A head was thrust forward.... It was the little dervish.A head was thrust forward.... It was the little dervish.—Seepage 15.
Far into the night the Persian pondered, his mind beating against the darkness of what was to him the great mystery; and heprayed for light. He thought of the Father, yet again he prayed to the spirits of the planets which were shining so brightly above him. But did not an echo of that prayer ascend to the throne of grace? Was not the eye of Him who notes even the sparrows when they fall, upon his poor, struggling child?
And the end was not yet.
"A column high and vast,A form of fear and dread."
"A column high and vast,A form of fear and dread."
—Longfellow.
With but few events worthy of notice the journey to Mecca was concluded. After a short halt at Medina, the caravan set out by one of the three roads which then led from Medina to Mecca.[4]
The way led through a country whose aspect had every indication of volcanic agency in the remote ages of the earth's history. Bleak plains—through whose barren soil outcrops of blackened scoriæ, or sharp edges of black and brittle hornblende, appeared at every turn—were interspersed with wadies, bounded by ridges of basalt and green-stone, rising from one hundred to two hundred feet high, and covered with a scanty vegetation of thorny acacias and clumps of camel-grass. Here and there a rolling hill was cut by a deep gorge, showing where, after rain, a mighty torrent must foam its way; and, more rarely still, a stagnant pool of saltish or brackish water was marked out by a cluster of daum palms.
On all sides jackals howled dismally during the night; and above, during the day, an occasional vulture wheeled, fresh from the carcass of some poor mule dead by the wayside.
Such was the appearance of the land through which the caravan wound its way, beneath a sky peculiar to Arabia—purple at night, white and terrible in its heat at noon, yet ever strange, weird and impressive.
But one incident worth recounting occurred on the way. Yusuf, Amzi, and the boy Dumah had been traveling side by side for some time. The way, at that particular spot, led over a plain which afforded comparatively easy traveling, and thus gave a better opportunity for conversation. The talk had turned upon the Guebre worship, and the priest was amazed at the knowledge shown by Amzi of a religion so little known in Arabia.
"I can tell you more than that," said Amzi in a low tone. "I can tell you that you are not only Yusuf the Persian gentleman of leisure, but Yusuf the Magian priest, accustomed to feed the sacred fire in the Temple of Jupiter. Is it not so? Did not Yusuf's hand even take the blood of Imri the infant daughter of Uzza in sacrifice? Can Yusuf the Persian traveler deny that?"
Yusuf's head sank; his face crimsoned with pain, and the veins swelled like cords on his brow.
"Alas, Amzi, it is but too true!" he said. "Yet, upon the most sacred oath that a Persian can swear, I did it thinking that the blessing of the gods would thus be invoked. The rite is one not unknown among the Sabæans of to-day, and common even among the Magians of the past. Amzi, it was in my days of heathendom that I did it, thinking it a duty to Heaven. It was Yusuf the priest who did it, not Yusuf the man; yet Yusuf the man bears the torture of it in his bosom, and seeks forgiveness for the blackest spot in his life! How knew you this, Amzi?—if the question be an honorable one."
"Amzi knows much," returned the Meccan. "He knows, too, that Yusuf can never escape the brand of the priesthood. See!"
He leaned forward, and drew back the loose garment from the Persian's breast. A red burn, or scar, in the form of a torch, appeared in the flesh. As Yusuf hastened to cover it, a head was thrust forward, and two bead-like eyes peered from a shrouded face. It was the little dervish.
The priest was annoyed at the intrusion. He determined to take note of the meddler, but the occurrence of an event common in the desert drove all thought of the dervish from his mind.
The cry "A simoom! A simoom!" arose throughout the caravan.
There, far towards the horizon, was a dense mass of dull, copper-colored cloud, rising and surging like the waves of a mad ocean. It spread rapidly upwards toward the zenith, and a dull roar sounded from afar off, broken by a peculiar shrieking whistle. And now dense columns could be seen, bent backward in trailing wreaths of copper at the top, changing and swaying before the hurricane, yet ever holding the form of vapory, yellow pillars,—huge shafts extending from earth to heaven, and rapidly advancing with awful menace upon the terrified multitude.
The Arabs screamed, helpless before the manifestation of what they believed was a supernatural force, for they look upon these columns as the evil genii of the plains. Men and camels fell to the ground. Horses neighed in fear, and galloped madly to and fro. But the hot breath of the "poison-wind" was upon them in a moment, shrieking like a fiend among the crisping acacias. The sand-storm then fell in all its fury, half smothering the poor wretches, who strove to cover their heads with their garments to keep out the burning, blistering, pitiless dust.
