CHAPTER XXIV. Hospitality

HOSPITALITY

WE have seen that in early society regard for the life and physical well-being of a fellow-creature is, generally speaking, restricted to members of the social unit, whereas foreigners are subject to a very different treatment. But to this rule there are remarkable exceptions. Side by side with gross indifference or positive hatred to strangers we find, among the lower races, instances of great kindness displayed even towards persons of a foreign race. The Veddahs are ready to help any stranger in distress who asks for their assistance, and Sinhalese fugitives who have sought refuge in their wilds have always been kindly received. Mr. Moffat was deeply affected by the sympathy which some poor Bushmans showed to him during an illness, although he was an utter stranger to them. Speaking of the mutual affection which the Andaman Islanders display in their social relations, Mr. Man adds that, "in their dealings with strangers, the same characteristic is observable when once a good understanding has been established." We have also to remember the friendly manner in which the aborigines in various parts of the savage world behaved to the earliest European visitors. Nothing could be more courteous than the reception which Cook and his party met with in New Caledonia, where the natives guided and accompanied them on their {571} excursions. Forster says of the Society Islanders, "We should indeed be ungrateful if we did not acknowledge the kindness with which they always treated us." De Clerque observes with reference to the Papuans on the north coast of New Guinea:--"The inhabitants seemed always ready to help. . . . On our visit to the village all the male and female inhabitants with their children flocked around me, and offered me cocoanuts and sugar-cane; which, for the first contact with Europeans, is certainly remarkable." On the arrival of white people in various parts of Australia, the natives were not only inoffensive, but disposed to meet them on terms of amity and kindness. "In a short intercourse," says Eyre, "they are easily made friends. . . . On many occasions where I have met these wanderers in the wild, far removed from the abodes of civilisation, and when I have been accompanied only by a single native boy, I have been received by them in the kindest and most friendly manner, had presents made to me of fish, kangaroo, or fruit, had them accompany me for miles to point out where water was to be procured, and been assisted by them in getting at it." Nor must we forget the kind reception which Australian Blacks have given to men cast upon their mercy, and the tenderness with which the natives of Cooper's Creek wept for the death of Burke and Wills, and comforted King, the survivor. Unfortunately, native races have often received anything but favourable impressions from their earliest interviews with Europeans; and both in Australia and elsewhere prolonged intercourse with white people has, in many instances, induced them to change {572} their friendly behaviour into unkindness or hostility. The Canadian traders, for instance, when they first appeared among the Beaver and Rocky Mountain Indians, were treated by these people with the utmost hospitality and attention; but by their subsequent conduct they taught the natives to withdraw their respect, and sometimes to treat them with indignity. Harmon writes, "I have always experienced the greatest hospitality and kindness among those Indians who have had the least intercourse with white people." Many facts seem to verify the statement made by a missionary who speaks from forty years' experience among the natives of New Guinea and Polynesia, that our conduct towards savages determines their conduct towards us.

The friendly reception which white men have met with in savage countries is closely connected with a custom which, as it seems, prevails universally among the lower races while in their native state, as also among the {573} peoples of culture at the earlier stages of their civilisation {574} --hospitality towards strangers. This custom presents several remarkable characteristics, which, to all appearance, ill agree with their tribal or national exclusiveness generally. The stranger is often welcomed with special marks of honour. The best seat is assigned to him; the best food at the host's disposal is set before {575} him; he takes precedence over all the members of the household; he enjoys extraordinary privileges. M. Hyades says of the Fuegians, "Quelque encombrée que soit une hutte, et si réduite que soit la quantité d'aliments dont on dispose, le nouvel arrivant est toujours assuré d'avoir une place près du foyer et une part de la nourriture." The Mattoal of California, though they are sometimes heartlessly indifferent even to their parents, "will divide the last shred of dried salmon with any casual comer who has not a shadow of claim upon them, except the claim of that exaggerated and supererogatory hospitality that savages use." A Creek Indian would not only receive into his house a traveller or sojourner of whatever nation or colour, but would treat him as a brother or as his own child, divide with him the last grain of corn or piece of flesh, and offer him the most valuable things in his possession. Among the Arawaks, "when a stranger, and particularly an European, enters the house of an Indian, every thing is at his command." Notwithstanding the Karen's suspicious nature, says Mr. Smeaton, his hospitality is unbounded. "He will entertain every stranger that comes, without asking a question. He feels himself disgraced if he does not receive all comers, and give them the very best cheer he has. The wildest Karen will receive a guest with a grace and dignity and entertain him with a lavish hospitality that would become a duke. Hundreds of their old legends inculcate the duty of receiving strangers without regard to pecuniary circumstances either of host or guest." Among many uncivilised peoples it is customary for a man to offer even his wife, or one of his wives, to the stranger for the time he remains his guest. The Bedouins of Nejd have a {576} saying that "the guest while in the house is its lord"; and in the Institutes of Vishnu we read that, as the Brâhmanas are lords over all other castes, and as a husband is lord over his wives, so the guest is the lord of his host.

