Chronicles and Characters By Robert Lytton (Owen Meredith): In Two Volumes |
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MOHAMMED.
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 | Chronicles and Characters |  |
251
MOHAMMED.
Mohammed, the divine, ere yet his name
Blazed in the front of everlasting fame,
Withdrew into the Desert, and abode
Hard by Mount Hara, long alone with God.
Blazed in the front of everlasting fame,
Withdrew into the Desert, and abode
Hard by Mount Hara, long alone with God.
But from the solitude his soul swept forth
And view'd the world,—east, west, and south, and north:
Weakness without, and wickedness within:
And how the people murmur'd, as in Zin,
Yet lack'd the heavenly food; how, on each side,
The Roman, and the Persian, in their pride,
Were perishing from empire; how the Jew
Defamed Jehovah; how the Christian crew,
Wrangling around a desecrated Christ,
Blacken'd the Light of God with smoke and mist
Of idol-incense; how, in midst of this,
Confusion crumbling down to the abyss,
A void was, day by day, and hour by hour,
Forming fit verge and scope for some new Power.
And view'd the world,—east, west, and south, and north:
Weakness without, and wickedness within:
And how the people murmur'd, as in Zin,
Yet lack'd the heavenly food; how, on each side,
The Roman, and the Persian, in their pride,
Were perishing from empire; how the Jew
Defamed Jehovah; how the Christian crew,
Wrangling around a desecrated Christ,
Blacken'd the Light of God with smoke and mist
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Confusion crumbling down to the abyss,
A void was, day by day, and hour by hour,
Forming fit verge and scope for some new Power.
And he perceived that every Power is good
First,—since it comes from God, be it understood:
But, after resting many years on earth,
Power dwindles from the primal strength of birth,
Grows weak, then gets confused, and, last, goes mad.
So that it is the weakness that is bad,
And not the potency, of creeds, and schools,
And kings, and whatsoever reigns or rules.
For, howsoe'er the ruler wield the rod,
His right to rule is by the grace of God,
Not the disgrace of man, which they that cause
By wrongful rule, are rebels to God's laws.
First,—since it comes from God, be it understood:
But, after resting many years on earth,
Power dwindles from the primal strength of birth,
Grows weak, then gets confused, and, last, goes mad.
So that it is the weakness that is bad,
And not the potency, of creeds, and schools,
And kings, and whatsoever reigns or rules.
For, howsoe'er the ruler wield the rod,
His right to rule is by the grace of God,
Not the disgrace of man, which they that cause
By wrongful rule, are rebels to God's laws.
And, whilst he thought on this, and thought beside
How nothing now was wanting to provide
That novel Power which should regenerate
Mankind, renew belief, and re-create
Creation, but one bold man's active will,
Mohammed's secret thoughts were troubled, till
They made a darkness on his countenance.
How nothing now was wanting to provide
That novel Power which should regenerate
Mankind, renew belief, and re-create
Creation, but one bold man's active will,
Mohammed's secret thoughts were troubled, till
They made a darkness on his countenance.
Then Amru timidly raised up his glance
Upon the Prophet's face. Amru, his friend,
Who, thro' those solitudes to watch and tend
Upon him, stole from Mecca, when the light
Was fading out, and, footing the deep night,
At daybreak found him in the wilderness;
And, all day long, beneath an intense stress
Of silence, breathing low, was fain to lie,
Just tolerated by the kingly eye
Of his great friend, endeavouring to become
Like a mere piece of the rock's self,—so dumb
And gray, and motionless. Amru, at last
Look'd up; and saw Mohammed's face o'ercast,
And murmur'd
“O Mohammed, art thou sad?”
Upon the Prophet's face. Amru, his friend,
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Upon him, stole from Mecca, when the light
Was fading out, and, footing the deep night,
At daybreak found him in the wilderness;
And, all day long, beneath an intense stress
Of silence, breathing low, was fain to lie,
Just tolerated by the kingly eye
Of his great friend, endeavouring to become
Like a mere piece of the rock's self,—so dumb
And gray, and motionless. Amru, at last
Look'd up; and saw Mohammed's face o'ercast,
And murmur'd
“O Mohammed, art thou sad?”
