Prophet’s window. After straining my eyes for a time, the oil lamps
shedding but a dim light, I saw a narrow passage leading round the
chamber. The inner wall is variously represented to be made of stone
planking or unbaked bricks. One sees nothing but thin coverings, a
curtain of handsome silk and cotton brocade, green, with long white
letters worked into it. Upon the hangings were three inscriptions in
characters of gold, informing readers that behind there lie Allah’s
Prophet and the two first Caliphs. The exact place of Mohammed’s tomb
is, moreover, distinguished by a large pearl rosary and a peculiar
ornament, the celebrated Kankab el Durri, or constellation of pearls;
it is suspended breast high to the curtain. This is described to be a
“brilliant star set in diamonds and pearls” placed in the dark that
man’s eye may be able to endure its splendours; the vulgar believe it
to be a “jewel of the jewels of Paradise.” To me it suggested the
round glassy stoppers used for the humbler sort of decanters, but then
I think the same of the Koh-i-Nur.
I must allude to the vulgar story of Mohammed’s steel coffin suspended
in mid-air between two magnets. The myth has won a world-wide
reputation, yet Arabia has never heard of it. Travellers explain it in
two ways. Niebuhr supposes it to have risen from the rude ground-plan
drawings sold to strangers, and mistaken by them for elevations.
William Banks believes that the work popularly described as hanging
unsupported in the mosque of Omar at Jerusalem was confounded with the
Prophet’s tomb at El Medinah by Christians, who until very lately
could not have seen either of these Moslem shrines.
A book which I published upon the subject of my pilgrimage gives in
detail my reason for believing that the site of Mohammed’s sepulture
is doubtful as that of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem.[4] They are,
briefly, these four: From the earliest days the shape of the Prophet’s
tomb has never been generally known in El Islam. The accounts of the
grave given by the learned are discrepant. The guardianship of the
spot was long in the hands of schismatics (the Beni Husayu). And
lastly, I cannot but look upon the tale of the blinding light which
surrounds the Prophet’s tomb, current for ages past, and still
universally believed upon the authority of attendant eunuchs who must
know its falsehood as a priestly glory intended to conceal a defect.
To that book also I must refer my readers for a full description of
the minor holy places at El Medinah. They are about fifty in number,
and of these about a dozen are generally visited. The principal of
these are, first, El Bakia (the Country of the Saints), to the east of
the city; on the last day some seventy thousand, others say a hundred
thousand, holy men with faces like moons shall arise from it; the
second is the Apostle’s mosque at Kubas, the first temple built in El
Islam; and the third is a visitation to the tomb of Mohammed’s
paternal uncle, Hamzeh, the “Lord of Martyrs,” who was slain fighting
for the faith in A.D. 625.
A few observations concerning the little-known capital of the Northern
Hejaz may not be unacceptable.
Medinah El Nahi (the City of the Prophet) is usually called by
Moslems, for brevity, El Medinah, or the City by Excellence. It lies
between the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth degrees of north latitude,
corresponding therefore with Central Mexico; and being high raised
above the sea, it may be called a _tierra temprada_. My predecessor,
Burckhardt, found the water detestable. I thought it good. The winter
is long and rigorous, hence partly the fair complexion of its
inhabitants, who rival in turbulence and fanaticism their brethren of
Meccah.
El Medinah consists of three parts――a town, a castle, and a large
suburb. The population, when I visited it, ranged from sixteen
thousand to eighteen thousand souls, whereas Meccah numbered
forty-five thousand, and the garrison consisted of a half-battalion,
or four hundred men. Mohammed’s last resting-place has some fifteen
hundred hearths enclosed by a wall of granite and basalt in irregular
layers cemented with lime. It is pierced with four gates: the Syrian,
the Gate of Hospitality, the Friday, and the Egyptian. The two latter
are fine massive buildings, with double towers like the old Norman
portals, but painted with broad bands of red pillars and other flaring
colours. Except the Prophet’s mosque, there are few public buildings.
There are only four caravanserais, and the markets are long lines of
sheds, thatched with scorched and blackened palm-leaves. The streets
are what they should always be in torrid lands, dark, deep, narrow,
and rarely paved; they are generally of black earth, well watered and
trodden to harden. The houses appear well built for the East, of
square stone, flat roofed, double storied, and enclosing spacious
courtyards and small gardens, where water basins and trees and sheds
“cool the eye,” as Arabs say. Latticed balconies are here universal,
and the windows are mere holes in the walls provided with broad
shutters. The castle has stronger defences than the town, and inside
it a tall donjon tower bears, proudly enough, the banner of the
Crescent and the Star. Its whitewashed lines of wall render this
fortalice a conspicuous object, and guns pointing in all directions,
especially upon the town, make it appear a kind of Gibraltar to the
Bedouins.
