Reconciliation of Races and Religions — 15 – [Part II. Biographical and Historical]: Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn: From “We next meet with her…” to “…into the very centre fount of the Bahai faith in universal peace.”

We next meet with her in confinement at Tihran.

There she was treated at first with the utmost gentleness, her personal charm being felt alike by her host, Maḥmūd the Kalantar, and by the most frigid of Persian sovereigns.

The former tried hard to save her.

Doubtless by using Ketman (i. e. by pretending to be a good Muslim) she might have escaped.

But her view of truth was too austere for this.

So the days--the well-filled days--wore on.

Her success with inquirers was marvellous; wedding-feasts were not half so bright as her religious soirées.

But she herself had a bridegroom, and longed to see him.

It was the attempt by a Bābī on the Shah's life on August 15, 1852, which brought her nearer to the desire of her heart.

One of the servants of the house has described her last evening on earth.

I quote a paragraph from the account.

'While she was in prison, the marriage of the Kalantar's son took place.

As was natural, all the women-folk of the great personages were invited.

But although large sums had been expended on the entertainments usual at such a time, all the ladies called loudly for Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn.

She came accordingly, and hardly had she begun to speak when the musicians and dancing-girls were dismissed, and, despite the counter attractions of sweet delicacies, the guests had no eyes and ears save for Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn.

'At last, a night came when something strange and sad happened.

I had just waked up, and saw her go down into the courtyard.

After washing from head to foot she went back into her room, where she dressed herself altogether in white.

She perfumed herself, and as she did this she sang, and never had I seen her so contented and joyous as in this song.

Then she turned to the women of the house, and begged them to pardon the disagreeables which might have been occasioned by her presence, and the faults which she might have committed towards them;

in a word, she acted exactly like some one who is about to undertake a long journey.

We were all surprised, asking ourselves what that could mean.

In the evening, she wrapped herself in a _chadour_, which she fixed about her waist, making a band of her _chargud_, then she put on again her _chagchour_.

Her joy as she acted thus was so strange that we burst into tears, for her goodness and inexhaustible friendliness made us love her.

But she smiled on us and said, "This evening I am going to take a great, a very great journey."

At this moment there was a knock at the street door.

"Run and open," she said, "for they will be looking for me."

'It was the Kalantar who entered.

He went in, as far as her room, and said to her, "Come, Madam, for they are asking for you."

"Yes," said she, "I know it.

I know, too, whither I am to be taken; I know how I shall be treated.

But, ponder it well, a day will come when thy Master will give thee like treatment."

Then she went out dressed as she was with the Kalantar; we had no idea whither she was being taken, and only on the following day did we learn that she was executed.'

One of the nephews of the Kalantar, who was in the police, has given an account of the closing scene, from which I quote the following: 'Four hours after sunset the Kalantar asked me if all my measures were taken, and upon the assurances which I gave him he conducted me into his house.

He went in alone into the _enderūn_, but soon returned, accompanied by Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn, and gave me a folded paper, saying to me, "You will conduct this woman to the garden of Ilkhaní, and will give her into the charge of Aziz Khan the Serdar."

'A horse was brought, and I helped Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn to mount.

I was afraid, however, that the Bābīs would find out what was passing.

So I threw my cloak upon her, so that she was taken for a man.

With an armed escort we set out to traverse the streets.

I feel sure, however, that if a rescue had been attempted my people would have run away.

I heaved a sigh of relief on entering the garden.

I put my prisoner in a room under the entrance, ordered my soldiers to guard the door well, and went up to the third story to find the Serdar.

'He expected me.

I gave him the letter, and he asked me if no one had understood whom I had in charge.

"No one," I replied, "and now that I have performed my duty, give me a receipt for my prisoner."

"Not yet," he said; "you have to attend at the execution; afterwards I will give you your receipt."

'He called a handsome young Turk whom he had in his service, and tried to win him over by flatteries and a bribe.

He further said, "I will look out for some good berth for you.

But you must do something for me.

