“We give praise to Thee, O Lord, we glorify Thee in the name of Muhammad—may peace be with him and with his people! O God, accept this Hájj from me, and allow it not to be the last one. I praise thee, O Lord, in all Thy attributes, I praise Thee for all Thy blessings; I praise Thee for all Thou willest, I praise Thee for all Thy power. O Lord, accept this worship from me, and cleanse my heart, and sharpen my sense of duty. Take compassion on me, O God, for my worship’s sake, and because I accept the words of Thy prophet—on whom be peace! O Lord, make me to detest those that do not worship Thee, and make me to love those who love Thee, and those who love Thy prophet and Thy angels and all Thy pious creatures.”

Then, bowing our foreheads to the ground, we said aloud:

“O Lord, I worship Thee on my face; there is no God but Thee; Thou art just and merciful; Thou art the beginning of everything, and the end of everything; for Thine is the management and Thine the power alone. O Thou that forgivest the sins of Thy people, pardon my offences, for in Thee do I now confess my sins. Verily, no one can pardon grave sinners except Thyself. I say, there is not any one to be compared with Thee.”

The rewards of a correct performance of the Tewaff and of the necessary prayers—preferably at sundown, the best time for meditation—are of a sort to render the rite extremely popular among the pilgrims. At every step they take, in making the seven circuits, no fewer than seventy thousand sins will be blotted out of their bad books, and an equal number of virtues be added to the companion volumes containing their good actions. Nor is this all, for they will be made, at the same rate, the intercessors of seventy thousand sinners; they will build up to themselves the same number of palaces in heaven, and will earn the fulfilment of seven hundred thousand of their desires in this world, and of seventy thousand in the world to come. And that, no doubt, is why we took precious care that our steps, even when walking briskly, as we were obliged to do for the first three circuits, should be, if smart, extremely short ones.

CHAPTER V
THE COURSE OF PERSEVERANCE

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—

“‘Oh, heart of mine, how often canst thou trace

Thy aching wounds to one bright maiden’s Face!