But still the Prophet seem'd as tho' he had
Nor seen, nor heard, him.
Nor seen, nor heard, him.
Amru then arose,
And crept a little nearer, and sat close
Against the skirting of his robe, and said
“Mohammed, peace be with thee!”
And crept a little nearer, and sat close
Against the skirting of his robe, and said
“Mohammed, peace be with thee!”
Still, his head
Mohammed lifted not, nor answer'd aught.
Then Amru said again
Mohammed lifted not, nor answer'd aught.
Then Amru said again
“What is thy thought,
Mohammed?”
And Mohammed answer'd
“Friend,
A sad thought; which I think you will not mend.
For first, I thought upon the mighty world
Which lies beyond this wilderness, unfurl'd
Like a great chart, to read in. And I saw
How in all places the old power and law
Are falling off. Again, I thought upon
My Arabs in the ages coming on;
The weakness, and the wickedness, of all
The ancient races; our own strength; God's call;
And all we might be, if we heard but that.
But if, I thought, I tell this people what
God, who speaks to me in the solitude,
Hath bid me tell them, the loud rabble rude
Will mock me, crying ‘Who made thee to be
A teacher of us?’ If I answer ‘He
Whose name is Very God, and God Alone,
He, and none other,’ surely they will stone
Or tear me. For tho' I, to prove the Lord
Hath sent me to them, should proclaim His word,
They will not heed it. Men were never wise
(And never will be yet!) to recognize
God, when He speaks by Law and Order: since
In these there's nothing startling to convince
The jaded sense of those that day by day
See law and order working every way
Around them,—yet in vain! And still God speaks
Only by law and order; never breaks
The old law even to fulfil the new.
But men are ever eager, when they view
Some seeming strange disorder, to exclaim
‘A god! a god!’ They think they hear God's name
In thunder and in earthquake, but are deaf
To the low lispings of the fallen leaf,
And the soft hours. As tho' it were God's way
To make man's mere bewilderment obey
Some one of His immutably-fix'd laws
By breaking of another,—for no cause
Better than set agaping apes and fools—
Ruling His world by riving his own rules!
A worthy way! Sure am I, if anon
Some mighty-mouthèd prodigy . . . yon stone,
Say,—dumb as Pharaoh in his pyramid,
Should suddenly find tongue, and, speaking, bid
The hearers worship me,—or where, below
There, like a mangled serpent trailing slow,
The camel-path twists in and out the rocks,
Yon sandy fissure, which the sly bitch-fox
Would choose well for her yellow nursery,
Gave forth a voice, to every passer by
Proclaiming me the Appointed One, . . . they all
Would straightway grovel at my feet, and call
Heaven to attest how they believed,—each thief
And liar vigorous in his vow'd belief!
But 'twill not be.”
After a little pause,
“Why not?” said Amru.
Mohammed?”
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“Friend,
A sad thought; which I think you will not mend.
For first, I thought upon the mighty world
Which lies beyond this wilderness, unfurl'd
Like a great chart, to read in. And I saw
How in all places the old power and law
Are falling off. Again, I thought upon
My Arabs in the ages coming on;
The weakness, and the wickedness, of all
The ancient races; our own strength; God's call;
And all we might be, if we heard but that.
But if, I thought, I tell this people what
God, who speaks to me in the solitude,
Hath bid me tell them, the loud rabble rude
Will mock me, crying ‘Who made thee to be
A teacher of us?’ If I answer ‘He
Whose name is Very God, and God Alone,
He, and none other,’ surely they will stone
Or tear me. For tho' I, to prove the Lord
Hath sent me to them, should proclaim His word,
They will not heed it. Men were never wise
(And never will be yet!) to recognize
God, when He speaks by Law and Order: since
In these there's nothing startling to convince
The jaded sense of those that day by day
See law and order working every way
Around them,—yet in vain! And still God speaks
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The old law even to fulfil the new.
But men are ever eager, when they view
Some seeming strange disorder, to exclaim
‘A god! a god!’ They think they hear God's name
In thunder and in earthquake, but are deaf
To the low lispings of the fallen leaf,
And the soft hours. As tho' it were God's way
To make man's mere bewilderment obey
Some one of His immutably-fix'd laws
By breaking of another,—for no cause
Better than set agaping apes and fools—
Ruling His world by riving his own rules!
