Abuse Was Bad Enough In The
Streets, But In The House It Became Intolerable.
The Turkish pilgrims
remarked, but they were too proud to notice it.
The boy Mohammed and
one of his tall cousins at last transgressed the limits of my
endurance. They had been reviling each other vilely one day at the
house-door about dawn, when I administered the most open reprimand: “In
my country (Afghanistan) we hold this to be the hour of prayer, the
season of good thoughts, when men remember Allah; even the Kafir doth
not begin the day with curses and abuse.” The people around approved, and
the offenders could not refrain from saying, “Thou hast spoken truth, O
Effendi!” Then the bystanders began, as usual, to “improve the occasion.” “See,”
they exclaimed, “this Sulaymani gentleman, he is not the Son of a Holy
City, and yet he teacheth you—ye, the children of the Prophet!—repent and
fear Allah!” They replied, “Verily we do repent, and Allah is a Pardoner
and the Merciful!”—were silent for an hour, and then abused each other more
foully than before. Yet it is a good point in the Meccan character,
that it is open to reason, it can confess itself
[p.237] in error, and it displays none of that doggedness of vice which
distinguishes the sinner of a more stolid race. Like the people of
Southern Europe, the Semite is easily managed by a jest: though grave
and thoughtful, he is by no means deficient in the sly wit which we
call humour, and the solemn gravity of his words contrasts amusingly
with his ideas.
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