For the deteriorating influence which contact with a "higher culture" exercises on savage hospitality, see Nansen, First Crossing of Greenland, ii. 306 sq.; Ellis, Tour through Hawaii, p. 346; von Kotzebue, op. cit. iii. 250 (Hawaiians); Meade, Ride through the Disturbed Districts of New Zealand, p. 164; Dieffenbach, op. cit. ii. 107, 108, 110.]

Custom may require that hospitality should be shown even to an enemy. Captain Holm tells us of a Greenlander of bad character who, though he had murdered his step-father, was received, and for a long time entertained, when he paid a visit to the nearest kindred of the murdered man; and this, as it seems, was agreeable to old custom. Among the Aeneze Bedouins, says Burckhardt, all means are reckoned lawful to avenge the blood of a slain relative, "provided the homicide be not killed while he is a guest in the tent of a third person, or if he has taken refuge even in the tent of his deadly foe." In Afghanistan "a man's bitterest enemy is safe while he is under his roof." We read in the Hitopadesa:--"On even an enemy arrived at the house becoming hospitality should be bestowed; the tree does not withdraw its sheltering shadow from the wood-cutter. . . . The guest is everyone's superior." The old Norsemen considered it a duty to treat a guest hospitably even though it came out that he had killed the brother of his host. A mediæval {577} knight granted safe conduct through his territories to all who required it, including those who asserted pretensions which, if established, would deprive him of his possessions.

To protect a guest is looked upon as a most stringent duty under all circumstances. "Le Kabyle qui accorde son ânaïa doit, sous peine d'infamie, y faire honneur, dût-il s'exposer à tous les dangers. . . . La violation de leur ânaïa est la plus grave injure que l'on puisse infliger à des Kabyles. Un homme qui viole, ou, suivant l'expression consacrée, qui brise l'ânaïa de son village ou de sa tribu, est puni de mort et de la confiscation de tous ses biens; sa maison est démolie." Among the Bedouins a breach of the law of dakheel "would be considered a disgrace not only upon the individual but upon his family, and even upon his tribe, which never could be wiped out. No greater insult can be offered to a man, or to his clan, than to say that he has broken the dakheel." Among the Aenezes, according to Burckhardt, "a violation of hospitality, by the betraying of a guest, has not occurred within the memory of man." In Egypt, "most Bedawees will suffer almost any injury to themselves or their families rather than allow their guests to be ill-treated while under their protection." Among the Kandhs, "for the safety of a guest life and honour are pledged; he is to be considered before a child"; in order to save his guest a man is even allowed to speak falsely, which is otherwise condemned by them as a heinous sin. Vámbéry tells us of cases in which the Kara-Kirghiz have preferred being harassed with war by the Chinese to surrendering to them such Chinese fugitives as have sought and received their hospitality. Among the Ossetes the host not only considers himself responsible for the safety of his guest, {578} but "revenges the murder or wounding of the latter as he would that of a kinsman." In Albania it is considered infamous to leave an injury inflicted on a guest unavenged. Among the Takue, though a man would accept compensation for the murder of a relative, he would in all cases exact blood-revenge for the murder of his guest. On the other hand, in Sierra Leone a guest "is scarcely accountable for any faults which he may commit, whether through inadvertency or design, the host being considered as responsible for the actions of 'his stranger.'"

