on them all to assist those who have obtained their

liberty and paid their ransom, either by giving the ransomed slaves of

their own stock, or by admitting them to have a share in the public

alms. One of the Imáms, as we read in a Shi’ah book of traditions,

put a very generous interpretation on the Prophet’s words; for on

the approach of the Hájj Day he would buy as many slaves as he could

afford to set free--a signal and heartening proof that Muhammad had not

preached in vain. But, alas! in these modern days a slave is rarely

allowed to buy his freedom--unless, indeed, he be utterly worthless

as a servant--until such time as his master is dead. A good Muslim

either releases his slaves on his death-bed, having no further use of

their services, or makes provision for their redemption in his will.

The money and the belongings which they may have amassed, as well as

they themselves, are during his lifetime his inalienable property, and,

therefore, on the first day of the moon of Shavvál he must, on paying

his Zikkát (that is, one-tenth of his gross estate), include therein

the purchase-price of his slaves and the value of their hoards.

Another instance of the Prophet’s solicitude for the best welfare

of the slaves must not be omitted here. In his reverence for virtue

he took such steps as would, to a certain extent, guard the female

slaves from the indelicacy of their masters. If the masters have

deteriorated morally, less than one might expect from the burden of

their responsibility and the force of their temptation, dealing as far

as in them lies with kindness by their slaves, what can be said in

respect of morality of the unfortunate slaves themselves? In a play

modelled on the European drama, an Oriental writer has chosen for

his hero a Negro slave by name Pistachio, to whom he attributes the

lowest traits of ignorance and cunning. Pistachio is the evil genius

of the family. He turns the house into a secret gambling hell. He

brings about a _liaison_ between his master’s daughter and a suitor

rejected by her parents; and, by winning his mistress’s favour, excites

the apprehension and jealousy of her husband. Every act of treachery

is committed under the cloak of folly. His perversity has no limit,

and his ingratitude no end. Making every allowance for reasonable

exaggeration, we have in Pistachio a type of what an Oriental slave

too often is. For there is no manner of doubt that a man, born and

bred in slavery, knowing next to nothing of the refining influence of

education, is more apt to represent rather the worse, than the better,

side of human character. Some slaves there are, doubtless, who, like

Arab horses, are surpassingly faithful to their masters, but there

are others--perhaps more numerous--who, in the effrontery of deceit

and moral degradation could hardly be matched by the most thankless

rascal in the sink of hypocrisy. Of the majority connecting the extreme

types whose portraits I have sketched, two things may be said with

almost unquestionable certainty. They are self-willed and effeminate

when young, and indolent and self-willed when old. In their youth,

provided they be good-looking, they are regarded with suspicion by

their masters, if they are male, and with jealousy by their mistresses

if they are female. They live, whether they be men or women, in the

strength-sapping seclusion of the harems, and hence, for one reason,

their lack of such qualities as go to the making of healthy manhood.

For intellect they must be placed not much above the level of the

dog--in fact, if the dog could speak, he would put in his claim to the

higher rank.

I have hardly heard of a single slave in an Oriental house who deserves

to be noted for his intellectual power. Since he is so cunning and can

set the whole family by the ears, how comes it that he is so dull of

understanding? Does the cause lie solely in the neglect of education?

Surely not, for if it did his master’s case would often be no better

than his own. Is the reason, then, to be sought beneath the surface of

his skin? Scarcely, I think, since, under the British flag in South

Africa, his brother blacks are gaining fast in intellectual strength.

No; set your slave free; let him have a body he can call his own.

Educate him that he may develop a mind to rule himself. Give him light,

and room, and liberty. Do this, you master of Islám’s slave, and your

jesters shall have no cause in the future to satirise the wretched

victim who, bought in chains and reared in sloth, is nothing less than

a living stigma cast on your manhood. If anything could emancipate your

sense of justice, it would be a visit to the Slave Market of Mecca.

