Having encompassed the Ka’bah seven times, we stood hard by the tomb of Abraham and watched the pilgrims fighting to kiss the Black Stone. The wonder was that we had emerged from the tight scrimmage with a skin more or less whole. The perspiration oozed out of the pores in streams: laying hold of the fag end of my sacred habit I wiped my forehead. “You must not touch yourself,” said Seyyid ’Alí; “it is a grievous sin.” “Let your conscience rest in peace,” I replied; “I will do penance by sacrificing a sheep.”

The guide smiled. “There is no stain, however vile, but money shall blot it out. Would that I were a rich man!” “Thou fool,” I cried, “how about the stain of superstition? Will money wipe it out, think you?” “Yá-Moulai,” he whispered, “speak low.... Listen. It is easier to dig the heart out of a mountain with the sharp end of a needle than to remove ignorance from the mind of a mullá. However, the Course of Perseverance has yet to be trod. Come let us hop and be of good courage, for to-morrow we must go in procession to Arafat. We must begin again with Niyyat; that is, with a declaration of intention in front of the Black Stone, and after that we must proceed to Safá, and say our prayers there.” “I ask pardon of Allah!” I shrilled. “Look, the people will be trodden under foot near the Black Stone!” The guide was silent, his eyes were turned to where the crowd was thickest. “Look,” he said, “a man is down. They are trampling him to death. That has often happened. In 581 of the Hegira no less than eighty-four men were trodden to death inside the Ka’bah. In 972 of the Flight sixty-five men were suffocated through the pressure of the crowd in the Harem itself.... Praise Allah, the man is up again.... See, his friends are bearing him to a place of safety.” ...

God of love, what a sight! “He has achieved merit,” said the guide, “except, it may be, in the eyes of the ‘mother of his children.’ She will cease to love him when she sees him. However, he may die, and thus she may be spared the shock of—did you—but what have I done to offend you?” My reply was curt. “I find your levity somewhat tedious,” I said impatiently. The wag was irrepressible. He waxed argumentative suddenly, affirming that the snares of the heart are beauty of face and charm of voice. He bade me to look on his own manly countenance. I might believe it or not, but even he had been deceived more than once. What chance of keeping love, therefore, had the wretch whose face had been stamped as flat as the palm of his hand? “Listen, and I will hum you a song,” he whispered, “but it must be low, since it concerns the heart, the theme of the poets, and not the soul, which is the concern of the priests. For my part I am on the side of the poets. Even in Mecca. The song is old. It was sung by Adam in the Garden of Eden after the Fall. I have found it true. Therefore, and for no other reason, it is worth quoting—

“Alas, my poor heart, its disease is incurable, I fear. No matter. Safá awaits our coming. We will go and ‘declare our intention,’ and then be off to the hill of Purity. Let us skip and hop, for to-morrow we die. Yá-Allah! yá-Muhammad!” So, approaching as near as we could to the Black Stone, we closed our eyes, giving it as our determination to run seven times between the platforms of Safá and Marveh, and to recite the prescribed prayers at the appointed places. It is considered an act of grace in the devout to proceed thence to the Zem-Zem well, and, drawing a bucket of water by means of the windlass with his own hands, to besprinkle therewith his head and back and stomach, after which he should drink a handful of the water, repeating the following prayer: “O Lord, I beseech Thee to make this draught for me a source of inexhaustible knowledge, a vast livelihood, and a preventive of all pains and diseases.”

Frequent allusion is made to this spring in Arabian and Persian literature. Its water ranks second to that of Kúsar, a stream that runs in the Garden of Paradise, keeping the grass ever green and the flowers ever blooming. The prettiest ruby wine is compared by the poets to the water of Zem-Zem; for they believe it to be the spring that “gushed out for the relief of Ishmael,” when Hagar, his mother, wandered beside him in the wilderness. The story goes that when she saw the bubbling water it was to call to her son, in the Egyptian tongue, “Zem, zem!” (“Stay, stay!”). The taste of the water is difficult to describe, but it is certainly bitterish. My guide, to whom I had appealed in the matter, answered, saying, “Allah—may I be His sacrifice—has made this water sacred, as you know. It is neither sweet nor bitter, neither fresh nor salt, neither scented nor stinking, but would appear in its taste to be a mixture of all these qualities. In everything sacred there must be a mystery, or how could the mullás live?” As to its attributes, they may be counted by the hundred. There is no disease that it will not cure provided it be taken with a “pure” conscience. It is as inspiring to a Muslim poet as that of Helicon to an unbeliever. It prolongs life and purifies the soul of him that drinks it in unswerving obedience to God through the mediation of Muhammad. The rich pilgrims carried gold or silver flasks in which they poured the precious water, keeping it as a preservative of health, or as a remedy in case of sickness. An Indian Prince told me that he intended to keep his in order to restore the eyesight of his brother, who had been unable to accompany him on the pilgrimage. The Faithful bring their winding-sheets along with them and wash them in the holy spring. Some Negroes from Zanzibar have the honour to be the guardians of the well and the dispensers of its contents, and they exact as much as twenty piastres from the poor pilgrims for the washing of one of these winding-sheets, and ten times that amount from the rich.

