of course, another factor in the success of the Babi propagandist, as compared with the Christian missionary, in the conversion of Muhammedans to his faith: namely, that the former admits, while the latter rejects, the Divine inspiration of the Quran and the prophetic function of Muhammad. The Christian missionary must begin by attacking, explicitly or by implication, both these beliets; too often forgetting that if (as happens but rarely) he succeeds in destroying them, he destroys with them that recognition of former prophetic dispensations (including the Jewish and the Christian) which Muhammad and the Quran proclaim, and converts his Muslim antagonist not to Christianity, but to Skepticism or Atheism. What, indeed, could be more illogical on the part of Christian missionaries to Muhammedan lands than to devote much time and labour to the composition of controversial works which endeavor to prove, in one and the same breath, first, that the Quran is a lying imposture, and, secondly, that it bears witness to the truth of Christ’s mission, as though any value attached to the testimony of one proved a liar! The Babi (or Bahá’í) propagandist, on the other hand, admits that Muhammad was the prophet of God and that the Quran is the Word of God, denies nothing but their finality, and does not discredit his own witness when he draws from that source arguments to prove his faith. To the Western observer, however, it is the complete sincerity of the Bahá’í, their fearless disregard of death and torture undergone for the sake of their religion, their certain conviction as to the truth of their faith, their generally admirable conduct towards mankind and especially towards their fellow-believers, which constitute their strongest claim on his attention.
Introduction to Mr. M. H. Phelps’ “Abbas Effendi.” P. XII-XIV.
It was under the influence of this enthusiasm that I penned the introduction to my translation of the “Traveller’s Narrative.”. . . . This enthusiasm, condoned, if not shared, by many kindly critics and reviewers, exposed me to a somewhat savage attack in the “Oxford Magazine,” an attack concluding with the assertion that my Introduction displayed “a personal attitude almost inconceivable in a rational European, and a style unpardonable in a university teacher.” (The review in question appeared in the Oxford Magazine of May 25, 1892, P. 304 . . . “the prominence given to the Báb in this book is an absurd violation of historical perspective; and the translation of the “Traveller’s Narrative” a waste of the powers and opportunities of a Persian Scholar.”) Increasing age and experience (more’s the pity!) are apt enough, even without the assistance of the Oxford Magazine to modify our enthusiasms; but in this case, at least, time has so far vindicated my judgment against that of my Oxford Reviewer that he could scarcely now maintain, as he formerly asserted, that the Babi religion “had affected the least important part of the Moslem World, and that not deeply.” Every one who is in the slightest degree conversant with the actual state of things (September 27, 1903) in Persia now recognizes that the number and influence of the Babis in that country is immensely greater than it was fifteen years ago. . . .
b. “A Traveller’s Narrative,” P. 309.
The appearance of such a woman as Kurratu’l ‘Ayn is in any country and any age a rare phenomenon, but in such a country as Persia it is a prodigy—nay, almost a miracle. Alike in virtue of her marvellous beauty, her rare intellectual gifts, her fervid eloquence, her fearless devotion and her glorious martyrdom, she stands forth incomparable and immortal amidst her countrywomen. Had the Babi religion no other claim to greatness, this were sufficient—that it produced a heroine like Kurratu’l ‘Ayn.
Introduction to “A Traveller’s Narrative.” P. IX, X.
Though I dimly suspected whither I was going and whom I was to behold (for no distinct intimation had been given to me), a second or two elapsed ere, with a throb of wonder and awe, I became definitely conscious that the room was not untenanted. In the corner where the divan met the wall sat a wondrous and venerable figure, crowned with a felt head-dress of the kind called taj by dervishes (but of unusual height and make), round the base of which was wound a small white turban. The face of him on whom I gazed I can never forget, though I can not describe it. Those piercing eyes seemed to read one’s very soul; power and authority sat on that ample brow; while the deep lines on the forehead and face implied an age which the jet-black hair and beard flowing down in indistinguishable luxuriance almost to the waist seemed to belie. No need to ask in whose presence I stood, as I bowed myself before one who is the object of a devotion and love which kings might envy and emperors sigh for in vain!. . . . Let those who read them consider well with themselves whether such doctrines merit death and bonds, and whether the world is more likely to gain or lose by their diffusion.
Introduction to “A Traveller’s Narrative.” P. XXXV, XXXVI.
Seldom have I seen one whose appearance impressed me more. A tall, strongly-built man holding himself straight as an