The Book of Khalid Part 19

"A Muslem, like Socrates, who educates not by lesson, but by going about his business. He seldom deigns to write; and yet, his words are quoted by every writer of the day, and on every subject sacred and profane. His good is truly magnetic. He is a man who lives after his own mind and in his own robes; an Arab who prays after no Imam, but directly to Allah and his Apostle; a scholar who has more dryasdust knowledge on his finger ends than all the ulema of Cairo and Damascus; a philosopher who would not give an orange peel for the opinion of the world; an ascetic who flees celebrity as he would the plague; a sage who does not disdain to be a pedagogue; an eccentric withal to amuse even a Diogenes:--this is the noted Sheikh Taleb of Damascus, whom Mrs. Gotfry once met at Ebbas Effendy's in Akka, and whom she was desirous of meeting again. When we first went to visit him, this charming lady and Khalid and I, we had to knock at the door until his neighbour peered from one of the windows above and told us that the Sheikh is asleep, and that if we would see him, we must come in the evening. I learned afterwards that he, reversing the habitual practice of mankind, works at night and sleeps during the day.

"We return in the evening. And the Sheikh, with a lamp in his hand, peers through a small square opening in the door to see who is knocking. He knew neither Khalid nor myself; but Mrs. Gotfry--'Eigh!'

he mused. And as he beheld her face in the lamplight he exclaimed 'Marhaba (welcome)! Marhaba!' and hastened to unbolt the door. We are shown through a dark, narrow hall, into a small court, up to his study. Which is a three-walled room--a sort of stage--opening on the court, and innocent of a divan or a settle or a chair. While he and Mrs. Gotfry were exchanging greetings in Persian, I was wondering why in Damascus, the city of seven rivers and of poetry and song, should there be a court guilty like this one of a dry and dilapidated fountain. I learned afterwards, however, that the Sheikh can not tolerate the noise of the water; and so, suffering from thirst and neglect, the fountain goes to ruin.

"On the stage, which is the study, is a clutter of old books and pamphlets; in the corner is the usual straw mat, a cushion, and a sort of stool on which are ink and paper. This he clears, places the cushion upon it, and offers to Mrs. Gotfry; he himself sits down on the mat; and we are invited to arrange for ourselves some books.

Indeed, the Sheikh is right; most of these tomes are good for nothing else.

"Mrs. Gotfry introduces us.

"'Ah, but thou art young and short of stature,' said he to Khalid; 'that is ominous. Verily, there is danger in thy path.'

"'But he will embrace Buhaism,' put in Mrs. Gotfry.

"'That might save him. Buhaism is the old torch, relighted after many centuries, by Allah.'

"Meanwhile Khalid was thinking of second-hand Jerry of the second-hand book-shop of New York. The Sheikh reminded him of his old friend.

"And I was holding in my hand a book on which I chanced while arranging my seat. It was Debrett's Baronetage, Knightage, and Companionage. How did such a book find its way into the Sheikh's rubbish, I wondered. But birds of a feather, thought I.

"'That book was sent to me,' said he, 'by a merchant friend, who found it in the Bazaar. They send me all kinds of books, these simple of heart. They think I can read in all languages and discourse on all subjects. Allah forgive them.'

"And when I tell him, in reply to his inquiry, that the book treats of t.i.tles, Orders, and Degrees of Precedence, he utters a sharp whew, and with a quick gesture of weariness and disgust, tells me to take it.

'I have my head full of our own ansab (pedigrees),' he adds, 'and I have no more respect for a green turban (the colour of the Muslem n.o.bility) than I have for this one,' pointing to his, which is white.

"Mrs. Gotfry then asks the Sheikh what he thinks of Wahhabism.

"'It is Islam in its pristine purity; it is the Islam of the first great Khalifs. "Mohammed is dead; but Allah lives," said Abu Bekr to the people on the death of the Prophet. And Wahhabism is a direct telegraph wire between mortal man and his G.o.d.

"'But why should these Wahhabis of Nejd be the most fanatical, when their doctrines are the most pure?' asked Khalid.