Take this silk handkerchief, and go downstairs with this officer.

He will conduct you into a room where you will find a young woman who does much harm to believers, turning their feet from the way of Muḥammad.

Strangle her with this handkerchief.

By so doing you will render an immense service to God, and I will give you a large reward."

'The valet bowed and went out with me.

I conducted him to the room where I had left my prisoner.

I found her prostrate and praying.

The young man approached her with the view of executing his orders.

Then she raised her head, looked fixedly at him and said, "Oh, young man, it would ill beseem you to soil your hand with this murder."

'I cannot tell what passed in this young man's soul.

But it is a fact that he fled like a madman.

I ran too, and we came together to the serdar, to whom he declared that it was impossible for him to do what was required.

"I shall lose your patronage," he said.

"I am, indeed, no longer my own master; do what you will with me, but I will not touch this woman."

'Aziz Khan packed him off, and reflected for some minutes.

He then sent for one of his horsemen whom, as a punishment for misconduct, he had put to serve in the kitchens.

When he came in, the serdar gave him a friendly scolding: "Well, son of a dog, bandit that you are, has your punishment been a lesson to you?

and will you be worthy to regain my affection?

I think so.

Here, take this large glass of brandy, swallow it down, and make up for going so long without it."

Then he gave him a fresh handkerchief, and repeated the order which he had already given to the young Turk.

'We entered the chamber together, and immediately the man rushed upon Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn, and tied the handkerchief several times round her neck.

Unable to breathe, she fell to the ground in a faint; he then knelt with one knee on her back, and drew the handkerchief with might and main.

As his feelings were stirred and he was afraid, he did not leave her time to breathe her last.

He took her up in his arms, and carried her out to a dry well, into which he threw her still alive.

There was no time to lose, for daybreak was at hand.

So we called some men to help us fill up the well.'

Mons.

Nicolas, formerly interpreter of the French Legation at Tihran, to whom we are indebted for this narrative, adds that a pious hand planted five or six solitary trees to mark the spot where the heroine gave up this life for a better one.

It is doubtful whether the ruthless modern builder has spared them.

The internal evidence in favour of this story is very strong; there is a striking verisimilitude about it.

The execution of a woman to whom so much romantic interest attached cannot have been in the royal square; that would have been to court unpopularity for the Government.

Moreover, there is a want of definite evidence that women were among the public victims of the 'reign of Terror' which followed the attempt on the Shah's life (cp.

_TN,_ p. 334).

That Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn was put to death is certain, but this can hardly have been in public.

It is true, a European doctor, quoted by Prof. Browne (_TN,_ p. 313), declares that he witnessed the heroic death of the 'beautiful woman.'

He seems to imply that the death was accompanied by slow tortures.

But why does not this doctor give details?

Is he not drawing upon his fancy?

Let us not make the persecutors worse than they were.

Count Gobineau's informant appears to me too imaginative, but I will give his statements in a somewhat shortened form.

'The beauty, eloquence, and enthusiasm of Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn exercised a fascination even upon her gaoler.

One morning, returning from the royal camp, he went into the _enderūn,_ and told his prisoner that he brought her good news.

"I know it," she answered gaily; "you need not be at the pains to tell me."

"You cannot possibly know my news," said the Ḳalantar; "it is a request from the Prime Minister.

You will be conducted to Niyavaran, and asked, 'Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn, are you a Bābī?'

You will simply answer, 'No.' You will live alone for some time, and avoid giving people anything to talk about.

The Prime Minister will keep his own opinion about you, but he will not exact more of you than this."

' The words of the prophetess came true.

She was taken to Niyavaran, and publicly but gently asked, 'Are you a Bābī?'

She answered what she had said that she would answer in such a case.

She was taken back to Tihran.

Her martyrdom took place in the citadel.

She was placed upon a heap of that coarse straw which is used to increase the bulk of woollen and felt carpets.

But before setting fire to this, the executioners stifled her with rags, so that the flames only devoured her dead body.