Go there, see for yourself the condition of the human chattels you

purchase. You will find them, thanks to the vigilance of the British

cruisers, less numerous, and consequently more expensive, than they

were in former years; but there they are, flung pell-mell in the open

square--in crowds that clamour for a recrudescence of Muhammad’s

attitude towards slavery.

One group, that of a mother and daughter, excited the sympathy of

many pilgrims. The girl, unthinking, giddy, broke every now and then

into shrill laughter. In her mirth, more terrible to witness than

grief, it seemed as though she would while away the hours of exciting

expectation. For the girl was bent on winning a master; slavery had

for her no terror, a mother no reclaiming tie. Every time the daughter

laughed her mother’s face twitched all over, and then grew rigid. It

was plain, to the sympathetic eye, that she had forced herself to

rejoice in her own anguish--her daughter’s unconcern, telling herself,

it may be, that, though her own pain would soon be the greater, her

daughter’s would be so much the less. The one, dreading the parting,

disguised her secret anguish, or found her consolation in her child’s

heartlessness; the other, who could not conceal her anxiety lest she

should be overlooked, was innocent of a qualm. The dealer, standing by,

cried out: “Come and buy, the first fruits of the season, delicate,

fresh, and green; come and buy, strong and useful, faithful and honest.

Come and buy.” The day of sacrifice was past, and the richer pilgrims

in their brightest robes gathered round. One among them singled out the

girl. They entered a booth together. The mother was left behind. One

word she uttered, or was it a moan of inarticulate grief? Soon after,

the girl came back. And the dealer, when the bargaining was over, said

to the purchaser: “I sell to you this property of mine, the female

slave Narcissus, for the sum of £40.” “And I,” replied the pilgrim,

“agree to pay you £40 for your property, Narcissus.” Thus the bargain

was clinched. This time the mother’s despair was voiceless; for it

meant to stay with her always.

Most of the slaves, male and female, came from Nubia and from

Abyssinia, and these are said to be the most faithful. “Hájí Ráz”

tried his best to determine the extent of the traffic at Mecca, but

in a country where the census is unknown, where every nobleman is an

independent ruler, and where the revenue cannot be calculated with

any degree of accuracy, he found it impossible to form even a working

hypothesis as to the number of human beings that are sold yearly in the

city of God. That the trade by sea is on the decrease is certain; but

many a slaver escapes from the clutch of the British cruisers owing

to the shallow waters of the Red Sea and to the fact that the pursuer

cannot go ashore. Moreover, the overland route is always open. Thus he

was told that the generality of the richer pilgrims commemorated the

sacramental journey by buying at least one slave, and often two. The

price varied. A woman-slave, if she were good to behold, fetched by

far the higher price--from £20 to £80. Men slaves could be bought for

sums varying from £15 to £40. The children-in-arms were sold with their

mothers, an act of mercy; but those that could feed themselves had to

take their chance. More often than not they were separated from their

mothers, which gave rise to scenes which many a sympathetic pilgrim

would willingly forget if he could.

It is the custom among the Muhammadans to change the names of their

newly-acquired property. Thus the slaves that go to Persia and to

Central Asia are called by the names of the flowers if they are

women, and by those of the precious stones if they are men. Of the

precious stones Turquoise and Cornelian are the most common. Flowers

and precious stones! Are they not men and women, O children of Islám,

and if they are, why do you not restore to them, in accordance with

the express commands of Muhammad, the Prophet, the breath that would

reanimate and the light that would redeem them?... “But zeal outruns

discretion. Here I end.”