A worthy way! Sure am I, if anon
Some mighty-mouthèd prodigy . . . yon stone,
Say,—dumb as Pharaoh in his pyramid,
Should suddenly find tongue, and, speaking, bid
The hearers worship me,—or where, below
There, like a mangled serpent trailing slow,
The camel-path twists in and out the rocks,
Yon sandy fissure, which the sly bitch-fox
Would choose well for her yellow nursery,
Gave forth a voice, to every passer by
Proclaiming me the Appointed One, . . . they all
Would straightway grovel at my feet, and call
Heaven to attest how they believed,—each thief
And liar vigorous in his vow'd belief!
But 'twill not be.”
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“Why not?” said Amru.
“Why not, friend? Because,”
Mohammed answer'd, “Allah will not bring
His heaven and earth together, just to wring
Credence from creatures incapacious, slight,
And void, as these. Nor, tho' his own hand write
The wondrous warrant to this life of mine,
Dare I so much as publish the divine
Commission. Still the cautious earth and skies
Keep close the secret. Let who will be wise.
God shuts me in the hollow of His hand;
Tho' in my heart I hear His stern command
‘Go forth, and preach.’”
With petulant foot he spurn'd
The sandy pebbles from him.
Amru turn'd
His forehead, bright with sudden bravery, up:
And all his face flow'd over, as a cup
Wherein wine mantles, with a noble thought.
Mohammed answer'd, “Allah will not bring
His heaven and earth together, just to wring
Credence from creatures incapacious, slight,
And void, as these. Nor, tho' his own hand write
The wondrous warrant to this life of mine,
Dare I so much as publish the divine
Commission. Still the cautious earth and skies
Keep close the secret. Let who will be wise.
God shuts me in the hollow of His hand;
Tho' in my heart I hear His stern command
‘Go forth, and preach.’”
With petulant foot he spurn'd
The sandy pebbles from him.
Amru turn'd
His forehead, bright with sudden bravery, up:
And all his face flow'd over, as a cup
Wherein wine mantles, with a noble thought.
“And God doth well!” he answer'd, “tho' by nought,
Mohammed, proved a mightier miracle
(And, sure, God's gracious gift!) than is the spell
Thou hast to sway to thine my inmost heart,
Do I undoubtingly believe thou art
The Man Appointed,—yet, indeed, for such
As these, of whom thou speakest, needing much
More gross and vulgar warrant for belief,
—Incompetent to see in thee the Chief
Of Prophets, by the dominant pale brow
And eyes from which the sworded seraphs bow
Their foreheads abasht,—O wherefore need God send
A miracle more mighty than—a Friend,
Who loves” . . .
Mohammed, proved a mightier miracle
(And, sure, God's gracious gift!) than is the spell
Thou hast to sway to thine my inmost heart,
Do I undoubtingly believe thou art
The Man Appointed,—yet, indeed, for such
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More gross and vulgar warrant for belief,
—Incompetent to see in thee the Chief
Of Prophets, by the dominant pale brow
And eyes from which the sworded seraphs bow
Their foreheads abasht,—O wherefore need God send
A miracle more mighty than—a Friend,
Who loves” . . .
“A friend!”
—“I say, what miracle
Diviner than the heart that loveth well?”
Diviner than the heart that loveth well?”
“So well?” Mohammed faulter'd.
“Even so,”
Said Amru, drooping faint his head, as tho'
The effort to uplift that heavy weight
Of his devoted passion proved too great,
And dragg'd him down to earth.
Mohammed sat
Gasping against the silence: staring at
The man before him, with a smould'ring eye:
Whilst his hand shut and open'd silently,
As tho' the Fiend's black forelock, slipping thro'
His feverish clutch, just foil'd him: and the hue
Waned into whiteness on his swarthy cheek.
Then Amru, when Mohammed would not speak,
Lifted his looks, and gazed, as tho' in doubt
Of what strange thing the silence was about.