Hospitality is not only regarded as a duty of the first order, but has, in a remarkable degree, been associated with religion. Among the doctrines held up for acceptance by the religious instructors of the Iroquois there was the following precept:--"If a stranger wander about your abode, welcome him to your home, be hospitable towards him, speak to him with kind words, and forget not always to mention the Great Spirit." The natives of Aneiteum, of the New Hebrides, maintained that generous hospitality would receive the highest reward in the Land of the Dead. The Kalmucks believe that want of hospitality will be punished by angry gods. The Kandhs say that the first duty which the gods have imposed upon man is that of hospitality; and "persons guilty of the neglect of established observances are punished by the divine wrath, either during their current lives, or when they afterwards return to animate other bodies," the penalties being death, poverty, disease, the loss of children, or any other form of calamity. In the sacred books of India hospitality is repeatedly spoken of as a most important duty, the discharge of which will be {579} amply rewarded. "The inhospitable man," the Vedic singer tell us, "acquires food in vain. I speak the truth--it verily is his death. . . . He who eats alone is nothing but a sinner." "He who does not feed these five, the gods, his guests, those whom he is bound to maintain, the manes, and himself, lives not, though he breathes." According to the Vishnu Purána, a person who neglects a poor and friendless stranger in want of hospitality, goes to hell. On the other hand, by honouring guests a householder obtains the highest reward. "He who entertains guests for one night obtains earthly happiness, a second night gains the middle air, a third heavenly bliss, a fourth the world of unsurpassable bliss; many nights procure endless worlds. That has been declared in the Veda." It is said in the Mahabharata that "he who gives food freely to a fatigued wayfarer, whom he has never seen before, obtains great virtuous merit." According to Hesiod, Zeus himself is wrath with him who does evil to a suppliant or a guest, and at last, in requital for his deed, lays on him a bitter penalty. Plato says:--"In his relations to strangers, a man should consider that a contract is a most holy thing, and that all concerns and wrongs of strangers are more directly dependent on the protection of God, than wrongs done to citizens. . . . He who is most able is the genius and the god of the stranger, who follows in the train of Zeus, the god of strangers. And for this reason, he who has a spark of caution in him, will do his best to pass through life without sinning against the stranger. And of offences committed, whether against strangers or fellow-country-men, that against suppliants is the greatest." Similar opinions prevailed in ancient Rome. Jus hospitii, whilst {580} forming no part of the civil law, belonged to fas; the stranger, who enjoyed no legal protection, was, as a guest, protected by custom and religion. The dii hospitales and Jupiter were on guard over him; hence the duties towards a guest were even more stringent than those towards a relative. Cæsar and Tacitus attest that the Teutons considered it impious to injure a guest or to exclude any human being from the shelter of their roof. The God of Israel was a preserver of strangers. In the Talmud hospitality is described as "the most important part of divine worship," as being equivalent to the duty of honouring father and mother, as even more meritorious than frequenting the synagogue. Muhammedanism likewise regards hospitality as a religious duty. "Whoever," said the Prophet, "believes in God and the day of resurrection, must respect his guest." But the idea that a guest enjoys divine protection prevailed among the Arabs long before the times of Muhammed. The Bedouins say that the guests are "guests of God." The Christian Church, again, regarded hospitality as a duty imposed by Christ.

That a stranger, who under other circumstances is treated as an inferior being or a foe, liable to be robbed and killed with impunity, should enjoy such extraordinary privileges as a guest, is certainly one of the most curious contrasts which present themselves to a student of the moral ideas of mankind. It may be asked, why should {581} he be received at all? Of course, he stands in need of protection and support, but why should those who do not know him care for that?

One answer is that his helpless condition may excite pity; facts seem to prove that even among savages the altruistic feelings, however narrow, can be stirred by the sight of a suffering and harmless stranger. Another answer is that the host himself may expect to reap benefit from his act. And there can be little doubt that the rules of hospitality are in the main based on egoistic considerations.

It has been justly observed that in uncivilised countries, where there is no public accommodation for travellers, "hospitality is so necessary, and so much required by the mutual convenience of all parties, as to detract greatly from its merit as a moral quality." When the stranger belongs to a community with which a reciprocity of intercourse prevails, it is prudent to give him a hearty reception; he who is the host to-day may be the guest tomorrow. "If the Red Indians are hospitable," says Domenech, "they also look for their hospitality being returned with the same marks of respect and consideration." Moreover, the stranger is a bearer of news and tidings, and as such may be a welcome guest where communication between different places is slow and rare. During my wanderings in the remote forests of Northern Finland I was constantly welcomed with the phrase, "What news?" But the stranger may be supposed to bring with him something which is valued even more highly, namely, good luck or blessings.