"'In thy question is the answer to it. They are fanatical _because_ of their purity of doctrine, and withal because they live in Nejd. If there were a Wahhabi sect in Barr'ush-Sham (Syria), it would not be thus, a.s.sure thee.'

"And expressing his liking for Khalid, he advises him to be careful of his utterances in Damascus, if he believes in self-preservation. 'I am old,' he continues; 'and the ulema do not think my flesh is good for sacrifice. But thou art young, and plump--a tender yearling--ah, be careful sheikh Khalid. Then, I do not talk to the people direct. I talk to them through holy men and dervishes. The people do not believe in a philosopher; but the holy man, and though he attack the most sacred precepts of the Faith, they will believe. And Damascus is the very hive of turbans, green and otherwise. So guard thee, my child.'

"Mrs. Gotfry then asks for a minute's privacy with the Sheikh. And before he withdraws with her to the court, he searches through a heap of mouldy tomes, draws from beneath them a few yellow pamphlets on the Comparative Study of the Semetic Alphabets and on The Rights of the Khalifate--such is the scope of his learning--and dusting these on his knee, presents them to us, saying, 'Judge us not severely.'

"This does not mean that he cares much if we do or not. But in our country, in the Orient, even a Diogenes does not disdain to handle the coin of affability. We are always meekly asked, even by the most supercilious, to overlook shortcomings, and condone.

"I could not in pa.s.sing out, however, overlook the string of orange peels which hung on a pole in the court. Nor am I sensible of an indecorum if I give out that the Sheikh lives on oranges, and preserves the peels for kindling the fire. And this, his only article of food, he buys at wholesale, like his robes and undergarments. For he never changes or washes anything. A robe is worn continually, worn out in the run, and discarded. He no more believes in the efficacy of soap than in the efficacy of a good reputation. 'The good opinion of men,' he says, 'does not wash our hearts and minds. And if these be clean, all's clean.'

"That is why, I think, he struck once with his staff a journalist for inserting in his paper a laudatory notice on the Sheikh's system of living and thinking and speaking of him as 'a deep ocean of learning and wisdom.' Even in travelling he carries nothing with him but his staff, that he might the quicker flee, or put to flight, the vulgar curious. He puts on a few extra robes, when he is going on a journey, and in time, becoming threadbare, sheds them off as the serpent its skin...."

And we pity our Scribe if he ever goes back to Damascus after this, and the good Sheikh chances upon him.

CHAPTER VIII

ADUMBRATIONS

"In the morning of the eventful day," it is set forth in the _Histoire Intime_, "I was in Khalid's room writing a letter, when Ahmed Bey comes in to confer with him. They remain together for some while during which I could hear Khalid growl and Ahmed Bey gently whispering, 'But the Dastur, the Unionists, Mother Society,'--this being the burden of his song. When he leaves, Khalid, with a scowl on his brow, paces up and down the room, saying, 'They would treat me like a school boy; they would have me speak by rule, and according to their own dictation. They even espy my words and actions as if I were an enemy of the Const.i.tution. No; let them find another. The servile spouters in the land are as plenty as summer flies. After I deliver my address to-day, Shakib, we will take the first train for Baalbek. I want to see my mother. No, billah! I can not go any further with these Turks. Why, read this.' And he hands me the memorandum, or outline of the speech given to him by Ahmed Bey."

And this, we learn, is a litany of praises, beginning with Abd'ul-Hamid and ending with the ulema of Damascus; which litany the Society Deputies would place in the mouth of Khalid for the good of all concerned. Ay, for his good, too, if he but knew. If he but looked behind him, he would have yielded a whit, this Khalid. The deep chasm between him and the Deputy, however, justifies the conduct of each on his side: the lack of gumption in the one and the lack of depth in the other render impossible any sort of understanding between them.

While we recommend, therefore, the prudence of the oleaginous Ahmed, we can not with justice condemn the perversity of our fretful Khalid.