Fortunately all was over in a moment, and the tempest went swirling on its way northward, leaving a clear sky and a dust-buried country in its wake.
In the confusion the dervish had escaped to the other end of the caravan, and was forgotten.
At the end of the tenth day after leaving Medina the caravan reached the head of the long, narrow defile in which lies the city of Mecca, the chief town of El Hejaz. It was early morning when the procession passed through the cleft at the western end; and the sun was just rising, a globe of red, above the blue mountains towards Tayf, when Yusuf stopped his camel on an eminence in full view of the city. There it lay in the heart of the rough blackish hills, whose long shadows still fell upon the low stone houses and crooked streets beneath.[5]
The priest's eager glance sought for the Caaba. There it was, a huge, stone cube, standing in the midst of a courtyard two hundred and fifty paces long by two hundred paces wide, and shrouded from top to bottom by a heavy curtain of dark, striped cloth of Yemen.
There was something awe-inspiring in the scene, and the priest felt a thrill of apprehensive emotion as he gazed upon what he had fondly hoped would prove the end of his long journey. Yet his eye clouded; he covered his face with his mantle and wept, saying to his soul, "Here, too, have they turned aside to worship the false, and have bowed down to idols! My soul! My soul! Where shalt thou find truth and rest?"
Amzi touched him on the arm. "Why do you weep, friend? Thou art a false Guebre, truly! Know you not that even they hold the Caaba in high reverence?"
There was a tone of good-natured raillery in the voice, and the speaker continued: "Arouse yourself, my friend. See how they worship in Mecca. They are at it already! See them run! By my faith 'tis a lusty morning exercise!"
Yusuf looked up to see a great concourse of people gathering in the court-yard. Many were rushing about the Caaba, and pausing frequently at one corner of the huge structure.
"Each pilgrim," explained Amzi, "holdshimself bound to go seven times about the temple, and the harder he runs the more virtue there is in it—performing the Tawaf, they call it. Those who seem to pause are kissing the Hajar Aswad—the Black Stone, which, the Arabs say, was once an angel cast from heaven in the form of a pure white jacinth. It is now blackened by the kisses of sinners, but will, at the last day, arise in its angel form, to bear testimony of the faithful who have kissed it, and have done the Tawaf faithfully. And now, friend, come to the house of Amzi, and see if he can be as hospitable as Musa the Bedouin."
Yusuf gratefully accepted the invitation, and the camels were urged on again down the narrow, crooked street.
"Know you aught of one Mohammed?" asked the priest. "A roguish Hebrew left me, with scant ceremony, in possession of a manuscript which must be given to him."
"Aye, well do I know him," said Amzi. "Mohammed, the son of Abdallah the handsome, and grandson of Abdal Motalleb, who was the son of Haschem of the tribe of the Koreish—a tribe which has long held a position among the highest of Mecca, and has, for ages past, had the guardianship of the Caaba itself. Mohammed himself is a man of sagacity and honor in all his dealings. He is married to Cadijah, a wealthy widow, whose business he has long carried on with scrupulous fairness. He, too, is one of the few who, in Mecca, have ceased to believe in idols, and would fain see the Caaba purged of its images."
"There are some, then, who cast aside such beliefs?"
"Yes, the Hanifs (ascetics), who utterly reject polytheism. Waraka, a cousin of the wife of Mohammed, is one of the chief of these; and Mohammed himself has, for several years, been accustomed to retire to the cave of Hira for meditation and prayer. It is said that he has preached and taught for some time in the city, but only to his immediate friends and relatives. Well, here we are at last,"—as a pretentious stone building was reached. "Amzi the benevolent bids Yusuf the Persian priest welcome."
Amzi led the priest into a house furnished with no small degree of Oriental splendor.
"Right to the carven cedarn doors,Flung inward over spangled floors,Broad-based flights of marble stairsRan up with golden balustrade,After the fashion of the time."
"Right to the carven cedarn doors,Flung inward over spangled floors,Broad-based flights of marble stairsRan up with golden balustrade,After the fashion of the time."
A meal of Oriental dishes, dried fruit and sweetmeats was prepared; and, when the coolness of evening had come, the two friends proceeded to the temple.
Entering by a western gate, they found the great quadrangle crowded with men, women and children, some standing in groups, with sanctimonious air, at prayers, while others walked or ran about the Caaba, which loomed huge and somber beneath the solemn light of the stars. A few solitary torches—for at that time the slender pillars with their myriads of lamps had not been erected—lit up the scene with a weird, wavering glare, and threw deep shadows across the white, sanded ground.