For many reasons strangers become very much attached to El Medinah and
there end their lives. My servant, Shaykh Nur, opined it to be a very
“heavenly city.” Therefore the mass of the population is of foreign
extraction.
On August 28th arrived the great Damascus caravan, which sets out from
Constantinople bringing the presents of the Sublime Porte. It is the
main stream which absorbs all the small currents flowing at this
season of general movement from Central Asia towards the great centre
of the Islamitic world, and in 1853 it numbered about seven thousand
souls. It was anxiously expected at El Medinah for several reasons. In
the first place, it brought with it a new curtain for the Prophet’s
chamber, the old one being in a tattered condition; secondly, it had
charge of the annual stipends and pensions for the citizens; and
thirdly, many families had members returning under its escort to their
homes. The popular anxiety was greatly increased by the disordered
state of the country round about, and moreover the great caravan was a
day late. The Russian war had extended its excitement even into the
bowels of Arabia, and to travel eastward according to my original
intention was impossible.
For a day or two we were doubtful about which road the caravan would
take――the easy coast line or the difficult and dangerous eastern, or
desert, route. Presently Saad the robber shut his doors against us,
and we were driven perforce to choose the worse. The distance between
El Medinah and Meccah by the frontier way would be in round numbers
two hundred and fifty (two hundred and forty-eight) miles, and in the
month of September water promised to be exceedingly scarce and bad.
I lost no time in patching up my water-skins, in laying in a store of
provisions, and in hiring camels. Masad El Harbi, an old Bedouin,
agreed to let me have two animals for the sum of twenty dollars. My
host warned me against the treachery of the wild men, with whom it is
necessary to eat salt once a day. Otherwise they may rob the traveller
and plead that the salt is not in their stomachs.
Towards evening time on August 30th, El Medinah became a scene of
exceeding confusion in consequence of the departure of the pilgrims.
About an hour after sunset all our preparations were concluded. The
evening was sultry; we therefore dined outside the house. I was told
to repair to the shrine for the ziyarat el widoa, or the farewell
visitation. My decided objection to this step was that we were all to
part, and where to meet again we knew not. I therefore prayed a
two-prostration prayer, and facing towards the haram recited the usual
supplication. We sat up till 2 p.m. when, having heard no signal gun,
we lay down to sleep through the hot remnant of the hours of darkness.
Thus was spent my last night at the City of the Prophet.
[1] “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” chap. i.
[2] _Vide_ Burton’s “Pilgrimage to El Medinah and Meccah,”
chap. iii.
[3] _Ibid._, chap. vi.
[4] “Pilgrimage to El Medinah and Meccah,” by Richard F. Burton.
II
_THE PILGRIMAGE TO MECCAH_
On Wednesday, August 31st, 1853, I embraced my good host, Shaykh
Hamid, who had taken great trouble to see me perfectly provided for
the journey. Shortly after leaving El Medinah we all halted and turned
to take a last farewell. All the pilgrims dismounted and gazed long
and wistfully at the venerable minarets and the Prophet’s green
dome――spots upon which their memories would ever dwell with a fond and
yearning interest.
We hurried after the Damascus caravan, and presently fell into its
wake. Our line was called the Darb el Sharki, or eastern road. It owes
its existence to the piety of Zubaydah Khatun, wife of the well-known
Harun el Rashid. That esteemed princess dug wells, built tanks, and
raised, we are told, a wall with occasional towers between Bagdad and
Meccah, to guide pilgrims over the shifting sands. Few vestiges of all
this labour remained in the year of grace 1853.
Striking is the appearance of the caravan as it draggles its slow
length along
The golden desert glittering through
The subtle veil of beams,
as the poet of “Palm-leaves” has it. The sky is terrible in its
pitiless splendours and blinding beauty while the simoon, or wind of
the wild, caresses the cheek with the flaming breath of a lion. The
filmy spray of sand and the upseething of the atmosphere, the
heat-reek and the dancing of the air upon the baked surface of the
bright yellow soil, blending with the dazzling blue above, invests the
horizon with a broad band of deep dark green, and blurs the gaunt
figures of the camels, which, at a distance, appear strings of
gigantic birds.
