plans and hopes of many and many a year! This, then, is the kibbal, or
direction, towards which every Moslem has turned in prayer since the
days of Mohammed, and which for long ages before the birth of
Christianity was reverenced by the patriarchs of the East.
No wonder that the scene is one of the wildest excitement! Here are
worshippers clinging to the curtain and sobbing as though their hearts
would break; here some poor wretch with arms thrown high, so that his
beating breast may touch the stone of the house, appears ready to
faint, and there men prostrate themselves on the pavement, rubbing
their foreheads against the stones, shedding floods of tears, and
pouring forth frenzied ejaculations. The most careless, indeed, never
contemplate it for the first time without fear and awe. There is a
popular jest against new-comers that in the presence of the Kaabah
they generally inquire the direction of prayer, although they have all
their lives been praying towards it as the early Christian fronted
Jerusalem.
But we must look more critically at the celebrated shrine.
The word Kaabah means a cube, a square, a _maison carrée_. It is
called Bayt Ullah (House of God) because according to the Koran it is
“certainly the first temple erected for mankind.” It is also known as
the “Bride of Meccah,” probably from the old custom of typifying the
Church Visible by a young married woman――hence probably its face-veil,
its covering, and its guard of eunuchs. Externally it is a low tower
of fine grey granite laid in horizontal courses of irregular depth;
the stones are tolerably fitted, and are not cemented. It shows no
signs of decay, and indeed, in its present form, it dates only from
1627. The shape is rather a trapezoid than a square, being forty feet
long by thirty-five broad and forty-five high, the flat roof having a
cubit of depression from south-west to north-east, where a gold or
gilt spout discharges the drainage. The foundation is a marble base
two feet high, and presents a sharp inclined plane.
All the Kaabah except the roof is covered with a kiswatu garment. It
is a pall-like hanging, the work of a certain family at Cairo, and
annually renewed. The ground is dully black, and Koranic verses
interwoven into it are shining black. There is a door curtain of gold
thread upon red silk, and a bright band of similar material, called
the face-veil of the house, two feet broad, runs horizontally round
the Kaabah at two-thirds of its height. This covering when new is
tucked up by ropes from the roof; when old it is fastened to large
metal rings welded into the basement of the building. When this
peculiar adjunct to the shrine is swollen and moved by the breeze,
pious Moslems believe that angels are waving their wings over it.
The only entrance to the Kaabah is a narrow door of aloe wood, in the
eastern side. It is now raised seven feet, and one enters it hoisted
up in men’s arms. In A.D. 686, when the whole building took its
present shape, it was level with the external ground. The Kaabah opens
gratis ten or twelve times a year, when crowds rush in and men lose
their lives. Wealthy pilgrims obtain the favour by paying for it.
Scrupulous Moslems do not willingly enter it, as they may never
afterwards walk about barefooted, take up fire with their fingers, or
tell lies. It is not every one who can afford such luxuries as
slippers, tongs, and truth. Nothing is simpler than the interior of
the building. The walls are covered with handsome red damask, flowered
over with gold, tucked up beyond the pilgrim’s reach. The flat roof
apparently rests upon three posts of carved and ornamented aloe wood.
Between the three pillars, and about nine feet from the ground, run
metal bars, to which hang lamps, said to be gold. At the northern
corner there is a dwarf door; it leads into a narrow passage and to
the dwarf staircase by which the servants ascend to the roof. In the
south-eastern corner is a quadrant-shaped sofa, also of aloe wood, and
on it sits the guardian of the shrine.
The Hajar el Aswad, or black stone, of which all the world talks, is
fixed in the south-eastern angle outside the house, between four and
five feet from the ground, the more conveniently to be kissed. It
shows a black and slaggy surface, glossy and pitch-like, worn and
polished by myriads of lips; its diameter is about seven inches, and
it appears only in the central aperture of a gilt or gold dish. The
depth to which it extends into the wall is unknown: most people say
two cubits.
Believers declare, with poetry, if not with reason, that in the day of
Atast, when Allah made covenant concerning the souls that animate the
sons of Adam, the instrument was placed in a fragment of the lower
heaven, then white as snow, now black by reason of men’s sins. The
rationalistic infidel opines this sacred corner-stone to be a common
aerolite, a remnant of the stone-worship which considered it the
symbol of power presiding over universal reproduction, and inserted by
Mohammed into the edifice of El Islam. This relic has fared ill; it
has been stolen and broken, and has suffered other accidents.