A curious crowd it seemed. The wild enthusiasm that marked the conduct of the followers of Mohammed at a later day was absent, yet every motion of the motley crowd proclaimed the veneration with which the place inspired the impressionable and excitable Arabs.
Here stood a wealthy Meccan, with flowing robes, arms crossed and eyes turned upward; there stalked a tall and gaunt figure whose black robes and heavy black head-dress proclaimed the wearer a Bedouin woman. Here ran a group of beggars; and there a number of half-naked pilgrims clung to the curtained walls. Once a corpse was carried into the enclosure and borne in solemn Tawaf round the edifice.
"Look!" cried poor Dumah. "The son of the widow of Nain! The son of the widow of Nain! Oh, why does not he whom Dumah sees in his dreams come to raise him! But then, there are idols here, and he cannot come where there are other gods before him."
On surveying the temple, Yusuf discovered that the door of the edifice was placed seven feet above the ground. Amzi informed him that the temple might be entered only atcertain times, but that it contained an image of Abraham holding in its hand some arrows without heads; also a similar statue of Ishmael likewise with divining arrows, and lesser images of prophets and angels amounting almost to the number of three hundred.
Passing round the temple to the north-eastern corner, Yusuf looked curiously at the Black Stone, which was set in the wall at a few spans from the ground, and which seemed to be black with yellowish specks in it.[6]Many people were pressing forward to kiss it, while many more were drinking and laving themselves with water from a well a few paces distant,—the well Zem-Zem,—believing that in so doing their sins were washed off in the water.
"This," said Amzi, pointing to the spring, "is said to be the well which gushed up to give drink to our forefather Ishmael and Hagar his mother, when they had gone into the wilderness to die."
Yusuf sighed heavily. Such empty ceremony had no longer any attraction for him, and he turned his eyes towards the mountain Abu Kubays, towering dark and gloomy above the town, its black crest touched with a silvery radiance by the light of the stars shining brilliantly above.
Was this, then, the Caaba? Was this what he had fondly hoped would fill his heart's longing? Was there any food in this empty ceremonial for a hungering soul? Why, oh why did the truth ever elude him, flitting like an ignis-fatuus with phantom light through a dark and blackened wilderness!
Amzi was talking to someone in the crowd, and Yusuf passed slowly out and11 bent his way down a silent and deserted street. No one was in sight except a very young girl, almost a child, who was gliding quickly on in the shadows. Once or twice she seemed to stagger, then she fell. Yusuf hurried to her, and turned her face to the starlight. Even in that dim light he could see that it was contorted with pain. Yusuf heard the murmur of voices in a low building close at hand, and, without waiting to knock, he lifted the girl in his arms, opened the door, and passed in.
"I shall be content, whatever happens, for what God chooses must be better than what I can choose."—Epictetus.
"I shall be content, whatever happens, for what God chooses must be better than what I can choose."—Epictetus.
The same evening on which Yusuf visited the temple, a woman and her two children sat in a dingy little room with an earthen floor, in one of the most dilapidated streets of Mecca. The woman's face bore traces of want and suffering, yet there was a calm dignity and hopefulness in her countenance, and her voice was not despairing. She sat upon a bundle of rushes placed on the floor. No lamp lighted the apartment, but through an opening in the wall the soft starlight shone upon the bands of hair that fell in little braids over her forehead. Her two beautiful children were beside her, the girl with her arm about her mother, and the boy's head on her lap.
"Will we have only hard cake for breakfast, mother, and to-morrow my birthday, too?" he was saying.
"That is all, my little Manasseh, unless the good Father sees fit to send us some way of earning more. You know even the hairs of our heads are numbered, so he takes notice of the poorest and weakest of his children, and has promised us that there will be no lack to them that fear him."
"But, mother, we have had lack many, many times," said the boy thoughtfully.
The mother smiled. "But things have usually come right in the end," she said, "and you know 'Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.' We cannot understand all these things now, but it will be plain some day. 'We will trust, and not be afraid,' because our trust is in the Lord; and we know that 'he will perfect that which concerneth us,' if we trust him."
"And will he send father home soon?" asked the boy. "We have been praying for him to come, so, so long! Do you think God hears us, mother? Why doesn't he send father home?"
The woman's head drooped, and a tear rolled down her cheek, but her voice was calm and firm.