Now, this practice of washing the grave-clothes stands in need of explanation. When a Muslim dies and is buried, he is received by a heavenly host, who gives him notice of the coming of the two examiners, Nakir and Monker. These are two angels as livid as death and as black as a putrid corpse, and they proceed to question him concerning his faith, more especially as to the unity of God and the apostleship of the Prophet. If he prove himself a true Mussulman, he is suffered to rest in peace and is refreshed by the air of Paradise. But, if he be of a loose belief, he is gnawed and stung till the resurrection by ninety-nine dragons that have seven heads each, the earth pressing harder and harder on his body without, unfortunately, injuring the dragons. It is in order to escape from this torture that the pilgrims wash their winding-sheets, in the life-giving water of Zem-Zem, some of them taking the precaution to make assurance doubly certain by inscribing on the sheets, in coloured letters, the most sacred chapters of the Kurán. One of the pilgrims showed me a winding-sheet belonging to himself on which had been written in green ink every single chapter of the Book. The well is covered with a small square building crowned with a cupola and a crescent, and is paved inside with marble. There are four Chinese windlasses at the top of the shrine for drawing the water, and these were working all day long, the keepers having the greatest difficulty in restraining the ardour of the poor, tradition-ridden devouts, some of whom were wrought to such a pitch of blind fanaticism that it was as much as the Negroes could do to prevent them from flinging themselves into the well.

Since I had not the good fortune to win my way to the windlass, I took a jug of Zem-Zem water, making the attendant a present of ten piastres for it. Then, having performed the necessary ablutions, I went out by the old gate (on the thither side of the Place of Abraham) and ascended the stairs of Safá. We found the platform alive with pilgrims, and there, facing the Ka’bah, we had to pass in review all the blessings we had received from God during our lives, from the days of our birth upward. That done, we repeated seven times in an audible tone: “God is great.... I praise thee, O Lord!... There is no god but God....” Three times: “There is no god but the one God; there is not anyone like unto Him. For His is the kingdom, and to Him do we lift up our praise. He is the giver of life and the giver of death. Death and life He bestoweth on all living creatures, but He dieth not, neither doth He sleep. He is almighty over everything....” Once: “O Lord, I praise Muhammad and his people.” Three times: “I praise the Lord who endureth for ever, I praise the everlasting Lord.” Three times: “I confess there is no god but God, and I confess likewise that Muhammad is His slave and His apostle. We worship Him whom we praise, and none but Him!” Then three times we cried: “O Lord, have mercy on me, and be compassionate to me, and give me justice in this world and in the world to come.... O Lord, give us Thy blessing in this life, and grant us Thy peace in the next, and protect us from the punishment of fire.” Next, having repeated one hundred times the words “God is great; there is no god but God, and Him do I praise,” I said aloud: “O Lord, I praise Thee in death and in what comes after death. In Thee, O God, do I seek shelter from the darkness of the grave, from the pressure of the grave, and the disturbance of the grave. Under the canopy of Thy divine compassion do I take refuge on the day when there is no shelter but Thy shelter.” Then, in my inmost mind, I gave up to the Lord my faith, my person, and my people, crying: “I return to Thee, O Lord, Who alone art compassionate and merciful, my faith, myself, my people, my property, and my progeny. O Lord, make me to act according to Thy Book and the dictation of Thy apostle: make me faithful to Thy people, and protect me from revolution.” As an increase of wealth, so says tradition, this prayer should also be read: “O Lord, I seek shelter in Thee from the punishments of the grave: from its troubles, and its separations, and its awe, and its percussion, and its blackness, and its closeness.” Then, uncovering the back, one should raise the voice, crying out loud: “O Lord, pardon! O Thou who hast commanded to pardon, O Thou who art the first to pardon—pardon, pardon, pardon, pardon! O Generous! O Compassionate! O Near! O Far! make me to achieve Thy satisfaction by acting in obedience unto Thee!” Then, descending from the platform, I said: “I persevere seven times in running between Safá and Marveh, and this I do in order to fulfil my pilgrimage and in obedience to the command of the Lord of the Universe.”