There are evidently eight degrees of pilgrims. The lowest walk,
propped on heavy staves; these are the itinerant coffee-makers,
sherbet sellers, and tobacconists, country folks driving flocks of
sheep and goats with infinite clamour and gesticulation, negroes from
distant Africa, and crowds of paupers, some approaching the supreme
hour, but therefore yearning the more to breathe their last in the
Holy City. Then come the humble riders of laden camels, mules, and
asses, which the Bedouin, who clings baboon-like to the hairy back of
his animal, despises, saying:――
Honourable to the rider is the riding of the horse;
But the mule is a dishonour, and a donkey a disgrace.
Respectable men mount dromedaries, or blood-camels, known by their
small size, their fine limbs, and their large deer-like eyes: their
saddles show crimson sheep-skins between tall metal pommels, and these
are girthed over fine saddle-bags, whose long tassels of bright
worsted hang almost to the ground. Irregular soldiers have
picturesquely equipped steeds. Here and there rides some old Arab
shaykh, preceded by his varlets performing a war-dance, compared with
which the bear’s performance is graceful, firing their duck-guns in
the air, or blowing powder into the naked legs of those before them,
brandishing their bared swords, leaping frantically with
parti-coloured rags floating in the wind, and tossing high their long
spears. Women, children, and invalids of the poorer classes sit upon
rugs or carpets spread over the large boxes that form the camel’s
load. Those a little better off use a shibriyah, or short coat,
fastened crosswise. The richer prefer shugduf panniers with an awning
like a miniature tent. Grandees have led horses and gorgeously painted
takhtrawan――litters like the bangué of Brazil――borne between camels or
mules with scarlet and brass trappings. The vehicle mainly regulates
the pilgrim’s expenses, which may vary from five pounds to as many
thousands.
I will not describe the marches in detail: they much resemble those
between Yambu and El Medinah. We nighted at two small villages, El
Suwayrkiyah and El Suyayna, which supplied a few provisions to a
caravan of seven thousand to eight thousand souls. For the most part
it is a haggard land, a country of wild beasts and wilder men, a
region whose very fountains murmur the warning words, “Drink and
away,” instead of “Rest and be thankful.” In other places it is a
desert peopled only with echoes, an abode of death for what little
there is to die in it, a waste where, to use an Arab phrase, “La Siwa
Hu”――“There is none but HE.” Gigantic sand columns whirl over the
plains, the horizon is a sea of mirage, and everywhere Nature, flayed
and scalped, discovers her skeleton to the gazer’s eye.
We passed over many ridges of rough black basalt, low plains, and
basins white with nitrous salt, acacia barrens where litters were torn
off the camels’ backs by the strong thorns, and domes and streets of
polished rock. Now we travelled down dry torrent-beds of extreme
irregularity, then we wended our way along cliffs castellated as if by
men’s hand, and boulders and pillars of coarse-grained granite,
sometimes thirty feet high. Quartz abounded, and the country may have
contained gold, but here the superficial formation has long since been
exhausted. In Arabia, as in the East Indies, the precious metal still
lingers. At Cairo in 1854 I obtained good results by washing sand
brought from the coast of the Red Sea north of Wijh. My plan for
working was rendered abortive by a certain dictum, since become a
favourite with the governing powers in England――namely, “Gold is
getting too plentiful.”
Few animals except vultures and ravens meet the eye. Once, however, we
enjoyed a grand spectacle. It was a large yellow lion, somewhat white
about the points――a sign of age――seated in a statuesque pose upon a
pedestal of precipitous rock by the wayside, and gazing upon the
passing spectacle as if monarch of all he surveyed. The caravan
respected the wild beast, and no one molested it. The Bedouin of
Arabia has a curious custom when he happens to fall in with a lion: he
makes a profound salaam, says many complimentary things, and begs his
majesty not to harm a poor man with a large family. If the brute be
not hungry, the wayfarer is allowed to pass on; the latter, however,
is careful when returning to follow another path. “The father of
roaring,” he remarks, “has repented of having missed a meal.”
On Friday, September 9th, we encamped at Zaribah, two marches, or
forty-seven miles, from Meccah. This being the north-eastern limit of
the sanctuary, we exchanged our everyday dress for the pilgrim garb,
which is known as el ihrám, or mortification. Between the noontide and
the afternoon prayers our heads were shaved, our beards and nails
trimmed, and we were made to bathe. We then put on the attire which
seems to be the obsolete costume of the ancient Arabs. It consists of
two cotton cloths, each six feet long by three or four feet wide,
white, with narrow red stripes and fringes――in fact, that adopted in
the Turkish baths of London. One of these sheets is thrown over the
back and is gathered at the right side, the arm being left exposed.