INDEX

Aal, 276

Aaron, 61

Abbas, 274

Abdallah Ebn Omm Mactúm, 23

Abdullah Ansari, 303

Abdur Rahman Khan, 160

Abraham, 55, 115, 140, 166, 247

’Abd Allah Ibu Mas’ud, 261

Abú Amid, 166

Abú Bekr, 69, 113

Abú Ghobais, Mount, 257

Abú Hanifa, 115

Abú-Hurairah, 261

Abú Sa’íd al-Khadrí, 261

Abú Sophian, 70

Abú Yúsúf, 115

Abyssinia, 307

Adam, 131, 166

Afghan pilgrim, 259

Aghigheh sacrifice, 47, 272, 273

Ahia, 53

Ahmad Ebn Hanbal, 117

Ahmad Ebn Yúsúf, 93

Ahmad Muizz-u’d-Dawlat, 69

Ainé-Zobeideh, 224, 237

Albanians, 234, 235

Al Beyyid, 93

Alemeyn, 196, 203, 204, 252

Al-Farra of Bagh, 261

Algeria, 178

Al Hadi, 115

’Alí, Imám, his knighthood, 24, 25

----, his injunctions to traders, 45

----, traditions concerning him, 61

----, his wife, Fatima, Muhammad’s daughter, 69

----, his character as Caliph, 69, 70

----, as the “Lion of God,” 70, 71

----, his murder, 71

----, his name inscribed on the gates of the Harem, 113

Al-Káwthar, 59

Al-Khalíl, 55

Al Mutasem, Caliph, 117

Al Moakkibat, 129

Al Omreh, 252

Al Radí, Caliph, 117

Amin-ud-dowleh, 163

Amin-us-Surreh, 206

Amir-ul-Hájj-ul-Mesri, 206

Amir-ul-Hájj-ul-Shami, 206

Arab club, 109

Arab priest, blind, 88, 89

Arabs, 22, 24, 95, 96, 97, 98, 101, 104, 105, 108;

see also “Bedouins”

Arafat, 27, 56, 102, also Chapters IX., X., XI., Part II.

Arch of Beni Sheybeh, 130

Ardebil, 158

Aryan, 62, 75

Assyria, 71

Avicenna, 290

A’yáde-Ghadir, 60, 61, 62

Ayatu’l-Kúrsí, translated, 269, 270

Ayeshah, 55, 69, 70, 221

Azrail, 131

Bábághúlí, 47, 272, 273

Bábí rebellion, 164

Babylon, 102

Bagdad, 117

Baidáwí, 261

Balám, 60

Balsam of Mecca, 264, 265

Barbary, 116

Bashtar, 96

Baths, Muslim, 41, 50

Bedouins, 94-96, 103, 104, 189, 192-194, 210, 211, 213, 214, 219,

234, 235, 236, 263, 264, 265, 270, 272

Bedre, 264

Benares, 102

Behbehan, 276

Beni Amere, Bedouin tribe, 264

Beni Salem, Bedouin tribe, 270

Beni Shaibeh, gate, 168

Beni Subh, Bedouin tribe, 263, 264, 265

Black Stone, 131-135, 140, 167

Bombay, 180

Burkhardt, 226

Burton, Richard, 226

Cairo, 54, 111, 178

Calvinism, Welsh, 30

Caucasus, 90

Cholera, see Preface, also 83, 178, 179, 180, 181, 187, 203, 204,

212, 213, 284

Christ, 76

Compassing of the Ka’bah, 130-139

Constantinople, 54

Cover-design to the present volume, see “Bábághúlí”

Critic, his aim, 21

----, his attitude to the Kurán, 22

Day of Arafat, see Chapters IX., X, XI., Part II.

Day of the Repose of the Soul, see Chapter VII., Part II.

Day of Victims, see Chapter XII., Part II.

Date-trees, 265

Delhi, 24

Demavend, 281

Devil, see “Lapidation” and “Edris”

Edris, 131

Egyptian Mahmil, 220, 221, 241, 242, 245

Eshagh-ben-Amar, 44

Essraf, 245

Estakhareh, 38, 46, 285, 289, 290

Esteghfar, 134

Euphrates, 47, 71

Eve, 105, 106, 131

Family of the Tent, 72, 73, 75

Fará, 263

Fatihah, translated, 269

Fatima, 61, 69, 72

“Fotúhúl Haremeyn,” 138

Gabriel, angel of Revelations, 52-55, 60, 62, 76, 131, 166

Gaem, 106

Gala, 290

Gate of Peace, see “Salám Gate”

Gate of Purity, see “Safá Gate”