And Amru said
“Mohammed, let thy slave
Find favour in thy sight!—albeit, I have
No wit in counsel. Get thee privily
Again to Mecca. Leave this night to me.
To-morrow, stand up in the marketplace
And plead against the people, face to face,
And call them hither; prophesying they
By sign and miracle along the way
Shall know The Man Appointed. I, meanwhile,
Will creep into yon crevice . . . Ha! dost smile,
Mohammed? Dost approve the thing I mean?
—Will creep into yon crevice, and, unseen,
Await the multitude,—which must come by,
Thou guiding. Unto whom a voice shall cry
‘This is Mohammed! I, the Lord of Heaven,
Make known to all this people, I have given
To him to preach My Law,—that he may be
My Prophet, to all nations under Me.’
—Smile! smile again, Mohammed! . . . Only smile
Less terribly upon me! . . . Of the vile
The vilest,—yet thy servant, Aweful One!
Less terribly, Mohammed! . .
“Then, anon
When all the place is silent—the crowd far—
Far out of sight—and nothing but yon star
To witness,—I will steal out of the cave.” . . .
Said Amru, drooping faint his head, as tho'
The effort to uplift that heavy weight
Of his devoted passion proved too great,
And dragg'd him down to earth.
Mohammed sat
Gasping against the silence: staring at
The man before him, with a smould'ring eye:
Whilst his hand shut and open'd silently,
As tho' the Fiend's black forelock, slipping thro'
His feverish clutch, just foil'd him: and the hue
Waned into whiteness on his swarthy cheek.
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Lifted his looks, and gazed, as tho' in doubt
Of what strange thing the silence was about.
And Amru said
“Mohammed, let thy slave
Find favour in thy sight!—albeit, I have
No wit in counsel. Get thee privily
Again to Mecca. Leave this night to me.
To-morrow, stand up in the marketplace
And plead against the people, face to face,
And call them hither; prophesying they
By sign and miracle along the way
Shall know The Man Appointed. I, meanwhile,
Will creep into yon crevice . . . Ha! dost smile,
Mohammed? Dost approve the thing I mean?
—Will creep into yon crevice, and, unseen,
Await the multitude,—which must come by,
Thou guiding. Unto whom a voice shall cry
‘This is Mohammed! I, the Lord of Heaven,
Make known to all this people, I have given
To him to preach My Law,—that he may be
My Prophet, to all nations under Me.’
—Smile! smile again, Mohammed! . . . Only smile
Less terribly upon me! . . . Of the vile
The vilest,—yet thy servant, Aweful One!
Less terribly, Mohammed! . .
“Then, anon
When all the place is silent—the crowd far—
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To witness,—I will steal out of the cave.” . . .
“Hah!” . . .
“—O Mohammed, am I not thy slave?
Look not so fiercely on me! . . . And far off
Follow the silly people. Who will scoff?
Who will misdoubt thee then? . . . Mohammed, speak!”
Look not so fiercely on me! . . . And far off
Follow the silly people. Who will scoff?
Who will misdoubt thee then? . . . Mohammed, speak!”
Mohammed spake not.
All the Prophet's cheek
Was wan with whirling thoughts that o'er it cast
Their troubled shades, and left it calm at last,
As battle fields,—when battles have been won,
Or lost, and dawn breaks slowly.
Was wan with whirling thoughts that o'er it cast
Their troubled shades, and left it calm at last,
As battle fields,—when battles have been won,
Or lost, and dawn breaks slowly.
“Be it, my son,
As thou hast spoken. This is God's command.”
He wearily sigh'd, and laid a heavy hand
On Amru's shoulder. “I to Mecca go
This night. At dawn, as thou hast said, so do.”
As thou hast spoken. This is God's command.”
He wearily sigh'd, and laid a heavy hand
On Amru's shoulder. “I to Mecca go
This night. At dawn, as thou hast said, so do.”
And all night long, over the silent sand,
Under the silent stars, across the land
Mohammed fled: as tho' he heard the feet
Of Iblis following, and a voice repeat
Close at his ear, monotonous and slow,
Under the silent stars, across the land
Mohammed fled: as tho' he heard the feet
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Close at his ear, monotonous and slow,
“Thou wouldst have had this man trust thee. But now,
Mohammed, thou thyself must trust to him.”