During the first days of my stay at Demnat, in the Great Atlas, the natives in spite of their hostility towards Europeans, said they were quite pleased with my coming to see them, because I had brought with me rain and an increase of the import of victuals, which just before my arrival had been very scarce. So, too, whilst residing among the Andjra mountaineers in the North of Morocco, I was said to be a person with "propitious ankles," because, since I settled down among them, the village where I stayed was frequently visited by Shereefs--presumed descendants of the Prophet Muhammed--who are always highly valued guests on account of the baraka, or holiness, with which they are supposed in a smaller or greater degree to be endowed. The stranger may be a source of good fortune either involuntarily, as a bearer of luck, or through his good wishes; and there is every reason to hope that he will, if treated hospitably, return the kindness of his host with a blessing. According to the old traveller d'Arvieux, strangers, who come to an Arab village are received by the Sheikh with some such words as these:--"You are welcome; praised be God that you are in good health; your arrival draws down the blessing of heaven upon us; the house and all that is in it is yours, you are masters of it." It is said in one of the sacred books of India that through a Brâhmana guest the people obtain rain, and food through rain, hence they know that "the hospitable reception of a guest is a ceremony averting evil." When we read in the Laws of Manu that "the hospitable reception of guests procures wealth, fame, long life, and heavenly bliss," it is also reasonable to suppose that this supernatural reward is a result of blessings invoked on the host. In the 'Suppliants' of Aeschylus the Chorus sings:--"Let us utter for the Argives blessings in requital of their blessings. And may Zeus of Strangers watch to their fulfilment the rewards that issue from a stranger's tongue, that {583} they reach their perfect goal." We can now understand the eagerness with which guests are sought for. When a guest enters the hut of a Kalmuck, "the host, the hostess, and everybody in the hut, rejoice at the arrival of the stranger as at an unexpected fortune." Among the Arabs of Sinai, "if a stranger be seen from afar coming towards the camp, he is the guest for that night of the first person who descries him, and who, whether a grown man or a child, exclaims, 'There comes my guest.' Such a person has a right to entertain the guest that night. Serious quarrels happen on these occasions; and the Arabs often have recourse to their great oath--'By the divorce (from my wife) I swear that I shall entertain the guest'; upon which all opposition ceases." It is also very usual in the East to eat before the gate of the house where travellers pass, and every stranger of respectable appearance is invariably requested to sit down and partake of the repast. Among the Maoris, "no sooner does a stranger appear in sight, than he is welcomed with the usual cry of 'Come hither! come hither!' from numerous voices, and is immediately invited to eat of such provisions as the place affords."

If efficacy is ascribed to the blessings even of an ordinary man, the blessings of a stranger are naturally supposed to be still more powerful. For the unknown stranger, like everything unknown and everything strange, arouses a feeling of mysterious awe in superstitious minds. The Ainos say, "Do not treat strangers slightingly, for you never know whom you are entertaining." According to the Hitopadesa, "a guest consists of all the deities." It is significant that in the writings of ancient India, Greece, and Rome, guests are mentioned next after gods as due objects of regard. Thus Aeschylus speaks of a man's {584} "impious conduct to a god, or a stranger, or to his parents dear." According to Homeric notions, "the gods, in the likeness of strangers from far countries, put on all manner of shapes, and wander through the cities, beholding the violence and the righteousness of men." The author of the Epistle to the Hebrews writes, "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."

The visiting stranger, however, is regarded not only as a potential benefactor, but as a potential source of evil. He may bring with him disease or ill-luck. He is commonly believed to be versed in magic; and the evil wishes and curses of a stranger are greatly feared, owing partly to his quasi-supernatural character, partly to the close contact in which he comes with the host and his belongings.

