That of Damascus could be
distinguished as the narrower and the more ornamented of the pair. The
Sharif placed himself with his standard-bearers and his retinue a
little above the Mahmils, within hearing of the preacher. The pilgrims
crowded up to the foot of the mountain: the loud “Labbayk” of the Badawin
and
[p.197] Wahhabis[FN#5] fell to a solemn silence, and the waving of
white robes ceased—a sign that the preacher had begun the Khutbat
al-Wakfah, or Sermon of the Standing (upon Arafat). From my tent I
could distinguish the form of the old man upon his camel, but the
distance was too great for ear to reach.
But how came I to be at the tent?
A short confession will explain. They will shrive me who believe in
inspired Spenser’s lines—
“And every spirit, as it is more pure,
And hath in it the more of heavenly light,
So it the fairer body doth procure
To habit in.”—
The evil came of a “fairer body.” I had prepared en cachette a slip of
paper, and had hid in my Ihram a pencil destined to put down the heads
of this rarely heard discourse. But unhappily that red cashmere shawl
was upon my shoulders. Close to us sat a party of fair Meccans,
apparently belonging to the higher classes, and one of these I had
already several times remarked.