For he who makes loud boast of spiritual freedom, is, nevertheless, a slave of the Idea. And slavery in some shape or shade will clutch at the heart of the most powerful and most developed of mortals. Poor Khalid! if Truth commands thee to destroy the memorandum of Ahmed Bey, Wisdom suggests that thou destroy, too, thine address. And Wisdom in the person of Sheikh Taleb now knocks at thy door.

The Sheikh is come to admonish Khalid, not to return his visit. For at this hour of the day he should have been a-bed; but his esteem for Mrs. Gotfry, billah, his love, too, for her friend Khalid, and his desire to avert a possible danger, banish sleep from his eyes.

"My spirit is perturbed about thee," thus further, "and I can not feel at ease until I have given my friendly counsel. Thou art free to follow it or not to follow it. But for the sake of this beard Sheikh Khalid, do not speak at the Mosque to-day. I know the people of this City: they are ignorant, obtuse, fanatical, blind. 'G.o.d hath sealed up their hearts and their hearing.' They will not hear thee; they can not understand thee. I know them better than thou: I have lived amongst them for forty years. And what talk have we wasted. They will not hear; they can not see. It's a dog's tail, Sheikh Khalid. And what Allah hath twisted, man can not straighten. So, let it be. Let them wallow in their ignorance. Or, if thou wilt help them, talk not to them direct. Use the medium of the holy man, like myself. This is my advice to thee. For thine own sake and for the sake of that good woman, thy friend and mine, I give it. Now, I can go and sleep.

Salaam."

And the grey beard of Sheikh Taleb and his sharp blue eyes were animated, as he spoke, agitated like his spirit. What he has heard abroad and what he suspects, are shadowed forth in his friendly counsel. Let Khalid reflect upon it. Our Scribe, at least, is persuaded that Sheikh Taleb spoke as a friend. And he, too, suspects that something is brewing abroad. He would have Khalid hearken, therefore, to the Sheikh.

But Khalid in silence ponders the matter. And at table, even Mrs.

Gotfry can not induce him to speak. She has just returned from the bazaar; she could hardly make her way through the choked arcade leading to the Mosque; the crowd is immense and tumultuous; and a company of the Dragoons is gone forth to open the way and maintain order. "But I don't think they are going to succeed," she added.

Silently, impa.s.sively, Khalid hears this. And after going through the second course, eating as if he were dreaming, he gets up and leaves the table. Mrs. Gotfry, somewhat concerned, orders her last course, takes her thimble-full of coffee at a gulp, and, leaving likewise, hurries upstairs and calls Khalid, who was pacing up and down the hall, into her room.

"What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing, nothing," murmured Khalid absent-mindedly.

"That's not true. Everything belies your words. Why, your actions, your expression, your silence oppresses me. I know what is disturbing you. And I would prevail upon you, if I could, to give up this afternoon's business. Don't go; don't speak. I have a premonition that things are not going to end well. Why, even my dragoman says that the Mohammedan mob is intent upon some evil business. Be advised. And since you are going to break with your a.s.sociates, why not do so now.

The quicker the better. Come, make up your mind. And we'll not wait for the morning train. We'll leave for Baalbek in a special carriage this afternoon. What say you?"

Just then the bra.s.s band in front of the Hotel struck up the Dastur march in honour of the Sheikhs who come to escort the Unionist Deputies and the speaker to the Mosque.

"I have made up my mind. I have given my word."

And being called, Mrs. Gotfry, though loath to let him go, presses his hand and wishes him good speed.

And here we are in the carriage on the right of the green-turbaned Sheikh. We look disdainfully on the troops, the bra.s.s band, and the crowd of nondescripts that are leading the procession. We cross the bridge, pa.s.s the Town-Hall, and, winding a narrow street groaning with an electric tramway, we come to the grand arcade in which the mult.i.tudes on both sides are pressed against the walls and into the stalls by the bullying Dragoons. We drive through until we reach the arch, where some Khalif of the Omayiahs used to take the air. And descending from the carriage, we walk a few paces between two rows of book-shops, and here we are in the court of the grand Mosque Omayiah.