Mohammed, thou thyself must trust to him.”
And the voice ceased not; nor the feet; till, dim
At first, then flaring in a stormy sky,
The drear dawn lighten'd o'er him angrily.
At first, then flaring in a stormy sky,
The drear dawn lighten'd o'er him angrily.
That day he stood up in the market-place,
And pleaded with the people face to face;
Pouring from urns of solitary thought
A piercing eloquence upon them, brought,
Word after word, by wondrous Spirits from far,
Shrill with the music of the morning star,
Weighty with thunder. Some averr'd they saw
The light that lighted Moses, when the Law
On Sinai from God's finger he received,
Enhalo all his brow. The noon achieved
The dawn's desire. They followed him by flocks
Far thro' the Desert to the rifted rocks.
And, ever as they journey'd, in their van
A thunder cloud, that, since the day began,
Had labour'd to demolish half the sky,
Travell'd to reach Mount Hara, and there die.
And still the people follow'd: and, beside
The mountain halting, heard a voice which cried
(Out of a rocky fissure, the ground story
Of some wild coney's dismal dormitory)
And pleaded with the people face to face;
Pouring from urns of solitary thought
A piercing eloquence upon them, brought,
Word after word, by wondrous Spirits from far,
Shrill with the music of the morning star,
Weighty with thunder. Some averr'd they saw
The light that lighted Moses, when the Law
On Sinai from God's finger he received,
Enhalo all his brow. The noon achieved
The dawn's desire. They followed him by flocks
Far thro' the Desert to the rifted rocks.
And, ever as they journey'd, in their van
A thunder cloud, that, since the day began,
Had labour'd to demolish half the sky,
Travell'd to reach Mount Hara, and there die.
And still the people follow'd: and, beside
The mountain halting, heard a voice which cried
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Of some wild coney's dismal dormitory)
“This is Mohammed! I, the Lord of Heaven,
Proclaim to all this people, I have given
To him to preach My Law, that he may be
My Prophet, to all nations under Me.”
Proclaim to all this people, I have given
To him to preach My Law, that he may be
My Prophet, to all nations under Me.”
And, as the voice ceased, suddenly a streak
Of fork'd fire flicker'd from a riven creek
In the spent cloud, which, splitting overhead
Bellow'd.
And all the people cried, and said
“The Voice of God!”
And then did each man fall
Flat at the Prophet's feet, and, grovelling, call
On Heaven's Appointed.
“Speak, Mohammed! speak!”
Of fork'd fire flicker'd from a riven creek
In the spent cloud, which, splitting overhead
Bellow'd.
And all the people cried, and said
“The Voice of God!”
And then did each man fall
Flat at the Prophet's feet, and, grovelling, call
On Heaven's Appointed.
“Speak, Mohammed! speak!”
Mohammed spake not.
All the Prophet's cheek
Was white with pain, as warring angels pass'd
Across his trampled soul—left bare at last
As battle fields,—when battles have been won,
Or lost, and dawn breaks slowly.
Blocks of stone,
Tumbled by ages in the rifted sand,
Burn'd white about the lion-colour'd land,
And, beaten by a blinding sunlight, made
Blots, in a level glare, of sprinkled shade.
Mohammed stretch'd his hand. Not Moses' rod
Won easier reverence.
Was white with pain, as warring angels pass'd
Across his trampled soul—left bare at last
As battle fields,—when battles have been won,
Or lost, and dawn breaks slowly.
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Tumbled by ages in the rifted sand,
Burn'd white about the lion-colour'd land,
And, beaten by a blinding sunlight, made
Blots, in a level glare, of sprinkled shade.
Mohammed stretch'd his hand. Not Moses' rod
Won easier reverence.
“Ay! the Voice of God
Hath spoken, not to be misunderstood,
This day unto us. Wherefore, it seems good
To build, O friends, an altar to The Lord
Here on the spot from whence the wondrous Word
Hath issued. And see! Nature, warn'd before
Of this forecast event, hath furnish'd store
Of stone to build with. Never from this day
Be it averr'd that any beast of prey
Or reptile base hath been allow'd to dwell
Where God first housed His Holy Oracle!