The distance between the two hills is four hundred and thirty-eight yards. The course has to be traversed seven times. It begins at Safá and ends on the seventh lap at Marveh. Those who are too weak or too ill “to persevere” on foot must be carried on a horse, a camel, a mule, or a donkey, like the women, who, if sufficiently wealthy, are accompanied by three hired servants. The first, the forerunner, who clears the way, wears an expression of indescribable gravity. You can tell by his face that you have only to cast an eye behind him to behold a “Light of the Harem.” The second, leading the beast by the bridle, looks religiously ahead, and the third brings up the rear, doing all in his power to protect his precious burden from the shrieking crowd. If a pilgrim at this stage of initiation allow his thoughts to dwell on the fair sex he must sacrifice a calf in the Valley of Mina. From the foot of Safá to the first minaret at the south-eastern end of the Harem the pilgrim must walk at his ease, and there he must say a prayer. It is this: “I begin in the name of God, and by God, and God is great. May peace be with Muhammad and with his household. O Lord, the compassionate and merciful, who art capable beyond my knowledge, O Thou who art most exalted and most generous, take this act of worship of mine, which is not worthy of Thee, and, enriching it with Thy abundance, make it more deserving of Thy acceptance. I offer up my ‘perseverance’ to Thee, O Lord, and in Thee my hope and my strength are fixed. O Thou that acceptest the devotion of the pious, reject not my offering, O God.” Thenceforward, until he reached the Baghleh Gate, some eighty yards away, the pilgrim had to suit his gait as far as in him lay to the rolling pace of a camel on the trot. He had now reached the starting point for hopping. Two big green flags were flying to give him warning. Up went the left leg of every mother’s son and of many a father’s daughter—for to every woman who rode there were twenty on foot—and a great deal of panting confusion and breathless excitement ensued. Hands were lifted to the sky, voices were raised in praise of God, asking for strength “to persevere,” mules stampeded, horses lashed out with their heels, camels pierced their way through the surging mob as silently and as irresistibly as a ship breasts the sea, men and women being hurled aside like waves. The endurance displayed by the bare-footed devout was marvellous. They were buoyed by the assurance that they were supported by the angels, Gabriel being the captain of the guard.

Now shoved forward by the pilgrims in the rear, now carried back by those who were returning from Marveh, I hopped about in a vicious circle, groaning and perspiring, like a man bereft of his senses. Should I never reach the blessed Gate of Ali! Who said the distance was not more than seventy-five yards? Let him hop over the course and he will multiply its figures by ten at every step. The folly of it all seemed to crash down on the crown of my bare head, shattering my belief in human sanity. For, carried away by the obligation of imitating the “persevering” antics of my fellow-pilgrims, I found myself now hopping on one leg like a melancholy heron, and now, on reaching Ali’s Gate, pitching and rolling and labouring along like a spent camel under a goad. Yá-Allah! yá-Muhammad! I cut a sorry figure in my own estimation, no matter what merit I earned in the minds of my co-mates in affliction. So depressed was I that I had forgotten to say the prescribed prayer at the second minaret before reaching the Baghleh Gate: “O God, the possessor of praise and knowledge and mercy and magnanimity, pardon my trespasses, for, verily, there is no forgiver of sins but Thee alone.” Many were maimed for life, not a few were killed, accident followed accident, but still the unheeding wave of pilgrims swept along over the fiery sand, shrieking and gesticulating, till my senses seemed to swoon. My guide, inured to the Arabian heat and to the unhallowed confusion of the course, performed his part with a studied dignity and a nimbleness of resource which added a touch of humour to an exhibition otherwise saddening. But these pilgrims themselves were tormented by no such self-accusing thoughts. If their feet were cut they had the consolation of believing that the streams of Paradise would wash them whole, for the cool water of Salsabíl and Tasním, if they succumbed to their devotional exertions, would it not be lifted to their parched lips by divine peris and everlasting life be theirs?

What might strike the spectator most of all would probably be the contrast presented by the dignity of the prayers and the occasional outbursts of religious extravagance on the part of the priest-ridden and ignorant among the pilgrims. The prayers might be read in any church in Christendom. The stormy outburst from all reserve could only be witnessed nowadays in the East, where religion, that ship of salvation, though seaworthy enough in its undeniable if narrow sincerity, is in constant danger of being wrecked in the breakers of fanaticism. Muhammad reverenced science. Several sayings have been already quoted in which it was rated by him at its true value. The priests persist in disregarding its lessons from sheer self-interest. It is not the light of religion which they spread abroad. It is the fire of fanaticism which they fan—a fire which, by throwing out abundant heat but no light whatever, burns while diffusing darkness. “God does not change the condition of a people,” said Muhammad, “until they change it for themselves.” If these retrograde priests had kept themselves abreast of the times, as they were in duty bound to do as followers of a man of progressive genius, the crescent of Islám had been a well-nigh perfect round long ago. Enlightenment was not wanting on the part of a great number of laymen, as I shall show later on; but as to the greater number of the priests I met at Mecca, well, let us hope that, on ascending the platform of Marveh, they were conscious of falling short of the responsibilities of their office, and that they made amends by throwing into the prayer of repentance the burden of a contrite spirit: “O Lord, Thou that hast commanded to pardon; O Thou that lovest pardon; O Thou that grantest pardon; O Thou that forgivest with pardon; O Lord, pardon! pardon! pardon! pardon!” And if they could then weep out of the fulness of a heart ill at ease in its breast, and not perfunctorily as by law ordained, there might be some hope of their redemption. All joined in the concluding prayer, which runs: “O Lord, verily, I beseech Thee, in all circumstances, to endow me plentifully with tacit faith in Thee, and also to grant that I may be pure of intention in my resignation to Thy divine will.”

PLAN OF THE HAREM.
An Explanation of the Frontispiece.