In the Mentawey Islands, in the Malay Archipelago, "if a stranger enters a house where there are children, the father or some other member of the family who happens to be present, takes the ornament with which the children decorate their hair, and hands it to the stranger, who holds it in his hands for a while, and then gives it back"; this is supposed to protect the child from the evil effect which the eye of a stranger might have on it. With reference to the Californian Pomo, Mr. Powers states, "Let a perfect stranger enter a wigwam and offer the lodge-father a string of beads for any object that takes his fancy--merely pointing to it, but uttering no word--and the owner holds himself bound in savage honour to make the exchange, whether it is a fair one or not." When we compare this idea of "savage honour" with certain cases mentioned in the last chapter, we cannot doubt that it is based on superstitious fear; indeed, the next day the former owner of the article "may thrust the stranger through with his spear, or crush his forehead with a pebble from his sling, and the bystanders will look {585} upon it as only the rectification of a bad bargain." Among the African Herero "no curse is regarded as heavier than that which one who has been inhospitably treated would hurl at those who have driven him from the hearth." According to Greek ideas, guests and suppliants had their Erinyes --personifications of their curses; and it would be difficult to attribute any other meaning to "the genius ([Greek: dai/môn]) and the god of the stranger, who follow in the train of Zeus," spoken of by Plato, and to the Roman dii hospitales, in their capacity of avengers of injuries done to guests. Aeschylus represents Apollo as saying, "I shall assist him (Orestes), and rescue my own suppliant; for terrible both among men and gods is the wrath of a refugee, when one abandons him with intent." It is no doubt the same idea that the Chorus in the 'Suppliants' expresses, in a modified form, when singing:--"Grievous is the wrath of Zeus Petitionary. . . . I must needs hold in awe the wrath of Zeus Petitionary, for that is the supremest on earth." Âpastamba's Aphorisms contain a sûtra the object of which is to show the absolute necessity of feeding a guest, owing to the fact that, "if offended, he might burn the house with the flames of his anger"; for "a guest comes to the house resembling a burning fire," "a guest rules over the world of Indra." According to the Institutes of Vishnu, "one who has arrived as a guest and is obliged to turn home disappointed in his expectations, takes away from the man to whose house he has come his religious merit, and throws his own guilt upon him"; and the {586} same idea is found in many other ancient books of India. That a dissatisfied guest, or a Brâhmana, thus takes with him the spiritual merit of his churlish host, allows of a quite literal interpretation. In Morocco, a Shereef is generally unwilling to let a stranger kiss his hand, for fear lest the stranger should extract from him his baraka, or holiness; and the Shereefs of Wazzari are reputed to rob other Shereefs, who visit them, of their holiness, should the latter leave behind any remainder of their meals, even though it be only a bone.

The efficacy of a wish or a curse depends not only upon the potency which it possesses from the beginning, owing to certain qualities in the person from whom it originates, but also on the vehicle by which it is conducted--just as the strength of an electric shock depends both on the original intensity of the current and on the condition of the conductor. As particularly efficient conductors are regarded blood, bodily contact, food, and drink. In Morocco, the duties of a host are closely connected with the institution of l-[(]âr, one of the most sacred customs of that country. If a person desires to compel another to help him, or to forgive him, or, generally, to grant some request, he makes [(]âr on him. He kills a sheep or a goat or only a chicken at the threshold of his house, or at the entrance of his tent; or he grasps with his hands either the person whom he invokes, or that person's child, or the horse which he is riding; or he touches him with his turban or a fold of his dress. In short, he establishes some kind of contact with the other person, to serve as a conductor of his wishes and of his conditional curses. It is universally believed that, if the person so appealed to does not grant the request, his own welfare is at stake, and that the danger is particularly great if an animal has been killed at his door, and he steps over the blood or only catches a glimpse of it. As appears from the expression, "This is [(]âr on you if you do not do this or that," the blood, or {587} the direct bodily contact, is supposed to transfer to the other person a conditional curse:--If you do not help me, then you will die, or your children will die, or some other evil will happen to you. So also the owner of a house or a tent to which a person has fled for refuge must, in his own interest, assist the fugitive, who is in his [(]âr; for, by being in his dwelling, the refugee is in close contact with him and his belongings. Again, the restraint which a common meal lays on those who partake of it is conspicuous in the usual practice of sealing a compact of friendship by eating together at the tomb of some saint. The true meaning of this is made perfectly clear by the phrase that "the food will repay" him who breaks the compact. The sacredness of the place adds to the efficacy of the imprecation, but its vehicle, the real punisher, is the eaten food, because it embodies a conditional curse.