"Manasseh, child," she said, "your father may never return; but, though a Jew, he was a Christian; and, living or dead, I know he is safe in the keeping of our blessed Lord. Yes, Manasseh, God hears the slightest whisper breathed from the heart of those who call upon him in truth. He says, Jesus says, 'I know my sheep, and am known of mine.' Little son, I like to think that our blessed Savior, who 'laid down his life for the sheep,' is here—in this very room, close to us. Sometimes I close my eyes and think I see him, looking upon us in mercy and love from his tender eyes, and he almost seems so near that I may touch him. No, he will never forsake us. Little ones, my constant prayer for you is that you may learn to realize the depths of his love, and to render him your hearts in return; that you may feel ever closer to him than to any earthly parent, and prove yourselves loving, faithful children of whom he may not be ashamed."
The woman's voice trembled with emotion as she concluded, and a glow of happiness illuminated her thin features.
"Well, mother, I was ashamed to-day," said little Manasseh. "I got angry and struck a boy."
"Manasseh! My child!"
"You cannot understand, mother; you are so good that you never get angry or wicked. But the anger keeps rising up in me till it seems as if my heart would burst; the blood rushes to my face, my eyes flash—then—I strike, and think of nothing."
She stroked his hair gently. "Manasseh, my boy's temper is one enemy which he has to conquer. But he must not try to conquer it in his own strength. We have an Almighty Helper who has given us to know that he will not suffer us to be tempted beyond that we are able, and has bidden us cast all our care upon him. He will be only too willing to guide us and uphold us by his power, if we will but let him keep us and lead us far from all temptation."
"Then what would you do, mother, if you were in my place when the anger comes up?"
She stooped and kissed him. "I would say, 'Jesus, help me,' and leave it all to him."
Just then a step sounded at the door. Some one entered, and a cry of "Father! Oh, father!" burst from the children. The mother sprang, trembling, to her feet. It was the long-lost husband and father!
Then the lamp was lighted, and the traveler told his loved ones the story of his long absence; how he had embarked at Jeddah on a foist bound for the head of the Red Sea; how he had been shipwrecked; had become ill of a fever as the result of exposure; and how he had at last made his painful way home by traveling overland.
As they thus sat, talking in ecstasy of joy at their reunion, the door opened and Yusuf entered with the girl in his arms.
Water was sprinkled upon her face and she soon recovered. She placed her hand on her brow in a dazed way, then sprang up, and, just pausing for an instant in which her wondrous beauty might be noted, dashed off into the night.
"It is Zeinab, the beautiful child of Hassan," said the Jewess. "She will be well again now. The paroxysms have come before."
"Sit you down, friend," said her husband to Yusuf. "We were just about to breakbread. 'Tis a scanty meal," he added, with a smile. "But we have been enjoined to 'be not forgetful to entertain strangers,' because many have thus entertained angels unawares. We shall be glad of the company."
There was a manly uprightness in the look and tone of Nathan the Jew which caught Yusuf's fancy at once, and he sat down without hesitation at the humble board.
And there, in that little, dingy room, he saw the first gleam of that radiant light which was to transform the whole of his after life. He heard of the trials and disappointments, of the heroic fortitude born of that trust in and union with God which he had so craved. He received his first glimpse of a God, human as we are human, who understands every longing, every doubt, every agony that can bleed the heart of a poor child of earth.
He scarcely dared yet to believe that this God was one really with him at all times and in all places, seeing, hearing, knowing, sympathizing. He scarcely dared to realize the possibility of a companionship with him, or the fact that the mediation of the planet-spirits was but a myth. Yet he did feel, in a vague way, that the light was breaking, and a tumultuous, undefined, hopeful ecstasy took possession of his being. Yusuf's heart was ready for the reception of the truth. He was unprejudiced. He had cast aside all dependence upon the tenets of his former belief. He had become as a little child anxious for rest upon its father's bosom. He sought only God, and to him the light came quickly.
There was an infinity of blessed truth to learn yet, but, as he went out into the night, he knew that a something had come into his life, transforming and ennobling it. The divinity within him throbbed heart to heart with the Divinity that is above all, in all, throughout all good. Though vaguely, he felt God; he knew that now, at last, he had entered upon the right road.
Then he thought of Amzi. He must try to tell him all this. Surely Amzi the learned, the benevolent, would rejoice too in hearing the story of Jesus' life on earth, of his coming as an expression of the love of God to man, that man might know God.
Through the dark streets he hastened, thinking, wondering, rejoicing. He sought the bedside of Amzi on the flat roof.
"Amzi, awake!" he cried.
"What now, night-hawk?" said the Meccan, in his good-natured, half-railing tone. "Why pounce upon a man thus in the midst of his slumbers?"
