Paris, 1911
(‘Abdu’l-Baha entered. With one impulse we arose, paying
unconscious homage to the majesty of the station of servitude. Surely there can
be no greater station than this! Instantly one felt an intangible something
that stamped him as one apart. Try as one would it could not be defined. All
that was tangible was the dome-like head with its patriarchal beard and eyes
that suggested eternity. After greeting us he waved us to our seats and
inquired if there were any questions we would like to ask. When informed that
my editor had sent me to ascertain if he would speak of his prison life,
‘Abdu’l-Baha began at once to tell his story in a simple, impersonal way)
“At nine years of age, I was banished with my father,
Baha’u’llah, on His journey of exile to Bagdad, Arabia; seventy of His
followers accompanying us. This decree of exile after persistent persecution
was intended to effectively stamp out of Persia what the authorities considered
a dangerous movement. Baha’u’llah, His family and followers were driven from
place to place.
When I was about twenty-five years old, we were moved from
Constantinople to Adrianople and from there went with a guard of soldiers to
the fortressed city of Acca where we were imprisoned and closely guarded.
There was no communication whatever with the outside world.
Each loaf of bread was cut open by the guard to see that it contained no
message. All who believed in the universal precepts of Baha’u’llah, children,
men and women, were imprisoned with us. At one time there were one hundred and
fifty of us together in two rooms and no one was allowed to leave the place
except four people who went to the bazaar to market each morning under
guard.
Acca was a fever-ridden town in Palestine. It was said that
a bird attempting to fly over it would drop dead. The food was poor and
insufficient, the water was drawn from a fever-infected well and the climate
and conditions were such that even the natives of the town fell ill. Many
soldiers succumbed and eight out of ten of our guards died. During the intense
heat of that first summer, malaria, typhoid, and dysentery attacked the
prisoners, so that all the men, women and children were sick at one time. There
were no doctors, no medicine, no proper food and no medical treatment of any
kind. I used to make broth for the people and as I had much practice, I made
good broth, (said ‘Abdu’l-Baha, laughingly).
After two years of the strictest confinement, permission was
granted me to find a house, so that we could live outside the prison walls but
still within the fortifications. Many believers came from Persia to join us,
but were not allowed to do so. Nine years passed. Sometimes we were better off
and sometimes very much worse. It depended on the governor, who if he happened
to be a kind and lenient ruler, would grant us permission to leave the
fortification and would allow the people free access to visit the house; but
when the governor was more rigorous, extra guards were place around us and
often pilgrims who had come from afar were turned away.
One year before Abdu’l-Hamid was dethroned, he sent an
extremely overbearing, treacherous and insulting committee of investigation.
The chairman was one of the governer's staff, Arif Bey, and with him were three
army commanders of varying rank.
Immediately upon his arrival, Arif Bey proceeded to try to
get proof strong enough to denounce me to the Sultan and warrant sending me to
Fezan, or throwing me into the sea. Fezan is a caravan station on the boundary
of Tripoli, where there are no houses and no water. It is a month's journey by
camel route from Acca.
The committee, after denouncing me in their report, sent
word that they wanted to see me, but I declined. I assured them that I had no
desire to meet them. This infuriated them and when they sent for me again I
sent this word back: 'I know your purpose. You wish to incriminate me. Very
well, write in your report just what you like; send me a copy with instructions
as to what you want me to write, and I will seal it myself and give it to you.'
A ship came into port reputed to be the one that was to take
me to Fezan or drop me into the sea. The people used to stand on the wall of
the city and look at this ship; but Arif Bey, rising in supreme wrath, declared
that he would return to Constantinople and bring back an order from the Sultan
to have me hanged at the gate of Acca.
About this time another ship appeared in the harbor, an
Italian vessel sent by order of the Italian consul. On it I was to escape by
night. The friends implored me to go, but I sent this message to the captain:
'The Báb did not run away; Baha’u’llah did not run away; I shall not run away'
-- so the ship sailed away after waiting three days and three nights.
It was while the Sultan's committee of investigation was
homeward bound that the first historic shell was dropped into Abdu’l-Hamid's
camp and the first gun of freedom was into the home of despotism. That was
God's gun, (said Abdul Baha, with one of his wonderful smiles.)
When the committee reached Constantinople they had more
urgent things to think of. The capital was in a state of uproar and rebellion
and the committee, as members of the government staff, were delegated to
investigate the insurrection. Meanwhile the people established a constitutional
government and Abdu’l-Hamid was deposed.
With the advent of the Young Turk's supremacy, realized
through the Society of Union and Progress, in 1898, all the political and
religious prisoners of the Ottoman Empire were freed. Events took the chains
from my neck and placed them about Hamid's. ‘Abdu’l-Baha came out of prison and
Abdu’l-Hamid went in!
(What became of the committee? was asked).
Arif Bey, was shot with three bullets; the general was
exiled; the next in rank died suddenly and the third ran away to Cairo where he
sought and received help from some of the friends there.
(We are glad you are free, I said.)
(Again the wondrous smile.) Freedom is not a matter of
place. It is a condition. I was thankful for the prison and the lack of liberty
was very pleasing to me, for those days were passed in the path of service
under the utmost difficulties and trials, bearing fruits and results.
Unless one accepts dire vicissitudes he will not attain. To
me prison is freedom; troubles rest me; incarceration is an open court; death
is life and to be despised is honor. Therefore, I was happy all that time in
prison. When one is released from the prison of self, that is indeed freedom,
for self is the greater prison. When this release takes place, one can never be
imprisoned. They used to put my feet in stocks so, (and he put out his feet
before him to illustrate and laughed as though it were a joke he enjoyed.)
I would say to the guard 'You cannot imprison me, for here I
have light and air and bread and water. There will come a time when my body
will be in the ground and I shall have neither light nor air nor food nor
water, but even then I shall not be imprisoned.' The afflictions which come to
humanity sometimes tend to center the consciousness upon the limitations. This
is a veritable prison. Release comes by making of the will a door through which
the confirmations of the spirit come.
(What do you mean by the confirmations of the spirit? I
asked.)
The confirmations of the spirit are all those powers and
gifts with which some are born and which men sometimes call genius, but for
which others have to strive with infinite pains. They come to that man or woman
who accepts his life with radiant acquiescence.”
(Radiant acquiescence -- that was the quality with which we were suddenly seemed inspired as Abdul Baha bade us good-bye.)
~ ‘Abdu'l-Baha (quoted by Isabel Chamberlain (d. 1939), who compiled the book, ‘Abdu’l-Baha on Divine Philosophy’, consisting of talks delivered in Paris.)
(Radiant acquiescence -- that was the quality with which we were suddenly seemed inspired as Abdul Baha bade us good-bye.)
~ ‘Abdu'l-Baha (quoted by Isabel Chamberlain (d. 1939), who compiled the book, ‘Abdu’l-Baha on Divine Philosophy’, consisting of talks delivered in Paris.)
