El Islam—meaning the covenant in virtue of which men earn eternal life by good works in this world—requires of all its votaries daily ablution and prayer, almsgiving on certain occasions, one month’s yearly fast, and at least one pilgrimage to the House of Allah at Meccah and the mountain of Ararat. This first, and often the single, visit is called Hajjat el Islam, or pilgrimage of being a Moslem, and all those subsequently performed are regarded as works of supererogation. The rite, however, is incumbent only upon those who possess a sufficiency of health or wealth. El Islam is a creed remarkable for common sense.
The journey to El Medinah is not called hajj, but ziyarat, meaning a ceremonial visitation. Thus the difference between worship due to the Creator and homage rendered to the creature is steadily placed
and kept before the Moslem’s eyes. Some sects—the Wahhabi, or Arabian Puritans, for instance—even condemn as impious all intercessions between man and his Maker, especially the prayers at the Prophet’s grave. The mass, however, of the Mohammedan Church, if such expression be applicable to a system which repudiates an ecclesiastical body, considers this visitation a “practice of the faith, and the most effectual way of drawing near to Allah through the Prophet Mohammed.”
The Moslem’s literature has many a thick volume upon the minutiæ of pilgrimage and visitation. All four Sumni, or orthodox schools—viz., Hunafi, Shafli, Maliki, and Hanbali—differ in unimportant points one with the other. Usually pilgrims, especially those performing the rite for the first time, begin with Meccah and end with El Medinah. But there is no positive command on the subject. In these days pilgrims from the north countries—Egypt and Syria, Damascus and Bagdad—pass through the Prophet’s burial-place going to and coming from Meccah, making a visitation each time. Voyagers from the south—as East Africa, India, and Java—must often deny themselves, on account of danger and expense, the spiritual advantages of prayer at Mohammed’s tomb.
I have often been asked if the pilgrim receives any written proof that he has performed his pilgrimage. Formerly the Sherif (descendant of Hasan), or Prince, of Meccah gave a certificate to those who could afford it, and early in the present century the names
of all who paid the fee were registered by a scribe. All that has passed. But the ceremonies are so complicated and the localities so peculiar that no book can thoroughly teach them. The pretended pilgrim would readily be detected after a short cross-questioning of the real Simon Pure. As facilities of travel increase, and the rite becomes more popular, no pilgrim, unless he comes from the edge of the Moslem world, cares to bind on the green turban which his grandfather affected. Few also style themselves haji, unless for an especial reason—as an evidence of reformed life, for instance, or a sign of being a serious person.
Some also have inquired if I was not the first “Christian” who ever visited the Moslem’s Holy Land. The learned Gibbon asserted—“Our notions of Meccah must be drawn from the Arabians. As no unbeliever is permitted to enter the city, our travellers are silent.”[1] But Haji Yunus (Ludovico di Bartema) performed the pilgrimage in A.D. 1503; Joseph Pitts, of Exeter, in 1680, Ali Bey el Abbasi (the Catalonian Badia) in 1807, Haji Mohammed (Giovanni Finati, of Ferrara) in 1811, and the excellent Swiss traveller Burckhardt in 1814, all passed safely through the Hejaz, or Holy Land. I mention those only who have written upon the subject. Those who have not must be far more numerous. In fact, any man may become a haji by prefacing his pilgrimage with a solemn and public profession of faith before the Kazi in
Cairo or Damascus; or, simpler still, by applying through his Consulate to be put under the protection of the Amir el Haji, or Commander of the Pilgrim Caravan.
If I did anything new, it was this—my pilgrimage was performed as by one of the people. El Islam theoretically encourages, but practically despises and distrusts, the burma, or renegade. Such a convert is allowed to see as little as possible, and is ever suspected of being a spy. He is carefully watched night and day, and in troublous times he finds it difficult to travel between Meccah and El Medinah. Far be it from me to disparage the labours of my predecessors. But Bartema travelled as a Mameluke in the days when Mamelukes were Christian slaves, Pitts was a captive carried to the pilgrimage by his Algerine master, Badia’s political position was known to all the authorities, Finati was an Albanian soldier, and Burckhardt revealed himself to the old Pacha Mohammed Ali.
As regards the danger of pilgrimage in the case of the non-Moslem, little beyond the somewhat extensive chapter of accidents is to be apprehended by one conversant with Moslem prayers and formulæ, manners and customs, and who possesses a sufficient guarantee of orthodoxy. It is, however, absolutely indispensable to be a Mohammedan in externals. Neither the Koran nor the Sultan enjoins the killing of Hebrew or Christian intruders; nevertheless, in 1860, a Jew, who refused to repeat the Creed, was crucified by the Meccan populace, and in the event