Ghadir, 68

Ghadre-Day, 52, 53, 54

Ghúl-hú-Allah, 134

Gibbon, 72, 73

Gold Spout, 127, 132, 136

Granada, 24

Hamadan, 275, 276, 278

Hamde, 134

Hanbalites, 116, 117, 118

Hanefites, 115, 248

Harb, Bedouin tribe, 104, 263, 264, 265, 270

Harem of Mecca, 112-120, 123-129, 134-141

Harem pigeons, 119, 167

Harun-ur-Rashid, Caliph, 115

Hasan, eldest son of Imám ’Alí, 71

Hashem, 75

Hashemites, 69, 75

Hashísh, 280, 281

Heddah, 103, 108

Hegira, 48

Hejaz, 91-101, 164, etc.

Henna, 283, 284

Hodi, 106

Hozail, Bedouin tribe, 194, 211

Hugo, Victor, 82

Huseyn, Imám, younger son of ’Alí, his knighthood, 25

----, his rules of etiquette, 34

----, his character, 71

----, his last stand, 73

----, his death, 73

----, mourned by the Persians, 74, 75

----, hero of the Persian Passion Drama, 76

----, receives the key of intercession from Muhammad, 77

Ihrám, pilgrims’ habit, 90, 93, 94, 165, 166

Indian Pilgrims, 198, 200, 222

Isfahán, 160

Ishmael, 55, 56, 167

Islám, social, 37, 38, 41-47, see Chap. VI., Part II., and also the

chapters of Part III.

Ismailia, 73

Israfil, 131

Jafar, Imám, 38, 42, 44, 46

Jammé Sakhra, 237

Jebelé-Nur, 182

Jesus, 55, 61

Jiddah, 89, 90, 93-101

Jinns, 276, 277

Jumádáu-’l-ákhir, 48

Jumádáu-’l-sání, 48

Jumádáu-’l-úlá, 48

Ka’bah, 28, 56, 60, 111, 112, 114, 115, 131, 134-141, 164-172, 251

Kadijah, 221

Karmata, 132

Karmatians, 132

Kashán, 160

Kazi of Mecca, 238, 242, 247

Kerbela, 72, 76, 274

Kesveh, 221, 222

Khadasieh, 24

Khaif, 191, 196, 252

Khayyám, Omar, 33, 159, 286

Khedevieh, 89

Kiblah, see “Mecca”

Kirmán, 88

Kitchen of Adam, 222

Kufa, 45, 71, 73, 76

Kuraish, 23, 24, 53, 115, 118, 166

Kurán, Geo. Robinson’s opinion of it, 21

----, refers to the Pilgrimage, 26-29

----, used as a talisman, 43

----, the third Súra, 54, 55

----, Chapter entitled “Man,” 62

----, its use in battle, 70

----, see “Fatihah,” and “Ayatu’l-Kursí”

----, Chapter entitled “Light,” 303

Kurb, King of Yemen, 221

Kurds, 234

Laili, 63

Lapidation of the Devil, 246, 247, 252

Lascars, 89

Lesseps, de, 83

Lote-tree, 41

Magrebis (Moroccans), 214, 217

Mahmil, 220, 221, 241, 242, 245;

see also “Syrian Mahmil”

Majnun, 63

Malay pilgrims, 194, 195, 196, 197

Malek Ebn Ans, 115, 116

Malekites, 115, 116

Malik, Guardian of Hell, 52

Marseilles, 82

Marshmallow, 41

Marveh, 142, 148-152, 252

Maseh (ablution), 34

Masher al haram, 174

Mecca, 29, 48, 68, 81, 103;

see also chapters of Part III.

Medina, 23, 48, 52, 68, 70, 72, 178, 227, 232, 233, 263

Meshireh, 52

Messiah, 106

Messina, 82

Michael, archangel, 131

Mina, 28, 55, 56, 148, 176;

see also Chap. XII., Part II.