An account is also given in the London manuscript of the _New History_, but as the Mirza suffered in the same persecution as the heroine, we must suppose that it was inserted by the editor.

It is very short.

'For some while she was in the house of Maḥmūd Khan, the Kalantar, where she exhorted and counselled the women of the household, till one day she went to the bath, whence she returned in white garments, saying, "To-morrow they will kill me."

Next day the executioner came and took her to the Nigaristan.

As she would not suffer them to remove the veil from her face (though they repeatedly sought to do so) they applied the bow-string, and thus compassed her martyrdom.

Then they cast her holy body into a well in the garden.

[Footnote: _NH_, pp. 283 _f_.

] My own impression is that a legend early began to gather round the sacred form of Her Highness the Pure.

Retracing his recollections even Dr. Polak mixes up truth and fiction, and has in his mind's eye something like the scene conjured up by Count Gobineau in his description of the persecution of Tihran:-- 'On vit s'avancer, entre les bourreaux, des enfants et des femmes, les chairs ouvertes sur tout le corps, avec des mèches allumées flambantes fichées dans les blessures.'

Looking back on the short career of Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn, one is chiefly struck by her fiery enthusiasm and by her absolute unworldliness.

This world was, in fact, to her, as it was said to be to Ḳuddus, a mere handful of dust.

She was also an eloquent speaker and experienced in the intricate measures of Persian poetry.

One of her few poems which have thus far been made known is of special interest, because of the belief which it expresses in the divine-human character of some one (here called Lord), whose claims, when once adduced, would receive general recognition.

Who was this Personage?

It appears that Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn thought Him slow in bringing forward these claims.

Is there any one who can be thought of but Baha-'ullah?

The Bahaite tradition confidently answers in the negative.

Baha-'ullah, it declares, exercised great influence on the second stage of the heroine's development, and Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn was one of those who had pressed forward into the innermost sanctum of the Bāb's disclosures.

She was aware that 'The Splendour of God' was 'He whom God would manifest.'

The words of the poem, in Prof. Browne's translation, refer, not to Ezel, but to his brother Baha-'ullah.

They are in _TN_, p. 315. 'Why lags the word, "_Am I not your Lord_"?

"_Yea, that thou art_," let us make reply.'

The poetess was a true Bahaite.

More than this; the harvest sown in Islamic lands by Ḳurratu'l 'Ayn is now beginning to appear.

A letter addressed to the _Christian Commonwealth_ last June informs us that forty Turkish suffragettes are being deported from Constantinople to Akka (so long the prison of Baha-'ullah): '"During the last few years suffrage ideas have been spreading quietly behind in the harems.

The men were ignorant of it; everybody was ignorant of it; and now suddenly the floodgate is opened and the men of Constantinople have thought it necessary to resort to drastic measures.

Suffrage clubs have been organized, intelligent memorials incorporating the women's demands have been drafted and circulated;

women's journals and magazines have sprung up, publishing excellent articles; and public meetings were held.

Then one day the members of these clubs--four hundred of them--_cast away their veils.

_ The staid, fossilized class of society were shocked, the good Mussulmans were alarmed, and the Government forced into action.

These four hundred liberty-loving women were divided into several groups.

One group composed of forty have been exiled to Akka, and will arrive in a few days.

Everybody is talking about it, and it is really surprising to see how numerous are those in favour of removing the veils from the faces of the women.

Many men with whom I have talked think the custom not only archaic, but thought-stifling.

The Turkish authorities, thinking to extinguish this light of liberty, have greatly added to its flame, and their high-handed action has materially assisted the creation of a wider public opinion and a better understanding of this crucial problem."

The other question exercising opinion in Ḥaifa is the formation of a military and strategic quarter out of Akka, which in this is resuming its bygone importance.

Six regiments of soldiers are to be quartered there.

Many officers have already arrived and are hunting for houses, and as a result rents are trebled.

It is interesting to reflect, as our Baha correspondent suggests, on the possible consequence of this projection of militarism into the very centre fount of the Bahai faith in universal peace.'