The first thing I did before entering Mecca was to perform my ablutions and say my prayers, according to the custom; and then I rode to the encampment on the outskirts of the city where I hoped to find two Persian friends of mine who, in accordance with a previous arrangement between us, had been good enough to take along with them the camp equipment which they had bought for me at Cairo. When I had discovered their whereabouts, I dismissed Nassir, giving him a liberal present, and then sat down to breakfast, my friends congratulating me upon my safe arrival.

The meal over, Seyyid ’Alí took me under his wing, urging me to accompany him to the Harem of the House of God without loss of time, that we might perform the initial ceremony—namely, the compassing of the Ka’bah—in the cool of the early morning. So bidding my friends good-bye, I set out with my guide, who was in sore straits to cloak his native mirthfulness in the folds of his íhram. Do what he would to conceal his natural character, he could not wholly restrain it within the limits of decorum incumbent on every pilgrim wearing that winding-sheet of humility.

The streets were crowded with tents, camels, mules, asses, horses, pariah dogs, and a motley crowd of pilgrims. The din the dogs made in the small hours of the day was indescribable. A pack of jackals would be quiet in comparison. Through even the narrowest lanes must pass the lordly Sheríf and his suite, the sun-baked Sheykhs on horseback, the ladies of the harem sitting astride of mules led by their servants, the peasant pilgrims on foot, and every kind of beast of burden heavily laden with water-skins and provisions. Accidents were consequently of hourly occurrence in the press of the throng. On reaching the holy precincts, my guide turned to me and said, in a cautious undertone, pointing to the Ka’bah in the middle of the Harem: “What need have I of the Ka’bah? it is only four walls; the Ka’bah round which I hop is the face of my Beloved.”

Now, the word Harem which is used to designate the courtyard of every Muhammadan mosque, means “holy place;” and thus the famous mosque of Mecca or, more correctly, the open court in the middle of which the House of God is situated bears the name of Harem. The same expression is used by the Turks to denote the inner apartments of their houses, since the women who dwell there are held sacred to the family. The Harem of the Holy City is an imperfect rhomboid in shape, its opposite sides being not quite equal. The length extends from east to west and the breadth from north to south. The northern side is one hundred and seventy-eight yards long, and the southern one hundred and eighty, while the western side is one hundred and eighteen yards broad, and the eastern one hundred and seventeen. Of the twenty-two gates that give admittance to its precincts, eight are on the northern length, four on the eastern breadth, seven on the southern length, and three on the western breadth. The most sacred of these gates are the Gate of Peace (Salám) and the Gate of Purity (Safá). The Gate of Peace, through which the pilgrims must enter, taking care to say the prescribed prayer on its threshold, leads into the extreme north-eastern end of the Harem; while the Gate of Safá is the one in the centre of the southern length, through which the pilgrims must pass out in order to say their prayers on the platform beyond, from which platform, indeed, the gate takes its name of Purity. There are no doors to these gates, and from every one a flight of steps conducts the Faithful down to the Harem, the surface of which lies about twelve feet below that of the streets, dipping gradually another three feet towards the centre, where the Ka’bah stands; and on the walls of each gate are inscribed the names of the four Caliphs, Abú Bekr, ’Omar, ’Othmán, and ’Alí. The Shiahs, having rubbed their hands on the name of the fourth Caliph, raise them to their faces, and say: “May peace be with Muhammad and with his people.”