The waistcloth extends like a belt to the knee, and, being tucked in
at the waist, supports itself. The head is bared to the rabid sun, and
the insteps, which must also be left naked, suffer severely.
Thus equipped, we performed a prayer of two prostrations, and recited
aloud the peculiar formula of pilgrimage called Talbiyat. In Arabic it
is:
_Labbayk, ’Allahumma, Labbayk!
La Sharika laka. Labbayk!
Jun ’al Hamda wa’ n’ Niamata laka w’ al Mulh!
La Sharika laka. Labbayk!_
which I would translate thus:
_Here I am, O Allah, here am I!
No partner hast thou. Here am I!
Verily the praise and the grace are thine, and the kingdom!
No partner hast thou. Here am I._
The director of our consciences now bade us be good pilgrims, avoiding
quarrels, abusive language, light conversation, and all immorality. We
must religiously respect the sanctuary of Meccah by sparing the trees
and avoiding to destroy animal life, excepting, however, the “five
instances,”――a crow, a kite, a rat, a scorpion, and a biting dog. We
must abstain from washes and perfumes, oils, dyes, and cosmetics; we
must not pare the nails nor shave, pluck or cut the hair, nor must we
tie knots in our garments. We were forbidden to cover our heads with
turban or umbrella, although allowed to take advantage of the shade,
and ward off the sun with our hands. And for each infraction of these
ordinances we were commanded to sacrifice a sheep.
The women followed our example. This alone would disprove the baseless
but wide-world calumny which declares that El Islam recognises no soul
in, and consequently no future for, the opposite sex. The Early
Fathers of the Christian Church may have held such tenet, the
Mohammedans never. Pilgrimesses exchange the lisam――that coquettish
fold of thin white muslin which veils, but does not hide, the
mouth――for a hideous mask of split, dried, and plaited palm-leaves
pierced with bull’s-eyes to admit the light. This ugly mask is worn
because the veil must not touch the features. The rest of the outer
garment is a long sheet of white cotton, covering the head and falling
to the heels. We could hardly help laughing when these queer ghostly
figures first met our sight, and, to judge from the shaking of their
shoulders, they were as much amused as we were.
In mid-afternoon we left Zaribah, and presently it became apparent
that although we were forbidden to take lives of others, others were
not prevented from taking _ours_. At 5 p.m. we came upon a wide, dry
torrent-bed, down which we were to travel all night. It was a
cut-throat place, with a stony, precipitous buttress on the right,
faced by a grim and barren slope. Opposite us the way seemed to be
barred by piles of hills, crest rising above crest in the far blue
distance. Day still smiled upon the upper peaks, but the lower grounds
and the road were already hung with sombre shade.
A damp fell upon our spirits as we neared this “Valley Perilous.” The
voices of the women and children sank into deep silence, and the loud
“Labbayk!” which the male pilgrims are ordered to shout whenever
possible, was gradually stilled.
The cause soon became apparent. A small curl of blue smoke on the
summit of the right-hand precipice suddenly caught my eye, and,
simultaneously with the echoing crack of the matchlock, a dromedary in
front of me, shot through the heart, rolled on the sands. The Utajbah,
bravest and most lawless of the brigand tribes of the Moslem’s Holy
Land, were determined to boast that on such and such a night they
stopped the Sultan’s caravan one whole hour in the pass.
There ensued a scene of terrible confusion. Women screamed, children
cried, and men vociferated, each one striving with might and main to
urge his animal beyond the place of death. But the road was narrow and
half-choked with rocks and thorny shrubs; the vehicles and animals
were soon jammed into a solid and immovable mass, whilst at every shot
a cold shudder ran through the huge body. Our guard, the irregular
horsemen, about one thousand in number, pushed up and down perfectly
useless, shouting to and ordering one another. The Pacha of the
soldiers had his carpet spread near the precipice, and over his pipe
debated with the officers about what should be done. No one seemed to
whisper, “Crown the heights.”
Presently two or three hundred Wahhabis――mountaineers of Tebel Shammar
in North-Eastern Arabia――sprang from their barebacked camels, with
their elf-locks tossing in the wind, and the flaming matches of their
guns casting a lurid light over their wild features. Led by the Sherif
Zayd, a brave Meccan noble, who, happily for us, was present, they
swarmed up the steep, and the robbers, after receiving a few shots,
retired to fire upon our rear.