Now the idea underlying these customs is certainly not restricted to Morocco. As will be shown in subsequent chapters, blood is very commonly used as a conductor of conditional curses; for instance, one object of the practice of sacrifice is to transfer an imprecation to the god by means of the blood of the victim. Bodily contact is another common means of communicating curses; and this accounts for many remarkable cases of compulsory hospitality and protection which have been noticed in different quarters of the world. In Fiji "the same native who within a few yards of his house would murder a coming or departing guest for sake of a knife or a hatchet, will defend him at the risk of his own life as soon as he has passed his threshold." In the Pelew Islands "an enemy may not be killed in a house, especially not in the presence of the host." If an Ossetian receives into his house a stranger whom he afterwards discovers to be a man to whom he owes blood-revenge, this makes no difference in his hospitality; but when the guest takes his leave, the {588} host accompanies him to the boundary of the village, and on parting from him exclaims, "Henceforth beware!" Among the Kandhs, if a man can make his way by any means into the house of his enemy he cannot be touched, even though his life has been forfeited to his involuntary host by the law of blood-revenge. In none of these cases is an explanation given of the extraordinary privilege granted to the stranger; but it seems highly probable that it has the same origin as the exactly similar custom prevalent among the Moors. In other words, as soon as the stranger has come in touch with a person by entering his house, he is thought to be able to transmit to that person and his family and his property any evil wishes he pleases. So, also, in the East any stranger may place himself under the protection of an Arab by merely touching his tent or his tent-ropes, and after this is done "it would be reckoned a disgraceful meanness, an indelible shame, to satisfy even a just vengeance at the expense of hospitality." "Amongst the Shammar," says Layard, "if a man can seize the end of a string or thread, the other end of which is held by his enemy, he immediately becomes his Dakheel [or protégé]. If he touch the canvas of a tent, or can even throw his mace towards it, he is the Dakheel of its owner. If he can spit upon a man or touch any article belonging to him with his teeth, he is Dakhal, unless of course, in case of theft, it be the person who caught him. . . . The Shammar never plunder a caravan within sight of their encampment, for as long as a stranger can see their tents they consider him their Dakheel." But one of the Bedouin tribes described by Lady Anne and Mr. Blunt, whilst ready to rob the stranger who comes to their tents, {589} "count their hospitality as beginning only from the moment of his eating with them." All Bedouins regard the eating of "salt" together as a bond of mutual friendship, and there are tribes who quite in accordance with the Moorish principle, "the food will repay you"--require to renew this bond every twenty-four hours, or after two nights and the day between them, since otherwise, as they say, "the salt is not in their stomachs," and can therefore no longer punish the person who breaks the contract. The "salt" which gives a claim to protection consists in eating even the smallest portion of food belonging to the protector. The Sultan Saladin did not allow the Crusader Renaud de Chatillon, when brought before him as a prisoner, to quench his thirst in his tent, for, had he drunk water there, the enemy would have been justified in regarding his life as safe. We find a similar custom among the Omaha Indians: "should an enemy appear in the lodge and receive a mouthful of food or water, or put the pipe in his mouth, he cannot be injured by any member of the tribe, as he is bound for the time being by the ties of hospitality, and they are compelled to protect him and send him home in safety." In these and similar cases, where there is no common meal, the guest may nevertheless transmit to his host a curse by the exceedingly close contact established between him and the food or drink or tobacco of the host, according to the principle of pars pro toto. This is an idea very familiar to the primitive mind. It lies, for instance, at the bottom of the common belief that a person may bewitch his enemy by getting hold of some of his spittle or some leavings of his food--a belief which has led to the custom of guests carrying away with them all they are unable to eat of the food which is placed before them, {590} out of dread lest the residue of their meal should be eaten by somebody else. The magic wire may conduct imprecations in either direction. In Morocco, if a person gives to another some food or drink, it is considered dangerous, not only for the recipient to receive it without saying, "In the name of God," but also for the giver to give it without uttering the same formula, by way of precaution.