Another remarkable part of the Kaabah is that between the door and the
black stone. It is called the multazem, or “attached to,” because here
the pilgrim should apply his bosom, weep bitterly, and beg pardon for
his sins. In ancient times, according to some authors, it was the
place for contracting solemn engagements.
The pavement which surrounds the Kaabah is about eight inches high,
and the inside is marked by an oval balustrade of some score and a
half of slender gilt metal pillars. Between every two of these cross
rods support oil lamps, with globes of white and green glasses. Gas is
much wanted at Meccah! At the north end, and separated by a space of
about five feet from the building, is El Hatrim, or the “broken,” a
dwarf semi-circular wall, whose extremities are on a line with the
sides of the Kaabah. In its concavity are two slabs of a finer stone,
which cover the remains of Ishmael, and of his mother Hagar. The
former, I may be allowed to remark, is regarded by Moslems as the
eldest son and legitimate successor of Abraham, in opposition to the
Jews, who prefer Isaac, the child of Sarai the free woman. It is an
old dispute and not likely to be soon settled.
Besides the Kaabah, ten minor structures dot the vast quadrangle. The
most important is the massive covering of the well Zemzem. The word
means “the murmuring,” and here the water gushed from the ground where
the child Ishmael was shuffling his feet in the agonies of thirst. The
supply is abundant, but I found it nauseously bitter; its external
application, however, when dashed like a douche over the pilgrim,
causes sins to fall from his soul like dust.
On the south-east, and near the well, are the Kubbatayn, two domes
crowning heavy ugly buildings, vulgarly painted with red, green, and
yellow bands; one of these domes is used as a library. Directly
opposite the Kaabah door is a short ladder or staircase of carved
wood, which is wheeled up to the entrance door on the rare occasions
when it is opened. North of it is the inner Bab El Salam, or Gate of
Security, under which the pilgrims pass in their first visit to the
shrine. It is a slightly built and detached arch of stone, about
fifteen feet of space in width and eighteen in height, somewhat like
our meaningless triumphal arches, which come from no place and go
nowhere. Between this and the Kaabah stands the Makam Ibraham, or
Station of Abraham, a small building containing the stone which
supported the Friend of Allah when he was building the house. It
served for a scaffold, rising and falling of itself as required, and
it preserved the impressions of Abraham’s feet, especially of the two
big toes. Devout and wealthy pilgrims fill the cavities with water,
which they rub over their eyes and faces with physical as well as
spiritual refreshment. To the north of it is a fine white marble
pulpit with narrow steps leading to the preacher’s post, which is
supported by a gilt and sharply tapering steeple. Lastly, opposite the
northern, the western, and the south-eastern sides of the Kaabah,
stand three ornamental pavilions, with light sloping roofs resting on
slender pillars. From these the representatives of the three orthodox
schools direct the prayers of their congregations. The Shafli, or
fourth branch, collect between the corner of the well Zemzem and the
Station of Abraham, whilst the heretical sects lay claim to certain
mysterious and invisible places of reunion.
I must now describe what the pilgrims do.
Entering with the boy Mohammed, who acted as my mutawwif, or circuit
guide, we passed through the inner Gate of Security, uttering various
religious formulas, and we recited the usual two-prostration prayer in
honour of the mosque at the Shafli place of worship. We then proceeded
to the angle of the house, in which the black stone is set, and there
recited other prayers before beginning tawaf, or circumambulation. The
place was crowded with pilgrims, all males――women rarely appear during
the hours of light. Bareheaded and barefooted they passed the giant
pavement, which, smooth as glass and hot as sun can make it, surrounds
the Kaabah, suggesting the idea of perpetual motion. Meccans declare
that at no time of the day or night is the place ever wholly deserted.
Circumambulation consists of seven shauts, or rounds, of the house, to
which the left shoulder is turned, and each noted spot has its
peculiar prayers. The three first courses are performed at a brisk
trot, like the French _pas gymnastique_. The four latter are leisurely
passed. The origin of this custom is variously accounted for. The
general idea is that Mohammed directed his followers thus to show
themselves strong and active to the infidels, who had declared them to
have been weakened by the air of El Medinah.