Mizab, see “Gold Spout”

Moalla, 181

Moawiyah, 70, 71

Moghavems, 103, 176, 180, 182, 188, 194, 198, 209, 220

Morocco, 178;

see also “Maghrebis” Moses, 61

Mount Shíní, 110

Muezzin, 43, 48, 51, 237, 238, 266

Muhammad, the Prophet,

----, his sincerity, 22

----, “He Frowned,” 23

----, as a soldier, 24

----, his aims as reformer, 25

----, his declaration of God’s unity, 25

----, his view of Christianity, 25, 26

----, the sense he had of his mission, 26

----, his charity, 26

----, approves of the Pilgrimage, 27, 28, 29

----, his cornelian ring, 38

----, his reverence for chastity, 46

----, his ideal woman, 46

----, the festivals which he encouraged, 46, 47

----, on the moon of Rajab, 49

----, his victory over the Kuraish, 53

----, his pond in Paradise, 59

----, his secretary, Othmán, 69

----, his love for his grandson, Imám Huseyn, 73

----, hands over to Huseyn the key of intercession, 77

----, his political aims, 120

----, his highest conception of the Hereafter, 120

----, catechises Muaz, Governor of Yeman, 123

----, his patience, 124

----, his respect for knowledge, 124, 290

----, on the sevenfold compassing of the Ka’bah, 137

----, his loyalty to his first wife, Kadijah, 221

----, his flight from Mecca, 232

----, his kindness to animals, 287

----, his attitude to slavery, see Chap. V., Part III.

Muhammadan, months or moons, 47-62

----, Paradise, 58, 59, 120

----, Orthodox Sects, 115-120, 123, etc.

----, Mullás, 120, 123, 124, 125, etc.

----, Prayers, 126-152, 173, 174, 238

----, self-sacrifice, 137, 138, etc.

----, fortitude, 153, 154

----, beggars, 157

----, women, 46, 88, 94, 95, 148, 187, 188, 199, 200, 217, 306, 307,

308

----, musicians, 198, 199, 200

----, centralisation, 227

Muharram, 48, 62, 68, 69, 73

Munkar, 145, 146, 260, 271

Mussah-street, Mecca, 153, 257

Nahavend, 24

Nakhowales, 227, 232, 233

Nakir, 145, 146, 271

Napoleon, 23

Negro slaves, see Chap. V, Part III

Nessouh, 50, 51

Niyyat, 34, 133, 134, etc.

Noah, 44, 51

Nodbeh, 58

Nu’man Ibu Bashír, 261

Nún, 60

Nureh, 41

Obeidullah, Governor of Kufa, 71

Omar, second Caliph, 24, 69, 70, 74, 113

Ommiyah, 70

Othman, third Caliph, 69, 113

Owf, Bedouin tribe, 263

Paris, 82

Persian Passion-play, 75, 76, 77

---- character, at its best, 74, 75

---- character, according to Nassir, 108

---- character, according to Seyyid ’Alí, 108

---- witticisms, 109, 110

---- mysticism, 62-68, 109, 110

---- poem, 141, 142

---- story, 176; also Chap. III, Part III

---- humour, 186; also Chap. III, Part III

---- noblemen, 188, 189

---- fable, 205

---- Consul-General of Hejaz, 206, 227, 231

---- High-Priest of Teherán, 206

---- tents, 209

---- lullaby, 211

---- water-pipes, 224

---- seal-maker, 260, 261, 262

---- character, 272

---- parable, 273, 274

---- superstition, 275, 276, 277

---- satire, 286

Pilgrimage, conditions, 31, 32

----, the whole of the book Pilgrims, their number, 225, 226

----, the whole of the book

Port Said, 82, 83, 84

Purifications, 33, 34, 35

Queen of Egypt, a, 221

Robegh, 263, 264, 270

Rabíu-’l-avval, 48, 164, 165

Rabíu-’l-sáné, 48

Rajab, 48, 49, 50, 164

Ramazán, 48, 52, 53, 164

“Rewa,” 82

Rewards, of Pilgrimage, 51

Rezvan, Guardian of Paradise, 52

Robinson, George, 21

Rome, 303

Rukú, 36

Russian warships, 83

---- Muslim subjects, see Preface, 90

Sád Vaghas, 24

Safá Gate, 113, 146, 147, 148, 252

Safar, 48

Safaví kings, 68

Safrá, 263

Salám Gate, 113, 126, 129

Salim, 49

Salsabil, 150

Sandals, 93

Scorpio, 46

Sermon, the Kazi’s, 242-244

Seyyid ’Alí, plays an important part throughout Parts II. and III.