The stranger thus being looked upon as a more or less dangerous individual, it is natural that those who are exposed to the danger should do what they can to avert it. With this end in view certain ceremonies are often performed immediately on his arrival. Many such reception ceremonies have been described by Dr. Frazer, but I shall add a few others which seem to serve the object of either transferring to the stranger conditional curses or purifying him from dangerous influences. I am told by a native that among some of the nomadic Arabs of Morocco, as soon as a stranger appears in the village, some water, or, if he be a person of distinction, some milk, is presented to him. Should he refuse to partake of it, he is not allowed to go freely about, but has to stay in the village mosque. On asking for an explanation of this custom, I was told that it is a precaution against the stranger; should he steal or otherwise misbehave himself, the drink would cause his knees to swell so that he could not escape. In other words, he has drunk a conditional curse. The {591} Arabs of a tribe in Nejd "welcome" a guest by pouring on his head a cup of melted butter, the South African Herero greet him with a vessel of milk. Sir S. W. Baker describes a reception custom practised by the Arabs on the Abyssinian frontier, which is exactly similar to one form of l-[(]âr of the Moors:--"The usual welcome upon the arrival of a traveller, who is well received in an Arab camp, is the sacrifice of a fat sheep, that should be slaughtered at the door of his hut or tent, so that the blood flows to the threshold." Reception sacrifices also occur among the Shulis, in Liberia, and in Afghanistan. Among the Indians of North America, again, it is a common rule that a dish of food should be placed before the new-comer immediately on his arrival, that he should taste of it even though he has just arisen from a feast, and that no word should be spoken to him or no question put to him until he has partaken of the food. Among the Omahas "the master of the house is evidently ill at ease, until the food is prepared for eating; he will request his squaws to expedite it, and will even stir the fire himself." Among many peoples it is considered necessary that the host should give food to his guest before he eats himself. This is a rule on which much stress is laid in the literature of ancient India. A Brâhmana never takes food "without having offered it duly to gods and guests." "He who eats before his guest consumes the rood, the prosperity, the issue, the cattle, the merit which his family acquired by sacrifices and charitable works." It is probable that this punishment has something to do {592} with the evil eye of the neglected guest, for the idea of eating the evil wishes of others was evidently quite familiar to the ancient Hindus. It is said in Âpastamba's Aphorisms:--"A guest who is at enmity with his host shall not eat his food, nor shall he eat the food of a host who hates him or accuses him of a crime, or of one who is suspected of a crime. For it is declared in the Veda that he who eats the food of such a person eats his guilt." In Tonga Islands, "at meals strangers or foreigners are always shewn a preference, and females are helped before men of the same rank"--according to our informant, "because they are the weaker sex and require attention." As to the correctness of this explanation, however, I have some doubts; the Moors, also, at their feasts, allow the women to eat first, and one reason they give for this custom is that otherwise the hungry women might injure the men with their evil eyes. In Hawaii the host and his family do not at all partake of the entertainment with which a passing visitor is generally provided on arriving among them; and that their abstinence is due to superstitious fear is all the more probable as, among the same people, it is the custom for the guest invariably to carry away with him all that remains of the entertainment.

Among the precautions taken against the visiting stranger kind and respectful treatment is of particularly great importance. No traveller among an Arabic-speaking people can fail to notice the contrast between the lavish welcome and the plain leave-taking. The profuse greetings mean that the stranger will be treated as a friend and not as an enemy; and it is particularly desirable to secure his good-will in the beginning, since the first glance of an evil eye is always held to be the most dangerous. We can now realise that the extreme regard shown to a guest, and the preference given to him in every matter, must, in a {593} large measure, be due to fear of his anger, as well as to hope of his blessings. Even the peculiar custom which requires a host to lend his wife to a guest becomes more intelligible when we consider the supposed danger of the stranger's evil eye or his curses, as also the benefits which may be supposed to result from his love. And when the guest leaves, it is wise of the host to accept no reward; for there maybe misfortune in the stranger's gift.