To the best of my reckoning, there are some five hundred and seventy-five pillars in the colonnade that runs round the four sides of the Harem. But the Muhammadans, in general, have a prejudice against counting them, and the Meccans, in particular, declare them to be “innumerable.” The eastern side of the Harem is enclosed by a single row of columns, while the other sides have columns three deep. These columns, roughly speaking, measure about two feet in diameter and twenty feet in height. Some of them bear Arabic inscriptions that are scarcely legible now, and others are strengthened by means of iron bands or by iron shafts running from top to bottom. Every third column is round, standing between two octagonal pillars, some four feet apart; every second column supports a pointed arch; and every fourth column a dome that is whitewashed from without, and painted from within in stripes of blue, red, and yellow. The front of the arches are coloured in the same gaudy fashion, as are also the greater number of the seven beautiful minarets from which the muezzins raise the voice of the Faith calling the pilgrims to prayers. There are three of these minarets along the northern length, one at each corner of the opposite side, a sixth along the eastern breadth, and a seventh at the thither end of the cloister attached to the northern side of the Harem. The columns, with the exception of a few on the northern and eastern sides, said to have been brought from Egypt, reflect no artistic taste whatever on the part of the sculptors that carved them. Those that are made of marble or of porphyry are in one piece—huge blocks rough-hewn by unskilful hands—and the others are made of granite or of sandstone from the neighbouring mountains, and composed of three slabs, shaped, dressed, and then cemented together. At least a dozen raised pavements—called Farsh-ul-Hajar—of varying widths, lead to and from the gates of the Ka’bah, the broadest being from the Zaideh gate to the House of God. The floor of the colonnades is paved all round, but the granite slabs are put together in a very rough and ready fashion. The inner path immediately round the Ka’bah is a few inches below the general surface, itself some fifteen feet below that of the streets without; but beyond the iron pillars, from which are hung the glass lanterns that light up the precincts of the House of God by night, rises a second paved way, somewhat higher than the inner one, about five yards broad, while a third, on a still higher level, is even wider. Bordering on this pavement from without are the Meghámé Ibrahím, the Station of Abraham, the Bábé Shaibeh, the Arch of Peace, and the four Megháms belonging to the four Sunni orthodox sects, behind which runs the gravelled expanse of the Harem. Dozens of sweepers are engaged daily in cleaning the floors and pavements, but their efforts, in face of the crowd all too careless of the laws of cleanliness, are vain.

Of the four Megháms above-mentioned the Meghámé-Hanefi is the largest, and is situated to the east of the Ka’bah, some twelve yards from it. It rests on twelve pillars, is open on all sides, and has a small upper chamber, whence the muezzins call the Hanefites to prayer. These are known as “the followers of reason,” and owe their origin to Abú Hanífa al Nómán Ebn Thábet. He was born at Cufa in the eightieth year of the Hegira, and died in the hundred and fiftieth in prison at Bagdad, where he had been confined because he refused to be made a kádi or judge. The reason he gave for refusing to officiate in that capacity may be given in his own words. “If I speak the truth, they’ll say I am unfit; but if I tell a lie a liar is not worthy to be a judge.” He is said to have read the Kurán no less than seven thousand times during his imprisonment. His doctrine brought into prominence by Abú Yúsúf, Chief Justice under the Caliphs al Hádi and Harún ur Rashid, now prevails generally among the Turks and Tartars. In the time of Ignorance the Kuraish used to hold their councils where the Meghámé-Hanefi now stands. The Maleki pulpit, to the south-west of the Ka’bah, is a small building open on all sides, and resting on four pillars. The learned doctor who founded the sect of the Malekites was called Malek Ebn Ans. He was born at Medina in the year ninety of the Hegira, and there he also died at the age of eighty-seven. His teaching is based on the traditions of the Prophet. On his death-bed he said to a friend who found him in tears: “How should I not weep, and who has more reason to weep than I? Would to God that for every question decided by me according to my own opinion I had received so many stripes, then would my accounts be easier. Would to God I had never given any decision of my own.” His followers are scattered over Africa, mainly in Barbary. The Sháfeïtes have their Meghám on the top of the cupola-crowned building which covers the Zem-Zem well, whence the criers call to worship, but the congregation pray round the Ka’bah itself. The author of this, the third orthodox sect, went by the name of Muhammad Ebn Edris al Sháfeí. His birthplace is uncertain. Some say he was born at Caza, others at Ascalon, in Palestine, on the very day that Abú Hanifa died in the year one hundred and fifty of the Hegira. At the age of seven he was taken to Mecca, where he was educated. He is said to have been the first Muhammadan to reduce the science of jurisprudence into a systematic method, and he was undoubtedly a man of great learning, of sincere piety, and of calm, deliberate judgment. Two sayings attributed to him throw a light on his character: “Whoever pretends to love the world and its Creator at the same time is a liar;” “I am considering first whether it be better to speak or to hold my tongue.” This was said to a man who, having asked his opinion and received no reply, demanded an explanation of this silence. The doctrine of this sect, like that of the Malekites, is founded on the traditions of Muhammad, and is now embraced by a good many people in Arabia and by a few in Persia as well.