Cram every crevice of this mountain flaw:
Leave not a loophole for the leopard's paw,
A cranny that a mouse might wriggle thro'!
If anything unclean hath crept into
This Mouth of Earth where Heaven's high Voice abode
Erewhile, O friends,—worm, adder, viper, toad,
There let it perish 'neath a costlier tomb
Than ever reptile own'd! Seal up the womb
Of this dread prodigy. Hark! from you cloud
Above us, Spirits of the thunder, bow'd
To watch, grow wild, impatient to be gone.
Begin the work. Pile strong with ponderous stone
The altar. Bear ye each his burthen . . . Nay,
None but myself the first firm stone shall lay
Unto this sacred fabric!” . . .
Hath spoken, not to be misunderstood,
This day unto us. Wherefore, it seems good
To build, O friends, an altar to The Lord
Here on the spot from whence the wondrous Word
Hath issued. And see! Nature, warn'd before
Of this forecast event, hath furnish'd store
Of stone to build with. Never from this day
Be it averr'd that any beast of prey
Or reptile base hath been allow'd to dwell
Where God first housed His Holy Oracle!
Cram every crevice of this mountain flaw:
Leave not a loophole for the leopard's paw,
A cranny that a mouse might wriggle thro'!
If anything unclean hath crept into
This Mouth of Earth where Heaven's high Voice abode
Erewhile, O friends,—worm, adder, viper, toad,
There let it perish 'neath a costlier tomb
Than ever reptile own'd! Seal up the womb
Of this dread prodigy. Hark! from you cloud
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To watch, grow wild, impatient to be gone.
Begin the work. Pile strong with ponderous stone
The altar. Bear ye each his burthen . . . Nay,
None but myself the first firm stone shall lay
Unto this sacred fabric!” . . .
Then himself,
Fiercely dislodging from its sandy shelf
A mighty mountain fragment, roll'd, with might
And main, the rock-surrender'd offering right
Against the cave. And turn'd himself about
And hid his face. In prayer, as who shall doubt?
Fiercely dislodging from its sandy shelf
A mighty mountain fragment, roll'd, with might
And main, the rock-surrender'd offering right
Against the cave. And turn'd himself about
And hid his face. In prayer, as who shall doubt?
And, when the people heard this, they were glad
Exceedingly: not only to have had
No heavier task enjoin'd them, but because
If any man profane had dared to pause
And doubt till then, he, certes, had no choice
But to believe henceforth. For, if the voice
Were nothing more than human, the command
Was something less. Could mere Ambition stand
Thus calmly contemplating, stone by stone,
The immurement of some creature of its own?
And so they hearten'd to the work, until
The rocky altar rose against the hill;
And then Mohammed blest it.
And that day,
Upon that altar, Providence, they say,
Founded a new Religion. Which, thus reared
In the lone Desert, spread, and soon ensphered
The quadripartite globe. But, from that day,
Mohammed went no more alone to pray
On Hara, as his wont had been before.
Exceedingly: not only to have had
No heavier task enjoin'd them, but because
If any man profane had dared to pause
And doubt till then, he, certes, had no choice
But to believe henceforth. For, if the voice
Were nothing more than human, the command
Was something less. Could mere Ambition stand
Thus calmly contemplating, stone by stone,
The immurement of some creature of its own?
And so they hearten'd to the work, until
The rocky altar rose against the hill;
And then Mohammed blest it.
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Upon that altar, Providence, they say,
Founded a new Religion. Which, thus reared
In the lone Desert, spread, and soon ensphered
The quadripartite globe. But, from that day,
Mohammed went no more alone to pray
On Hara, as his wont had been before.
For him, the sweet of solitude was o'er.
It is needless to mention that this has no foundation whatever in fact. It is told by Vanini in one of his Dialogues, “De admirandis Naturæ,” &c., and there used by him, as here by me, without scruple, to serve a purpose by way of illustration. As regards Mohammed himself, it is a gross calumny. But, as regards every form of Religious Authority founded on fear of the Supernatural, whereof Mohammed is here the dramatic representative, it is no calumny, but, rather, the feeble illustration of a formidable fact.
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