Our forced halt was now exchanged for a flight, and it required much
tact to guide our camels clear of danger. Whoever and whatever fell,
remained on the ground; that many were lost became evident from the
boxes and baggage which strewed the shingles. I had no means of
ascertaining our exact number of killed and wounded; reports were
contradictory, and exaggeration was unanimous. The robbers were said
to be one hundred and fifty in number. Besides honour and glory, they
looked forward to the loot, and to a feast of dead camel.
We then hurried down the valley in the blackness of night, between
ribbed precipices, dark and angry. The torch smoke and the night fires
formed a canopy sable above and livid below, with lightning-flashes
from the burning shrubs and grim crowds hurrying as if pursued by the
Angel of Death. The scene would have suited the theatrical canvas of
Doré.
At dawn we issued from the Perilous Pass into the Wady Laymun, or
Valley of Limes. A wondrous contrast! Nothing can be more soothing to
the brain than the rich green foliage of its pomegranates and other
fruit-trees, and from the base of the southern hills bursts a babbling
stream whose
_Chiare fresche e dolci acque_
flow through the garden, cooling the pure air, and filling the ear
with the most delicious of melodies, the gladdest sound which nature
in these regions knows.
At noon we bade adieu to the charming valley, which, since remote
times, has been a favourite resort of the Meccan citizens.
At sunset we recited the prayers suited to the occasion, straining our
eyes, but all in vain, to catch sight of Meccah. About 1 a.m. I was
aroused by a general excitement around me.
“Meccah! Meccah!” cried some voices. “The sanctuary, oh, the
sanctuary!” exclaimed others, and all burst into loud “Labbayk!” not
infrequently broken by sobs. With a heartfelt “Alhamdu lillah,” I
looked from my litter and saw under the chandelier of the Southern
Cross the dim outlines of a large city, a shade darker than the
surrounding plain.
A cool east wind met us, showing that it was raining in the Taif
hills, and at times sheet lightning played around the Prophet’s
birthplace――a common phenomenon, which Moslems regard as the testimony
of Heaven to the sanctity of the spot.
Passing through a deep cutting, we entered the northern suburb of our
destination. Then I made to the Shamiyah, or Syrian quarter, and
finally, at 2 a.m., I found myself at the boy Mohammed’s house. We
arrived on the morning of Sunday, September 11th, 1853, corresponding
with Zu’l Hijjah 6th, 1269. Thus we had the whole day to spend in
visiting the haram, and a quiet night before the opening of the true
pilgrim season, which would begin on the morrow.
The morrow dawned. After a few hours of sleep and a ceremonial
ablution, we donned the pilgrim garb, and with loud and long
“Labbayk!” we hastened to the Bayt Ullah, or House of Allah, as the
great temple of Meccah is called.
At the bottom of our street was the outer Bab El Salam, or Gate of
Security, looking towards the east, and held to be, of all the
thirty-nine, the most auspicious entrance for a first visit.
Here we descended several steps, for the level of the temple has been
preserved, whilst the foundations of the city have been raised by the
decay of ages. We then passed through a shady colonnade divided into
aisles, here four, and in the other sides three, pillars deep. These
cloisters are a forest of columns upwards of five hundred and fifty in
number, and in shape and material they are as irregular as trees. The
outer arches of the colonnade are ogives, and every four support a
small dome like half an orange, and white with plaster: some reckon
one hundred and twenty, others one hundred and fifty, and Meccan
superstition declares they cannot be counted. The rear of the
cloisters rests upon an outer wall of cut stone, finished with
pinnacles, or Arab battlements, and at different points in it rise
seven minarets. These are tall towers much less bulky than ours,
partly in facets, circular, and partly cylindrical, built at distinct
epochs, and somewhat tawdrily banded with gaudy colours.
This vast colonnade surrounds a large unroofed and slightly irregular
oblong, which may be compared with an exaggeration of the Palais
Royal, Paris. This sanded area is six hundred and fifty feet long by
five hundred and twenty-five broad, dotted with small buildings
grouped round a common centre, and is crossed by eight narrow lines of
flagged pavement. Towards the middle of it, one hundred and fifteen
paces from the northern colonnade and eighty-eight from the southern,
and based upon an irregularly oval pavement of fine close grey gneiss,
or granite, rises the far-famed Kaabah, or inner temple, its funereal
pall contrasting vividly with the sunlit walls and the yellow
precipices of the city.