When I had performed my seven courses I fought my way through the
thin-legged host of Bedouins, and kissed the black stone, rubbing my
hands and forehead upon it. There were some other unimportant
devotions, which concluded with a douche at the well Zemzem, and with
a general almsgiving. The circumambulation ceremony is performed
several times in the day, despite the heat. It is positive torture.
The visit to the Kaabah, however, does not entitle a man to be called
haji. The essence of pilgrimage is to be present at the sermon
pronounced by the preacher on the Holy Hill of Arafat, distant about
twelve miles from, and to the east of, Meccah. This performed even in
a state of insensibility is valid, and to die by the roadside is
martyrdom, saving all the pains and penalties of the tomb.
The visit, however, must be paid on the 8th, 9th, and the 10th of the
month Zu’l Hijjah (the Lord of Pilgrimage), the last month of the Arab
year. At this time there is a great throb through the framework of
Moslem society from Gibraltar to Japan, and those who cannot visit the
Holy City content themselves with prayers and sacrifices at home. As
the Moslem computation is lunar, the epoch retrocedes through the
seasons in thirty-three years. When I visited Meccah, the rites began
on September 12th and ended on September 14th, 1853. In 1863 the
opening day was June 8th; the closing, June 10th.
My readers will observe that the modern pilgrimage ceremonies of the
Moslem are evidently a commemoration of Abraham and his descendants.
The practices of the Father of the Faithful when he issued from the
land of Chaldea seem to have formed a religious standard in the mind
of the Arab law-giver, who preferred Abraham before all the other
prophets, himself alone excepted.
The day after our arrival at Meccah was the Yaum El Tarwiyah (the Day
of Carrying Water), the first of the three which compose the
pilgrimage season proper. From the earliest dawn the road was densely
thronged with white-robed votaries, some walking, others mounted, and
all shouting “Labbayk!” with all their might. As usual the scene was
one of strange contrasts. Turkish dignitaries on fine horses, Bedouins
bestriding swift dromedaries, the most uninteresting soldiery, and the
most conspicuous beggars. Before nightfall I saw no less than five
exhausted and emaciated devotees give up the ghost and become
“martyrs.”
The first object of interest lies on the right-hand side of the road.
This was a high conical hill, known in books as Tebel Hora, but now
called Tebel Nur, or Mountain of Light, because there Mohammed’s mind
was first illuminated. The Cave of Revelation is still shown. It looks
upon a wild scene. Eastward and southward the vision is limited by
abrupt hills. In the other directions there is a dreary landscape,
with here and there a stunted acacia or a clump of brushwood growing
on rough ground, where stony glens and valleys of white sand, most of
them water-courses after the rare rains, separate black, grey, and
yellow rocks.
Passing over El Akabah (the Steeps), an important spot in classical
Arab history, we entered Muna, a hot hollow three or four miles from
the barren valley of Meccah. It is a long, narrow, straggling village
of mud and stone houses, single storied and double storied, built in
the common Arab style. We were fated to see it again. At noon we
passed Mugdalifah, or the Approacher, known to El Islam as the Minaret
without the Mosque, and thus distinguished from a neighbouring
building, the Mosque without the Minaret. There is something
peculiarly impressive in the tall, solitary, tower springing from the
desolate valley of gravel. No wonder that the old Arab conquerors
loved to give the high-sounding name of this oratory to distant points
in their extensive empire!
Here, as we halted for the noon prayer, the Damascus caravan appeared
in all its glory. The mahmal, or litter, sent by the Sultan to
represent his presence, no longer a framework as on the line of march,
now flashed in the sun all gold and green, and the huge white camel
seemed to carry it with pride. Around the moving host of peaceful
pilgrims hovered a crowd of mounted Bedouins armed to the teeth. These
people often visit Arafat for blood revenge; nothing can be more
sacrilegious than murder at such a season, but they find the enemy
unprepared. As their draperies floated in the wind and their faces
were swathed and veiled with their head-kerchiefs, it was not always
easy to distinguish the sex of the wild beings who hurried past at
speed. The women were unscrupulous, and many were seen emulating the
men in reckless riding, and in striking with their sticks at every
animal in their way.