"Amzi, I have heard glorious news of him—that Jesus of whom we have talked!"
"Well?"
"He seems indeed to be the God for whom I have longed. They have been telling me of his life, yet I realize little save that he came to earth that men might know him; that he died to show men the depth of his love; and that he is with us at every time, in every place—even here, now, on this roof! Only think of it, Amzi! He is close beside us, seeing us, hearing us, knowing our very hearts! There is no need more of appealing to the spirits of the stars. Ah, they were ever far, far off!"
"And where learned you all this, friend priest?" There was an indifferent raillery in the tone which chilled Yusuf to the heart.
"From Nathan, a Christian Jew, and his wife—people who live close to God if any one does."
"In the Jewish quarter?"
"Even so."
Amzi laughed. "Truly, friend, you have chosen a fair spot for your revelation—a quarter of filth and vice. A case of good coming out of evil, truly!"
"Will you not grant that there are some good even in the Jewish quarter?"
"Some, perhaps; yet there are some good among all peoples."
"Amzi, can you not believe?"
"No, no, friend Yusuf; I am glad for your happiness—believe what you will. But it is foreign to Amzi's nature to accept on hearsay that which he has not inquired into—probed to the bottom even. He cannot accept the testimony of any passing stranger, however plausible it may seem. Rejoice ifyou will, Yusuf, in the spring of a night-tune, but leave Amzi to seek for the deep waters still."
Amzi was now talking quickly and impressively.
Yusuf was amazed. The light was beginning to shine so brightly in his own soul that he could not comprehend why others could not see and believe likewise. He talked with his friend until the dawn began to tint the top of Abu Kubays, but without effect. At every turn he was met by the bitter prejudice held by the Meccans against the whole Jewish race, a prejudice which kept even Amzi the benevolent from believing in anything advocated by them.
"Why do they not show Christ in their lives, then?" he would say.
"You cannot judge the whole Christian band by the misdeeds of a few, who are, indeed, no Christians," Yusuf pleaded.
"True; yet a religion such as you describe should appeal to more of them, and would, if it were all you imagine it to be. A perfect religion should be exemplified in the lives of those who profess it."
"I grant you that that is true," was Yusuf's reply. "And as an example let me bring you to Nathan and his family. Nobody could talk for one hour to them without feeling that they have found, at least, something which we do not possess. This something, they say, is their God."
"Well, well. I shall do so to please you," said Amzi indifferently, "but I hope that a longer acquaintance may not spoil your trust in these people."
Further expostulation was vain. Yusuf retired to his own apartment, and prayed long and fervently, in his own simple way, offering thanks for the light which was breaking so radiantly on his own soul, and beseeching the loving Jesus to touch the heart of Amzi, who, he knew, though less enthusiastic than he, also desired to know truth.
And before he lay down for a short rest, he said:
"Grant, O Jesus, thou who art ever present, that I may know thee better, and that Amzi, too, may learn to know thee. Reveal thyself to him as thou art revealing thyself to me, that we may know thee as we should."
The priest's face grew radiant with happiness as he concluded.
And yet, in that same city, vice held sway; for, even as the priest prayed, a dark figure emerged from an unused upper attic in the house of Nathan the Jew, and, escaping by a window, descended a garden stair and disappeared in the darkness. Even in that dim light, had one looked he might have noted that the mysterious prowler wore the dress of a dervish.
"A person with abnormal auditory sensations often comes to interpret them as voices of demons, or as the voice of one commanding him to do some deed. Thishallucination, in turn, becomes an apperceiving organ,i.e., other perceptions and ideas are assimilated to it: it becomes a center about which many ideas gather and are correspondingly distorted."—McLellan,Psychology.
"A person with abnormal auditory sensations often comes to interpret them as voices of demons, or as the voice of one commanding him to do some deed. Thishallucination, in turn, becomes an apperceiving organ,i.e., other perceptions and ideas are assimilated to it: it becomes a center about which many ideas gather and are correspondingly distorted."—McLellan,Psychology.
Upon the evening of the following day, Amzi and Yusuf set out in quest of Mohammed, to whom the manuscript had not yet been given. Stopping at the house of Cadijah, a stone building having some pretensions to grandeur, they learned that Mohammed had left the city. Accordingly, thinking he would probably be found in the Cave of Hira, they took a by-path towards the mountains.
The sun was hot, but a pleasant breeze blew from the plains towards the Nejd, and, from the elevation which they now ascended, Yusuf noted with interest a scene every point of which was entirely different from that of his Persian home—different perhaps from that of any other spot on the face of the earth; a scene desolate, wild, and barren,yet destined to be the cradle of a mighty movement that was ere long to agitate the entire peninsula of Arabia, and eventually to exercise its baneful influence over a great part of the Eastern Hemisphere.[7]
Below him lay the long, narrow, sandy valley. No friendly group of palms arose to break its dreary monotony; no green thing, save a few parched aloes, was there to form a pleasant resting-place for the eye. The passes below, those ever-populous roads leading to the Nejd, Syria, Jeddah, and Arabia-Felix, were crowded with people; yet, even their presence did not suffice to remove the air of deadness from the scene. Of one thing only could the beholder be really conscious—desolation, desolation; a desolate city surrounded by huge, bare, skeleton-like mountains, grim old Abu Kubays with the city stretching half way up its gloomy side, on the east; the Red mountain on the west; Jebel Kara toward Tayf, and Jebel Thaur with Jebel Jiyad the Greater, on the south.
"Read, O Mohammed, and see him who was able to restore the withered hand.""Read, O Mohammed, and see him who was able to restore the withered hand."—Seepage 23.
Yusuf watched the people, many of whom were pilgrims, swarming like so many ants below him towards the Caaba, which was in full view, standing like a huge sarcophagus in the center of the great courtyard. In the transparent air of the Orient, even the pillars supporting the covered portico about the courtyard were quite visible. Yusuf had observed the great system of barter, the buying and selling that went on beneath the roof of that long portico, within the very precincts of the temple set apart for the worship of the Deity, and, as he watched the pigmy creatures, now swarming towards the trading stalls, now hastening to perform Tawaf about the temple, he almost wept that such sacrilege should exist, and a great throb of pity for these erring people whose spiritual naturewas barren as the vast, treeless, verdureless waste about them, filled his breast.
Amzi directed his attention towards the east, where the blue mountains of Tayf stood like outposts in the distance.
"There," said he, "at but a three days' journey is the district of plenty, the Canaan of Mecca, whence come the grapes, melons, cucumbers, and pomegranates that are to be seen in our markets. There are pleasant dales and gardens where the camel-thorn gives way to a carpet of verdure; where the mimosa and acacia give place to the glossy-leaved fig-tree, to stately palms, and pomegranates of the scarlet fruit; where rippling streams are heard, and the songs of birds fill the air. There is a tradition that Adam, when driven out of the Garden of Eden, settled at Mecca; and there, on the site of the temple yonder, and immediately beneath a glittering temple of pearly cloud, shimmering dews, and rainbow lights said to be in Paradise above,—the Baît-el Maamur of Heaven,—was built, by the help of angels, the first Caaba, a resplendent temple with pillars of jasper and roof of ruby. Adam then compassed the temple seven times, as the angels did the Baît above in perpetual Tawaf. He then prayed for a bit of fertile land, and immediately a mountain from Syria appeared, performed Tawaf round the Caaba, and then settled down yonder at Tayf. Hence, Tayf is even yet called 'Kita min el Sham'—a piece of Syria, the father-land."
"So then, this Caaba, according to tradition, is of early origin?"
"The Arabs believe that when the earthly Baît-el Maamur was taken to heaven at Adam's death, a third one was built of stone and mud by Seth. This was swept away by the Deluge, but the Black Stone was kept safe in Abu Kubays, which is, therefore, called 'ElAmin'—the Honest. After the flood, a fourth House was built by our father Abraham, to whom the angel Gabriel restored the stone. Abraham's building was repaired and in part restored by the Amalikah tribe. A sixth Caaba was built by the children of Kahtan, into whose tribe, say the Arabs, Ismail was married. The seventh house was built by Kusay bin Kilab, a forefather of Mohammed, and I have reason to believe that he was the first who filled it with the idols which now disgrace its walls. Kusay's house was burnt, its cloth covering (or kiswah) catching fire from a torch. It was rebuilt by the Koreish (Qurâis) a few years ago. It was then that the door was placed high above the ground, as you see it, and then that the movable stair was constructed. Then, too, the six columns which support the roof were added, and Mohammed, El Amin, was chosen to determine the position of the Black Stone in the wall. So, friend, I have now given you in part, the history of the Caaba."
Bestowing a last look upon the temple, the friends walked for some distance northward across the slopes of Mount Hira, until a low, dark opening appeared in the face of a rock.
Drawing back a thorny bush from its door, they entered the cave. A low moaning noise sounded within. For a moment, the transition from the white glare without to the twilight of the cave blinded them, then they saw that the moans proceeded from Mohammed, who was lying on his back on the stone floor. His head-dress was awry, his face was purple, and froth issued from his mouth.
Amzi seized an earthen vessel of water, and bathed his brow.
"Poor fellow!" he said, "how often he may have suffered here alone! It has been his custom for years to spend the holy month of Ramadhan here in prayer and meditation. He has often taken these fits before; but, if what is said be true, he knows not that he is suffering, for angels appear to him during the paroxysms."
"It seems to me much more like a fit of epilepsy," said Yusuf, rather sarcastically. "See, he begins to come to himself again."
Mohammed had stopped moaning, and his face began to regain its natural color.
Presently he opened his eyes in a dazed way, and sat up. He was a man of middle height, with a ruddy, rather florid complexion, a high forehead, and very even,white teeth. There was something commanding and dignified in his appearance. He wore a bushy beard, and was habited in a striped cotton gown of cloth of Yemen; and, from his person emanated the sweet odor of choicest perfumes of the Nejd and Arabia-Felix.
"Ah, it is Amzi!" he said. "Pardon me, friend, but the angel has just left me, and I failed to recognize you at once, my mind was so occupied with the wonder of his communications; for, friend, the time is nigh, even at hand, when the prophet of Allah, the One, the only Person of the Godhead, is to be proclaimed!"
His voice was low and musical, and he spoke as one under the influence of an inspiration.
"Has the angel appeared to you in visible form?"
"Sometimes he appears in human form, but in a blinding light; at other times I hear a sound as of a silver bell tinkling afar. Then I hear no words, but the truth sinks upon my soul, and burns itself into my brain, and I feel that the angel speaks."
"Of what, then, has he spoken?" asked Amzi.
"The time in which the full revelation shall be thrown open to man is not yet. But it will come ere long. None, heretofore, save my own kin and friends, have been given aught of the great message; yet to you, Amzi, may I say that Abraham, Moses, Christ, have all been servants of the true God, yet for Mohammed has been reserved the honor of casting out the idolatry with which the worship of our people reeks. For him is destined the glory of purging our Caaba of its images, and of reinstating the true religion of our fathers in this fair land. Then shall men know that Allah is the one God, and Mohammed is his prophet!"
"Think you to place yourself on an equality with the Son of God?" cried Yusuf, sternly.
Mohammed turned quickly upon him, and his face worked in a frenzy of excitement.
"I tell you there is but one God,—one invisible, eternal God, Allah above all in earth and heaven,—and Mohammed is the prophet of God!" he cried.
Yusuf perceived that he had to deal with a fanatic, a religious enthusiast, who would not be reasoned with.
"Yes," he continued, "may it be Mohammed's privilege to lead men back to truth, and to turn them from heathendom; to teach them to be wise as serpents, harmless as doves, and to show them how to walk with clean hands and hearts through the earth, living uprightly in the sight of all men!"
"Yet," ventured Yusuf, "did not Jesus teach something of this?"
"Jesus was great and good," said Mohammed; "he was needed in his day upon the earth, but men have fallen away again, and Mohammed is the greatest and last, the prophet of Allah!"
The speaker's eyes were flashing; he was yet under the influence of an overpowering excitement. The color began to rush to his face, and Yusuf, fearing a return of the swoon, deemed it wise not to prolong the argument, but delivered the manuscript left by the peddler, saying:
"Read, O Mohammed, and see him who was able to restore the withered hand stretched forth in faith. Perceive him, and commit not this sacrilege."
Trusting himself to say no more, Yusuf hastily left the cavern, followed by Amzi, who remarked, thoughtfully:
"Yet, there is much good, too, in that which Mohammed would advocate."
"There is," assented Yusuf. "Yet, though I know not why, I cannot trust this man. 'Tis an instinct, if you will. What, think you, does he mean to win by this procedure,—power, or esteem, or fame?"
Amzi shook his head quickly in denial. "Mohammed is one of the most upright of men, one of the last to seek personal favor or distinction by dishonest means, one of the last to be a maker of lies. Verily, Yusuf, I know not what to think of his revelations. If he does not in truth see these visions, he at least imagines he does. He is honest in what he says."
"'If he does not in truth'!" repeatedYusuf. "Surely you, Amzi, have no confidence in his visions?"
Amzi smiled. "And yet Yusuf, no longer ago than last night, was ready to believe the testimony of a pauper Jew in regard to similar assertions," he said. "But keep your mind easy, friend; I have not accepted Mohammed's claims. I am open to conviction yet, and I am not hasty to believe. In fact, I must confess, Yusuf, an entire lack of that fervor, of that capacity for religious feeling, which is so marked a trait in my Persian priest."
"Yet you, too, professed to be a seeker for truth," said Yusuf, reproachfully.
"My desire for truth is simply to know it for the mere sake of knowing it," said Amzi.
Yusuf sighed. He did not realize that he had to deal with a peculiar nature, one of the hardest to impress in spiritual things—the indifferent, calculating mind, which is more than half satisfied with moral virtue, not realizing the infinitely higher, nobler, happier life that comes from the inspiration of a constant companionship with God.
"Alas, I am but a poor teacher, Amzi," he said. "You know, perhaps, more of the doctrines of these Christians than I; yet I am convinced that to me has come a blessing which you lack, and I would fain you had it too. And I know so little that it seems I cannot help you. You will, at least, come and talk with Nathan?"
"As you will," said Amzi, in a half-bantering tone. "Prove to me that these Hebrews are infallible, and I shall half accept their Jewish philosophy."
"You cannot expect to find them or any one on this earth infallible," returned Yusuf, quietly. "I can only promise that you will find in them quiet, sincere, upright Christians."
They had reached a sudden turn on the path, and before them, on the top of a steep cliff, stood Dumah, with his fair hair streaming in the sunshine. He was singing, and they paused to listen.
"He is gone, the noble, the handsome,And the tears of the mother are fallingLike dews from the cup of the lilyWhen it bends its head in the darkness."
"He is gone, the noble, the handsome,And the tears of the mother are fallingLike dews from the cup of the lilyWhen it bends its head in the darkness."
"Poor Dumah!" said Amzi, "singing his thoughts as usual. What now, Dumah? Who is weeping?"
"A poor Jewess," said the boy, "and her two children cling to her gown and weep too. Ah, if Dumah had power he would soon set him free."
"Set whom free?" asked Yusuf.
"The father; they say he took the cup to buy bread; but for the sake of the children, Dumah would set him free."
"Oh, it is only a case of stealing down in the Jewish quarter," said Amzi, carelessly.
"Yet," returned the other, "a weeping mother and helpless children should appeal to the heart of Amzi the benevolent. Let us turn aside and see what it is about. Dumah, lead us."
They followed the boy to the hall or court-room of the city. A judge sat on a raised dais; witnesses were below, and the owner of the gold cup was talking excitedly and calling loudly for justice.
"There is the culprit," whispered Amzi.
Yusuf was struck dumb. It was Nathan, the Christian Jew! Agony was written in his face, yet there was patience in it too. His arms were bound, and his head was bent in what might have been interpreted as humiliation.
"Once more," cried the judge, "have you aught to say for yourself, Jew?"
Nathan raised his head proudly, and looked the Judge straight in the eyes.
"I am guiltless," he said, in low, firm tones.
A murmur burst from the crowd, and exclamations could be heard.
"Not guilty! And the cup found in his house!"
"Coward dog! Will he not yet confess?"
"The scourge is too good for him!"
"Have you no explanation to offer?" asked the judge.
"None."
"Then, guards, place him in irons to await our further pleasure. In the meantime forty lashes of the scourge. Next!"
Nathan walked out with firm step and head erect. A low sob burst from some onein the crowd. It was the wife of Nathan, weeping, while little Manasseh and Mary clung to her weeping too.
Yusuf touched her on the arm. "Hush! Be calm!" he said. "All will yet be well. I, for one, know that he is innocent, and I will not rest until he is free."
"Thank God! He has not forsaken us!" exclaimed the woman.
Yusuf put a piece of money into Manasseh's hand. "Here, take your mother home, and buy some bread," he said.
"And here, pretty lad, know you the touch of gold?" said Amzi, as he slipped another coin into the child's hand. "Now, Yusuf," he went on, "come, let us see your Jewish friends of yester-even."
"Alas, Amzi, these are they," returned the priest, sadly, "and I fear yon poor woman feels little like talking to us in the freshness of her grief."
Amzi laughed, mysteriously. "So your teacher has proved but a common Jew thief," he said.
Yusuf turned almost fiercely. "Do you believe this vile story?" he exclaimed. "Did you not see truth stamped upon Nathan's face?"
"You must admit that circumstances are against him. The proof seems conclusive."
"I will never believe it, were the proof produced by their machinations ten times as conclusive! There is some mystery here which I will unravel!"
"My poor Yusuf, you are too credulous in respect to these people. So be it. You believe in your Jews, I shall believe in my Mohammed, until the tale told is a different one," laughed Amzi; and for the moment Yusuf felt helpless.