That hospitality should be free of cost is implied in the very meaning of the word. Wherever the custom of entertaining guests has been preserved pure and genuine, remuneration is neither asked nor expected; indeed, to offer payment would give offence, and to accept it would be disgraceful. Such a custom might no doubt result from absence or scarcity of money, as it cannot be expected that the wandering stranger shall carry with him heavy presents to all his future hosts; and where the intercourse is mutual, the hospitable man may hope one day to be paid back in his own coin. But it seems likely that the custom of not receiving payment from a guest is largely due to that same dread of strangers which underlies many other rules of hospitality. The acceptance of gifts is frequently considered to be connected with some danger. According to rules laid down in the sacred books of India, he who is about to accept gifts, or he who has accepted gifts, must repeatedly recite the four Vedic verses called Taratsamandîs; or all gifts are to be preceded by pouring out {594} water into the extended palm of the recipient's right hand, evidently because the water is supposed to cleanse the gift from the baneful energy with which it may be saturated. On the other hand, "without a full knowledge of the rules prescribed by the sacred law for the acceptance of presents, a wise man should not take anything, even though he may pine with hunger. But an ignorant man who accepts gold, land, a horse, a cow, food, a dress, sesamum-grains, or clarified butter, is reduced to ashes like a piece of wood. . . . Hence an ignorant man should be afraid of accepting any presents; for by reason of a very small gift even a fool sinks into hell as a cow into a morass." Moreover, a gift, to be accepted by a Brâhmana, ought to be given voluntarily, not to be asked for. So, too, Hebrew writers are anxious to inculcate the duty of giving alms with an ungrudging eye, as also of not giving anything before witnesses--the latter, perhaps, with a view to preventing the evil influence which is likely to emanate from an envious spectator. An Atlas Berber, who had probably never before had anything to do with a European, spat on the coin which I gave him for rendering me a service, and my native friends told me that he did so for fear lest the coin, owing to some sorcery on my part, should not only itself return to me, but at the same time take with it all the money with which it had been in contact in his bag. Of the Annamites it is said that "for fear of bringing ill-luck into the place the people even decline presents."

The duty of hospitality is probably always limited by time, even though, among some peoples, a guest is said to be entertained as long as he pleases to stay. According {595} to Teutonic custom, a guest might tarry only up to the third day. The Anglo-Saxon rule was, "Two nights a guest, the third night one of the household," that is, a slave. A German proverb says, "Den ersten Tag ein Gast, den zweiten eine Last, den dritten stinkt er fast." So, also, the Southern Slavs declare that "a guest and a fish smell on the third day." Burckhardt states that, among the Bedouins, if the stranger intends to prolong his visit after a lapse of three days and four hours from the time of his arrival, it is expected that he should assist his host in domestic matters; should he decline this, "he may remain, but will be censured by all the Arabs of the camp." The Moors say that "the hospitality of the Prophet lasts for three days"; the first night the guest is entertained most lavishly, for then, but only then, he is "the guest of God." The Prophet laid down the following rule: "Whoever believes in God and the day of resurrection, must respect his guest; and the time of being kind to him is one day and one night; and the period of entertaining him is three days; and after that, if he does it longer, he benefits him more; but it is not right for a guest to stay in the house of the host so long as to incommode him." According to Javanese custom, it is a point of honour to supply a stranger with food and accommodation for a day and a night at least. Among the Kalmucks special honour is paid to a stranger for one day only, whereas, if he remains longer, he is treated without ceremonies. Growing familiarity with the stranger naturally tends to dispel the superstitious dread which he inspired at first, and this, combined with the feeling that it is unfair of him to live at his host's expense longer than necessity requires, seems to account for the {596} rapid decline of his extraordinary privileges and for the short duration of his title to hospitable treatment.

Contrary to what is the case with other duties which men owe to their fellow-creatures, in every progressive society we find hospitality on the wane. In the later days of Greece and Rome it almost dwindled into a survival. In the Middle Ages hospitality was extensively practised by high and low; it was enjoined by the tenets of Chivalry, and the poorer people, also, considered it disgraceful to refuse to share their meals with a needy stranger. However, in the reign of Henry IV., Thomas Occlif complains of the decline of hospitality in England; and in the middle of the Elizabethan age, Archbishop Sandys says that "it is come to pass that hospitality itself is waxen a stranger." The reasons for this decline are not difficult to find. Increasing intercourse between different communities or different countries not only makes hospitality an intolerable burden, but leads to the establishment of inns, and thus hospitality becomes superfluous. It habituates the people to the sight of strangers, and, in consequence, deprives the stranger of that mystery which surrounds the lonely wanderer in an isolated district whose inhabitants have little communication with the outside world. And, finally, increase of intercourse gives rise to laws which make an individual protector needless, by placing the stranger under the protection of the State.