Presently, after safely threading the gorge called the pass of the Two
Rugged Hills, and celebrated for accidents, we passed between the two
“signs”――whitewashed pillars, or, rather, tall towers, their walls
surmounted with pinnacles. They mark the limits of the Arafat
Plain――the Standing-Ground, as it is called. Here is sight of the Holy
Hill of Arafat, standing boldly out from the fair blue sky, and backed
by the azure peaks of Taif. All the pilgrim host raised loud shouts of
“Labbayk!” The noise was that of a storm.
We then sought our quarters in the town of tents scattered over two or
three miles of plain at the southern foot of the Holy Hill, and there
we passed a turbulent night of prayer.
I estimated the total number of devotees to be fifty thousand; usually
it may amount to eighty thousand. The Arabs, however, believe that the
total of those “standing on Arafat” cannot be counted, and that if
less than six hundred thousand human beings are gathered, the angels
descend and make up the sum. Even in A.D. 1853 my Moslem friends
declared that a hundred and fifty thousand immortal beings were
present in mortal shape.
The Mount of Mercy, which is also called Tebel Ilál, or Mount of
Wrestling in Prayer, is physically considered a mass of coarse
granite, split into large blocks and thinly covered with a coat of
withered thorns. It rises abruptly to a height of a hundred and eighty
to two hundred feet from the gravelly flat, and it is separated by a
sandy vale from the last spur of the Taif hills. The dwarf wall
encircling it gives the barren eminence a somewhat artificial look,
which is not diminished by the broad flight of steps winding up the
southern face, and by the large stuccoed platform near the summit,
where the preacher delivers the “Sermon of the Standing.”
Arafat means “recognition,” and owes its name and honours to a
well-known legend. When our first parents were expelled from Paradise,
which, according to Moslems, is in the lowest of the seven heavens,
Adam descended at Ceylon, Eve upon Arafat. The former, seeking his
wife, began a journey to which the earth owes its present mottled
appearance. Wherever he placed his foot a town arose in the fulness of
time; between the strides all has remained country. Wandering for many
years he came to the Holy Hill of Arafat, the Mountain of Mercy, where
our common mother was continually calling upon his name, and their
recognition of each other there gave the place its name. Upon the
hill-top, Adam, instructed by the Archangel Gabriel, erected a
prayer-station, and in its neighbourhood the pair abode until death.
It is interesting to know that Adam’s grave is shown at Muna, the
village through which we had passed that day. The mosque covering his
remains is called El Kharf; his head is at one end of the long wall,
his feet are at the other, and the dome covers his middle. Our first
father’s forehead, we are told, originally brushed the skies, but this
stature being found inconvenient, it was dwarfed to a hundred and
fifty feet. Eve, again, is buried near the port of Meccah――Jeddah,
which means the “grandmother.” She is supposed to lie, like a
Moslemah, fronting the Kaabah, with her head southwards, her feet to
the north, and her right cheek resting on her right hand. Whitewashed
and conspicuous to the voyager from afar is the dome opening to the
west, and covering a square stone fancifully carved to represent her
middle. Two low parallel walls about eighteen feet apart define the
mortal remains of our mother, who, as she measured a hundred and
twenty paces from head to waist and eighty from waist to heel, must
have presented in life a very peculiar appearance. The archæologist
will remember that the great idol of Jeddah in the age of the Arab
litholatry was a “long stone.”
The next day, the 9th of the month Zu’l Hijjah, is known as Yaum
Arafat (the Day of Arafat). After ablution and prayer, we visited
sundry interesting places on the Mount of Mercy, and we breakfasted
late and copiously, as we could not eat again before nightfall. Even
at dawn the rocky hill was crowded with pilgrims, principally Bedouins
and wild men, who had secured favourable places for hearing the
discourse. From noon onwards the hum and murmur of the multitude waxed
louder, people swarmed here and there, guns fired, and horsemen and
camelmen rushed about in all directions. A discharge of cannon about 2
p.m. announced that the ceremony of wukuf, or standing on the Holy
Hill, was about to commence.
The procession was headed by the retinue of the Sherif, or Prince, of
Meccah, the Pope of El Islam. A way for him was cleared through the
dense mob of spectators by a cloud of macebearers and by horsemen of
the desert carrying long bamboo spears tufted with black ostrich
feathers. These were followed by led horses, the proudest blood of
Arabia, and by a stalwart band of negro matchlock men. Five red and
green flags immediately preceded the Prince, who, habited in plain
pilgrim garb, rode a fine mule. The only sign of his rank was a fine
green silk and gold umbrella, held over his head by one of his slaves.