The Meghám of the fourth orthodox sect, that bears the name of Hanbalí, is situated not far from the Zem-Zem well, opposite the Black Stone—which is itself embodied in the south-eastern wall of the Ka’bah—and is of the same structure as that of the Sháfeïtes. It is there that the Sheríf and many of the other dignitaries perform their worship. It is divided into two compartments by means of a canvas wall, the men occupying the front, and the women the back part, at evening prayers. There are two traditions as to the birthplace of Ahmed Ebn Hanbal, who founded this school of religious thought. Those who believe him to have been born at Merve, in Khorasán, the native city of his parents, assure us that his mother brought him thence to Bagdad when he was still at the breast; while others declare that he was born after his mother’s arrival in that city, in the year of the Hegira 164. He was an intimate friend of al Sháfeí, who was also his master, and was so well instructed by him in the traditions of the Prophet that it is said he could repeat over a million of them. On his return from Egypt he refused to acknowledge the Kurán to be created, and was consequently scourged and cast into prison by order of the Caliph al Mutasem. On the day of his death no fewer than twenty thousand Christians, Jews, and Magians embraced the Mussulman faith, and he was followed to his grave by eight hundred thousand men and sixty thousand women. This sect soon became extremely powerful, so much so indeed that in the year 323 H., in the Caliphate of al Rádi, they burst from all restraint in their iconoclastic zeal, breaking into people’s houses in Bagdad, spilling any wine they found, chastising the singing women they came across, and smashing their musical instruments in bits. A severe edict had the effect of bridling their undisciplined fervour, so that the Hanbalites are not very numerous nowadays outside the boundaries of Arabia. The followers of these four men worship together in the evening, but at other times they pray in the order of their seniority. The four pulpits were erected, in 973 of the Hegira, by Sultán Suleymán, who also founded, outside the Harem, a school for fifteen students under a head master and a preacher for each one of the orthodox sects, allotting to every school a portion of the floor of the Harem as a place of worship. These schools are said to be still flourishing, and are subsidised from the funds of the Ka’bah.

Before the time of the Prophet the ground on which the Harem is now situated belonged to several landlords of the tribe of Kuraish, who laid great store by the property on account of its proximity to the House of God. To Omar, the second Caliph, the idea of extending the Harem first occurred, and it was he who built the walls round it. The gates were erected by Abdullah Zobair. Thenceforward every Caliph and every Sultán made a point of beautifying the sacred enclosure until it came at last to wear its present appearance. However, considering the enormous sums contributed by the quick and the dead on purpose to keep it in repair it is being shamefully neglected in this year of the Flight. How the priests who batten on the fund can find it in their consciences to watch the decay of their surroundings without loosening their purse-strings in order to check it is a source of wonder to many a child of Islám. They are “resigned,” these unrighteous stewards, for no other reason than because theirs is a bed of roses. “After us the Deluge” is their motto, and it cannot be denied that of all the sacred places of the Faith that of the Harem, situated as it is in the gap of the surrounding cliffs and dipping as it does towards the centre where the Ka’bah stands, is the best adapted to be a target to the winds and the rain. For the floods, when they descend, rush down the flights of steps of the gateways and inundate the open sanctuaries, and that is why the Ka’bah has been so often destroyed and rebuilt in the course of the centuries. These priests of the Harem may be as wise as serpents where their own interests are involved, but they are not so harmless as doves where those of the Faithful in general clamour for redress.

Talking of the Deluge reminds me of the pigeons that strut about the floor of the Harem or wing their flight above its sacred buildings. They are the prettiest birds imaginable, and so tame that they will come and perch on the pilgrims’ shoulders and feed out of their hands. In colour they are of a blueish brown, with deeper spots of the same colour on their breasts and backs. They have grey rings round their necks, and their wings are streaked with black lines. A traditionist says that to feed one of these birds is to ensure to one’s self a sumptuous palace in heaven; whereas to kill one of them is as bad as committing homicide, and meets with the same punishment hereafter. The consequence of this belief is that there are crowds of women whose business it is to sell grain to the pilgrims for the Harem pigeons, about twenty grains of wheat in a box costing not less than one piastre. The tradition was that the pigeons never alighted on the domes and minarets of the Harem, but hovered above them, like guardian angels. The fact that the sanctuaries now stand in frequent need of whitewashing is taken to be a proof of the growing wickedness of the people, and a certain sign that the Day of Judgment is at hand.