We elbow our way through the pressing, distressing mult.i.tudes, following Ahmed Bey into the Mosque, while the Army Officer mounts a platform in the court and dispenses to the crowd there of his Turkish blatherskite. We stand in the Mosque near the heavy tapestried square which is said to be the sarcophagus of St. John. Already a Sheikh is in the pulpit preaching on the excellences of liberty, chopping out definitions of equality, and quoting from Al-Hadith to prove that all men are Allah's children and that the most favoured in Allah's sight is he who is most loving to his brother man. He then winds up with an encomium on the heroes of the day, curses vehemently the reactionaries and those who curse them not (the Mosque resounds with "Curse the reactionists, curse them all!"), tramples beneath his heel every spy and informer of the New Era, invokes the great Allah and his Apostle to watch over the patriots and friends of the Ottoman nation, to visit with grievous punishment its enemies, and--descends.

The silence of expectation ensues. The Mosque is crowded; and the press of turbans is such that if a pea were dropt from above it would not reach the floor. From the pulpit the great Mohammedan audience, with its red fezes, its green and white turbans, seemed to Khalid like a verdant field overgrown with daisies and poppies. "It is the beginning of Arabia's Spring, the resuscitation of the glory of Islam," and so forth; thus opening with a flourish of flattery like the spouting tricksters whom he so harshly judges. And what shall we say of him? It were not fair quickly to condemn, to cry him down at the start. Perhaps he was thus inspired by the august a.s.sembly; perhaps he quailed and thought it wise to follow thus far the advice of his friends. "It was neither this nor that," say our Scribe. "For as he stood in the tribune, the picture of the field of daisies and poppies suggested the picture of Spring. A speaker is not always responsible for the frolics of his fancy. Indeed, an audience of some five thousand souls, all intent upon this opaque, mysterious Ent.i.ty in the tribune, is bound to reach the very heart of it; for think what five thousand rays focussed on a sensitive plate can do." Thus our Scribe, apologetically.

But after the first contact and the vibrations of enthusiasm and flattery that followed, Khalid regains his equilibrium and reason, and strikes into his favourite theme. He begins by arraigning the utilitarian spirit of Europe, the rank materialism which is invading our very temples of worship. G.o.d, Truth, Virtue, with them, is no longer esteemed for its own worth, but for what it can yield of the necessities and luxuries of life. And with these cynical materialistic abominations they would be supreme even in the East; they would extinguish with their dominating spirit of trade every n.o.ble virtue of the soul. And yet, they make presumption of introducing civilisation by benevolent a.s.similation, rather dissimulation. For even an Englishman in our country, for instance, is unlike himself in his own.

The American, too, who is loud-lunged about democracy and shirt-sleeve diplomacy, wheedles and truckles as good as the wiliest of our pashas.

And further he exclaims:

"Not to Christian Europe as represented by the State, therefore, or by the industrial powers of wealth, or by the alluring charms of decadence in art and literature, or by missionary and educational inst.i.tutions, would I have you turn for light and guidance. No: from these plagues of civilisation protect us, Allah! No: let us have nothing to do with that practical Christianity which is become a sort of divine key to Colonisation; a mint, as it were, which continually replenishes the treasuries of Christendom. Let us have nothing to do with their propagandas for the propagation of supreme Fakes. No, no.

Not this Europe, O my Brothers, should we take for our model or emulate: not the Europe which is being dereligionised by Material Science; disorganised by Communion and Anarchy; befuddled by Alcoholism; enervated by Debauch. To another Europe indeed, would I direct you--a Europe, high, n.o.ble, healthy, pure, and withal progressive. To the deep and inexhaustible sources of genius there, of reason and wisdom and truth, would I have you advert the mind. The divine idealism of German philosophy, the lofty purity of true French art, the strength and sterling worth of English freedom,--these we should try to emulate; these we should introduce into the gorgeous besottedness of Oriental life, and literature, and religion...."

And thus, until he reaches the heart of his subject; while the field of daisies and poppies before him gently sways as under a soft morning breeze; nods, as it were, its approbation.