He was followed by his family and courtiers, and the rear was brought
up by a troop of Bedouins on horses and dromedaries. The picturesque
background of the scene was the granite hill, covered, wherever foot
could be planted, with half-naked devotees, crying “Labbayk!” at the
top of their voices, and violently waving the skirts of their gleaming
garments. It was necessary to stand literally upon Arafat, but we did
not go too near, and a little way off sighted the preacher sitting,
after the manner of Mohammed, on his camel and delivering the sermon.
Slowly the _cortège_ wound its way towards the Mount of Mercy. Exactly
at afternoon prayer-time, the two mahmal, or ornamental litters, of
Damascus and Cairo, took their station side by side on a platform in
the lower part of the hill. A little above them stood the Prince of
Meccah, within hearing of the priest. The pilgrims crowded around
them. The loud cries were stilled, and the waving of white robes
ceased.
Then the preacher began the “Sermon of the Mount,” which teaches the
devotees the duties of the season. At first it was spoken without
interruption; then: loud “Amin” and volleys of “Labbayk” exploded at
certain intervals. At last the breeze became laden with a purgatorial
chorus of sobs, cries, and shrieks. Even the Meccans, who, like the
sons of other Holy Cities, are hardened to holy days, thought it
proper to appear affected, and those unable to squeeze out a tear
buried their faces in the corners of their pilgrim cloths. I buried
mine――at intervals.
The sermon lasted about three hours, and when sunset was near, the
preacher gave the israf, or permission to depart. Then began that
risky part of the ceremony known as the “hurrying from Arafat.” The
pilgrims all rushed down the Mount of Mercy with cries like trumpet
blasts, and took the road to Muna. Every man urged his beast to the
uttermost over the plain, which bristled with pegs, and was strewn
with struck tents. Pedestrians were trampled, litters were crushed,
and camels were thrown; here a woman, there a child, was lost, whilst
night coming on without twilight added to the chaotic confusion of the
scene. The pass of the Two Rugged Hills, where all the currents
converged, was the crisis, after which progress was easier. We spent,
however, at least three hours in reaching Mugdalifah, and there we
resolved to sleep. The minaret was brilliantly illuminated, but my
companions apparently thought more of rest and supper than of prayer.
The night was by no means peaceful nor silent. Lines of laden beasts
passed us every ten minutes, devotees guarding their boxes from
plunderers gave loud tokens of being wide awake, and the shouting of
travellers continued till near dawn.
The 10th of Zu’l Hijjah, the day following the sermon, is called Yaum
Vahr (the Day of Camel Killing), or EEd El Kurban (the Festival of the
Sacrifice), the Kurban Bairam of the Turks. It is the most solemn of
the year, and it holds amongst Moslems the rank which Easter Day
claims from Christendom.
We awoke at daybreak, and exchanged with all around us the compliments
of the season――“EEd Kum mubarak”――“May your festival be auspicious.”
Then each man gathered for himself seven jamrah (bits of granite the
size of a small bean), washed them in “seven waters,” and then
proceeded to the western end of the long street which forms the
village of Muna. Here is the place called the Great Devil, to
distinguish it from two others, the Middle Devil and the First Devil,
or the easternmost. The outward and visible signs are nothing but
short buttresses of whitewashed masonry placed against a rough wall in
the main thoroughfare. Some derive the rite from the days of Adam, who
put to flight the Evil One by pelting him, as Martin Luther did with
the inkstand. Others opine that the ceremony is performed in imitation
of Abraham, who, meeting Sathanas at Muna, and being tempted to
disobedience in the matter of sacrificing his son, was commanded by
Allah to drive him away with stones. Pilgrims approach if possible
within five paces of the pillar, and throw at it successfully seven
pebbles, holding each one between the thumb and forefinger of the
right hand, either extended, or shooting it as a boy does a marble. At
every cast they exclaim: “In the name of Allah, and Allah is almighty!
In hatred to the Fiend and to his shame I do this!” It is one of the
local miracles that all the pebbles thus flung return by spiritual
agency whence they came.