Seyyid Rúsé Kháns, 74, 77

Sha’bán, 48, 51, 52, 164

Sháfeis, 116, 117, 247

Shamer, 73

Shavvál, 26, 27, 48, 54

Sheríf of Mecca, 119, 164, 206, 209, 214, 220, 226, 231, 241, 242

Sheykh Mahmud, his tomb, 110

----, plain of, 181

Shi’ahs, Keep Ahia, 53

----, their marriages, 55

----, their Messiah, 55

----, their sacrifices, 57, 58

----, their superstitions, 60, 61, 62

----, their faith and early history, 68-77

----, their sacred river, 71

----, their emancipation in Mecca, 227, 228

----, their medical science, 290, 293

----, their funerals, 293, 294

Shiráz, 125, 281

“Siege of Metz,” 21

Sijdah, 36

Simon Peter, 61

Sinai, Mount, 52

Sinaitic Peninsula, 178

Shorthouse, J. H., 302

Slave Market, at Mecca, see Chap. V, Part III

Smyrna, 278

“Sorrow,” a Súfí song, 109

Suez, 84, 85, 86

Súfíism, 33, 62-68

Sultán, Suleymán, 118, 167

Sultan (Turkey), 119

Sunnis, see “Muhammadan Orthodox Sects,” also under the separate

headings of those Sects

Sureh sújdeh, 44, 182

Syrian caravan, 177, 220

---- Mahmil, 181, 220, 221, 241, 242

---- pilgrims, 181, 191, 220

---- bazaar, in Mecca, 257; see also Chap. II., Part III.

---- character, 272

Taghvím, 38, 289

Tahlil, 223

Tai, tribe, 72

Takbir, 134

Talbih, 128, 171, 174, 223

Talh’-tree, 295

Tamjid, 174

Tasnim, 150

Tayef, 131

Teamol, 137

Teherán, 54

Telha, 70

Tennyson, Lionel, 74

Tewaff, see “Compassing of Ka’bah”

Tripoli, 178

Tunis, 178

Turks, see “Orthodox Sects,” and also under “Muhammadan,” and 226,

227, etc.

Turkistán, 278

Ula, 246

Unitarians, 25, 26

Usury, 45

Vaghas, Sád, 24

Valley of Mina, see “Mina”

Viands, forbidden, 32, 33

Victims, 56, 57, 58

Vitr, 36

Wady Fatima, 283, 284

Wagner, 107

Wahabis, 236

Wusta, 246

Wuzú’h, 33, 35

Yazid, 71

Yemen, 71, 123, 165

Youm-ul-Arafat, Chapters IX., X., XI., Part II.

Youm-ul-Nahre, Chapter XII., Part II.

Youm-ul-Tarvih, Chapter VII., Part II.

Zaideh Gate, 114

Zakani, 88

Zanzibar, 145

Zem-Zem well, 116, 142, 145, 165, 257, 259

Zikat, 54, 304

Zobeir, 70

Zú-’l-hijjah, 26, 27, 28, 48, 55, 56, 60, 62, 173, 174, 175

Zú-’l-ka’dah, 26, 27, 48, 55

Transcriber’s Note

Clear printer’s errors have been corrected by the transcriber; as far

as possible, however, original spelling, punctuation, and accented

characters have been retained. All changes listed in the errata have

also been made.

In the printed book, images occupied whole pages. In this file, some

images have been moved from their original positions to avoid breaking

paragraphs; the page numbers in the table of illustrations have not

been changed.

In this file, text in _italics_ is indicated by underscores.