On entering the Harem all men are equal, all privileges of rank must be waived. The most despotic Oriental ruler has no power over his fellows there. Even the Hereditary Sheríf of Mecca must be as courteous to his servants or his slaves as he would be to the Sultan of Turkey were he present. Everybody is come to worship his Creator, the Ruler Supreme over empires and republics, and so all distinctions of rank are laid aside. The Prophet, wise in his generation beyond all men, was the first to protect the helpless against despotism by ruling the conduct of human affairs through the principle of religious equality. But for his laws the lower classes of the East would have been at the mercy of their co-religionists of the higher castes. If the Prophet alternately cajoled and coerced the superstitious to be virtuous and meek by the promise of a material Paradise and by the fear of a material Hell, what then? He sought merely to achieve his end through the weaknesses of the natural man, knowing that there is nothing that men covet more than the permanent pleasures which satiate human passions, and nothing that they had rather shun than a punishment which endures for ever. The spirit of his teaching and his laws, however, was anything but material. It made for unity and fraternity and equality, and the consequence was that in the early days of the Faith his followers were inspired by the noblest aspirations of the mind and heart. And as for the corporeal joys of Paradise they knew that these were not the highest their Prophet had promised to them, for they hoped to attain to that most blessed degree of heavenly felicity which is reserved for the Faithful who are found worthy to behold God’s face from the rising of the sun till the going down of the same. The case is otherwise with the majority of the Muhammadans of to-day. For their country and their countrymen they take too little thought, each one of them beseeching God to shower His favours on himself or herself alone. The priests of the Golden Age of the Faith sat on a camel or stood on a high hill and preached, not on form but on spirit. Their watchword was unity—unity of religion under the banner of faith and charity. To-day, on the contrary, the Mullás of Mecca mount a pulpit and air their erudition, that is, their knowledge of the traditions, as they interpret them according to their respective schools, and end with a few wandering, lifeless sentences in condemnation of all heretics, in contempt of this life, and in praise of the world to come. A philosopher would consider their sermons ridiculous. The freethinkers of the times of ’Omar and ’Alí had no sound excuse for raising their voices against the priests, who were then the guides of the mind as well as those of the conduct. But the wonder now is that a Faithful can be found to obey the behests of these tradition-ridden miracle-mongers, who do nothing to lessen the breach between the sects, but leave the more enlightened laymen to lead the way to reunion.

Muhammad set these miracle-mongers a good example. For we read that when Muaz was appointed Governor of Yemen he was asked by the Prophet by what rule he would be guided in the administration of the province. “By the law of the Kurán,” said Muaz. “But if you find no direction therein?” “Then I will act according to the example of the Prophet.” “But if that fails?” “Then I will exercise my own judgment.” Muhammad not only approved of the answer of his follower, but also advised his other representatives to follow the same rule of conduct. That rule ought to be written over the door of every mosque in Islám. My Meccan experiences prove this, that the faith of the priest is stagnant from the want of the breath of reason. In its decadence Islám is priest-begotten and priest-ridden. In its purity it was full of the spirit of the Holy Ghost, a religion simple and sincere, whereof such men as ’Alí and ’Omar were made. The founder would be the first to cleanse the minds of his present-day disciples of the false traditions that have been ascribed to him. He would bid them look up, facing the light, and setting their thoughts free to soar. In his lifetime he, believing “God to be more loving to His servants than the mother to her young,” fought strenuously and with a patience almost sublime to overcome the corrupt and idolatrous practices of his fellow-countrymen of the time of Ignorance. Not otherwise would he fight to-day in order to free his co-religionists from the ever-permeating spread of the priestly misinterpretations of his message. His voice would be raised to proclaim the right of every man to reject what is unreasonable in the dictations of the priests. “Knowledge,” said he on one occasion, “is our friend in the desert, our companion when friendless, our ornament among friends, our armour against our enemies.... To listen to the words of the learned and to inculcate the lessons of science is of more value than religious exercises.”

Now, a religion which is lively to-day chiefly through the appeal it can make to what is corporeal and comfortable, as is undoubtedly the case with Islámism at the present time, stands in sore need of a spiritual reformer, the more so because its spirit is still alive, in the pages of the Kurán and in the memory of the mighty dead. Many Muslims still seek the name, and are diligent in seeking it, but they less often try to find the object, forgetting that the moon is not in the stream but in the sky. “He, God, is the Enduring, and all else passeth away”—all except such futile traditions as, heaven knows, are dead enough to have earned a decent burial, and the arbitrary ruling of the priests, to whose pernicious influence there would appear to be no limit. The hearts of these unrighteous stewards deserve to be branded with the two matchless odes, admirably translated by Professor Browne, of Cambridge University, which are inscribed on the tomb of Háfiz, in an orange garden at Shíráz, the two first lines of which run:

And again: