No Stranger In Paris Or In London Is More Surely Or More
Severely Taken In.
Already I began to fear that my eighty pounds would
not suffice for all the expenses of sight-seeing, and the apprehension
was justified by the sequel.
My only friend was the boy Mohammed, who
displayed a fiery economy that brought him into considerable disrepute
with his countrymen. They saw with emotion that he was preaching
parsimony to me solely that I might have more money to spend at Meccah
under his auspices. This being palpably the case, I threw all the blame
of penuriousness upon the young Machiavel's shoulders, and resolved, as
he had taken charge of my finances at Al-Madinah, so at Meccah to
administer them myself.
After praying at the window, to the great disgust of the Khadim, who
openly asserted that we were "low
[p.412]fellows," we passed through some lanes lined with beggars and
Badawi children, till we came to a third little Mosque situated due
South of the larger one. This is called the Masjid Arafat, and is
erected upon a mound also named Tall Arafat, because on one occasion
the Prophet, being unable to visit the Holy Mountain at the pilgrimage
season, stood there, saw through the intervening space, and in spirit
performed the ceremony. Here also we looked into a window instead of
opening the door with a silver key, and the mesquin appearance of all
within prevented my regretting the necessity of economy. In India or in
Sind every village would have a better Mosque. Our last visit was to a
fourth chapel, the Masjid Ali, so termed because the Apostle's
son-in-law had a house upon this spot.[FN#25] After praying there-and
terribly hot the little hole was!-we repaired to the last place of
visitation at Kuba-a large deep well called the Bir al-Aris, in a
garden to the West of the Mosque of Piety, with a little oratory
adjoining it. A Persian wheel was going drowsily round, and the cool
water fell into a tiny pool, whence it whirled and bubbled away in
childish mimicry of a river. The music sounded sweet in my ears; I
stubbornly refused to do any more praying-though Shaykh Hamid, for
form's sake, reiterated with parental emphasis, "how very wrong it
was,"-and I sat down, as the Prophet himself did not disdain to do,
with the resolution of enjoying on the brink of the well a few moments
of unwonted "Kayf." The heat was overpowering, though it was only nine
o'clock, the sound of the stream was soothing, that water-wheel was
creaking a lullaby, and the limes and pomegranates, gently rustling,
shed voluptuous fragrance through the morning air. I fell asleep,
and-wondrous the contrast!-dreamed that I was once more standing
"By the wall whereon hangeth the crucified vine,"
[p.413]looking upon the valley of the Lianne, with its glaucous seas
and grey skies, and banks here and there white with snow.
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